<< Chapter 1 - Forced Vacation for a Hero
Darko supposed the top of Mount Dreadspire was a good location for a watch post. He would remain vigilant during his stay. Surely, he could keep alert and relax at the same time.
His oaths demanded he inspect the bridge before proceeding, so he’d landed at the back of the peak to assess it. The bridge appeared to be well built. It had sturdy boards, and the rope was thick and appropriately studded into the rock with iron. The construction was no patch job. Zit’s runs should be safe.
Oaths satisfied for now, Darko’s glare turned onto the spa’s welcome sign. It was aged and weathered but clearly constructed by a skilled artisan. The curved lettering had been done with a high-tiered spell weave.
Dreadspire Spa
Where your soul can relax.
It was ridiculous his squad believed him in need or incapable of such things.
“Earnestly relax. I am always earnest.” He grumbled, shifting to inspect the locale of his new post.
The black granite of the mountain hadn’t cratered under his landing, and the circle of plants he’d flattened around him meant the life hadn’t been leeched out by monsters who wielded evil. By his measure, the flat peak was a mile high, granting a vast view.
If only the spa wasn’t blocking his line of sight at the far end.
And what was that smell coming from the building? Some sort of burning herb? It was woodsy, sweet, and…not unpleasant
His weave to scan for traps in the vicinity didn’t alert him of anything nearby, so he ignored the spa for now and expanded his search outward.
The sea lapped calmy under the stars, and due to the slant of the spire, it felt as if the peak floated over the waves. Darko didn’t need light to see, but it pleased him to find a lack of rocks in the water where clever things might hide in wait. This ocean and shoreline really was pristine. The lower tiered townsfolk wouldn’t be able to pick out incoming attacks from the water in the dark, but he certainly could if needed.
Leaning over the edge, Darko picked his nails and assessed the land below.
Even from up so high, he heard the townspeople’s conversations. Barks of goodnight were hollered and final jokes were told. An old man shuffled about, turning on the streetlights fueled by stored weaves. Darko found himself lingering on their simple way.
“Hmm.”
At least the children were finally being cajoled inside.
A cracking twig sounded from the field where he’d leapt, snapping his attention around. Darko focused his sight down the summit to locate whatever slinked through the dark pasture.
It was just a hunting nekomal. The two-tailed cat-like animal had a stripe of black fur on its yellow body. While favoured amongst the Dark One’s followers as loyal pets, the creatures weren’t inherently evil. Selfish, yes, and capable of violence, certainly. But everyone knew that felines followed no Heralds and worshipped nothing but themselves.
With the assessment complete, Darko begrudgingly accepted the outcome. The area was safe. There was no remaining excuse, oath demanded or otherwise, to avoid his month-long torment.
Darko finally turned with flaring nerves towards Dreadspire Spa.
It was constructed of the same black rock of the mountain, the mortar between the bricks colored as if made of the sand far below. Though it was only two stories, it was wide, ending almost at the edge of the peak on either side. No doubt the facilities were behind it, but he couldn’t sense them. His spell weave only worked on traps and followers of the dark.
The coloring should have made it imposing, but dozens of small, fanciful glass windows speckled the building, and the right side of the ground floor was illuminated from within. Rather than a building of purpose, like a proper watch tower, it had been fashioned with the available resources to appear whimsical and cozy.
He assumed the top floor were the guest quarters, but didn’t see a single lamp on, nor did he smell any burning wood from the many chimneys along the roof. Only the scent of that herb he didn’t know.
The wooden front door had a single light above it, and to get there, he would need to cross a small field of overgrown plants. There was a path, but it winded through rather than cutting across.
Darko took the path. He wasn’t certain if the plants had any value, and he’d already crushed some while landing.
For some reason, his heart hammered and he breathed heavily as he lumbered through the small field. His width caused buds and petals to brush him. It took him a moment, but he realized the field was one full of flowers, and the lush scents assaulted him in their variety.
Why would someone create a field only for flowers? The armies were always in need of potatoes.
Arriving at the door, Darko did what he always did when to settle his nerves from expected torment. He recited the first oath he’d sworn to his Herald.
“I will endure anything necessary to fulfill my purpose.” Darko whispered, hoping for a response.
Thankfully, his Herald answered.
Like an old friend, energy rushed to flow through his muscles and bones, sweeping away much of the anxiety he felt. The emotion remained, but they were dulled and relegated to the back of his mind as if locked in a cage. With the surge filling him, he wanted to mock the spa. To laugh in its face. The strongest followers of evil had paled under his might. It was ridiculous to think he had been afraid of a spa a moment ago.
He sneered at the door, thankful for the gift of power. Anyone could swear an oath to a Herald. But none followed them like Darko.
And he had been rewarded for his steadfast discipline. That, to his mind, was what allowed him to become the most powerful warrior alive. Most promised and did not deliver. Most believed the oaths they swore mattered only when convenient. That the Heralds were dead, and access to their powers broken. That was their belief. Darko knew a different truth.
Dead didn’t mean gone for good. That’s why when he called, his deceased Herald often answered.
He rapped his thick knuckles on the door three times. Standing to his full height, Darko waited, eager to meet the ferryman that would lead him into the month of hellish, forced relaxation.
There was no answer for more than a minute, nor was there a rustle of movement inside.
“Hmm.” Darko grunted, leaning low to press his ear against the wood.
Soft, rhythmic breathing sounded from inside. Someone snoozing. Licking his lips, Darko pulled back, readying another mighty knock—
And spotted the sign on the door. It was written on paper and tacked onto the door.
Please let yourself in after nightfall.
Darko blinked, unable to believe the words. Let himself in? An unlocked door? Were the workers of the spa great warriors? Perhaps a mighty golem of protection laid in wait somewhere nearby? Maybe the field of flowers was an excellent disguise.
Grasping the knob between two fingers, Darko pulled the door open. Candlelight, and a wave of that woodsy scent washed over him, making the muscle in his neck twitch as if trying to unknit.
He stooped his head to peer inside and find the source of breathing. Poking his head in, he—
“Herald and half a grave!” A bright, accented voice yelped, startling Darko fiercely for the second time that day.
Darko pulled back in a flash, except his head met the top of the door. It didn’t hurt him, but it did thunk loudly and crack the wooden frame.
“A monster!” The voice yelled again, frantically this time. “It’s a shite-eating monster of the Dark One!”
Darko heard the quick shuffling of feet as he turned back. Due to his size, unfortunately scar laden face, and red eyes that often glowed during a weave, he’d been mistaken for a monster before. Sometimes people on his side ran away from him.
So, he was quite surprised to find the previous sleeper sprinting directly at him. It was a girl, barely more than a teen, snarling, and carrying a steel bowl high above her head.
“Stop.” He rumbled. “I am not a monster.”
His oaths did not allow him to harm children directly, so all Darko could do was sigh as the girl swung the bowl with all her might. At the last moment, he twisted his stooped head so that it would strike his ear rather than his skull. It looked like she had a strong arm, and the rebound she would get from his head would hurt.
“Ow!” The girl yipped as the bowl bounced back, billowing pale, musky dust all over him. “Die, you shite-stinking, red-eyed beast!”
“Oh. Oops.” Darko said, realizing it was his error causing her confusion. He had forgotten to turn off his weave for trap scanning. His eyes still glowed red.
She went to strike again with the dented bowl, this time coming for his nose. The child had spirit, which he found amusing, but another attempt might cause her harm.
Faster than a blink, Darko leapt further into the spa, careful not to tear the carpet or floor beneath, and twisted out of range. The girl’s strike missed, but she had put everything behind it. Her arm propelled her weight, transferring the force her body, and Darko saw that she was about to stumble.
He flexed the smallest version of his ally protection weave he could, and the air around in front of the girl solidified to mimic a pillow. Her fall slowed and then halted, suspending her midair.
Her head snapped towards him, and Darko saw her look of frantic panic. She was scared out of her wits.
“Sorry.” He said, turning off his trap weave, nothing the glow of red light dissipating. “I assure you, I am not a monster.”
She hung there for a moment, her fear turning to confusion before settling on anger. The girl pushed herself off his weave, scrambling upright to glare at him.
“Then who are you?” She barked, having to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “Showing up at a time like this?”
Darko blanked on an appropriate answer. Many people across the continent of Abarth knew his name. He hadn’t planned an alias.
“Well?” The girl asked sharply. “Going to sit there drooling or answer me?”
“I’m…Bronco.” Darko answered, wiping the spit from his mouth. His squad had made fun of him for his habit of ‘open-mouthed thought,’.
“Bronco? Like a mule?” The girl seemed confused. “And why are you here?”
Darko wanted to groan. Only Fatima could get away with calling him that.
“No. Bronco like a stallion.” Darko grumbled, shifting on his feet. “And I am here for the spa.”
That seemed to surprise the girl. Her own jaw dropped, and she inspected him from his massive muddy boots of traveling to his most comfortable and pitted armor, finally landing on the pristine chain hanging around his neck. Her gaze shifted from one of analysis to realization. Darko knew she had just spotted a rich customer.
She righted her posture, clasping the dented bowl between her hands as if it was meant to be there, and smiled up at him.
“Sir, welcome to Dreadspire Spa. My deepest apologies for the confusion you caused.” She said, much more properly. “I am Delilah, and I am happy to check you in. There are many amenities and services here, but it is late, and I am sure you would like to rest. We will discuss those tomorrow. If you’ll just follow me.”
She gave a polite nod and turned to walk behind her desk while continuing. “Might I ask how long we will be graced with your presence?”
“A month.”
He spotted her stiffen for the briefest moment, and her face was still calm when she met his eyes, but Darko saw her wheels turning. Darko was certain she was thinking of the tips she might receive.
“A month?” Delilah smiled. “We can accommodate that, yes, but unfortunately the only room available for that long is our biggest suite.”
“I did not see lights on for other guests. Is there another room?”
“Oh, no, no, I assure you, there isn’t anything else available.” She shook her head, feigning frustration.
“Hmm.”
Delilah pulled out two items from beneath the desk.
One was an aged number counter. Darko didn’t know much about crafting, but given how it seemed to be the size of a small wine barrel, he was certain the item was older than he was.
“Wonderful to hear you’re interested in our finest suite, Sir.” Delilah handed over the second item, which steamed. “And please use this hot towel at your leisure. It appears you have some amount of butterbloom ash on you. Quite the luxurious scent, isn’t it? And many healing properties. A personal favorite of mine.”
So that was the burning herb. Darko stared at the towel a moment before accepting it. He looked down at himself, then at the towel. The ash was all over him, and the steaming towel was tiny.
Delilah smiled politely again. “Allow me to finalize the price. A month, you said? Thirty days? Not longer?”
Darko’s anxiety bubbled up again, but he managed to answer.
“Just thirty days.”
Delilah smiled up at him and started clacking the machine.
“That’s just wonderful, Bronco. It’s fantastic you take relaxation so seriously.”