Chapter 17: Monsters and Men

“We’ll take a Drake,” Milo said a little too casually for Jarel’s taste as they headed towards the Garrison’s stables.

“A Drake—inside the city?” The Ranger questioned as he jogged to keep up. ‘We hardly know each other, so I’m curious as to why he invited me along. Still, there’s no way I’m turning down the opportunity to see what a Mender’s Blessing looks like.’

“It’s after curfew, so the streets are pretty empty aside from City Guard patrols,” Milo replied as he nodded to a Lieutenant on duty in the guard shack outside the metal-framed stables and then walked confidently inside.

‘Must be nice being a Consultus and Officer,’ Jarel mused as he followed close behind before the Lieutenant lighting his pipe could even take note of his Sentinel uniform. The Ranger grimaced as the strong scent of monster shit and piss tickled unpleasantly against his nose.

To the left and right of the stable was an assortment of tamed monsters used by the City Guard as war mounts. The most represented tamable mounts were the Savaldi, which stood three to four heads taller than any of Orinthian’s native horses, which were typically used for labor and transportation. The Savaldi, however, was faster on land, rivers, and lakes. They were also less likely to panic and run in the face of an invasion of monsters, which made the Savaldi worth taming and maintaining.

One particularly feisty Savaldi with a full mane of lime green hair and a darker coat of verdant green charged his stall gate to give Jarel a minor heart attack and a face full of sharp canine teeth and red eyes.

Savaldi. Health: 6,172/6,172. Mana: 1,509/1,509. A beastly, carnivorous breed similar to their distant herbivore cousins with unusually colored hair of red, blue, and green, and even more unique eyes of yellow and red.

Jarel eased his way around the inquisitive or challenging green Savadi and maintained a respectful distance down the center of the stable as he passed through over a dozen more in their stalls. Muzzled or not, a Savaldi could still do some damage. A single blow from their hoof could kill a man if he lacked the proper protective gear.

‘Heck, these guys would gladly chase down a Gromulus and eat it if given the chance.’

Beyond the Savaldi were the less aggressive but notoriously stubborn Silver Horned Rams. About two heads shorter than the Savaldi, these mounts were bulky, strong, and typically used to pull war supplies across less forgiving terrain. Even a few influential merchants were known to purchase and use these Silver Horns for transportation across Orinthian mountain ranges and wastelands.

Less dangerous but nearly impossible to ride were the Crimson Stags. Jarel had only ever seen these majestic beasts employed to pull the carriages of Praeditus. The pair before him had their horns tipped with blunt Blue-Steel caps to prevent them from impaling anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way. The stag's crimson fur and abyssal black eyes always gave the Ranger an uneasy impression that they would happily dine on meat. He had heard a rumor or two about Crimson Stags found grazing upon the human remains of a monster attack. Fortunately, those monsters were usually killed rather than tamed. And certainly, the Crimson Stags kept by the city were kept on a strict diet of native herbs and grass with a few dungeon mushrooms thrown in as a treat.

“You can pet them some other time, Jarel,” Milo called out with a note of impatience as he waited beside the barred metal Jabal door that separated these D-Grade Mounts from their more dangerous comrades.

Jarel self-consciously reached for his bow as he stepped through the entrance. Captain Milo smirked as he led the cautious Ranger up a flight of stairs along the left wall. Soon enough, a caged pit appeared below them, occupied by eight muzzled Drakes in separate stone-lined kennels.

“We’ll take Betsy,” Milo said as he pointed to the Drake on the left with a missing left ear. “She knows me well enough to let you come along for a ride.”

“That’s—reassuring,” Jarel commented as Milo gestured towards another flight of stairs that led down to where the Drakes were brought in and out of their pen. “Why did you ask me to come along?”

Milo glanced back at him as they reached the back step and shrugged. “You left a good impression on the Praeditus you helped last night. Enough of a good impression that Judge Owens took an interest in your—future potential.”

“What does that mean?” Jarel asked quickly as two well-armored City Guardsmen opened the drake kennel gate.

“I’ll explain on the way over,” Milo replied as he double-checked the straps of his Adamantite chest plate and gloves. “I’ll bring Betsy out in a bit and show you how to saddle one of these bad girls.”

“Why? I can’t ride one by myself,” Jarel protested. Everyone knew that in order to ride a tamed monster, the rider had to be at least one rank higher to assert dominance; otherwise, tamed or not, the monster would resist any command given to it. The higher the rider’s rank, the more submissive the monster became, likely due to their instinctive ability to sense the difference in power.

Jarel had ridden his share of Savaldi before while outside Highguard on Bounty Quests, but this would be his first time riding a C-grade monster of any kind.

“That’s sort of the point I’m getting at,” Milo said with a shake of his head. “You have too much potential to be sitting at C-Rank, Jarel.” The Duelist pulled down his helmet visor and grinned as he accepted the chain metal harness offered to him by one of the guards. “I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Milo waited to explain himself until after the Duelist and Ranger were on their way to the temple, riding on the scaly gray back of a flat-nose Drake. “Praeditus Owens is assembling two teams of Sentinels. The primary force is composed of Consultus and Praeditus, who will escort the Judge and his family to Emberlight.”

“Emberlight? The Elite Dungeons near Highguard.”

“The Same. Praeditus Owens has been offered a highly coveted Praefecti position there by Paragon Lorenzo. The sudden appearances of Gates this close to Highguard seems to have convinced the Judge to accept this offer—despite the animosity he will no doubt earn from Paragon Delancy.”

Jarel blinked against the wind that whipped around them as the dark streets of blurred buildings whipped past. ‘Was it really worth the risk if it meant making one of Orinthian’s Paragons your enemy?’

“Naturally, the Judge’s niece will be going with him, but the lowest dungeon in Emberlight is B-Grade, so Praeditus Cassandra will need some help leveling up before then.”

“And—that’s why the Judge is interested in me?”

“He wants to hire you, Jarel, as his niece’s bodyguard and as a member of the team he’s assembling to help her reach A-Rank.”

Jarel took in a sharp breath as he tried to imagine the trembling, severely inexperienced Mage as a true Praeditus. “How fast does he think she’ll get there?”

“As fast as several hundred Prums can buy,” Milo replied with a hint of cynicism. “After the Judge’s son failed to cultivate his way to A-Rank for the third time….” the Duelist shook his head. “Owens is throwing everything he has into Cassandra now. If she succeeds, he’ll officially adopt her as his daughter, and she inherits everything. I don’t need to explain to you the benefits of earning her favor now before she becomes another arrogant Praeditus and future Praefecti.”

“Judge Owens would really choose her over his own son?” Jarel asked in bewilderment.

Milo nodded.

“What about Cassandra’s parents?”

The Duelist hesitated for a moment. “Both dead.”

“I see,” Jarel responded somberly. ‘That would certainly explain why her progression was left so late.’

“Piece of friendly advice, Jarel. If you take this job, don’t dig too deeply into the inner workings of Praeditus families,” Milo said gruffly. “It may look like a charming life of unlimited privilege and power, but those Praeditus kids are generally considered a failure if they can’t earn the same rank as their parents before they turn thirty. I’ve known a few pampered brats who got straight-up disowned after they failed to become a Consultus.”

‘Nice.’ Jarel shook his head. “As promising as the position sounds, you know I can’t leave Highguard.”

“Because of your sister?” Milo inquired with a brief backward glance. “They have a Mender in Highguard, you know.”

“Even then, the journey would be too rough—not to mention dangerous for Sonia. And I can’t afford to pay for a proper carriage or—”

“Jarel,” Milo cut in sharply. “How much do you need to buy that Blessing?”

The Ranger blinked as he rapidly calculated his savings, this month’s earnings—most of which had gone into rent, medicine, and food—and the 23 Prums he’d earned from Judge Owens already.

“I’m—still seventy Prums short,” Jarel answered reluctantly. ‘It took me nearly three years to save up what I have now.’

Milo nodded and gestured to the bright white walls ahead of them that surrounded the temple. “And we’re finally here.”

The Drake sank her claws into the ground and slid to a halt as the Duelist pulled back on her reins. A billowing cloud of dust and chipped earth scattered against the walls. Two Shield Consultus stepped forward cautiously to bar the entrance path between six decorated columns carved into the figures of Cephas, Goddess of Harvest and Good Fortune; Euclid, Warrior God of Justice, Courage, and Battle; Cosima, Mage Goddess of Knowledge, Mysteries, and Power; Nestor, Wandering God of Travel and Adventure; Cyril, God of Skill, Craft and Trade; and Thana, Goddess of Death, Spirits, and Eternal Rest.

“Hold, City Guard!” The older of the two temple guards barked out in a warning tone as he held up a hand. “It’s well after curfew. The temple is closed.”

“I’m here on behalf of Praefecti John Larkin,” Milo called out as he presented a small scroll the Commander had provided them with along with 200 Prums before sending them on their way.

The Consultus exchanged glances. Then the senior guard stepped forward to read the scroll. He sighed and motioned the document towards Betsy, who stared at the temple guard with unblinking yellow eyes. “Your Mount will have to wait out here then. No monsters inside the temple.”

“That’s fine.” Milo dropped down from the saddle and gave the Drake a reassuring scratch on the head. “Then my companion will have to go inside on my behalf—unless one of you would care to keep an eye on Betsy for me.”

The two Shields glanced over Jarel and gave an affirming nod. “If he’s here on behalf of the Commander, he can go in. You brought payment for whatever it is you need?”

“Of course,” Milo flashed a smile as he pulled the purse of coins from Betsy’s saddlebag.

Jarel dropped down from the saddle and grimaced as he stretched his legs. Riding a Drake was a lot different from riding a Savaldi, though he wasn’t sure which of the two he preferred—if any.

“Here we are,” Milo announced as he retied the bag and tossed it over to the Ranger. “300 Prums for two Blessings.”

Jarel almost dropped the rather heavy purse that smacked against his chest as the Ranger’s head snapped up to look at the Duelist.

“Stay on the straight path once you’ve gone through the entrance and keep going till you see a blue door,” Milo said calmly as he draped an arm around Jarel’s shoulders and turned the stunned Ranger towards the waiting temple guards. “Tell them what you’re here for and who sent you, and you’ll be back before you know it.”

The Duelist slapped Jarel’s back hard enough to make his health drop by 2%. The gesture of encouragement helped snap the Ranger free from his initial shock.

“300? But—”

“We’ll talk about the rest when you get back, Jarel,” Milo said with a friendly smile and tone that did not match the threatening gaze in the Duelist’s eyes. Betsy yanked on the metal reins as she sniffed the air hungrily. “Now, get moving, Ranger. The Praefecti is waiting for us.”

Fallon tried to calm her breathing as sweat dripped off the Warlock’s nose onto the warm brick tiles of the roof now pressed against her legs, stomach, and chest. Her short visit to the Prison Garrison’s sickbay had seen her temporarily treated with an Ether Health Potion that restored all of Fallon’s lost health quickly enough. Broken bones, on the other hand, were not that easy to mend.

The Warlock grimaced as she rolled onto her good side and inched carefully towards the edge of the roof to check the alley below one more time. She had picked up three tails since leaving the Garrison behind. Running with broken ribs had proved quite an exhausting obstacle, but Fallon had grown up in Highguard and could navigate the city quite easily, even at night.

The Esus and Trion that attempted to keep up with her proved less knowledgable when Fallon led them down a dead-end by the smithy’s shop. A secret door, hidden behind covered crates of coal and wood, led the Warlock to a back ally where she removed her white mask, then flipped and rotated her Praeditus robes to hide the charred gold threads from view.

A quick carriage fare, one wide-brimmed hat swiped off an intoxicated man passed out in a storm drain, then a boat ride down the southern canal, and the Warlock finally felt confident that she had shaken off all unwanted eyes and burned through the ether fatigue counter. Fallon quickly bought another Ether Health Potion to recover the additional health lost along the way and then climbed onto the apothecary’s roof to rest after the owner closed his shop for the day.

“Fuck,” Fallon whispered tiredly as she flipped onto her back and hugged her aching ribs. A dark horizon dotted with violet stars gazed down with little interest at the Warlock panting upon one of over a thousand roofs scattered across Highguard city. Still, Fallon found herself at ease as she slowed her breathing and stared back into the mysteries of the universe.

‘Warlock?’ Asmodeus's voice whispered against her mind as a red spark to her right blossomed into a door through which the Dementher appeared. Six hooves moved silently across the curved tiles as the familiar nudged Fallon’s shoulder with a hint of annoyance. “Why did you not call me?”

“You said it was better—if no one saw you,” Fallon answered, still catching her breath. “Besides, I managed to lose them all on my own.”

“Was that before or after you got blasted by a lightning mage?” The Dementher’s black eyes swirled with rage as it sniffed Fallon’s damaged robes.

“That’s a long story,” Fallon replied with a dismissive wave. “Before I get into that—what happened with Flora?”

“I followed the maid as you instructed. She and the two Materia your father sent with her are all dead.”

“What?” Fallon shot up and bit back a sharp scream as she hugged her ribs. “I thought I told you—”

“I had nothing to do with it,” the Dementher interrupted with a note of annoyance. “An ambush was waiting for them at the woman’s home. I thought they were only after the Praeditus’s men, but they got rid of the woman a short while later after interrogating her.”

“Shit! Who were they?”

“I thought you might ask that, so I trailed them back to the Mansion of a Praeditus Nolan Grantham.”

‘Orion’s uncle!’

“I knew it,” Fallon sighed as she messaged the headache forming behind her tired eyes. “Damn it!”

“You are displeased?” Asmodeus observed as the familiar tilted his head. “Should I—eat him?”

“What? No! Not—yet—anyway.” The Warlock stood up gingerly as she held her protesting ribs and tossed the borrowed hat onto the roof. “I need you to take me to Corbin’s house.”

The Dementher narrowed his eyes with apparent displeasure. “Why?”

“Because I—” Fallon’s topaz-blue eyes darted towards her familiar then away. “I need to talk to the Warden.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to, Asmodeus!” Fallon hissed as she brushed back her disheveled blonde hair and turned to face the Dementher squarely. “Don’t give me that look. You don’t tell me everything either!”

Asmodeus's deer-like face stared back at her expressionlessly for a long moment that seemed to make the Warlock sweat even more than she had when running from her pursuers.

“Fine!” the Dementher hissed as he stomped his cute hooves angrily on the roof. “One door to the Warden’s house coming up.”

“No, Beatrix will be at the Commander’s house,” Fallon corrected quickly.

The Dementher flicked his ears with evident irritation. “If you’re in trouble, you should tell me, Warlock,” Asmodeus said quietly as another red spark appeared and blossomed into a burning door before them. “If I perceive anyone as being a threat to you—”

“I’m not in trouble,” Fallon replied firmly. “Not yet anyway.” She stepped forward and placed her hand reassuringly on her familiar’s head.

“Don’t hesitate to call me next time, Warlock. I am your familiar.”

“Aww, is this your way of telling me you were worried about me?” Fallon teased as the scarlet glow of the Ancienter bathed the Dementher and the rooftop around them with its crimson hue.

“You know very well that if you’re going to die, I would prefer to be that one that eats you--preferably while you’re still alive,” the Dementher replied before his tail shoved the Warlock towards the waiting door. “Now move it.”

“Charming,” Fallon muttered under her breath and obediently stepped through the waiting door.

The back courtyard of the Larkin Manor came into view as Fallon left the howling flames of the Ancienter behind her. Asmodeus stepped through right behind the Warlock as the door hissed closed with a moody crackle.

“Okay, it would probably be best if you stayed invisible while I slip around and knock on their front door,” Fallon murmured as she stepped forward, removed her cloak, and then flipped it around once more so the golden threads of her rank were visible.

“Wait,” Asmodeus growled as he moved swiftly to cut in front of her. “I think we should head back.”

“Why?”

“I still don’t know what’s going on—” the Dementher commented with a pointed look back at the Warlock, “—but I’m guessing it has something to do with why the Warden, your father, and the Paragon are all sitting together under one roof.”

‘The Paragon?!’

Fallon hissed as she spun too quickly and dashed behind the nearest bush. Once behind cover, the Warlock hastily activated [Infernal Gaze]. Crimson Dementher flames outlined quite a few moving bodies inside the Larkin’s residence, three of which stood from the rest. Two were bathed in auras with a more purple hue, while the last one, seated between them, glowed red and orange like the sky at sunset.

‘Shit! Why would the Paragon be here of all places?’

“Warlock! Incoming!” Asmodeus hissed sharply as a red blur moved from the back porch of the Manor directly towards them. “An Assassin!”