Silence - Chapter 23 (Patreon)

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Dragoon's Footwork!

"Faster, Lady Dayne!" Darius called out. "Channel the very wind into your steps! Let it flow through you!"

Vess moved—a step here, a turned foot there—complicated footwork that both drew the eye and misled it by turns. It had been the downfall of many monsters in the Foglands, but Darius saw through every feint and stride, always appearing where he was least expected. Pushing.

"Is this what these Guilders have been teaching you?" he shouted. She whirled and struck three times in rapid succession, but the tip of her silver spear failed to find purchase. "Pathetic!"

Darius kicked at her, forcing her back, but she went willingly. Vess knew that to fight with a spear, distance was her friend and ally. In order to keep that distance, she had to keep mobile no matter what. She burned her Dragoon's Footwork and kept to her kata, the Seven Steps of the Dragoon. But against the Hand, her kata was useless. It was a technique he had fought against his entire life. Again and again, he broke her footing and soured her thrusts, allowing her to achieve nothing more than glancing blows.

"You aren't trying hard enough! Where is your Mana?" he growled. His greatsword was a blur as it deflected every strike she attempted. "You are so close to Apprentice Tier, and yet you are worse than when your father let you leave!" His massive greatsword wove through the air, mesmerizing in the freedom of its movement, and scraping loudly against her armor with every strike.

"You're too close! Mind your feet!"

*CLANG!*

"You're over extended! Guard high!"

*SPANG!*

"You aren't paying attention! Focus!"

"Enough!" Vess shouted. She bared her teeth. With an opponent like the Hand of the Duke, the only real tactic was to bleed them dry.

Spear of Tribulations!

Six more identical spears manifested around her, each six feet long and made of what appeared to be silver chased with golden designs. It was the one Skill that had truly risen above the rest, and she was tired of this. All at once, the spears launched themselves at Darius. The man danced between their strikes, letting the spears stick into the ground while he advanced on her. Vess smiled and hurled the last in her hand, but he batted it away.

"You will have to try better than—"

"Seven Tribulations!" she shouted.

Every single spear erupted into a maelstrom of violently decompressing wind, and Darius was thrown forward. Not hurt, but off balance. Vess kicked up a training spear from the ground, tossing it into her hands and propping it against the earth as the Hand fell. He stopped himself, barely, before the spear would have pierced into the soft underside of his jaw.

"I win," she said.

Darius only smirked, before driving his head down upon her training spear, and obliterating it against his skin. Vess gasped, and when the Hand pulled back his neck was unmarred and unharmed. He laughed.

She hated him.

"You gave up your best weapons to make a kill shot with an inferior tool. That's not winning," he scoffed. "That's choosing how to die." He straightened up fully, looming over her in his full armor. He held his greatsword in a single hand, a massive hunk of enchanted steel that weighed as much as a teamster's wagon, and flexed his grip. "This place has made you weak, Vessilia. Excise what foolishness they've taught you. We must start anew."

The man paced backward, setting distance between them once again. "We will attempt this again, until you understand exactly what you must. Reject the cowards that dragged you into the Foglands, that populate this very tower. Their insipid Wills are the dross you must let fall as you rise." He thrust his greatsword forward. "Begin."


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Spear of Tribulations is level 15!

Grace is level 24!

Dragoon's Footwork is level 28!

Pierce the Sky is level 23!

+2 STR

+1 VIT

+1 PER

"Blighted Night," Vess cursed as the cuts along her left arm and leg were sutured closed. She was seated atop a padded bench amid the lush finery of her chambers in the upper reaches of the Eyrie. The Spire, they called it, reserved for Elders and visiting dignitaries.

"Your Grace," said the healer in a scandalized tone. "I understand that this hurts, but I would ask that you refrain from blaspheming."

Vess felt her cheeks heat, darkening the skin across her nose. "My apologies, Matron Kelsys."

The elderly healer smiled in sympathy and patted her knee. "Oh I've heard much worse from my patients. Doesn't make me like it, but I understand. I'm almost done."

A few more passes of her Mana-reinforced needle and the sutures were drawn closed. A quick application of salve and bandages finished the treatment. Matron Kelsys stood and cleaned her hands in a nearby basin. "There we are. I suggest avoiding use of both arm and leg for at least six days, but I know that is impossible for you Guilder types."

Vess waved her hand. "That will not be an issue. I am to work on my Vitality, so I shall be recovering naturally from my wounds." She took a breath and smiled up at the healer. "I will remain abed for at least a short while."

The healer clucked her tongue and began gathering her supplies. "While I approve of taking a rest, I do not condone such methods to force one's Vitality score higher. It has only limited benefits. Far better to secure an alchemical bath, your Grace."

"I am aware, Matron Kelsys. Thank you for your concern."

The old healer knew a dismissal when she heard it, but it didn't stop a final 'tut' before she stepped out of Vess' apartments. The moment the door clicked closed and the silencing ward enacted, the Heiress of Pax'Vrell fell sideways onto the bench, groaning in pain and frustration.

Darius had not let up in his "instruction" for over four hours. Every muscle she had was sore, battered, or bruised. And some in worse condition.

Vess had thrown everything she had at him, but nothing put a dent in the man's impenetrable defense. Not even her Spear of Tribulations, a new yet powerful addition, had proven enough to turn the tables. Concentrating, she pulled Mana from her core and out of her left palm. The Mana Gate flexed open and green-white air Mana poured out. It shimmered as it formed into a six-foot long silver spear. It had heft and weight, just as a real metal spear would, but she was able to move it faster than any weapon she'd ever wielded.

Simple and powerful. Her newest Skill was an evolution of her former Spear Mastery, retaining all of its old benefits while allowing her to conjure seven weapons out of thin air. Moreover, it let her explode those same weapons in a spectacular detonation of air Mana. In practice that meant she shredded her wooden targets with ease.

Against Darius it had merely pushed him a little.

She growled in frustration at the memory. Every use she'd attempted, he had either evaded or easily withstood. Vess was fully cognizant of the disparity between them. She was barely into her second decade and Apprentice Tier, while Darius had ten years on her and two advancement levels over her. The man is an Adept Tier. Of course you would not land a blow on him. Especially not without a single complete Tempering to her name.

She'd put in the work these past three weeks since the trial. Constant combat trials against the Hand, against Wooden Golems procured from the Guild, ceaseless fighting and sparring. She had pushed her stats to a new ceiling, earning point after point from brutalizing her physique and reflexes. It all came to a head with her Skill Evolutions.

Evolving her primary Skill—Spear Mastery—has always been the plan. Since a young age, Vessilia Dayne had been tutored by the greatest of warriors for a singular purpose: to take up the mantle of the Dragoons. An order of hunters and aerial combatants, the Dragoons had served the nation before the rise of the Hierocracy, when it was a series of warring states plagued by the constant threat of flying predators. The dragons may be gone, but their lesser kin were still a threat to the scattered populace. It was her order—her Mother's order—that kept those smaller communities safe.

The Spear of Tribulations, Pierce the Sky, and Dragon's Descent were all core Skills of the Dragoons, and all of them were only ever earned in the last gasps of one's Beginner Tier. While for many Skill Evolution was a legendary, uncanny occurrence that would strike once in a generation, for the Dragoons and those societies like it, it was a matter of course. Resources and specific training regimens had long since been detailed, Titles to be acquired and avoided, all of it designed to elevate the newest generation of Dragoons.

That said, it did not mean it was easy. Most aspirants failed on their path toward Apprentice Tier, and even more fell short of the proper Skill Evolutions. It was a journey that few could even begin, detailed tutelage or not. In the past three weeks, she had evolved no less than four Skills, thankfully preserving their levels, and pushed them so very close to Tiering up.

She brought up her Skills.

Body:

Acrobatics (C), Level 20; Grace (C), Level 24; Heavy Armor Mastery (C), Level 18; Small Blade Mastery (C), Level 11; Unarmed Mastery (C), Level 9; Dragon's Descent (R), Level 22; Pierce the Sky (R), Level 23; Dragoon's Footwork (E), Level 28

Mind:

Analyze (C), Level 20; Oratory (C), Level 25; Diplomacy (U), Level 22

Spirit:

Elemental Eye (R), Level 19; Gaze of the Unseen Hunter (R), Level 9; Wyrmling's Call (E), Level 10; Spear of Tribulations (L), Level 15

Her training had her focused as few others. Commoners would find their Skill lists filled with redundant abilities or counter-intuitive pairings. A Dragoon was forged differently, and while it was nothing like the slew of Skills Felix owned, it was a respectable array of abilities.

Used to own, she corrected herself with a hitch in her chest. She had heard that he was not listed among the survivors, and in fact none of the local Guilders had heard of him or anyone similar to his description. That was but one oddity that kept her up at night. Magda's trial. The location of Evie and Atar. Of Harn and Cal and their team. She'd been forbidden to contact them, all but isolated in the Spire atop the Eyrie where servants met her every need and provided her with everything she might desire. Everything save freedom.

Vess wanted answers and she'd used her sleepless night as a way to get them. She spoke to servants and caretakers in the halls, piecing it all together from cast off rumors and weeks old news. She knew Elder DuFont was somehow involved, that she had hired the Sworn agent to find and retrieve her. The why on that was easy enough to guess—her father would have made hell for the Guild had she died in the Foglands. So DuFont had sent someone to shadow Magda and Harn, to retrieve the heiress when things went wrong.

Moreover, Vess found out that DuFont greenlit the territory-staking operation in the first place. The entire reason why Magda had arranged her illegal rescue mission. She followed that thread as far as she could, but the Sworn has disappeared. There was nothing connecting the Elder of Acquisition to the Sworn save dim rumors and her own guesses, or even that the Sworn had been engaged at all. Her repeated attempts to have the High Elder listen to her had failed. He was constantly "too busy" to have an audience with her, but she booked an appointment for weeks later. When that time came up, it was inevitable shunted ahead by several weeks. This, she could tell, would continue without end.

"Siva's Silver Chords!" Vess cursed. She was sick of thinking. Sick of the powerlessness that accosted her, so unlike how things worked in Pax'Vrell. Back home, while at the mercy of her tutors and trainers, she was Heiress to the Duchy and her word was something very close to law. Not even Darius Reed could gainsay her in the seat of her power.

Vess' mouth filled with a sour taste as she thought on that odious man. They had once been close, had even been promised one another as children, but that felt like another life. She had delved deeper into the Dragoon's training, and he had joined her father's elite champions. To think on who they once had been...it stung, like touching a burning stovetop. She recoiled. The Chosen Hand no longer cared for her, only her father's Will.

Darius is right about one thing, though. I need to get better. Stronger.

Physical training out of the question until her injuries healed, that meant working on her core space. Vess grimaced at the thought, but quickly admonished herself. The process was...unpleasant, true, but it was remarkably beneficial. So, with the help of her conjured spear, she climbed to her feet and hobbled across her apartments and to one of the massive, floor to ceiling windows that dominated the eastern wall. As the weather warmed across the city, she left them open for the cooling breeze they provided.

Without hesitation, Vess hobbled across the casement and out onto the ledge beyond.

She wore loose fitting robes, white and green as her chosen element, the one with which she built her core.  They whipped about her as Vess stepped out into the wind, but she let it guide her, flexing her Will upon the ambient Mana in the air so that her movements all but clung to the thin walkway. It was but one application of her Seven Steps of the Dragoon, but as all katas, was less a Skill and more of a technique. She was not a master of the Seven Steps, that required multiple Tempers, but the greatest masters were said to be able to land atop a leaf in a hurricane.

As it was, it took a good chunk of Vess' concentration to maintain her footing on the stone walkway. The path extended from the side of her building, connecting the corner of her section of the Spire to a flying buttress that jutted out into the thin air. They were thousands of stride into the air, nearly a league, and Vess had to fight to keep her nerve. One one step, one improperly turned flow of air Mana, and the Heiress of Pax'Vrell would be nothing more than a stain upon some nobleman's garden shed far below. She marshalled her Willpower and trudged forward regardless, pushing herself until her heartbeat slowed and her limbs steadied. She reached the end, where the buttress was surmounted by a small, ridge. It was here that Vess stopped and sat, robes billowing in the ceaseless breeze.

The wind swirled again, but she shifted just enough to keep her spot. Up there, amid her chosen element, it was a touch easier to visualize her core space and channels. Any advantage was to be seized upon. She let the air Mana ebb and flow, pulled into her Gates with every breath. Her long, dark hair whipped up into the air, and Vess followed the motion, closing her eyes and lettering herself rise.

The Dragoon's called it Ascending the Steps, and it was one of the twenty-two movements that would lead her to the very peak of power...eventually. For now, she had barely cleared the second Step. Her core had been established, her Mana channels carved, and now before her rose the malformed ridges of a mountain range. A mountain range that was supposed to house her core, Skills, and the potency that grew with every Skill level and Temper.

She had been called a prodigy by her tutors, all because she had a grasp of her core space that few did. Even when her core was no more than an errant breeze, that breeze wrapped around the misshapen prominence before her. When she had arrived in the Foglands, that breeze had become a steady gale that fueled the Skills that let her fight so explosively. Yet months later, Vess found herself only a half-step further along her path.

Prodigy, she scoffed.

Vess focused, leveraging her Willpower and Intelligence on the hazy landscape before her. The mountain sharpened, ever so slightly, the rocks gaining striations to their forms and the wind gaining the slightest of edges. Beyond her core space, Vess felt the insistent press of the Continent's wind, and pulled that in with her. The air thickened and intensified, until the tiny plants and grasses that had taken root around her trembled with their insistent passage. The mountain beneath her grew, finger spans at a time, but it grew nevertheless. Soon she would be ready to build her Temple atop it.

Time passed.

Wind surged and Mana flowed, and Vess put all she had into her working. Years of training kept her still and steady, her concentration never flagging nor failing as the glasses tumbled into the next. Strenuous as it was, Vess found a certain measure of peace in the slow build up of her space. There nothing was hidden from her, and the next step was always clear. Layer, sharpen, rise.

But the world was not to be ignored for too long.

"..do you mean?"

"The Elders cleared the entire level. We were relocated to the eighth floor, and fast too. Apparently they needed room for those sick survivors to stay."

"They're still sick? It's been weeks since they got back."

Vess fell from her mountain fastness as the words reached her. Opening her eyes, she leaned from the top of the buttress and peered downward. Three stories above her, the Inner Ward extended beyond the normal confines of the Spire. It was the elite training area of the Protector's Guild, meant only for Bronze Rank or higher, and only if you could earn it. Voices drifted on the wind, carried to her ears by virtue of her Perception and the Seven Steps technique of guided air Mana.

Survivors? From the Foglands? She stilled herself as the conversation continued.

"...something about restricted access. She couldn't find out what's on the tenth floor," one said.

"Strange. I heard Elder Teine was taking charge of them, too."

"What's the Elder of Spirit got to do with sick Guilders? That's Elder Regis or Guilder Ty'lel's concern."

"No clue. His people came in and swept the Healer's Ward without answering any questions. The Alchemist was right pissed."

"I bet."

There was the clash and clatter of swords on armor, as well as the muffled thump of feet on dirt. Vess focused, pulling all she could from the snippets.

"...transport...to the 'staging ground,' whatever that means."

"I'd stay away, if I were you. Teine has a reputation. Don't care for much aside from mages, and noble ones at that."

"Hah! That ain't us."

"Not a bit."

The conversation drifted away, either lost on the breeze or because they moved farther away. Vess wasn't sure, but it could have easily been because her mind was racing.

What do the Elders want with the people we saved? Her mind reflected back on the enervated and despondent survivors she had rescued. They were a people who had seen horrors under the fist of the Frost Giants, and worse down among the Labyrinth. What more could these iniquitous, felonious Elders want from them? What blood could be squeezed from a stone?

Vess' hair was a dark banner against the light stone of the Eyrie, and her Spirit, Untempered though it was, ignited with frustrated conviction.

By Avet's black teeth, this at least will not stand.


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Several stories higher, within the Inner Ward, a lone woman with ochre skin and blue-green hair stood casually against the boundary wall. She could still sense the form of the heiress atop her perch, though she soon made her way back into her chambers. Sigils, dull and lifeless, ran beneath the woman's fingers along the wall. With a twist of her Will, the sigils flared with light and went active once again. The sound of the howling wind was all but cut off.

Let us see what you do with that information, your Grace.

"Archivist Zara? Are the privacy wards repaired?" Another woman stepped off a wooded path, garbed in a thick brigandine with a bronze medallion around her neck.

"Yes." The Naiad replied while adjusting her glasses.

"Oh thank the Pathless," she breathed. "Sorry for asking you to come all the way up here. But with Teine's people all busy on his mysterious tasks, capable inscriptionists are hard to find."

"Not a worry. It was a simple repair."

"Simple. I can't understand how you mages think sometimes," the woman said, marvel evident in her voice. "It's all a bunch a squiggles to me."

"Magic is the same as anything, really." Zara gave a shark-toothed smile. "It's all about listening, and then choosing how to act."