Common Clay

“The Council of the Crownsguard Charter of the Adventurer’s Guild will now come to order.” Sir Evan was openly rubbing his hands across his face, as if he could scrub what he was seeing out of his very eyes. “Sir Clay, will you please step forward?”

Clay shambled forward. He was still tired and aching from the two Melees he’d fought in. The Council had been considerate enough to allow him enough time for a quick piece of bread, some water, and a few healing salves before summoning him, but the page he’d been sent seemed worried when Clay had insisted on actually doing all of those things before dragging himself to the Council room.

The Councilors seemed both tense and quiet. Sir Mark wasn’t leaning back in his casual, disinterested air; Syr Alia was studying Clay with some amount of worry. Even Sir Bartholomew wasn’t looking around the room with his usual detachment. He sighed internally. Obviously, something had gone very, very wrong.

Only one of the Councilors appeared to be unaffected. Sir Richard sat as he always did, studying Clay across his steepled fingers. His dark eyes seemed curiously amused by the situation. No doubt he had some plan in motion; the hooded Council always seemed to whenever Clay showed up.

Sir Evan cleared his throat, and Clay looked back to find the Guildmaster watching him with a weary expression. “Sir Clay, for the benefit of the others, you were asked by a messenger of the King to enter the High Melee, were you not?”

Clay nodded wearily. “That is correct, Sir.”

“While in the Melee, you encountered someone who then engaged you in a duel. Witnesses state that there were other members of the opposing army that made sure that duel was not interrupted. Is that correct?”

“It is, Sir.”

The Guildmaster studied him for an additional moment. “Are you aware of that person’s identity, Sir Clay?”

“Yes, Sir.” Clay paused. He didn’t think it was all that much of a secret that the King had been there. If anything, the adventurers on the Black side would have known, right? “It was King John.”

There was a sudden pause. Sir Evan slowly lowered his head into his hands again for a moment. Then he recovered and persevered. “You’re saying that you engaged King John in a personal duel during the Melee.”

“It was more like he wanted to duel me, but yeah. That’s who I was fighting.”

Syr Marissa sighed. “Did you think about what would happen if you injured him? I thought you swore an Oath.”

Clay gave her a glare. “I did. He wanted me to fight him. Was our Oath to obey his authority or to keep him safe?”

The Councilor blinked. She sat back with a frown. “A fair point, Sir Clay.”

“Did King John say why he wanted to fight you?” Sir Bartholomew seemed uneasy, but his voice was steady.

Clay shrugged. “He said he was curious. Apparently, he wanted to see me, but without raising too much of a fuss.” Then he winced as his shoulder ached. “At least, with anyone else. I would have settled with just a talk, honestly.”

Sir Mark chuckled. “I bet, young hero. You gave quite a showing out there.”

Evan was back to massaging his temples. “If the King wanted to avoid too much talk, then I’m afraid he failed. Far too many people noticed your… demonstration. There are already rumors about who exactly you were fighting, and why.”

Sir Richard spoke up. “Perhaps the King might not mind if the truth was revealed. Though I expect it will make Sir Clay rather uncomfortable.”

Mark snorted. “As if that has stopped him until now.”

“Comfortable or not, it was an interesting way of evaluating you, Sir Clay.” Syr Alia was watching him with a frown. “Did he happen to mention anything else?”

“Not really. Mostly he was trying to knee me right in the—I mean, we were fighting, Syr Alia.” He heard Amelia Evergreen lecturing him about propriety in the back of his mind and winced. Sir Mark laughed outright, this time, and even Syr Marissa and Sir Richard smiled.

Then he paused, remembering. “Actually, wait. He did say something about getting healed and sending me out again. That and he offered me a position on the Royal Guard, but I turned that down.”

Surprise flashed across all of their expressions of the Council, quickly buried again. Sir Evan glanced at Sir Alia. “You were right, I suppose. He stood out too much.”

Alia nodded, a choppy, definite motion. “I agree, though I will say our own disciplinary actions only made things worse.”

Syr Marissa opened her mouth to respond, but Sir Bartholomew spoke first. “That is spilt milk, I’m afraid. Right now, we have other concerns. We’ll need to move quickly. King John is a reasonable person, but he does occasionally suffer from… impatience.”

“Agreed.” Sir Evan looked at Sir Mark, who was now looking far more serious. “Do we have a team ready?”

“We do, but…” Sir Mark hesitated and then shook his head. “There are three of them, but none of them matches what we would need. One is a team that needs significant recovery from injuries, both those taken during their last mission and during the Melee. Another is slated to approach the Dungeon at Frosthelm, as I understand it.”

Richard spoke up, his voice cool. “Far too dangerous. He is skilled, but not ready for that yet.”

Evan gave the man a brief, stern look. “Agreed. Sir Mark?”

The bluff man grimaced. “The final team is headed by Sir Leonard.”

There was a rustle through the room as the Councilors shifted, and Sir Evan closed his eyes for a moment. “I see.” When he opened them, he looked at Clay in vague dissatisfaction. “Not ideal, not ideal at all.”

Clay decided he’d been talked past enough for one afternoon. He was tired, relatively beaten, and frustrated at the fact that they hadn’t even accused him of something. “Sir Evan? Can I ask what is going on? Am I in trouble for fighting the King?”

The Councilors shared a few significant looks. Then Syr Alia answered in a soft voice. “No, Sir Clay. The King has requested that you be sent on a mission, however, as soon as possible.”

It suddenly became very, very clear that the Council had just been considering sending him out to fight monsters with Sir Leonard and his team ‘watching’ his back. “Oh. And we can’t tell him to wait?”

Bartholomew answered next. “Technically, yes. However, the phrasing of the request makes it seem like if we do not find some ‘use’ for you, then the King will. His suggestion that you join the Royal Guard may become quite a bit more… forceful.”

It didn’t sound like something the King would do, but he had made the offer. Clay started to see a possibility, but he tried to keep his excitement buried. “Did he say what the mission was?”

Syr Marissa answered, her eyes focused on him like a hawk spotting a rat. “It’s an emergency at a mining town called Rodcliff. A new Lair has appeared there, threatening the miners and disrupting the metal for the King’s weapons.” She paused as Clay shifted. “He wants the Lair destroyed. Immediately.”

His heart was racing again. “It’s just a new Lair, right? Not a Dungeon or an established spot?” Syr Marissa nodded, and Clay drew in a deep breath. “Councilors, I may have a solution.”

Two hours of arguing later, Clay finally made his way back to the dining hall. He was hungrier than he could ever remember being, and his head ached almost as much as his shoulder, but the plan was set.

When he walked into the room, he found the Rogue’s Gallery waiting for them. They looked much, much better rested than he did. Despite that, they were all talking in low, worried voices around a single table that didn’t hold any food. He eyed them for a moment and then started for the kitchens.

He only made it a few steps before Natalie spoke up. “He’s here!”

In the next minute, he was half-swarmed by the former initiates. They rushed him to the table, while Lawrence and Anne went to grab food for him. Even before he’d sat down, Jack was talking in a low, serious voice. “Look, Sir Clay, we appreciate everything you’ve done, but if it is causing trouble for you with the Council, we can wait to reach cadet until next year. It’ll take more time, but there’ll be new initiates that we can fight next summer. With all the training, we’ll be sure to advance.”

Xavien grimaced. “I still say it seems wrong to be ambushing newcomers, but I guess we don’t make the rules.”

“Then all we’ll need to do is find some journeyman dumb enough to take a bunch of level one cadets on a mission.” Natalie looked around defensively as the others glared at her. “What? He’s smart enough that he’ll know it’s a problem.”

“But it’s our problem, Clay, not yours.” Jack shook his head. “That fight in the High Melee alone should get you to journeyman. Don’t let us drag you down when you should be out there.”

Clay held up both his hands, waving them tiredly. “Wait, wait, hold on. What are you talking about?”

Natalie frowned. “The Council. Didn’t they bring you in to punish you again?”

“No. At least, not really.” Clay shook his head. “Look, you are all cadets now. The Council agreed to it.”

Xavien tilted his head. “Truly? And what about you?”

He shrugged. “I’m still technically a cadet, but really I’m a probationary journeyman.” The Council had been rather firm about that, though he was starting to wonder what was ‘probationary’ about the rank at this point. “I’m fine with that, for now. You guys don’t need to worry about that at all.”

“Then what were they talking to you about?” Jack frowned. “They had you in there for hours.”

Clay sucked in a breath. It was going to be a turning point, one way or another. Time to see whether or not they were as dedicated to the job as they’d said they were. “There’s an emergency mission up north. A new Lair in a mining town. Other teams aren’t available to take care of it.”

Jack was frowning, but Natalie’s eyes widened. “And they’re sending you.”

He nodded, and Xavien grimaced. “Alone? They’re sending you all by yourself?”

“Hey, I handled the last one pretty well by myself.” Then Clay smiled. “Not this time, though. I get a whole team to lead.”

“Well, that’s nice.” Natalie sighed. “Wish we could… wait.”

Clay laughed at the dawning realization on their faces. “That’s right! You’re all coming with me. If you want to gain levels, here’s your chance. We leave tomorrow aft—”

Plates clattered to the ground behind him, and he spun around to see Anne with a pile of food and tableware at her feet. Lawrence was right behind her; the [Occultist] set aside his own plates on a nearby table and put an arm around Anne as she half collapsed into a nearby chair. The [Burglar] seemed stunned, even more than the others, but shock was starting to give way to joy.

And then Clay was being hoisted into the air and carried around the dining room. It took him nearly half an hour to get to the food Lawrence had brought him, and by then it was cold—but he had warmth enough in the half-manic, excited babble of conversation from his friends.

He just hoped that they’d all survive to come back here, and that he hadn’t just signed all of their death warrants.

The next day dawned cold and cloudy. Bright blue sky peeked through the occasional hole in the grey, but a cold wind kept Clay from enjoying the illusion of warmer weather. Those few trees that he saw on the way through Crownsguard were bare of leaves, and there were no birds anywhere that he could see.

Those facts didn’t mean that the city was barren of life, however. The people of Crownsguard still went about their business, chattering and hawking their wares on every street. Bards and musicians let their voices ring through the chill air, steam rising from their mouths. Clay felt a moment of embarrassment as he recognized that some of them were narrating the battles of the previous day. He heard mention of the ’Commoner Hero’ more than once.

Anne chuckled to herself and turned to the others. “Do you think the rest of us are going to get a mention? Or will we just be background characters to his rising star?”

Jack snorted. “As if I’ll be content with that. I’ll get a few songs of my own soon enough. Today’s just a start.” The [Knave] sounded confident enough, but Clay saw his fingers stray towards a good luck charm, something his sister had given him as they left the Academy.

Lawrence spoke up from the back of the group. “I’m sure we’ll all have adventures enough. That’s why we’re doing this, aren’t we?”

“Speak for yourself. I just want to not be the weakest [Alchemist] in existence anymore.”

Xavien laughed. “A noble reason to risk your life, Natalie.”

She glared at the [Orcale] a bit. “Have I ever told you how much I’d appreciate it if you would just take a Vow of silence? I mean, would anyone really miss you talking?”

“I would! At the very least, it makes Anne take a breath.”

“Shove it, Lawrence.”

Clay smiled and shook his head. He still had worries in his head, and his body was still battered and sore, but they were on their way. The Academy had given them a pack mule and all the weapons and supplies they’d need for the journey. From the map that Master Taylor had provided, Rodcliff was a full ten days to the north, located in one of the most distant parts of King John’s territory. There would be plenty of villages along the way, at least at first, and some of them would be happy enough to give a group of adventurers a place to sleep and eat.

He'd left a pair of letters behind, meant for his parents and for Olivia. He still hadn’t heard back from them yet, which was only natural. They probably had plenty on their minds, with winter nearly here. A cold wind reminded him of that fact, even as the road north came out from around a corner. Even as the others bickered and joked, he led them away from safety and into the wilds of their first mission.

It took a little longer than two weeks to reach Rodcliff in the end.

At first, the road was fairly easy to walk. The chill of late autumn had frozen most of the mud, and the leaves had all been blown into the undergrowth; they didn’t have to fight with piles of slippery leaves or pits full of mud. Cold and wind were no true challenge to adventurers who spent their time braving ice and fire; all of them had warm clothing, and the day’s walk gave them plenty of time to work up the heat they needed. A nice fire was easy enough to get thanks to the [Chant] for Spontaneous Spark, and the reversed form extinguished the firepit easily each time they left camp.

As he’d predicted, there were villages along the road, though he had trouble keeping track of them as time went by. The local barons had no issue offering them lodgings at their manors, and they often sent Clay’s group on their way with refilled travel rations. None of them were happy about news of a new Lair; it was all too easy to picture one popping up much closer to home. Most of the [Commoners] kept a somewhat respectful distance, though others had a habit of staring at them as they passed. The further north they went, the fewer villages were left, with far longer stretches in between. Eventually, cleared fields and well-established villages gave way to stretches of wilderness, sometimes with nothing more than a single homestead or a supply station for leagues.

The change was a breath of fresh air for Clay. Pellsglade had been fairly far away from most places, at the end of a road that no longer led anywhere in particular. Not all of the group was as happy, however; both Xavien and Jack had a tendency to grumble about a lack of people, and Clay had to remind himself that not everyone had been blessed to grow up outside of a city wall.

They made good time for the first five days, enough that Clay was beginning to suspect that they’d actually arrive early. It wasn’t that he was that anxious to go back to the Academy, but the sooner he could destroy the Lair, the people of Rodcliff would be safe, and he’d be that much closer to returning home.

The snow started to fall midway through the sixth day, and it didn’t stop for another three days. They continued to head north, forcing their way along roads that were growing increasingly choked with snow. Treacherous footing combined with the worsening conditions to slow their progress, and Clay began to worry that he’d managed to strand them in the middle of the wilderness without any way to gain supplies.

Then, on the fourteenth day since their departure from Crownsguard, they crested a hill and found themselves staring at the rough, ramshackle town of Rodcliff.

Clay led the way into town, still shivering from the need to splash through a half-buried stream. Nobody had taken the trouble to build a bridge over the creek, and he’d misjudged a part of the cold, dark water, resulting in a bit more water in his boots than he’d expected. The others had laughed and chosen safer routes, but they didn’t seem all that much more excited about the wind and the cold. He wasn’t the only one who was sincerely looking forward to a warm fire and a bed out of the weather.

Rodcliff didn’t seem to be an open, welcoming place, unfortunately. Smoke still rose from many of the chimneys, but many more of them seemed to be deserted and empty. Nobody was watching for travelers along the road, which didn’t bode well; any baron worth their manor would have had a [Guard] or two watching to see if bandits or other trouble was coming close to the town.

He couldn’t help frowning as they passed the closest buildings. Rodcliff wasn’t laid out anything like Pellsglade. His home had been built out from the original cluster of farms that had occupied the spot. The shops and farms had sprawled wherever their original builders had placed them, with little care for how they looked or worked together.

Rodcliff, on the other hand, seemed far more planned. Instead of single houses or independent shops, there were clusters of barracks and rows of shops like something out of Crownsguard. Everything was clustered far closer together, and large warehouses and silos appeared to store the supplies the place depended on, rather than individual barns or sheds. The place could probably hold two or three times as many people as Pellsglade, but it seemed somehow far emptier. A chill wind did little to dispel the illusion of isolation as it moaned and howled through the rickety structures.

They made their way past piles of discarded mining equipment and empty carts. Clay heard the others murmuring under their breath at the sight of one house standing with its door broken open, as if someone had kicked it down. Clay shook his head over the sight—who would leave a perfectly good house like that, especially in winter?—and continued to lead them further into town, looking for a place with more signs of life.

He caught sight of a building that had smoke billowing from the chimney, and light spilling from open windows. Clay grinned and started straight for it. There had been plenty of stories about mining towns and how rough they could be. The heroes of plenty of stories had to pass through a tavern full of ruffians, either in search of some villain or on the way to a distant battlefield. At one point, he might have been worried about what he would find; that had been before he’d fought giant spiders and dueled with the King.

Clay led the mule to the barn, which had been left curiously unguarded. They set down some of their supplies and then looked around. He spoke first. “Who wants to go see where the baron is?”

They all exchanged looks. Lawrence answered. “Might as well go together.”

The others nodded, and Clay shrugged. He led the way out of the barn—it didn’t look like anyone was planning on stealing anything, especially in the cold—and stomped back out into the snow and over to the front door of the tavern house.

He paused at the door, half-expecting to hear raucous songs and wild laughter spilling out. Instead, he only heard the low murmur of conversation and the subtle clink of glassware. Frowning, Clay pushed open the door and walked in.

Every person inside immediately spun to look in his direction. There was a range of different people, from surly, half-drunk miners to fearful women and children clutching at each other. He could even see a handful of [Guards], though their armor and weapons had seen better days.

Clay looked around for a moment, and then nodded. “We’re members of the Guild of Adventurers sent from Crownsguard. Where is Baron Rodcliff?”

The question was met with silence. Wide eyes stared back at him, as if frozen by the gust of cold air that blew in from around his back. Then, one of the [Guards] stepped forward, a haggard man with deep bags under his eyes.

“Baron Rodcliff disappeared a week ago, Sir…”

“Clay. My name is Clay Evergreen.” The fact that the resident [Noble] was gone was… disturbing. Most of the gentry held their positions thanks to a commitment to fight any monsters or invaders that disturbed the peace of their lands. Had the [Noble] run? If so, why hadn’t they met him on his way south? “You said the Baron disappeared?”

The [Guard] nodded. “The baron went into the mines, to cut back the monsters. He took half the [Guards] with them.” He shivered. “None of them came back.”

Clay felt a chill. Baron Rodcliff hadn’t been an experienced adventurer—the Guild had listed him as a level two, at best—but the man shouldn’t have been that easily killed. The fact that his [Guards] had disappeared as well suggested that things were far, far worse than anyone in Crownsguard had expected. How? The Lair here was supposed to be brand new, without nearly enough time to get established.

He shook himself. The blank, desperate looks from the townsfolk made much more sense now. Their only defender had vanished over a week ago, and who knew how many people had been killed since. “Where are the monsters? How close are they to the town?”

A harsh laugh echoed from one of the miners, though he was quickly shushed by another sitting close by. The [Guard] shivered. “They’re practically on top of us, Sir. We started seeing them in the mines, and they’ve been coming up out of the pits after us ever since.”

That… did not sound good either. “What are they? What do they look like?”

The [Guard] stared at him, his eyes so wide that Clay could see all around the edges of his pupils. “Like nightmares, Sir. Like demons from beyond.”

Clay asked the others to get settled into the town. Jack and Natalie both protested, but he reminded them he was the one in charge of their mission. He wasn’t going to throw them into combat based on the half-dazed descriptions of traumatized villagers. Before any of them set foot in the area, he was going to have at least some idea of what they were going to be facing.

The sun had started to slide towards the horizon by the time he set out from the town, headed north to where the mines were located.

Rodcliff had the fortune of being near several veins of metal ore, and the hills north of town were honeycombed with tunnels seeking iron, gold, and other materials. The [Guards] hadn’t been sure which tunnel housed the Lair, and Clay didn’t want to stumble across it, but if the monsters were already coming up out of the mines, he thought he might be able to catch one or two unawares.

As he moved through the forest, it was as if he had suddenly come home. The trees were unfamiliar, and their bare branches and snow-covered undergrowth didn’t exactly seem welcoming, but there was simply something right about stalking through the snow, his eyes searching for any sign of the enemy. In no time at all, he fell back into the usual pattern of searching the branches and the ground for any sign of disturbance.

The snow was making things more difficult. Once again, he was grateful that he hadn’t been searching for the spiders amid poor weather during most of his campaign in the Tanglewood. It would have been far too easy to stumble across a mantrap hole hidden under a layer of snow, or miss a troll spider among the bare branches of the forest.

Then he stopped. Something in the air around him had changed again.

Clay froze, his senses stretching out as he scanned the snow-covered terrain around him. What was it? His eyes didn’t find anything hiding nearby, his ears weren’t finding any errant sounds. There wasn’t even anything that smelled off, not that the cold air carried much to his nose beyond the frigid temperature.

Despite that, something was wrong about the forest. It sang in his nerves, as if a low alarm bell was ringing in the back of his mind. It almost made him retreat, at least until he remembered his final few [Experiences]. One of them had mentioned a new skill, something called Ethereal Sense. Was this what it was?

Tentatively, he reached out with his senses again, searching the terrain one more time. This time, he paid close attention to when the feeling grew worse. He put a foot forward, and then another, moving carefully across the snowdrifts.

A handful of steps later, he found it.

The thing was curled in a tight circle near the foot of a tree. Its skin was the same color as the snow and rocks around it, even matching the texture; it didn’t even appear to breathe. He might have missed it entirely if he hadn’t been searching specifically for it. Even now, his eyes threatened to slide past it.

Moving slowly, Clay drew out the shortbow Orn had made for him. He nocked an arrow and took another step forward, his eyes locked on the creature. Curled up as it was, he was having a hard time identifying the head. Did it even have one?

Another step, and he thought he saw it move. The thing didn’t twitch, exactly. It was more a subtle shift in the way it was curled. He caught sight of an angular face, with an eye that rolled very slowly to point in his direction.

For a long moment, he simply looked at the thing. It looked back at him.

Then Clay drew the arrow back to his cheek and loosed in the same motion. As he did, the thing burst into motion, uncoiling almost like a snake, something hissing and glowing in its throat.

His arrow took it right between the wildly pivoting eyes. The shaft was nothing special as far as arrows went, but the power behind his draw was enough to punch straight through its skin and skull, only stopping halfway with half the arrow buried in the thing. Clay moved to the right as it froze in place, not wanting to stay where he was with an unknown threat facing him.

He needn’t have bothered. The creature collapsed a moment later. A thin stream of liquid fire dribbled out of its slack lips a moment later, hissing in the snow before it darkened to simple mush.

Clay very nearly jerked as a notification arrived, the first he’d received for months.

{Flame Wretch slain! Soul increases by 10.}

He fought the urge to relax in sudden relief. It was dead, but it could have other friends nearby. Still, it was hard to fight the smile as he searched the forest for signs of danger.

It wasn’t Pellsglade, but suddenly Clay was home.