I have an excuse.
...
Actually, no, I don't.
--------------------
Ingressus had never thought of himself as sheltered. In the Barrier Mountains your life was regularly in danger, and though the adults tried to avoid scaring the kids, it was both foolish and impossible to deny the threats the Voltaris faced. Ingressus couldn't recall a time when he hadn't been aware of the fact of the raids, the war, that Ardoni existed who would shed his blood without a second thought, no matter what he had or hadn't done to them. In Ataraxia he'd had to deal with the suspicion of those who believed his clan were the monsters and warmongers, who made accusations that Ingressus realized he could sometimes defend but not fully deny. He had been exposed to a different kind of hostility in those days– one that didn't threaten his life but was unpleasant in an entirely different way than he'd learned to deal with.
But despite all he'd seen and been through, Ingressus was now realizing that in some ways, his perspectives of the world were also very limited. Currently the most obvious was the fact that he'd never set foot outside a mountain range before in his life. He didn't count his time in the ocean after the raid. His entire life he had been surrounded by high peaks of stone, from the sheer, jagged spires that scraped the sky in the Barrier Mountains, to the lower, gentler slopes of the Heart Mountains that still dominated the land, places where the horizon was ridged and jagged and close, and taking in your surroundings meant looking up and down as much as to either side. Ingressus had never known anything else.
Admittedly, the land outside the mountains wasn't quite as flat as Ingressus had imagined. There were rolling hills, miniature valleys where rivers wound over the earth, a deeper canyon or two they had passed by as they traveled. The hills were reasonably high, yes; they blocked the horizon and would make a good vantage point, but still, you could see for what felt like miles in all directions, even if you weren't standing at their summit. A Human had appeared further up the road, leading a pair of donkeys in their direction, and it was a good ten minutes before she passed Ingressus and Galleous as they rode along in the opposite direction. You didn't need to re-evaluate your path with every ridgeline; everything just gradually came into view well before you reached it.
It was now the second day since they had left Ataraxia. The Heart Mountains had faded to little more than a dark line on the horizon, visible only when there was a break in the trees and the horizon was low between the hills. Ingressus had found himself looking over his shoulder as they rode further and further away, watching the mountains slowly shrink behind him. It was hard to fathom that a landscape so vast could be hidden so easily, just by traveling far enough away. The past decade of Ingressus's life was contained in just a handful of peaks and valleys inside those distant mountains, and it had all disappeared from view so quickly.
He knew that Ataraxia's isolation had been the key to his safety over the past twelve years. But still, the fact that his corner of the world could vanish so entirely... Ingressus was reminded once again of just how big the world was. There was so much he hadn't seen, so much he didn't know. Even the large structure they'd just passed with the spinning sails of cloth– the windmill, apparently– was utterly foreign to him. They were in the district of Conchord, apparently, with its flat plains and thick oak forests, but he knew there were the stark and unending deserts of the Cydonian district, the lush jungles of Felora, the jagged cliffs and winding seaways of Hydraphel, the city of Crown Peak from where the Enderking ruled.
The day would come. One day he would be able to walk these same roads openly, without having to cover himself in layers of cloth and armor. One day all of Ardonia would be his to see and travel without fear.
They reached Stoneford the next day. Ingressus had been wondering what the town would look like; he knew that Humans and other species tended to be more ambitious builders than Ardoni were– rather than looking for a suitable part of the landscape to start from in making their homes, they simply laid their claim on their chosen patch of land and made it work. Everyone said that Humans especially could turn any place into a settlement, that they could find a way to live anywhere, no matter the environment. Ingressus knew that Stoneford wouldn't be like Ataraxia, even accounting for the lack of floating islands. There would be more constructed buildings, more altering of the landscape, more disregard for whatever inconveniences the land had decided to present them with.
But still, Ingressus had expected that the town would at least have placed itself somewhere that would give them a natural defense against mobs. The Conchord district was short on cliffs or floating islands, but the peak of a steep-sided hill, an island in the river, either of those could do the job well enough. But instead, Stoneford's defenses were simply a wall of oak and stone that ringed the town. A small overhang was wide enough to prevent even spiders from scaling the walls, yet narrow enough not to give undead defense from the sun. And the fields of crops around the town provided more than enough open space that any skeletons would be visible before they were in range to shoot someone on top of the wall. Redstone lamps lined the streets outside the walls, with some strange kind of device on the top that, according to Galleous, reacted to changes in the light and would automatically turn the lamps on when the sun went down. The homes outside the walls had sturdy doors and shutters that certainly looked sturdy enough to hold off a zombie or two. The monster-proofing wasn't what Ingressus had pictured, but it would certainly work.
"Now remember, this won't be like Ataraxia," Galleous told him as they rode towards the town gates. "There will be far more people around, many of whom will be passing through. It isn't a place where everyone knows everyone else, and no one will expect to. Just keep your head down and you should be able to avoid notice."
Ingressus nodded in understanding. Galleous went on.
"But, going unnoticed means this place can attract unsavory types, too. There have been a number of rumors about the Defiant Legion in this district, despite King Rendor's efforts to crack down on them. And the fact that this is a river city, on the border, means that it'll be an easy place for smugglers to move their goods in and out of the district. I know you can handle yourself, but you do not want to attract attention– if the city guard comes across a conflict, they'll want to take in everyone involved for questioning. Stick to the main streets, avoid places or people that look sketchy– I can't believe I'm giving you the 'don't talk to strangers' lecture."
"So in other words, only talk to you?" Ingressus observed.
"What I'm saying is, trust your gut," Galleous said. "If something doesn't feel right, or someone has a few too many weapons, or they're looking at you strangely, just get out of there. Flight over fight, Ingressus. If you're discovered, I won't be able to help you."
"I know," Ingressus said. "I don't plan to spend much time in the town. I just want to see Voltaria. According to the maps, that's still mostly countryside."
"Still," Galleous said. "This– well, this may not be the most dangerous thing you've ever done. But it's a different kind of dangerous."
"I will be careful, Galleous," Ingressus promised.
Their horses were left in a set of stables by the town gate. Galleous led the way to an inn and Ingressus trailed behind him, looking around at the buildings of Stoneford. Ingressus was... impressed by the builders. All the work it must've taken to gather all the resources to build this many structures of this size, this much stone and iron and wood... it was no small feat. Humans really were expert builders, it seemed.
The inn Galleous had chosen was built from dark spruce wood, its facade edged with cobblestone and with oak shutters framing its windows. Galleous paid for their room, leading Ingressus to a door on the inn's second level, numbered with a copper '23.' Ducking under the doorframe, Ingressus looked around to see a simple living space. There was one bed in the corner and another under the window, with a gray rug covering a section of floor between them. There was a picture of a desert landscape on one wall, and another that had... a flaming skull? Ingressus gave it an odd look.
"Well, here we are," Galleous said. He tossed a key to Ingressus, who caught it. "Good luck out there. I hope what you find is... what you're looking for."
Ingressus nodded in thanks. "I'll be back by nightfall."
Ingressus lingered outside the inn before he left, committing its face to memory. Three levels of windows that were taller than they were wide, a roof lined with clay tiles, an overhang shading the main doors, a narrow strip of grass between the street and the building that was scattered with dandelions and rosebushes. The building to its left was coated in chipped green paint, and to the right was a small garden area. Confident he could identify it when he returned, Ingressus turned away.
Stoneford was on the northern border of the Conchord district, on the bank of the river that formed the border with what had once been Voltaria. It was the last town on the river before a set of high waterfalls, making it the last city that trading ships from the coast could reach. Ingressus walked along the cobbled streets, past wandering Humans and Felina and other species going about their business. There were even a handful of Ardoni: a trio of Mendoris siblings that made Ingressus's ears flatten under his helmet at the sight of them. But Galleous was right; none of the beings in Stoneford gave him more than a passing glance.
The streets opened up to Ingressus's left. He stepped out of the way of a donkey pulling a wagon and turned to look, seeing a wide main road that ran straight and true between the buildings. The street was lined with colorful awnings and filled with people, in what was apparently a much bigger version of Ataraxia's marketplace. And past the bustle of the town center, Ingressus could see a bridge, arcing up from the end of the road with clear, open sky behind it.
Ingressus was no longer averse to crowds in Ataraxia. He had gotten used to the presence of Ardoni with different colors, and other beings who he had come to realize would do him no harm. But here in Stoneford he could feel the old nerves rising again as he walked through the market. This was unfamiliar territory, he was far outnumbered, and sounds were muffled under the disguise he'd had to take on. Even with his broadsword, even with his Song if it came to a true emergency, he didn't like his odds if he had to fight.
Ingressus reminded himself that his markings were hidden. He reminded himself that the Humans in Ataraxia had never cared about what clan he was. No one here had any reason to come after him. And as if in confirmation of his reassurances, he reached the bridge over the river without incident.
Ingressus paused at the peak of the bridge, resting a hand on the railing as he looked out over Voltaria. In contrast to the town behind him that was covered in buildings and streets, the far side of the river was largely untouched, at least as far as he could see. Sure, there was a small port area on the opposite bank, with small trading ships moored at the docks and a few crane arms for moving cargo on and off the boats, but past the shore there was simply green grass and low shrubs scattered around the landscape, giving way to forest further from the port.
Ingressus tried to recall what the political situation was regarding Voltaria. If he remembered right, Rendor and the past Enderkings still considered it part of the Ardoni provinces, but meanwhile the four clans wanted nothing to do with the lands of their hated enemies. He remembered Antares making a comment once about the Voltaris leaving a curse behind on their lands when they were forced to flee. But that rumor had been greeted with skepticism even by others in Ataraxia, and Ingressus had seen nothing in Voltar's memories to suggest that. So it was without hesitation that he stepped off the end of the bridge and onto Voltaris soil.
He wasn't sure what he had expected. Some feeling of belonging, of homecoming, of connection with his clan's true home. Even after so long, there had to be traces of his clan left, surely. But as he stood at the end of the bridge, the land beneath the boots he wore felt no more familiar than anywhere else on this journey.
His ponderings were cut off when someone ran into him. Ingressus spun, his gaze falling on a Human lugging a large sack behind him.
"Hey, watch where you're– standing—" The Human faltered at the sight of Ingressus towering over him, and he cleared his throat with sudden awkwardness. "Uh, please. This is a busy street."
Ingressus supposed it was. A pair of workhorses clopped past nearby, pulling a cart loaded with crates and barrels onto the bridge. There was a steady trickle of dockworkers moving back and forth across the river, Humans and Felina pulling smaller carts along the dock paths, some full with goods and some empty. Ingressus moved on, leaving the river and the docks behind and walking into the open lands of Voltaria.
The landscape of the abandoned province was similar to Conchord. Gentle hills, forests interspersed with meadows, the occasional creeks and streams and rivers winding along the land. The oak and birch trees were already dropping their leaves, their limbs becoming bare with the onset of fall. Meanwhile the spruces remained full and green. Game animals wandered the land; cows, pigs, and chickens going about their business and doing whatever animals did. A rabbit darted from the undergrowth ahead of Ingressus, a fox in hot pursuit. Hunter and prey raced across the path without paying Ingressus the slightest bit of attention, disappearing again into the bushes.
Though Voltaria was far more wilderness than the Conchord district had been, it wasn't completely devoid of sentient life. Ingressus came across a few small houses clustered together in a meadow among the trees. He slowed, looking over the area. There were four structures; three that looked like living quarters, and one that looked more like a small barn. Small plots of bare earth were scattered around the houses– probably crops that had already been harvested for the year. A path of hard-packed earth ran past the houses, winding off into the woods to the south. It probably ran to Conchord. But it didn't look like it got much use. The fallen leaves that lay scattered over the path were still crisp and bright, not trampled by footsteps or cart wheels.
He saw a movement in the corner of his eye as a door opened. A Human stepped out onto her porch, a woodcutting axe in her hand and a gray-and-white dog at her heels. She saw Ingressus and paused, eyeing him warily as the dog's ears pricked and it sniffed at the air. Ingressus turned away, walking on through the trees.
In retrospect, it was no surprise that other beings would have moved into Voltaria in his clan's absence. Though as far as he knew, it was still legally part of the Ardoni provinces, land was land, and empty land was up for grabs. The wounds of the past war or superstitions of ancient curses might serve to keep Ardoni out, but the other species in Ataraxia had barely known his clan existed before Ingressus arrived. To someone who was looking for a place to settle and didn't mind being isolated– well, Voltaria would be no different to them than anywhere else.
Ingressus waded across a stream, then realized his mistake when he stepped onto shore and water sloshed out of his suddenly-much-heavier boots. After taking a minute to sigh he splashed his way to a fallen log and sat down, pulling the shoes from his feet and watching a small waterfall pour from each.
Footwear was annoying. He supposed he could see the use to protect your feet from harsh terrain, and in a time of truly intense cold the scouts from his camp had taken to wrapping their feet in animal hide to stave off frostbite. But for just riding across the countryside or walking around the woods... if Ingressus didn't need to hide his species, he would've ditched them days ago.
He poked at a sore spot on his foot. He didn't have a blister yet from the leather rubbing at his skin, but ow. He would gladly take this excuse for a reprieve. The strips of cloth around his shins still hid his markings and the forest was empty, he could take a few moments while he waited for water to stop dripping from his boots. After a moment's hesitation he pulled off the helmet, too, rubbing at his ears where the metal had pressed against them. Nether, he would be glad to get back home.
Ingressus paused. Home.
He had long accepted Galleous's forge as his home. He had lived there for longer than any camp his group had been at in the mountains, and it had always felt more... permanent than anywhere his clan had been. There had always been a sense of impermanence in the mountains, the knowledge that they might have to move on at any time to either seek out new sources of food or to flee from dangers. The Voltaris lived light, always prepared to dump their meager belongings into their inventory and abandon whatever place they'd been calling their camp. Their shelves were convenient rock ledges, they sat on the ground or on rocks to eat, and beds were made to be easily disassembled and carried away when they had to leave– or, if they had to flee fast, they would snatch the blankets and burn the frames, in the hopes of the raiders overlooking the ashes and not finding any clues to the presence of those they hunted. Nothing was meant to last, because nothing in the Barrier Mountains did. Meanwhile, the forge had bookshelves, solid furniture, a lava basin that was clearly not naturally occurring... it was obvious that someone lived there, and that the someone in question had no plans to leave anytime soon. When Ingressus had decided to take his chances in Ataraxia he had still expected that he would be forced to flee sooner or later, but as time continued to prove that fear wrong, he had slowly come to assume that he would be living at the forge indefinitely. It was his home, it had been for years. It was a safe place for him– even if his life didn't need defending, it was still a place where he could escape the likes of Selarin, Lenneus, Tiris, Saylor's parents. He had spent nearly a third of his life there, and closer to half of the years he could remember with any clarity. What was such a place, if not some kind of a home?
But to think that here... in Voltaria... it was this place that should be his home. Vedarin, his father, Ritanil, they had always said that. This was where he belonged, where he should've grown up, where he shouldn't have to be sneaking around. He shouldn't be wanting to leave, to be thinking of somewhere else with the word "home."
Ingressus looked around, taking in the patchy autumn trees, the outcroppings of rock, the stream that flowed gently through the forest on its way to a distant lake. He pressed his bare feet against the dirt by the shore, still damp from the water that had poured from his boots. He ran his hands over the fallen tree, feeling the ridges of the bark even through the gloves. He took a deep breath, breathing the air of Voltaria that even filtered through his mask was rich with the smell of earth and fallen leaves and devoid of the lung-biting cold of Northwind.
He could have lived here as a child. He could have lived the kind of life that the Ataraxian children had, a life of peace and abundance and security. What might it have been like? He imagined running through the trees, chasing after Argentum and Cendir, all of them laughing as loud as they wanted without a care in the world. They would have climbed the trees as high as they could, clambering up through the branches in a bid to beat each other to the top. There would have been no snow but he could easily picture Tamera building elaborate forts out of fallen branches and vines instead. They would play games of pretend in the castles she made, playing knights and monsters and kings and explorers and mages. They could swim in the lakes and splash each other in the rivers, and turn up back in their village as the night fell, and as the shadows deepened they would go home to the parents that they would all have because there was no danger here they couldn't overcome.
Ingressus bowed his head. Imagining the comparative paradise of Voltaria felt only like a fresh stab in the heart. The cold, the sickness, the hunger, the fear, the death that had been a fact of life in the Barrier Mountains had never been inevitable. His people could have had this, and if he had anything to say about it, they would again. But it would be too late for those who were already gone.
Ingressus stood abruptly. He needed to get moving; sitting here and thinking that way wouldn't do any good. He grabbed up his boots, sighing when he felt the wetness even through his gloves. He uttered the spell he had learned so long ago from his mother, the magic drawing the remaining water from the shoes and turning it into mist. He yanked them back on, wincing again at the stiff leather dragging against his skin, then picked up his helmet and walked on.
He recalled Isanor's descriptions of Voltaria as he walked, wandering through the paths beneath the high trees. The older Voltaris had spoken of thick forests, with trees bigger around than your arms could reach around and with wide canopies of lush green leaves. He had told them about calm, slow-moving rivers, warm enough that it held no danger to walk or swim through them. He told them about exposed stone that was warmed by the sun until it was almost too hot to touch, wide lakes that brimmed with fish, lush carpets of green grass and moss and ferns that were as alive as any animal that walked the mountains. The trees Ingressus walked between now held only a patchy canopy of autumn foliage, and the stone he had rested his bare palm against had been warm but not hot. But then again, the land was turning towards winter. Ingressus knew enough about the rest of the world by now to be able to imagine what the province would have been like in the summer.
You really were here, he thought, picturing Isanor's face and markings as though his clanmate's spirit could hear him. I'm sorry for the times I doubted you.
He found himself walking along a low, wide gully. A narrow stream ran serenely down its center, as though echoing the wider, stronger river that must have once carved the gully into the ground. The ground around the stream was flat and sandy, with a few handfuls of stones and some clumps of bushes scattered around. The gully walls were high above Ingressus's head, but the width of the valley and their moderate slope made them seem more protective than imposing. A number of alcoves were carved into the walls of the gully, some shallow and some deeper. Ingressus could imagine Ardoni, Voltaris, making their homes there, building them up with tables and shelves and books and potted plants. There could be a firepit or two out in the gully itself, ringed by a few benches or flat stones where his people could gather around in the evenings to eat and tell stories and laugh together as the sun went down and ushered in the cooler-but-still-warm night. Maybe a nearby meadow could become a farm, where they could grow melons and grain and carrots in the summer months, and he had seen a few apple trees up above the gully. He remembered the delight his group had had whenever Mirzam would show up at the camp with an armload of the fruit to share with all of them, a welcome treat that gave some variety to the game that made up the rest of their diet. Only the cake the adults had brought back the one time had been received with more excitement.
Ingressus climbed the gully wall, looking over the site from above. Yes, he could picture a village here. Maybe there had even been one there before. He tried to picture the path he had taken to get here, in the hopes of locking the location in his mind. Maybe he could find a map of the area back in Stoneford, and mark off locations of possible settlements for when his clan could return. He wouldn't be able to scout all of Voltaria on this trip, there just wouldn't be the time. But it would be a start.
Something nagged at Ingressus as he walked away. He slowed, glancing around cautiously. He could see nothing amiss but something still felt wrong, as if something had happened that made the world decide to lower its voice. He knew this feeling, but what was it...
Ingressus's gaze fell on a patch of ground, and suddenly he understood. He had stumbled upon another resonance. He could see in his mind's eye the place where the four Songs had once grown, once bright with magic and now devoid of the tunes this place had once resounded with.
But despite the unnatural quiet the patch of forest had fallen under, Ingressus realized something. Saylor had been right, this resonance wasn't nearly as bad as the one in the mines. It was still wrong, still empty and hollow, but it was far less stifling than the oppressive death-aura of the mineshafts. It was like finding a single dead body, rather than the ruins of an entire camp. He had been practically on top of the resonance before he felt the dead magic– had he been a few yards to either side, he might never have noticed it at all.
Maybe the gully he'd found had once been a Voltaris village. Before the Silencing, Ardoni villages had tended to crop up around such sites, so the Songs could be easily harvested once they had fully formed. It took many years for a single set of Songs to grow, but Voltar held many memories of past Masters visiting the resonances, watching the Songs as they slowly went from indistinct greenish swirls to fully-formed packets of magic shining and waiting to be used.
Ingressus studied the patch of dirt where the Songs had once been. He had never been to a resonance since the adventure in the mineshafts– he wasn't crazy enough to go back down there alone, and the nearest mapped resonance in the Heart Mountains was far from Ataraxia. But he was pretty sure the strength of the death-aura came from their proximity to the Heart of Ardonia, not how closely clustered the resonances were. It was true that there were more resonances in the interior of Ardonia than the edges, which was probably where the theory had come from. But the mineshaft resonance stood alone. If the strength of the dead magic came from the concentration of the resonances in an area, then it was this one that should have been stiflingly strong, not the one in the mines.
Voices. Closer than he wanted them to be. Ingressus hunched over to keep beneath the bush, backing as quietly as he could (–which was not very quiet at all, those boots were annoyingly clunky–) away from the resonance. The speakers' conversation didn't falter, they hadn't heard him, and he listened intently. There were no farms nearby, not even any of the barely-maintained roads he'd come across. So who were they?
"–peace and quiet," one voice was saying. "There are a million harder jobs we could have, and plenty of worse places to be for this one."
"Sylvan, this is Voltaria," the second voice said, and Ingressus went still at the distaste in the speaker's voice. It was an Ardoni– a Sendaris, judging by the glimpse of blue he could see through the bushes. "We're keeping tabs on dead resonances, in Voltaria. There's a lot that's happened in these lands. Yes, we had to do it, but still. This very spot could have been a battlefield."
Nether. There wasn't enough undergrowth to avoid complete notice. The best he could do was act natural and pretend he was a random traveler. Ingressus retreated further from the resonance, then straightened and forced his tense shoulders to loosen. He was the best swordsman in the Heart Mountains. He had been able to hold his own against Sorays in the Barrier Mountains, and he had only grown since then. He could handle himself. And his markings were hidden, anyway.
"I mean, sure," the first voice– Sylvan– was saying. "But it was centuries ago. Even Netharans would probably barely remember it if any of them had been here. These trees might not even have been around. And besides, it's not like our job is hard. The resonances have done absolutely nothing in the last six centuries, what are the odds of that changing anytime soon? And come on, Fen, look around you! Voltaria and possible former battlefield or not, this is a very pleasant place to be. And look at this tasty apple I just found."
The two Sendaris came into view just as Sylvan was holding the apple up to her companion's face. Fen was shoving the fruit away with an irritated expression, but then she stopped at the sight of Ingressus. Ingressus stopped as well, as though surprised to see them. Sylvan had a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, and Fen had an iron sword sheathed on her back. He couldn't tell whether either had Songs over the loud silence of the resonance but he could feel his own pulsing in his bones, there to use if he needed to. His sword hovered at the edge of his inventory but Sylvan was unfazed at the sight of him, tossing the apple in the air and catching it in her other hand.
"Hello, traveler," she said casually. "Welcome to the middle of nowhere formerly known as Voltaria. How are you doing today?"
Ingressus blinked. On the one hand, she clearly wasn't suspicious of him, but on the other, he hadn't expected her to launch into small talk with a total stranger.
Fen, on the other hand, had a much more predictable reaction. She eyed him cautiously, shifting her hand towards her sword. "Sylvan, you don't know they aren't with the Defiant Legion."
An offended noise escaped Ingressus's mouth. Yes, it was better than her realizing he was a Voltaris, but really? A mercenary?
"Well, the other Defiant Legionnaires we've met have threatened us from the start," Sylvan said with a shrug. "Plus there's one of them and two of us if they do mean harm, and I'm pretty sure that reaction means 'how dare you imply that of me' in any language a being might speak."
Ingressus had no idea how to realistically respond to Sylvan's casual chatter. They clearly had no idea that he was Ardoni, much less Voltaris, but he didn't want to push his luck. Yes, he could probably manage the fight if they discovered his clan, but short of killing them both, word would still get out. But how to untangle himself from this encounter?
Sylvan's comment about languages gave him an idea. If he just pretended he couldn't speak Ardonia's common tongue, maybe she'd lose interest and he could wander on his way without looking like he was trying to escape. So he gave a wordless nod, folding his arms and giving Fen an annoyed look.
"Apologies for my friend," Sylvan said, gesturing at Fen. "She's the cautious type."
"That caution has saved your neck twice now."
"And I'm forever grateful for that." Sylvan nudged her friend good-naturedly, looking back at Ingressus. "Well, don't let me keep you here. I'm sure you've got more interesting things to do with your day than watching us check up on some dead magic."
Ingressus wouldn't waste the excuse. He nodded again, walking past them. He listened as hard as he could as he left the Ardoni behind, but heard nothing more threatening than Sylvan dramatically declaring "Oh, look! Absolutely nothing has changed." His nerves slowly calmed as he put more land between himself and the two Sendaris, as each step proved that his disguise had really worked, that they had no idea that they had been speaking to another Ardoni and certainly not to a Voltaris.
Saylor had mentioned once that the four clans kept an eye on the dead resonances. From all the accounts Ingressus had found, none of them had ever reported any change in all the time the resonances had been dead. Sylvan was right: for six centuries, there had been no change, no answers found, not even any hints given up by the resonances. The patches of earth just sat there, unchanging and unexplainable even by the best scholars the Ardoni had thrown at the problem. Apparently the clans had grown lax in their attention to the resonances, if the two Sendaris were any indication. It had sounded like they were simply making their rounds, casting a glance at the resonances they had been assigned to before walking on. The resonance by the gully certainly didn't look like there was anyone traveling regularly by. The four clans hadn't given up, it seemed, but neither were they as intent as Ingressus might've expected.
Ingressus wandered Voltaria through the afternoon and into the evening, until the sun began to sink towards the western horizon. He found no more resonances, and though he encountered a handful of other beings on the trails and dirt roads of the province, none of them had much to say to him. As the shadows lengthened he turned back south, walking through the trees back in the direction of the Conchord district. He could explore more tomorrow, when the sun chased the undead back into their hiding places. For now he needed to get back to the inn at Stoneford, get himself something to eat, and get out of these blasted boots.
A glow appeared through the trees up ahead. Ingressus wandered closer, and the glow resolved itself into a lone cabin at the edge of a field, rows of now-harvested farmland stretching across the open space of the clearing. A pair of not-yet-glowing redstone lamps stood on poles in the yard, but despite their dimness the setting sun still illuminated the two Humans arguing beneath them.
"I have paid you your cut," the older of the two said. "Two days ago. It went to a short man with scraggly brown hair. If you think it's missing, then try checking with him. I'm not looking for the trouble that would come from stiffing you, but he certainly looked shifty enough to keep the harvest for himself."
"You would hardly be the first farmer to lie about giving us our payment," the second Human said, hand resting on the sword at her side. "You know the deal. You supply the Legion with a cut of your harvest, and we keep the mobs off the patch of land we let you use. You are here with our permission; we can easily reclaim this area from you."
Legion.
Ingressus's blood simmered. Had the Defiant Legion claimed Voltaria as their own in his clan's absence? Had they seen the empty province and decided it was theirs to take? The occasional farmer was one thing; but a mercenary band? And Voltaris lands or not, why would the other clans tolerate the criminal presence on their borders?
"You barely keep the mobs off us," the farmer said. "I know that the Defiant Legion are the ones in power here, I'm not dumb enough to pretend you're not. But let's call it like it is. We didn't hire you for protection, you put your knee on our throat and told us to pay you to get it off."
The Legion member drew her sword from its sheath, angling it in a way that, to Ingressus's eyes, was more threat than preparation for an imminent strike. "Do you want to renegotiate our deal?"
The farmer stepped back, his eyes on the sword. "No. Like I said, I'm not dumb enough to think I can get away with challenging you. So you can just put that away, and tell your goon to back off."
"Tell my—?" The mercenary faltered, her gaze falling on Ingressus as she looked around. "Who are you?"
"Just a traveler," Ingressus said, stepping out from the trees. "I'm not with her, and I'm hardly a mercenary."
The woman made a disgusted noise. "Well, whoever you are, this is not your concern. This farm is property of the Defiant Legion."
"Is it?" Ingressus said, his teeth clenched under his mask. "I thought this land belonged to the Ardoni. What claim does the Legion have to this place?"
"The Ardoni?" the farmer questioned. "Since when?"
The mercenary's laugh was filled with scorn. "The Ardoni? If they want this place, they sure as Nether haven't acted like it. The Legion has claim because no one is here to stop us."
How dare you? How dare you turn my clan's home into a criminals' den? If I didn't need to hide—
The mercenary pointed her sword at Ingressus. "Stay out of our way, traveler. The Legion doesn't tolerate interference." She turned to the farmer. "As for you, I will be back in two days. For your sake, I hope you've managed to rustle up our share of the harvest by then."
Ingressus wanted to draw his own sword. He wanted to activate the flame enchantment and watch the mercenary re-evaluate her chances with her simple iron blade. He wanted to send her off with a warning to the Defiant Legion: the Voltaris clan will return. Get out of our province.
But he could not take on the Defiant Legion on his own. This mercenary was just one of many; if he threatened her, she would only alert her accomplices, and they would return to track Ingressus down. Even if he were to kill her, the Legion would surely seek out the one who had done it, attracting undue attention to him. Fighting this mercenary would gain him nothing.
He had promised he would avoid a fight. And he would. When the time was right, when his clan returned from their exile, he could turn his sword against these mercenaries and drive out the Defiant Legion alongside the warriors of his clan. But that time was not now. So Ingressus watched in silence as the mercenary turned and walked away into the dusk.
The farmer, on the other hand, wasn't one to be quietly indignant. He muttered curses against the mercenary and her associates, culminating in an appeal to a deity Ingressus didn't recognize to turn her sword into a worm-infested carrot.
"Nether-blasted warmongers, think they can come in and stomp over honest folk just trying to get by... just because the Enderknights never come here..."
"Hasn't King Rendor tried to bring them to justice?" Ingressus asked.
The farmer snorted. "Oh, he's tried. So they say, anyway. I can't see what difference it's made, whether he can't do anything or he's just not trying—" he cut off, glancing nervously at Ingressus. "Do not tell him I said that."
"I have no contact with the Enderking."
Ingressus glanced to the north, where he knew Kaltaria lay. Their last Master had been killed in some kind of encounter with the Defiant Legion. If the mercenaries had a presence in Voltaria, that might explain how they had come into contact. "What about the Ardoni? Do they not care about the Legion's presence on their borders?"
The farmer shrugged. "No idea. You'll see a few pass through every now and then, but it's not like any of 'em live here to care what the Legion does. Something about bad luck, or something, that's what I've heard."
Well, at least that meant Ingressus wouldn't have to evict other Ardoni from Voltaria when the time came. That would make negotiations with the Masters somewhat easier.
"Why stay here, then?" Ingressus asked. "If the Legion is allowed to run free, why not settle somewhere else?"
The farmer gestured to the building behind him. "Family land. My grandparents built this place, well before the Legion was nearly this much of an issue. I'm not about to give up on it that easily."
His grandparents? Ingressus wasn't quite certain how long ago that would translate to for Humans, but if what the farmer said was true, then the Legion's foothold here was relatively recent.
The swift motion of a bat in the sky reminded Ingressus of the onset of night. He looked to the west, seeing the sky above the trees already yellow with the sunset. He had maybe half an hour before the undead would come out; he needed to be on his way.
"I wish you luck," he told the farmer. "Perhaps one day the Defiant Legion will be driven out of these lands."
The farmer snorted. "Wouldn't that be the day."
Ingressus thought about what he'd learned as he walked back through the forests and over the bridge into Stoneford. The Defiant Legion would certainly be an obstacle to his clan's return; there was no way in Nether his people would grovel to a band of criminals, and he doubted the Legion would take that lightly. But the Voltaris wouldn't take the mercenaries' presence lightly, either– they wouldn't let this one last obstacle keep them from the home they'd longed for. His people were tough, strong, and skilled, and they would have everything to gain. And maybe they could find some allies against the Legion...
He had paused at an intersection when someone poked his arm. Ingressus looked down to see a being clad in armor with a scythe as large as they were slung over their back, looking curiously up at him with glowing blue eyes. The being made a warbling noise, pointing at Ingressus. They were too short to be a Sendaris who'd disguised themselves for some reason. Was this a Segari, then, like Galleous had mentioned?
"I don't speak that language," Ingressus told them.
The being blinked, making a surprised chitter. They slumped slightly as though disappointed, then shrugged and turned away, waving to him as they left.
The room at the inn was empty when Ingressus returned. He closed the door behind him, fiddling with the lock until he confirmed it was secure. The window's curtains were already drawn, and Ingressus pulled off the boots with a sigh of relief, relishing the feel of the cool floor on his bare feet. He didn't know how other species could stand those things.
He was sitting on his bed and chewing on a piece of pork when Galleous returned. He heard a knock on the door and yanked his hood back up, then relaxed again as he heard the Sendaris's voice saying, "It's me."
Ingressus didn't lower the hood until the door was locked again. He still wore the cloak– it was by far the least uncomfortable part of his disguise, and if something caught him by surprise it would at least hide his markings to some extent from prying eyes. But he had ditched the mask, the chain mail, the helmet along with the shoes, and anyone who saw him now could see he was Ardoni.
Galleous looked him over, checking Ingressus for injuries as he would after a night of monster hunting. "How'd it go out there?"
Ingressus leaned his arms on his knees, recalling the hours of wandering the forest. "It was... everything I had ever been told it was."
Galleous cocked his head. "That's a good thing, I assume?"
Ingressus nodded. "It has everything my clan could need, so much more than we had in the mountains. There's more game than I'd ever seen on a hunting patrol in Northwind, caves for shelter or for ores, rivers for freshwater– I think I even found where a village used to be. There were some Human farms out there, so the ground must be good for planting at least in some places. Once I can get my people here, once we deal with the Defiant Legion, we'll be able to... really live again."
"The Defiant Legion?" Galleous echoed. "Did you... are they based in Voltaria?"
"They do have a presence there," Ingressus said, his expression souring slightly. "Apparently they demand the farmers there pay them a cut of their crops in exchange for protection from mobs. I've been thinking about ways to handle them, but I'll need to learn more while I'm here."
"Ah, Nether," Galleous muttered, rubbing at his jaw. "I didn't even think of that. Without your clan there, and with the others not claiming the land, it'd be nearly empty now. Of course the shady types would be drawn to it."
"From what I've learned, they haven't been here that long," Ingressus said. "Apparently it was only within the past couple of Human generations that they really began harassing the farmers. That would translate to only a few decades."
"That is still a long time for a number of species," Galleous reminded him.
"I know," Ingressus said. "And unfortunately, the territory will be more familiar to them than to us. But maybe I could recruit some of the local farmers to help my clan– they'd know the land, and we'd be getting the Legion off their throats as well as ours. Or maybe I could contact the Enderknights for aid, and offer them my clan's help in clearing the Legion out. If King Rendor wants to crack down on them anyway, then I don't see why he'd turn me down. And having some kind of working relationship with Crown Peak could help keep the other clans off us."
Galleous looked impressed. "How long have you been planning all this?"
Ingressus shrugged. "Not too long. I'd need to know more about the Legion's presence here before I make any real plans. But this won't matter until after our exile is ended, anyway."
Galleous nodded. "One problem at a time."
"One problem at a time," Ingressus agreed.
He thought about the lands he'd walked through, and the vast distances of the province he hadn't yet seen. It felt so much more real now, more tangible than it had ever been. But at the same time it still felt so far away, as though behind a pane of glass. There was still so much left to be done before his people could call Voltaria their own again– the answer to the resonances, the negotiations with the Masters, the removal of the Defiant Legion. He couldn't deny it was daunting.
Ingressus summoned Voltar to his hand, gazing down at the staff. He remembered his grandmother talking about a time a gang of bandits had placed their lair in the Barrier Mountains, too close for comfort to the camp she'd lived in at the time. She'd been the same age as Ingressus was now when the warriors of her camp had gone to clear them out. The Voltaris had come out victorious then, they could do so this time, too.
He would do what he had to. However long it took, whatever the odds, his clan would make it home. There would be no more lost to the mountains, to the raids. They just had to hold on, just a little longer.
Ingressus sighed. Galleous noticed.
"What's wrong?"
The gravestones he had lit glowed in Ingressus's mind. They held the markings Ingressus had grown up with, the hues and patterns that he had once held on to the hope would never go dim. A glowing gravestone was meant to defy the death of the Ardoni it memorialized, allowing their markings to shine on even after death in the symbolism of the enduring mark they had left on the world. But the gravestones were just that: a memorial to a soul departed from the world.
"Voltaria is where my people belong," Ingressus said, not looking up as he spoke. "My father always said that. Vedarin refused to call the mountains home, because that wasn't where we were supposed to be. Isanor had been here before; his stories were what the rest of us had to go on when we pictured that place. I didn't always believe that he was really here, but Voltaria is everything he said it was."
Galleous was silent, watching with concern as he waited for Ingressus to continue.
"So many of us never believed we'd ever get the chance to return. We wanted to, we'd sometimes talk about what it might be like to live there, but we never really thought it would come true. It was all just... a fantasy."
"But it could come true now," Galleous pointed out. "I've seen how hard you're working to fix the resonances. And you have Master Aegus on your side. You have a lot more going for you than past Masters, I'd imagine."
"It might come true," Ingressus agreed. "But it'll be too late for everyone I knew. They deserved to make it back, too."
His words fell into the silence like ripples on a pond, spreading out and vanishing into nothingness. He didn't look up but he could feel Galleous searching for a response, seeking words that could fill the shroud-like quiet.
Ingressus didn't know what he'd been hoping for. Probably nothing, really. It wasn't like there was anything that could be done about what had happened, wasn't like this injustice could be made right. It was over and done with, all he could do was pick up the pieces and prevent more bloodshed.
'I'm sorry," Galleous said finally.
Ingressus shook his head. "It wasn't your fault."
"That doesn't mean I don't wish I could change it."
Well, that made two of them. Ingressus closed his hand around Voltar's shaft, its magic having nothing to do with the memories playing in his mind.
"I still miss them."
Galleous sat down next to him, resting a hand on Ingressus's shoulder. "I know."
Ingressus wasn't unaccustomed to feeling alone. He was the sole survivor of his camp, the lone Voltaris wandering around a land he wasn't supposed to be in. His markings were a constant reminder of how he didn't belong, an inescapable barrier between himself and the rest of Ataraxia. He had been the only one who could grieve the Ardoni in his camp, the sole bearer of their memories and legacy. He had lost everyone he had ever known and cared for, and gained a home that even now offered as much suspicion as acceptance.
But there was acceptance. There were Ardoni who saw past his markings, who had been there for him time and again over the past decade. Galleous had taken him in without condition, asking for nothing in return in all this time. Voltar bore the memories of his clan with him, memorializing those who were gone, and it stood with him in the face of the trials laid out before him.
The weight was heavy, the burdens of grief and responsibility undeniable. They were his burdens to carry, either by the plans of fate or the whims of chance. There was only so much others could do. But as Ingressus let himself lean against Galleous, he knew he wasn't as alone as he might've been.
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(8863 words)
Can you believe that I once thought that this chapter, the one before it, and the one after it would all be one chapter? Feels ridiculous now.
By the way, the Defiant Legion is basically the precursor to the Unyielding Legion, in case anyone was wondering about that. It's still like 160-170 years until the events of the series, I figure things might not be exactly the same.
And has anyone cried yet at this story? I'm curious.