Common Clay

Clay hadn’t been back inside the tavern since he’d arrived. He hadn’t really felt like it was the best place for him, not while things were still threatening the town. Until Rodcliff was safe, he would have felt like someone who was taking advantage of a rest that he didn’t earn. The fact that he’d regularly seen worried families taking shelter there had only increased his desire to stay back in the field, rather than wasting time in town.

Now, however, he saw more signs of hope in the place. The miners were still sodden with drink, and there were still families huddled in corners, but the aura of utter hopelessness was gone. Their eyes seemed far less dull with despair, and some of the children were even starting to play with one another again. He grinned as he saw a pair of them dueling with sticks, one of them trying to hold a pair of them the way Jack held his knives.

He'd barely taken a step into the room when the bartender caught sight of him. Clay had been expecting a scowl of suspicion or disappointment, but the man’s face lit with immediate enthusiasm. Before Clay realized it, the bartender had nudged the nearest miners and raised a glass. “To the Band of Ruffians and the Common Hero!”

The reaction was as immediate as it was surprising. Clay blinked as half-drunk miners and shouting children answered the call with shouts of welcome. He froze for a second and then waved back at them. He’d hoped that his grin didn’t look too baffled, but the miners still laughed and made gruff jokes about it as they turned back to their drinks. At the very least, he supposed the nickname was better than the Rogue’s Gallery; he’d have to tell the others once he got back.

Not everyone had joined in on the cheer. He would have been able to pick out the messenger almost immediately anyway, however. Where the other [Commoners] wore simple, plain clothing, often a little dirty or ragged, the messenger was wearing a fine cloak and sturdy boots. The man seemed to be immune to the rowdiness around him, and when he looked over to see Clay, his eyes flashed with casual interest rather than caution or respect.

The messenger pushed back his stool before he could approach and walked over to meet him, extending a hand. “Sir Clay, it is good to see you. My name is Eliot Marsen. The Guild Council sends their regards.”

Though the words seemed perfectly reasonable and polite, there was a hint of haughtiness in the man’s tone. Clay felt a hint of foreboding, but he still shook the man’s hand, anyway. “Welcome to Rodcliff. You have a message for me from the Council?”

“I do.” Eliot’s eyes shifted slightly, as if taking in the presence of Captain Goodston at Clay’s side. “Is there a place we can speak in private?”

For a moment, Clay considered taking the man to their house at the edge of town, but something about the idea felt wrong. Instead, he decided on one of the other empty houses. “Of course. Captain Goodston, would it be all right if I used the Falnrill home?”

Goodston’s eyes flickered. The Falnrills had been a family of three brothers living at the edge of town. They’d disappeared early into the existence of the Lair, with two of the brothers going missing in the mines. The third had set out to find them and never returned. By all accounts, they had all been very good men. “Yes, Sir Clay. Goodman Timan has been keeping an eye on it. I don’t know if the fire’s going, though.”

“It’ll warm up quickly enough, Captain. Thank you.” Clay inclined his head, and then turned back to the messenger. Eliot seemed to be waiting with an indulgent air about him, as if he was being overly patient with someone. “This way, Goodman Marsen.”

A short walk through the snowridden streets of Rodcliff, and they reached the empty house. A pile of wood stood by the front door; Clay grabbed a few of the logs and spent a few moments arranging them in the empty fireplace. The messenger was stomping his feet and looking around with distaste; the humble table and chairs that the dead brothers had left behind didn’t seem to fit his tastes.

Spontaneous Spark lit the fire well enough, and the messenger blinked in surprise as the wood was set alight. He blinked at the flames as heat slowly filled the room, chasing winter’s touch from the empty home.

“Again, Sir Clay, I am very glad that I have been able to find you. Many on the Council were concerned about your mission to Rodcliff. You’ve been here for quite some time.”

“Only a few weeks, really.” Clay walked over to the table and took a seat in one of the old chairs. It creaked alarmingly as he tilted it back for a moment. Then he set it back on all four feet and studied the messenger, who had not joined him at the table. “We’ve been making plenty of progress. Another five or six weeks, and we should be done here, and ready to return to Crownsguard.”

Eliot tilted his head to the side, frowning. “I believe the Council expected your mission to be done much sooner than that, actually. In fact, I was told to anticipate meeting you on the road home.”

Clay winced. “We’ve run into some… complications. I can send you back with a report—”

“Actually, I have another message to deliver once I am done here. I believe the Council would be more interested in hearing about your mission from you directly.” Eliot smiled. “They’ve asked you to return to Crownsguard as soon as you are able. With your team, of course.”

He felt a burst of irritation as the messenger grinned at him. It took a moment of effort to control his voice. “No.”

Astonishment crossed the messenger’s face. “No?”

“No.” Clay shook his head. “There is a serious threat here that needs to be addressed, and I’m not going to abandon it because the Council doesn’t have enough information. If they want me to report on the situation, I will… once the town is safe.”

The tone in his voice must have broken through the messenger’s confidence, because he began to look uncertain. “Sir Clay, I know that the needs of the townsfolk are often pressing, but you’ve already spent several weeks suppressing the Lair here—”

“Lairs, not Lair. There’s two of them.”

His interruption appeared to bring the man’s response to a sudden halt. “What?”

Clay smiled, though he doubted there was much friendliness in his expression. “Yeah, two of them. Both brand new. I told you there were complications.”

“Th-that can’t be possible! They aren’t supposed to—”

He held up a hand, and the messenger cut off. “It happens. Not often, but sometimes. The Council will know why.”

The messenger looked at the door, as if expecting monsters to come through it at any moment. “If there are two separate Lairs here, then the Guild will need to send another, higher ranked team! You can’t be expected to—”

“We have the situation under control.” Clay tried to sound soothing. “We’re going to have them pushed back nearly to the mines before the end of the week, and by then, my cadets will be at level four. We plan on hitting the Lairs and destroying them after that.”

“Your team? You’re saying your team is still intact?” The messenger seemed almost as badly rattled by that fact as he was about the Lair. “How many casualties have you had?”

Clay frowned. “Casualties? None. Well, aside from a few bumps and scrapes.” He shook his head. “I can put together a letter to summarize things, but you’ll have to deliver it to the Council directly. There are details I want to share only with them. Understand?”

Eliot swallowed, his eyes still wide. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“Good.” The last thing he needed was for a messenger to take a peek and start talking to everyone about a possible Rogue in the area. Things were already going to be bad enough as it was. Then another idea occurred to him. “Would you also be able to carry some letters for us? I’m sure we’d all like to write home, if we could.”

The messenger jerked in surprise at the question, and he nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. In fact, I was carrying a few letters intended for you as well.” He began rummaging around in his travelsack, eventually drawing out a sheaf of parchment. Some of the pages looked a little worn, as if they’d been carried around for weeks.

Clay stood up and accepted the letters. He ignored the temptation to look and see if his parents or Olivia had written. At the very least, he should bring them back to the others first.

He looked around the small house. “Rodcliff doesn’t have anything like an inn, but I’m sure that the Captain wouldn’t mind if you stayed here.”

Eliot paused, his face filling with confusion. “What about Baron Rodcliff? Has he not been offering you support?”

Clay felt a twinge of surprise and regret. Had the man not talked with anyone at all? “Baron Rodcliff has been missing since before we arrived. He was last seen headed for the mines. We’ve been looking, but…” He shook his head.

The messenger stared at him for a long moment. Then he looked around at the empty room, as if seeing the empty chairs for the first time. “Sir Clay, what has happened here?”

Clay shook his head. “Eliot, that’s what I plan on finding out.”

It turned out that there were letters for each member of his small force. Jack had gotten a letter from his sister, and Anne had one from her brothers. Both letters had been scratched out on the backs of parchment that had been posted in the slums somewhere, complete with official notices or announcements on the opposite side. Xavien had received at least four different letters, from members of his family and the local Rectors near his home. The refined handwriting could not have contrasted more with the scatchwork on the letters to his fellow residents of Crownsguard.

Natalie, on the other hand, had received a single letter that scrawled across several pages. Clay had stolen a single peek over her shoulder, and had discovered that her parents had written her, and had apparently tried to describe every single event that had happened in her home town since she’d left. The [Alchemist] had a look of quiet longing on her face as she read; when she finished, she simply turned back to the beginning and started again.

The last member of the team had actually received more letters than anyone else, though most of them had been sent on spare scraps of parchment that had been salvaged from letters he’d apparently written to them. Lawrence shifted through them with an expression of awe on his face; he’d never mentioned receiving word from home before, and the novelty of it seemed to have completely captured his attention.

Clay left them to read their words and found an isolated corner to read his own mail. The Guild had sent along three different letters, and he didn’t want to share the details with any of them.

The first was from his own family. They had apparently received his own letter and had written back to him immediately. Sam had described the previous harvest, and how he’d had to fix Clay’s shoddy work on the roof of the farmhouse near the Tanglewood. His father didn’t quite lecture him for failing to patch the roof well before the snow started to fall, but he came fairly close to it. He also expressed relief that he was receiving actual training for work as a hero, though he did ask when Clay would be returning home.

Amelia Evergreen was far more obvious in her concerns. She repeatedly emphasized the need to be careful, to listen to the Council, and to come home as soon as he could. His mother also took the time to include a few bits of gossip from the rest of Pellsglade, from the continuing family bickering with the Calmfords, to an apparent conflict between Adam, the village’s usual merchant, with some newcomer named Mira who was starting to muscle in on his territory.

His siblings had even written something, at least as much as they could. Will had asked a half dozen questions about the Academy, Amy had talked about a bird she’d nursed back to health, and Saphy had demanded that he come back and teach her magic, a request he was reasonably sure that her mother hadn’t agreed to. Even Finn had managed a crude scrawl, telling him to come back home—something that was surprisingly poignant, and set his heart aching for a while after he’d read it.

When he’d finished reading the bedraggled letter from his family, he turned to the next letter. It was written on crisp, high-quality paper, the kind that only real nobility and rich merchants could afford. In a few terse words, the Council requested he present them with information about his mission, the behavior of the cadets under his command, and any other information of value. They also requested he present that information personally, leaving his cadets in place if needed.

Clay snorted at the idea. He was sure that his friends could guard the town well enough without him, but he was just as sure that he wasn’t going to waste nearly three months traveling through the snow to explain the situation when he could just destroy the Lairs and end it on his own. He’d send them a report on what was happening and consider that good enough for now.

It was ultimately the last letter that made him far more nervous. This one had multiple pages, complete with diagrams, and showed the signs of Olivia’s handwriting.

He had just started to read it when Anne looped an arm around him. “Well, well! Is this the Novice that discovered the [Chants]? Did she send you anything else interesting?”

For just a moment, Clay wanted to light the [Burglar] on fire. “I’m not sure. I think it is just a personal letter.”

“You sure about that? Looks kinda interesting.”

He glared at her, and Lawrence spoke up from where he was sitting. “Let him be, Anne. He’ll tell us if it’ll be helpful.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine. Who can blame me for wanting to have a little fun?”

As she wandered off, Clay noticed Natalie was glancing over at him, her eyes a little too interested. Did she really think Olivia had included another batch of [Chants] for her to learn?

Shaking his head, he tried to start again.

Her letter was fairly normal, by Clay’s standards at least. She talked about what the Rector had been having her do, and about her work on the farm outside the Tanglewood. Of course, she also made a roundabout mention of training and practice that she was running through, which he imagined meant that she was trying to get ready for her own Choosing. It would only be another four or five months away by now, and he wondered for a moment if she’d be given an adventuring [Class], or if she would really end up like him as a [Commoner].

She also filled in some of the details about what was happening in Pellsglade. The spiders had been all but exterminated by the ‘generation of heroes’, which meant that animals were starting to return to the Tanglewood. There were hunters and foragers moving through it as well, and the Baron had needed to speak multiple times with the new visitors to the place. Apparently, rumors were floating around about a village of heroes, where even the [Commoners] could fight monsters, and people were flocking to the place seeking safety.

Clay frowned as he read that. Pellsglade had always been a calm, quiet place—aside from the occasional monster, of course. The idea that it might be growing and changing without him there was… uncomfortable, to say the least. He shook his head and read on, hoping for better news.

Olivia went from talking about the newcomers to mentioning a few facts that she had been able to dig up about the nearby Lairs and Dungeons. It sounded almost like she was trying to look for targets once he got back, and he flinched as he pictured the Guild’s reaction to that idea. He was fairly certain they would take a dim view of him running around on his own, but then again, that was what he ultimately wanted to do. There had to be a way to convince the Guild that he could do better on his own, right?

The end of the letter grew somewhat strange. Rather than her normal flowing script, Olivia changed into the phonetic shorthand that she’d developed for translating the [Chants]. It took him a moment to make sure that she hadn’t actually intended for it to be a [Chant]. Instead, it almost looked like she was trying to prevent others from reading what she had written.

I’ve missed having you here, Clay. Don’t let them keep you trapped at the Academy forever. If they don’t let you go soon, I’m going to go through the Choosing early and come get you myself.

He smirked at the thought of Olivia marching in and demanding that he be released. She’d be lucky if Master Taylor ever let her escape.

After that promise, she went on to describe her training in a bit more detail—apparently, she had some sort of leverage on Adam to get more equipment, and she’d been using her trips to the farm as an excuse to practice tracking in the Tanglewood—and spoke a little about her plans once he returned. She had identified a Lair a few days away, one that had been culled recently, but was likely a good target for training, she thought. After that, they’d find the [Chants] they needed as they traveled.

He read and reread the words, searching for more signs of her motivations. Before, he would have just been happy to know that she still wanted to be a hero, but now he found himself questioning why. It was hard to get those doubts out of his head.

In any case, she closed in more normal language, asking him to write her, and reminding him he’d promised to let her know if things got dangerous. Clay winced as she mentioned that promise; it had been one of the first he’d made her, and he… hadn’t exactly been keeping it lately.

Fortunately, she’d provided a few blank sheets of parchment to help him do better. Thoughtful of her, as always.

He sat back from the letter, eyes not focused on anything in particular. How long had it been since he’d been in Pellsglade now? Barely the length of a season, and it already seemed like a lifetime ago. How much longer would it feel by the time he finally made it home?

Then he shook himself. No matter how long it took, he was going to get back there in time for her Choosing. He wanted to be there when his parents needed help, and when the Undead started to get active in the Sarlwood again. When Will and the others grew up, he wanted to see what [Classes] they were given. A part of him even wanted to see what changes his father had made to the shack the baron had given him near the Tanglewood, though he didn’t look forward to the gentle ribbing his father was going to give him about his poor repair jobs.

Who was he trying to fool? He wanted that, too.

Determination filled him, and he searched for a quill to start writing back. Olivia had given him plenty of material to work with. Now all he had to do was condense everything down for them in a single night.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t take that long to do.

Early the next day, Clay collected the letters from the others and walked them over to where the messenger had been quartered. Eliot answered the door on the first knock. His haughty expression was now haggard and tired, as if he hadn’t slept nearly well enough the night before. He did seem to perk up a little when he realized who was standing on the porch. “Sir Clay? What do you need?”

Clay handed over the sheaf of parchment that he and the others had filled. He smiled a little apologetically. “If you could bring these back to Crownsguard and beyond, I’d appreciate it. I wrote the letter for the Council on the back of their letter to me.” He tapped the carefully folded parchment. Natalie had even helped him melt a crude blob of wax over it the night before, hopefully sealing it until it was delivered. “Please make sure they get it soon.”

Eliot nodded. He swallowed. “I was originally meant to deliver another message—but I believe you are correct. The Council will want to hear about this. Two Lairs!” He shook his head. “I’ve acted as their messenger many times, Sir Clay, but I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Keep it to yourself, please.” He looked around. “The last thing we need is for rumors to get around.”

The messenger nodded. “Yes, yes, you’re right. My lips are sealed.” He took the letters and stepped back to find his travelsack. Clay winced a little as the man stuffed the parchment into the bag; he’d been taught by his mother to have a little more respect for paper. “Is there anything else?”

“No. I won’t keep you; I just wanted to catch you before we left today.” Clay glanced to the north. The others would already be getting ready to head out; he’d said he would meet them at the ridge. After all, they didn’t exactly need his help to get that far. Lately, it seemed like they could even have started on clearing the valley without him too. He supposed that was the point.

When he looked back, he found Eliot studying him. “You’re going out to fight again today? I thought you had already mounted an expedition yesterday.”

“We did, but the valley still hasn’t been cleared. If we want to reach the mines by next week, we still have a ways to go.” He held out a hand. “Thank you for your help, Goodman Marsen. Ride safely and tell the Council that we will be done soon.”

Eliot nodded. He shook Clay’s hand. “Good fortune to you, Sir Clay. May the gods watch your path, for all our sakes.”

Clay nodded and started off towards the ridge. The messenger closed the door behind him, and Clay started to jog. He didn’t want to fall behind, after all.

The next two days were filled with hunting in the valley. His Band of Ruffians continued to wipe out every large ironslime and flame devil they ran across, pushing the monsters further and further back. At least the town appeared to get more used to the explosions that accompanied the work; Captain Goodston still waited for them every evening, but he seemed less and less anxious each time they returned safely.

Curiously, Eliot the messenger had apparently waited for them to come back that first day as well. Goodston had seemed surprised that the messenger had loitered for so long, but the man had still been headed south by midday, so Clay still figured he would make good time headed back towards the capital. Especially since he didn’t have to carry gear or very many supplies. Hopefully, by the time the Council managed to send a response, there would already be one less Lair to worry about.

By the end of the second day, the others returned to Rodcliff celebrating the fact that they’d reached the fourth level. He’d grinned along with them, trying to ignore the fact that every single one of them had gotten the [Valiant] [Experience], and had gone along with the idea to increase their efforts the next day.

Unfortunately, the weather had not agreed with their plans. A snowstorm the next day forced them to remain indoors and wait. Clay had tried to put the delay to good use, convincing them to train and study to try to increase their newly grown [Stats]. Testing their new abilities had to wait until the next day, when the weather cleared enough for them to march out yet again.

For another two days, they cut their way through wretches, devils, and ironslimes of various sizes. Natalie had them move their camp forward, going from the top of the ridge to partway into the valley, and then even further forward as the number of monsters continued to fall. When they returned at the end of the second day, the others were celebrating their advancements in both [Lizardbane] and [Slimebane]. Between those new bonuses, the increasing scarcity of the greater monsters, and the increased power of the adventurers’ levels, they all quietly concluded that it was time to send Clay on ahead.

It was time, at last, to start hunting in the mines.