Chapter 21

  Demands

  “The Collective?” Heathgrim started flatly. “Are you sure?” He finished, swallowing awkwardly as the words seemed to float in his throat. The king swayed uneasily in his throne, almost as if he wasn’t really paying attention. It was clear something else was occupying his mind. But who was Heathgrim to judge a king? Eventually, Orieth blinked and looked to the captain with an intense gaze.

  “Unfortunately, yes. But your exemplary public speaking skills will be much more fitting for the situation than if I were to attend myself. I’d only end up making Tavernkeep look foolish.” Orieth said earnestly, a twitch in his lip displaying underlying frustrations. Heathgrim found it best not to press further upon his humbleness.

  “Why not him, your majesty? He’s your Eye, after all. I’m sure he’ll do a much better job interpreting your words than I.” Heathgrim nodded toward Mirrald, who’s icy expression was not wavered by his calling. Only, inside, the Eye was burning up with anticipation. He’d been hoping more than anything that Heathgrim would make that very suggestion. It was he who should speak before the Collective, not some captain who doesn’t give a damn about the real happenings of the world. Of the Endless.

  The king looked lazily at his Eye for a short moment before shaking his head vigorously.

  “I need him here. You are to appear and represent Tavernkeep. My word is final. You leave tomorrow.” The king seemed to squeeze out the last sentence as he rose to his feet and quickly dismissed himself. The captain was left stunned in the throne room, the sounds of his footsteps echoing out in the grand hall. For a brief moment, he considered calling out to the king in protest, but stopped.

  Mirrald looked back to the captain with a vaguely distasteful look, before continuing behind the king in a hurried manner. It only became clear to Heathgrim then that the man had intended to take his spot. He never liked Mirrald. Not for any particular reason, but the man oozed with secrecy. Not just the secrets of the king, but his own, possibly malicious secrets.

  Heathgrim frowned, before turning on his heels and dismissing himself as well. The Oak had treated him poorly the last few years. He had taken note that it stemmed from Malar's demise, but Orieth wasn't necessarily the entirety of the cause of it all. After his uncle had been slain at Greyholde, there was a power vacuum from within. Because it hadn't just been Malar who'd been slain, but several of his advisors and even the general that came before Scarv.

  Most everyone who would make the decisions for who would fill the void were killed. Suddenly those down the chain of command who never thought they'd find themselves with such power, were now given the responsibility to fix the Oak. And though Orieth was called upon from Sintasha, it took a great many months for him to arrive. In this time, Heathgrim had been trusted to control the Oak, while Mirrald kept eyes on the royal affairs. Kojok kept the peace in the city while Scarv was newly appointed and was trying to fill the very large boots left behind by General Nylomor.

  And to Heathgrim, it was the very fact that Mirrald was completely composed that he grew suspicious. But he couldn't ignore the fact that Mirrald had denied most advances from Oak officials, from bribes to threats. But instead, he moved those he saw fit with no explanation. His own judgment passed without correction or check. And by the time Orieth arrived, and was crowned, Heathgrim had no concept of what damage may have been done. What purpose was served by his movements. As of now, nothing seemed outright. But Heathgrim was sure that Mirrald had set something in motion that would not easily be undone. At least, not under Orieths wittless reign.

  But alas, Heathgrim had no substantial evidence outside of ugly glances and questionable (but justifiable) behavior to subject him to real condemnation. And so, bitterly, he left the palace with a sour taste in his mouth. Had he really just tried to put Mirrald in his position simply out of disdain for the circumstances? He wanted so desperately to believe that the vision they’d witnessed was false, that he was willing to put Mirrald in control of their representation in the Collective?

  No. He wouldn’t do such a thing. And suddenly he found himself glad that the king had been stubborn. Perhaps the man wasn’t as witless as he’d thought. Maybe now he could put some sense into the Collective, and show them they were being rash. But he was obligated, no less, to present their recent findings at the Ruiners camp regardless. And they would no doubt cling to it like a fly to pine sap.

  It was only the sight of Arethor walking through the town with a determined look that pulled him away from his thoughts. The elf looked tired, and beaten. But at the same time hopelessly invigorated. He hadn’t said much to him since they’d arrived back in Tavernkeep, as he had much to report on to the king. But their eyes met, and Heathgrim could tell from the look within that he was the exact person Arethor was looking for.

  Cutting through the crowd of the merchants and would-be customers, charmers and thieves, the two eventually met.

  “Arethor, how are you feeling?” Heathgrim kept it broad, not sure how to approach the elf. He still felt the intensity leaking from him, his anger still dormant. Unsatisfied.

  “Would feel a lot better if you came with me to the Whine. I have something to show you.” Arethor said plainly. And though Heathgrim had a few inches over him, he somehow still felt smaller. He needed to prepare for his departure the next morning, but also found it fitting to have an excuse to wait. Perhaps a pint of ale or two would give him some inspiration on how to address the Collective.

  Without any delay, he followed Arethor back to the Whine, where he found the doors had been locked and the inside empty. Save for good old Hemm.

  The mylian boy looked drab, which was most unusual for him even on particularly sullen days. But he made no note of it as Arethor led him to the bar. Having a seat, the elf rounded the bar and poured themselves some drinks.

  “You’re meeting with the Collective, are you not?” Arethor suddenly said. And as the meeting only just happened, and Arethor was just then approaching the palace, Heathgrim was understandably perplexed.

  “How could you possibly know that?” Heathgrim scoffed. The elf gave a wry smile as he handed him a mug and shrugged his shoulders.

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  “I heard tales of them meeting again, and I don’t take Orieth to be the type to attend. Seeing as you are his go-to for public announcements regarding the Oak, I figured you’d be first in line. Though I think he fundamentally misunderstands what the Collective is for.” Arethor frowned behind his mug as he took a long drink. It felt cool in his throat, and he started to relax. Something he’d been denying himself so far, a luxury he felt he’d soon lose for a while.

  “How so?” Heathgrim leaned into the bar, eyebrow raised in genuine curiosity. If he was going to be their speaker, he would at least like a better understanding of what he was getting into.

  “It’s not just a meeting regarding military tactics, it’s about everything. About the people, the environment, the religious implications. It’s meant to bring together all the greatest minds of each nation to devise a plan to keep Celearia from falling apart.” Arethor started. “When I attended, as Malar's bodyguard, it went on for almost a week. They spent days going over every facet of every possible scenario. It could be grating, and I saw how it affected Malar over time. It wore him down. But in the end, we started to piece this world back together. Didn’t we?” The elf ended in an uplifting note, though he wasn’t sure if it was enough to truly make up.

  “For better or for worse.” Heathgrim agreed. “I truly don’t think there is anything to fuss about though…” The captain was cut off as Arethor reached under the bar and grabbed something, then dropped it down on the bar top. It hit the wooden surface with a crack. For a moment Heathgrim wasn’t sure what it was, but it quickly came to him as he took its shape in.

  “How did you…? Is that…?” Heathgrim stammered as Arethor nodded.

  “I found it. Here. Is this not exactly what was described? It looks almost identical to your fake, only look at how it’s aged.” Arethor pointed to the dark spots that littered its surface. It looked ancient, no doubt, and there was no way he could’ve falsified it.

  “You found it here? In your tavern?” Heathgrim asked.

  “This odd fellow came through some time ago, I suspect he did it. I never really knew what he was crawling around under the crowd for until now. Didn’t figure he’d slipped something under my damn floorboards.” Arethor said seriously.

  “What made you pull up the boards anyway?” Heathgrim started, but stopped as he recalled a previous conversation. His gaze drifted to the relic, and then back to Arethor. “You meant you felt the Connection with that?” He asked, puzzled.

  "I'm not confident it was the Connection exactly, but something of the sorts. It's hard to explain. But, listen, I just need one thing from you." Arethor added abruptly, suddenly much more serious. Heathgrim nodded for him to continue, though internally he was hesitant. "I need to know where that one warlock friend of yours is." Heathgrim hadn't been sure what his friend would ask of him, but it certainly wasn't that. He couldn't help but chuckle.

  "Minni? I'm not sure. Last I heard she was in Torchill for something important. That was a few seasons ago, though." Heathgrim said before taking a swig of ale. "I'll have to pass through there to get to the island anyways, perhaps you can accompany me? I know some people in Torchill that could point us in the right direction." His cooperation was surprising, to say the least. Arethor understood that he didn't really believe there was as much of a threat as there was,m but he was still being a good friend.

  "Can't say no to that! But really, it means a lot, Heathgrim." Arethor smiled weakly. Heathgrim shrugged before finishing off the contents of his mug, wiping his lips.

  "You think she'll know what to do with that…thing?" Heathgrim asked earnestly. Arethor hesitated to speak, but realized he'd come this far to begin with.

  "You said she was a Deadspeaker, right? Whatever it is working with her, it’s something from the Endless, something that might understand where exactly this relic came from. If it’s even real.” Arethor looked the slab of stone over. The Celspawn. He couldn’t help but notice the likeliness to his name, Celstrum. But in general, Cel simply meant power, and had been engraved in the names of many heroes throughout history. Something Arethor never particularly saw himself as. Nor this relic.

  “I suppose so. I can’t promise anything. She’s a bit of a nut. Calling her a friend is a stretch, considering the first time I met her she tried to end my life.” Heathgrim recalled, blinking absently. Minni had caused some trouble in Tavernkeep and wound herself up in prison for a few nights. She had claimed she was trying to spare people by snatching their cryys, claiming they would steal their souls. To most, this is simply called pickpocketing.

  “All the same! When do we leave?” Arethor asked, brushing something off his pants and standing up straight. A smile danced on Heathgrims lips.

  “Can you be ready tomorrow morning?”

  Otis knocked on the door quietly at first. When he heard nothing, he cleared his throat, then knocked again. There was a slight shuffling then a thunk as the door was dragged open. Amber stood there, her eyes lighting up and her mouthing opening as if to speak. Only nothing came out other than an exhausted exhale.

  The first thing he noticed was the massive bandage spanning her neck, wrapping around several times almost up to her chin. The Splinter had casted burn marks up and down her neck alongside the obvious hole.

  Otis had only been able to visit her once since the attack, and she was unconscious still from the healing done by the Conduits. And at the time she’d had a blanket nearly up to her mouth. Seeing it now made the words catch in his throat, and eyes swell with tears.

  All he could do was step forward and pull the girl into a hug. At first she was confused, but then seemed to melt into the embrace, her arms squeezing his waist. It was a rather long embrace, to which neither of them complained. Eventually, though, Otis broke away and scanned around for her notebook.

  "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Kojok has us pulling double-time. He doesn't trust this whole thing is really over. I haven't really had a moment to myself lately." Otis said drearily as he found her notebook and handed it to her. She too already looked in a damper mood, but nodded understandingly.

  I'm just happy you're here, with Arethor leaving again soon I feel like I'm being left behind. She said with more than a tinge of vulnerability. It wasn't a side he often saw from the cheerful Amber he knew well, but how could he blame her? Watching that Splinter tear through her, shooting past his own face and out into the open sky, it was horrifying. Furthermore, he hadn't heard of Arethor leaving again, and a hot anger flushed through him.

  "Right now of all times? What's gotten into him?" Otis gritted his teeth as he looked over his shoulder to the door. A part of him wanted to storm downstairs and slap some sense into the elf, but a bigger part yearned to stay near Amber.

  It's important to him. I understand. I think he just needs some closure. You did hear about what happened right? She wrote, chewing on her inner lip. Amber had been glad to hear that Otis was left on wall duty as opposed to joining the march of the Oak. She couldn't bear to lose the two most important men in her life in one day. Otis looked at the elf with a confused look at first, but then scoffed as he remembered.

  "Oh, right, this vision. This doesn't have to do with that, does it?" Otis probed.

  Somewhat. Honestly, I was reluctant at first, but Arethor isn't one to fall for silly games. If he's concerned, I'm concerned. I just hope he doesn't get himself killed. Otis wiped away the tears that had started to roll down her cheeks, pursuing his lips in frustration.

  "Look, as much as I disapprove of his choices here, your brother is an exceptionally capable man. I trust him with my life." Otis said seriously. "But whether he finds what he's looking for or not, I'm sure he'll make it back to your safely." He added with a weak smile. Amber blinked away premature tears, and smiled in return.

  But you aren't going anywhere, right? She wrote slowly. He could hear the words in her voice in his head. A voice he would never hear again, and yet, would never forget.

  "Not if the sky was falling."