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Book Seven Chapter Twenty Two

  Five excruciatingly long days later, we turn onto the final stretch of road leading to Silaraon at last. A burst of fresh energy buoys me up at the thought of home, although it’s barely enough to keep me walking upright. Constant sparring and running has me worn ragged, since Nicanor insists that I need to blast all my Skill bundles at full strength simultaneously to merge the last few as quickly as possible. Inside and out, I’m exhausted.

  Ratcheting up our training hasn’t killed me, though. Not quite. But some days it sure feels like it’s coming close. I’d rather go on a hundred delves than run all day while holding up my teammates and new trainees through my Domain—all while Nicanor launches attacks at me!

  I never should have told him about that trick, I grumble, but I keep my thoughts quiet so he doesn’t double up my training tonight in retribution.

  Dragging my sore, weary body forward, I keep telling myself that I need to cross the finish line on my feet. No matter how tired I am, I won’t be caught crawling on my hands and knees now that I’m almost at the end of this race.

  A few more days, and I’ll climb out of this personal abyss, never to return. I’m positive that I can continue to gain strength without this insane cycle of exhaustion and bruises. I’ll still push myself hard, but not with such unrelenting ferocity.

  The intensity of Nicanor’s brutal beatdowns has only a single silver lining: he’s no longer holding back, other than using lethal Skills, and at last I’m holding up well enough that I’m not permanently maimed or crippled. My footwork is quick and fluid. My strikes are compact and efficient, empowered by mana and lightning-fast. My entire body feels stronger than iron.

  Net and First treat me with unprecedented respect now, finally deeming me worthy of the title of Nicanor’s disciple. All it took was nearly dying in daily sparring matches for a few months in a row.

  Every bone in my body feels like it’s been fractured a thousand times over and reforged stronger, tempered in the fire of endless training. Every muscle and tendon screams in agony, stretched and strained until I’m certain I’ll simply disintegrate from the misery. Yet I live. I’ve grown undeniably stronger.

  Beyond the physical tempering, sparring with Nicanor has taught me just how wide the gap between heaven and earth truly is. No matter how powerful I am for my grade, I will always be at a physical disadvantage against a warrior of his caliber. I’ll have to cheat and use magic to make up the difference.

  Until I step beyond the Second Threshold, that mark which separates promising young talent from the true movers and shakers of the realm, I’m nothing more than an oddity: a [Mage] with a high pain tolerance. I need to advance more desperately than ever.

  The worst part is that reaching Gold still won’t put me in striking distance against true monsters like [General] Tychicus. Thankfully, Nicanor feels confident that he’s on our side.

  I hope so, or we’re all dead, I think morosely after another inhumanly long and brutal training session. I stagger back to camp, nearly dead on my feet, and sway as the slightest breeze threatens to push me over.

  Despite my exhaustion, twin drums of determination and excitement beat in my chest. Tonight, after dancing around the subject for far too long, we’re finally meeting to discuss our plans to get Tem out of prison.

  “Long overdue,” I growl, muttering to myself while I wolf down a quick bowl of stew and soak in the restorative warmth of Marta’s small hearthfire. All too soon, the food is gone, and it’s time to join the others and hammer out a plan.

  Nicanor seems desperate to try the “proper channels” first, perhaps out of an ingrained sense of loyalty to his friends in the Royal Army. I don’t begrudge him the attempt, but I’m far less sanguine about prospects than he appears. Worst of all, the longer we delay, the longer Tem suffers in his cell.

  I make my way to Yuvaan’s grand tent, nod to the guards, and slip inside. Glowing mana lanterns send out soothing light, and a pleasant, relaxing vibe that is, unfortunately, only a faint echo of true imbuement. If I worked with Lionel on creating a healing lamp, we could produce a far superior product with a few hours of practice. No doubt in my mind at all.

  Aromas of roast duck and seasoned herbs fill my nose. Instantly, my mouth waters, and I find myself slipping into a seat at the table and grabbing a wing before I even realized I’d moved from my spot at the entrance of the tent.

  I guess a single bowl of stew wasn’t enough. I’m starting to eat like Mikko!

  “Good, yes?” Yuvaan says, smiling at me like a doting uncle. “Our hunters downed them earlier today with the help of your golems. They’re going to miss your falcons when you leave.”

  “I’ll pass the bonds over to them permanently,” I say offhandedly, though it occurs to me a moment later just how staggering a gift I’ve offered. The cost for a single golem alone would beggar most people. Even [Lords] with small holdings couldn’t afford to buy the entire flying army. But I’m giving them away for free.

  The [Caravan Leader] arches his eyebrows. “A few are sufficient, Master Nuri.”

  “A few are worth more than your caravan,” Nicnaor notes mildly. He and Yuvaan share a chuckle. The two have become fast friends on the trip, but my martial teacher still seems wary of how the man might take advantage of me.

  Yuvaan smiles ruefully. “True enough. Thinking I could offer you something was a foolish idea. We are simply along for the ride, even if you sit in our wagons.”

  “Escorting you has been surprisingly fun,” I say in between savage bites of roast duck. Fond memories of entertaining children, or my occasional games of dice with the quartet of caravan workers I’ve befriended, flit into my mind.

  “Escorting us, he says!” Yuvaan says, a smile twitching on his lips. “We were meant to escort you. How amusing.”

  “Look, I can make more golems. Keep a few of the hounds, and the oliphant, too. It will help pull your wagons when animals grow weary,” I say.

  He spreads his hands. “It’s too much. I ask only that you consider reopening trade with Halmuth.”

  I cock an eyebrow at that. “Doubt they recall my blacklist by now.”

  “So smart, so naive, all at once,” Yuvaan mutters. He shakes his head at me and clicks his tongue. “You truly do not know how your reputation has spread, do you?”

  “I have some inkling,” I say hesitantly, wondering if Ozana has something to do with the request to reopen trade. Linking up with the Orpheus House would no doubt expand Halmuth’s mercantile network immensely.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “No. You do not,” Yuvaan replies, uncharacteristically upset. He shifts in his seat, picks up a small knife, and spears a duck leg, which he aggressively minces into small bites.

  Embarrassment filters through my Domain. I tilt my head and regard his weathered face, wondering when he started looking so frail.

  “Something eating at you?”

  He chews a tiny bite far more thoroughly than the situation calls for, washes it down with tea, and sighs wearily. “Perceptive as ever. Nuri, my friend, forgive me. I haven’t been as open with you as I could have been—no, as I should have been.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nicanor smirking, and he shoots a smug look my way that screams ‘I told you so!’ He’s going to be downright insufferable about this later.

  The [Caravan Leader] takes a few more bites, then shoves his plate away. He wipes his hands with his napkin, then stares at them with a grimace, as though he can’t quite wash away his guilt after all.

  “Master Nuri is your rightful title, despite your youth. And it is well earned from what I’ve seen. Know this, my friend. Your name is on every tongue across Densmore. From Gilead to Grand Ile, from Halmuth to the Capital, those with power and prestige are furiously asking who you are and where your allegiances lie. Even a certain surly half-dwarf made his way back just to put in a good word on your behalf!”

  My jaw drops. “Azariah did that for us? Truly? I thought he hated me after our arguments in Gilead.”

  Yuvaan tuts at me. “Arguing means he respects you. If he didn’t like you, he’d just ignore you and do his own thing without even bothering to ask your opinion. No, Nuri, you impressed him mightily.”

  Well. Huh.

  “Your favor would single-handedly change the fortunes of the Barrens,” the [Carvaan Leader] continues. “I don’t ask for myself. I ask for the countless families who dwell there.”

  Truth reverberates through each word, verified by the full might of [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil]. I pause halfway through a bite, dumbstruck by the revelation.

  Swallowing, I nod toward our host. “Thank you for the news. I do not take it lightly.”

  “Neither do you revoke your blacklist,” Yuvaan notes shrewdly, inclining his head as though in respect of a difficult opponent.

  “No, I do not,” I agree almost immediately. “You are my friend, [Caravan Leader] Yuvaan, even if you’ve kept some things back from me. Halmuth at large? May the sands bury it along with Totten.”

  I devour another bite of duck, savagely biting it in half and swallowing a chunk whole. Stunned silence meets my proclamation, although I sense approval from Nicanor.

  My brother and the Linas are another story. Melina regards me with her cool, pale eyes that seem to see everything, and a hint of disappointment lurks beneath the surface.

  I relent, slightly. “What you do with my prototype golems is none of my concern. I do not intend to take a single one with me; I can create better in the future. Wherever they find their way is up to you. I leave it to your discretion.”

  That earns a sharp-edged smile from our wily host, as well as a smile from my friends. They’re big softies. As soon as Yuvaan mentioned the families in the Barrens, I knew they’d cave.

  “A princely gift. One I can never repay,” Yuvaan murmurs. “You’re certain of this?”

  I scoff, waving my hand to dismiss his concern. “They’re not even imbued. A small token of my appreciation.”

  He bows low over his clasped hands. “I will not forget this, Nuri Shahi. Eternal gratitude. If I can ever do anything to pay back the favor you’ve shown, you have but to name it.”

  Name my price?

  I slowly shake my head at his words. A debt like that could hang over a man for the rest of his life. It’s not fair to do that to the kindly [Caravan Leader].

  “Lend us your tent this evening, will you?” I ask, immediately putting his generosity to the test.

  To his credit, he doesn’t so much as flinch. “It is yours. Forever, if you so will it. All that I have is at your disposal, Master Nuri.”

  I return his bow, though mine isn’t as deep as his, which instantly makes me feel awful. I smile and bow again, this time mirroring his pose.

  I suppose I’ve come to terms with the respect everyone insists on showing a [Mage] and a master craftsman. I like the way they act, I realize, although it makes me uncomfortable when they treat me with personal reverence. Respecting my accomplishments and status is one thing; treating me like a superior being is quite another.

  An odd dynamic. I’ll have to decipher my complex feelings about it later, when I’m back home and can seek out Reijo’s wisdom. He’s never steered me wrong before, and I don’t think he’ll start now. I can trust him to set me down the right path.

  Before long, everyone finishes eating. I push back from the table and pat my stomach with a soft groan. All the harsh training has given me a voracious appetite, but no matter how much I stuff myself, it’s never enough.

  Yuvaan takes his leave, wishing us goodnight. His professional [Chef] and [Waitstaff] are quick to depart as well, though they soak up my praises for dinner quite happily first. Moments later, we’re alone in the tent, which I confirm through my Domain.

  Endearingly enough, First and Net still investigate each room and perform a perimeter sweep before our meeting commences. I suppose that’s only fair, since they have an artifact that hid them from my Domain sight back when they joined us on our way out of Gilead.

  I wonder if I could beat the cloaking enchantment now? Bet I’d cut through the veiling with my upgraded [Arcane Domain].

  If not yet, then I’ll almost certainly be able to once I advance past the next Threshold, but I suspect that I can after merging my Skill with [Legacy of the Scalpel] and [Fault Finder], as Nicanor’s Army contact suggested. The Skills resonated better than I’d hoped.

  Will the boost to my power be enough to survive a second clash with Tapirs, once he reemerges? That’s another question entirely.

  “Nuri. You with us?” Melina calls softly.

  I startle and turn toward my old friend, who’s regarding me with sympathy. Her lips twist into a half-hearted smile. “You need to take care of yourself, Nuri.”

  “I’m doing fine,” I insist.

  “Oh, is that what you call draining a Rift and forcibly advancing your Skills without our help in case something went wrong?”

  My eyelids are drooping, but I fight off the drowsiness at Melina’s reproachful tone of voice.

  “I hear you, Mel.”

  “I’m not sure that you do,” she says bluntly. “But we’re almost home. Your mother will make you rest. Heavens know you need it.”

  “Got that right,” Avelina mutters.

  “It must be serious, if you two are in agreement,” I tease, but the joke falls flat. Through my Domain, a massive wave of warmth and concern crashes over me, without the slightest bit of humor or annoyance at my teasing.

  Uh oh. They’re actually worried.

  Melina leans across the table and places a hand on my forearm. “We’re with you to the end, Nuri. I’m only afraid of what that might mean.”

  Something about the sad resignation in her voice brings me up short. I smile and pat her hand awkwardly before withdrawing and faking a smile.

  My friends truly love each other, and me. So why do I feel like the floor just dropped out from under us?

  Half-formed words die on my tongue. I swallow, lick my lips, and try again. “Tem first. We get him out, and he’ll help us deal with Tapirs. Then we’re done with this insanity for good.”

  Melina’s smile is pained, but her voice is infinitely, achingly gentle. “I sincerely hope that’s true, Nuri. But hope isn’t a guarantee, and you—well, let’s be honest. You have a terrible track record.”

  As much as I’d like to argue, to defend my impetuous actions as seizing the moment, I know she’s right. “Sorry, Mel. I’ll do better,” I promise, and I mean it.

  Always something to work on. Always an area to grow. There’s more than one kind of strength, and trusting my team is the next step I need to take.

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