Chapter 2

Meet one of the greatest blood lines among the Light Adepts. Strained as it may be, perhaps there's a hero still at Lightning Bay. Or perhaps the north isn't as secure as they thought.

Chapter 2

            Old Haberdeen put both feet on each step before continuing to the next. His strength was not what it used to be, and as it deteriorated further so too did his speed. The steps were a challenge, indeed, but one he was more than willing to face each dusk and each dawn. Up and up he went, in a circle that got tighter and tighter until he came to a small stone staircase at the top of the tower. It took most of his remaining energy to hoist the doors set in the ceiling open and climb into the Stormcharge, the top and singular chamber in the Conduit Tower.

            Clouds hung as heavy and dark as always outside the windows, but they were lower than usual. They were so low he thought that if he had a leap left in him he himself could reach one and climb into the foreboding heavens. Rain fell all around him, and he reached through one of the turret holes to let the cold water wet his pockmarked hand. Decades ago, when starting his duties as First Engineer, he needed a torch to guide him to the Stormcharge. But after thousands of climbs to the top and hundreds of repairs, he was confident in his ability to do what he did best even if he were stricken with blindness. Besides, the last thing he ever wanted to see was a flame, even if he controlled it. He had seen and heard enough of the terrors of fire in his time to know that he’d be happy if he never saw it again.

            A rumble of thunder shook the tower, but Old Haberdeen stood still. No thunder, no matter how loud and booming, had shaken him in the last two decades. He understood why younger generations jumped at the sound, but it still made him chuckle. The dark clouds had broken a bit to the southwest and dawn was birthing yet another day. But above the Stormcharge, covering all of Lightning Bay below him as it had for centuries, hung the Darkstrand. Adept conjurers pulled it in from Shadowsea day and night, dumping endless rain and sending down a plethora of lightning over the bay and its three islands. He watched a bolt zip down from the sky into the black bay whose waters chopped dangerously so far below. It was one of the few bolts that the Conduit didn’t manage to attract.

            Old Hab turned from the window, telling himself that he had done enough dilly-dallying and sightseeing for the morning. He was a stern man, with an intellect as sharp as a dagger and the wit to match. He was up here to check the Conduit yet again, and that was it. A barrier blocked it, and so he pulled it away as he always did, slowly and carefully. The small boards bent at each hinge until finally folding up into a small accordion cluster in one section at the back of the Conduit. It was suddenly bright in the small chamber. Watching light travel could still fascinate to the old man. He had seen it countless times, this phenomena, but it still mesmerized him for a minute every time he unveiled it.

Small bolts traveled along lightning rods and copper wirings and other conductive materials that former engineers had cased with glass. The tubes had no rhyme or reason to them. Some pointed down, others sideways, even more diagonally, so that some of the energy traveling through would arrive later, giving its final destination a constant charge. Old Hab heard a heavy rumble behind him. He wasn’t surprised in the least when a few seconds later The Conduit was charged yet again, and the bolts within became even brighter. They moved even faster than they were before, zipping up and down and sideways until the majority of the light had made its way down The Conduit to the bottom of the tower.

The Stormcharge held the most important part of The Conduit, and also the most vulnerable as the elements this high up sometimes became so volatile that even the wooden door around it was not enough to protect the rods. Thick stone walls that held the spiraling stairs protected the Conduit all the way down to the tower base. Nothing caught his attention on the side he faced, so he began inching around The Conduit, his trained eyes looking for rods that may no longer have any charging power or glass casing that may have shattered or cracked.

There was nothing to repair. It had been months since Old Hab had to do anything but climb the steps and climb back down at each daybreak and nightfall. If it were up to others, inspections wouldn’t be as frequent. But he understood his Lightlord’s concerns. He knew that The Conduit’s upkeep kept their kingdom safer than any other piece of the puzzle. Since its creation two centuries ago, the eastern realm was able to gain a prosperity never seen before in any region. It had also helped seal the strongest and most valuable alliance ever known to have existed between any Elementals.

Old Hab made his way around the wide and detailed mass of lightning rods. A good deal of rain found its way through both the openings in the wall and the small opening in the roof. He watched the trickling water hit rod after rod, sliding down to the well at the bottom of the tower. Cracks between the stone floor and The Conduit only revealed the deep darkness of the tower’s center. But he knew that through that darkness, and onward for miles and miles, traveled a continuation of the intricate engineering by the greatest light adepts of ages past. It was a true mark of greatness to be so without showing it. The Conduit was an unspoken hero of Lightwater, and this portion of it high up in the tower was only a small portion of its legacy.

He unfolded the wooden barrier and latched it back into place. Fatigue had set in as it always did so early in the day, but his lingering at the top of the tower had allowed him to build enough strength to make his descent. It was always easier going down, anyway. He climbed through the floor and down some of the spiral staircase, closing the door above him and latching that shut as well. The stone walls held the coolness of the air outside. But the lack of windows along the side of the tower kept the air still. The smell was not repulsive, but it was clear that some of the same air had sat stagnant in this staircase for decades. Three-quarters of the way down, Old Hab’s legs began to burn significantly. He desired the flatness of the ground below, the slight sloping of the corridors all around the tower and across the entire island he called home. It wasn’t very difficult to get anywhere else on the islands’ relatively flat lands except the top of the tower. Leave it to an elderly man to walk there every morning and night. He reached the heavy wooden door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed it open. His fat nephew was sitting on a stool next to him when he stepped out into the hall. The man’s chins were sitting on his chest, and his eyes were shut. If it weren’t for the up-and-down of his belly when he breathed, Old Hab would’ve thought him dead.

            “Wake up,” Haberdeen said, poking the man in his gut.

            Hammerveen woke with a startle, his eyes darting open and his head shooting up like a snap turtle. He stood and rubbed his cloudy eyes. “Next time just let me climb to the top. It won’t take near as long.”

            “If I were to let you go, you’d stop halfway up the steps and take a nap. Or your heart would explode before you reached the top.”

            “That’s ridiculous, uncle. You shouldn’t have to endure such torture twice a day.”

            “It is the will of the Lightlord, and frankly, I have a better eye for the Conduit than any adept or engineer who still draws breath. It is essential for the wellbeing of the realm that the Conduit is kept under constant repair.”

            “So then there was a problem?” Hammerveen asked dryly, knowing there wasn’t.

            “All was well, thankfully,” his uncle told him with a pat on the shoulder. “Let us go make our report. Then you will lead your team to Boltown. If I still had my youth I’d travel with you.”

            “And if I still had my body I’d be excited to make the journey.”

            “You still have your body. You almost have three of them,” Old Hab joked as they started towards the Engineers’ Guild. “And that is no one’s fault but your own.”

            Hammerveen let out a bellow of a laugh. “I suppose you’re right.” Lightning Bay’s Second Engineer was in his early sixties. He possessed the same intellect and wit as his uncle, yet they couldn’t have aged more differently. In his youth, Hammerveen was, just as his uncle, an engineer who also held the rare ability to work lightning just as an adept would. Their bloodline was one of the few that could boast such unique traits. Their skills were still hard to match, but it was easy enough to out-maneuver either of them now. “You could go rest now, uncle. I can submit the report.”

            “You need as much rest as I do, Ham.”

            “I supposed it’s better I keep my eye on you for as long as I can. Heavens know you won’t ask for any help while I’m gone.”

            “I appreciate all you do for me, but it’s not all necessary. I’ll be fine while you’re away, just as I have been every month you’ve gone for the last ten years.”

            “I’m glad we still have each other to keep our eyes on.”

            They made their last turn into a narrow hallway that led directly to the Engineers’ Guild. Upon Hammerveen’s last words, Old Hab set back to remembering the many members of their family who they had lost. His wife Majie, along with his brother Haverdeen and his wife, lost their inevitable battles with age, but it was still an ache to go through any day without seeing them. His two sons, Haradeen and Hitodeen, were just a couple of years from Sanctuary until they were scorched to their death. It was indeed unfair to bury a child, but it was even crueler to not know which of the many corpses on the battlefield were theirs. He had little more than his memories by which to remember them. That was the case with most all of his offspring. And while he was able to bury a handful of slain grandchildren and memorialize them properly, it made it no easier. In fact, Hammerveen was the only family with whom he still kept touch. Old Hab had reached out to his great-grandson on many occasions, most recently when the boy began his training not even a year before. But the youth wanted nothing to do with his fat great uncle and elderly great grandfather. The reasons were understandable, and horribly out of Old Hab’s control, but he still yearned for young Harlodeen’s attention. Old Hab wanted to know his line would prosper for even more generations to come. That would be enough for him.

            Hammerveen opened the door for his old uncle. The center of the quarters was still relatively quiet this early in the day. Only Carter Libson was present, sitting in his robes over a book, his rimless and earless spectacles clinging tightly to his long nose. He only raised his eyes when they entered, not bothering to make any other notice of their arrival. His smugness was evident.

            “Morning, Libson,” Hammerveen said. That was enough for the scholar to raise his attention from the book.

            “Ham. Haberdeen,” he nodded, out of necessity as an inferior rather than respect.

            Old Haberdeen only nodded his head slightly in return. “I need the log.”

            “I’ll get it,” Hammerveen offered. He walked around the long table Carter sat at and went to the shelves. Thankfully he didn’t need to slide the wheeled ladder to get to the report log. Two rungs had already broken under his weight. Old Hab did not want to bite his tongue a third time when Carter Libson looked at his nephew in shock and disgust. “Here you are.”

            He handed Old Hab the book, and the two men sat down next to each other across from Carter. The old keeper opened the large book. It was almost a thousand pages thick, and it was the third of its kind. The engineers kept the other two high on the shelves. This one was almost half full. Old Haberdeen dipped a quill into a small inkpot and dabbed off the excess. He found the next blank line, and on it wrote the date next to dawn, and the same three words he had written for months: Naught to report.

            “Nothing again, eh, Old Hab?” Libson asked.

            “Nothing yet, Libson. But parts have broken before. And they will break again. We must be vigilant.”

            “Indeed, we must. It is a blessing we have you to walk up and down hundreds of steps at the break of every day and the birth of every night.”

            “Enough of your condescension,” Hammerveen said. He looked to his uncle. “I’ll put the log back. Come, I’d like for you to see me away.”

            “Of course,” Old Hab smiled.

            “I was not condescending,” Libson said, sitting up more squarely in his chair. He was glaring right into Old Hab’s eyes while Hammerveen returned the book to its place on the shelves. “Who else is capable of looking at glass and rods twice a day to maintain his spot as First Engineer? And what better Second Engineer than a man who can’t even climb three stairs without losing his breath?”

            “Let us go,” Hammerveen said, hooking his uncle under the arm to help him to his feet.

            “There’s a reason I’m still First Engineer, Carter,” Old Hab said as he turned around and walked with his nephew to the door. “It’s because you’re next in the line of succession after us, and even Death himself knows better than to keep the Conduit in your hands.”

            Hammerveen closed the door behind them. Old Hab heard Carter Libson shut his book with a raging slam. The old keeper grinned.

            Harlodeen spun his rod between four fingers with a quick dexterity that he knew some of the other students noticed. He kept his grin small, but obvious. His eyes were green, a rarity in their region, and they stuck out in contrast to his light brown skin. His other hand rested casually in the large pocket of his baggy pants. He tied his sash loosely, which helped his pants fall lower than most of the others’, and the V from his hips to his pelvis could be seen almost in its entirety.

“Harlodeen,” his instructor said when he got to his name on the list.

“It’s ar-luh-deen,” the young man said.

“Ah, a silent H. I should have known. Relation to the old keeper?”

“Unfortunately.”

The instructor let his scroll and quill drop to his hips. He stepped forward so that he stood in front of Harlodeen. He looked him up and down and then squinted as he looked into his eyes. “Quite the opposite. You should consider yourself lucky to have his blood in you. You’re the last of a rare breed, is that not true?”

Harlodeen only let out a chortle. The instructor put his quill in the same hand that held his scroll. Quick as lightning he grabbed the hand that spun the rod between Harlodeen’s fingers and held it still. The boy froze.

“And you hope to be as accomplished as him one day? As an adept and an engineer?”

“I have no engineer in me. I will be a great warrior, and a known adept.”

“You will be a trainee first. And if you’re lucky enough, because trust me, skill has very little to do with it at this point, you will become an adept. And if you’re good enough after that, you may earn a fraction of the respect this realm has for your elders, living and dead. But first you must impress me. Do you understand?”

Harlodeen felt the sternness in the man’s grip. He saw the same thing in his eyes. It was deep and unyielding, a power still growing. Harlodeen was confident and often brash, but he was not stupid by any stretch. All he did was nod. The man backed up a few steps and centered himself in front of the group again. He went through the rest of his list until he reached the name Yayeena. The dark woman next to Harlodeen, short of stature with straight black hair down three-quarters of her spine, acknowledged their instructor. Harlodeen’s eyes lingered on her for a bit too long. She turned and looked up at him, and before he could look away in haste, she smiled. It was a big smile, white and shining and glorious with full dark lips as a border. Harlodeen grinned back before they both returned their attention to the man in front of them. 

“My name… is Perriodon Nord. Many of you have probably heard people refer to me as Perry. And that is fine. They are family, or friends, or fellow trainers or adepts. You are neither of those. You are trainees. You will refer to me as Adept Nord. Any questions thus far?”

Most of the students didn’t say or do anything. A few nodded their heads. “Good,” Perriodon said. “This group, along with five others, has passed its first year. It was little more than an educational precursor. None of you have seen battle or used elemental abilities to defend your allies or maim your enemies. You knew enough about our past to know that light, beyond being the vessel of sight, is also a great and powerful weapon. Your historical intake has been enough so far to show us that you also can understand the difference between the two. You have passed the first step. Now the challenge begins. And anyone who believes the next year will be simple… you still have a lot to learn. Despite being scholarly enough to have studied and tested your way to this level, it is likely that many of you will not succeed in our practical skills tests.

“My ancestors did not harness the power of light to stroke anyone’s ego. This year, you will come to understand the fine line between strength and power. Understanding it is not the same as finding it. It took me entirely too long to do that. If you fail to find that balance, you may not find yourself in next year’s final months of training. Or, if you find that balance and then lose sight of it, you will likely find yourself lost in a field of corpses, none of whom will be remembered as remarkable or valiant, but only foolish and naïve.” Adept Nord stopped at this and scanned his eyes over the group standing before him, four-fifths of which were men. “Any questions yet?”

Harlodeen raised his hand. Yayeena looked over and up at him, her eyes wide. Perhaps the rest of the group was also shocked by Harlodeen’s interruption. But Adept Nord asked if anyone had questions, and he had one. “Has anyone ever excelled enough to skip a step of this training process?”

Perriodon pursed his lips and let out a groan. “I think you already know the answer to that question is a resounding no. Since the inception of this training program no one has been given special priority. Some of the greatest adepts have been birthed in the last two centuries of our alliance and subsequent flourishing.” He started pacing back and forth, five steps in each direction. “None of these men or women was able to pass over the arduous studying and examinations. Not a single adept has skipped the heroic and perilous duties of a rider in battle, nor has one avoided defending the adepts as a warrior of arms before earning their right to yield the power of the elements.”

“I still wonder…” Harlodeen started. Adept Nord stopped his pacing and gazed at his persistent student. “I still wonder why, if riders and warriors are capable of harnessing the power of light or water, they cannot do so in battle. I wonder how many deaths could have been prevented.”

“It is tradition, boy,” Perriodon answered coolly. “An adept’s power is great indeed, but it is also delicate, and must be understood and seen before it is employed.”

“Many of our greatest traditions from centuries forgotten have met their end in only the last few decades. I stand beside a woman who may prove to be one of the greatest adepts of our time,” Harlodeen said as he motioned to Yayeena beside him. “Decades ago, such a thought would have been cause for exile or death. Yet we benefit greatly from such a change in tradition… a shift in old and broken notions.”

            “I supposed you think yourself to be some groundbreaking hero,” Perriodon said as he approached him. They were face-to-face again. “A boy who yearns to be a man… a man who will lead his peers in a rallying cry to break down the walls of common practice and law. What gives you the right, boy, to ask for such a blessing? Who are you, I ask?”

            “I am no one. And I have only the rights given to me by the men and women who have evolved Lightwater into great renown which generations past could never have imagined. I only wonder… could I see my parents’ faces elsewhere but my dreams had they been able to harness the light before becoming true adepts? And I know, for I have come to know them as brothers and sisters, that many of my peers wonder the same thing. Parents, grandparents, older siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles and all the like. Could they still be with us today?”

            Perriodon set to breathing steadily through his nose, his mouth sewn shut. A previously stern face had turned to a more empathetic one. “We have all lost loved ones,” he said after nearly a minute of silence. No one else had made a noise, either. “But this process is proven to produce only the best of adepts, which is one of the key reasons we have been able to resist enemies and grow at exponential rates in so many aspects of life.”

            “At the cost of death?” Yayeena said in a velvety voice that turned the attention of everyone immediately to her. “Surely there are other options.”

            Adept Nord turned around and took his position before the group once again. “Now is not the time for revolutions. Now is the time for learning. Morning is near its end. We must continue. Everyone… grab two rods a piece from the table behind me.”

            Men and women shuffled forward. They moved around Harlodeen and Yayeena, and a few even squeezed between them despite their proximity. The two, now at the back of the pack, found themselves stuck in each other’s gazes yet again. Yayeena smiled. Harlodeen nodded. She did the same, and they moved forward together to learn and survive.

            “It’s no use, Ham!” the digger yelled.

His name was Gern, or at least that’s what Hammerveen called him. The rest was rather complicated and still hadn’t cemented in his head. Lightning Bay’s Second Engineer was frustrated. He was wet, soaked even, and so was his crew. Just outside Boltown, the team was set to dig down and down until they reached the Conduit, at which time Hammerveen would conduct his inspection and set right any damage that the segment may have taken. But the rain was unending. They had thought to outrun it after leaving Lightning Bay, but this finger of the Darkstrand managed to stretch out further south than most others did. The rain was likely over Northpool and perhaps much further, maybe even by the capitol. Winds from the Shadowsea were strong when they had set out from Lightning Bay the morning before. The blustery gusts had carried this pocket of precipitation, and it was possible the rain would continue through the evening and well into the night. It was a possibility Hammerveen had already started trying to map out in his head.

            They had tried digging, despite his gut telling him that it was foolish. Even when ground was broken successfully, it wasn’t long before it had pooled into a sludge that gave them no chance of digging any deeper. It was nearly an hour before Gern told Hammerveen what he had already known: It’s no use.

            He yelled from the muddy ground over the Conduit. Hammerveen had reached some higher ground on one of the rolling hilltops to the northwest. Flashes of lightning illuminated the sky over the bay. Southward, towards the capitol, he saw no clear sky. The usual blueness that encased the region, save for Lightning Bay, looked to be hidden on this day. Hammerveen turned east, and on another hill in the distance he saw a lone pair of riders on great black stags. They were a blot in the distance, on a hill most likely closer to sea level than his. Still Hammerveen knew enough about distance and perception to know that this was not an ordinary field horse. He wondered if the man was looking at him from his hilltop. A shiver ran down his spine, and he realized then just how wet and cold he was. His inspection was a lost cause on this day, and the journey back to Lightning Bay would be too arduous to endure.

            “We’ll lodge in Boltown!” he yelled down the hill to his crew. “Gather the equipment!”

            They did, faster than he’d ever seen them do it before. As soon as he reached the foot of the hill he mounted his horse and took the front of the short caravan. Gern had the harnesses of the pack mules at the front of the wagon while the rest of the crew stayed relatively dry under the canvas with the equipment. The crew’s two adept guards took up the rear. Boltown wasn’t far from their dig point. They followed the Conduit line, and the rain continued to batter them as they approached the town walls.

            Guards opened the gates as they neared, and they entered the confines of the first major town south of Lightning Bay. It was a small lake at this point. Almost all of the ground was inundated beneath their feet and hooves and wheels. Hammerveen stopped in the town common and indicated the guards forward. “One with me, the other with the caravan for safekeeping. Dry is the priority.”

            They all dismounted from their horses and split ways. The mud threatened to swallow Hammerveen’s feet, and each time he lifted them it felt like he was escaping a trap. Boltown’s lodge was just on the edge of the common. It felt good to get out of the rain, even if all his clothes were still soaked and he was dripping all over the wood planking under him.

            “I see-ee-eek rooms, for m-m-me and my c-crew. Six in all,” Hammerveen said as he approached the wobbly table the lodgekeeper sat behind. He pulled his amulet from a pocket and placed it on the table. “To be paid in f-f-f-full, along with any and all reasonable amen-men-menities, by the Lightlord. I hope you have the v-v-vacancies we s-seek.”

            “Last three rooms will have to do,” the elderly man said. He reached to a wall of hooks behind him and pulled the last three keys from their spots. “Rain’s brought in many weary travelers. But fear not. The quarters may be tight, but the ale is strong and the women warm.”

            “Very w-well, keep. Your n-name?”

            “Brask Bindell, m’lord,” he said, nodding his head curtly.

            “I’m no l-l-lord, Mister Bindell. Just an engineer waiting out the r-r-r-rain. I’ll find the r-r-rooms. The r-rest of my men will be along shortly.” Hammerveen grabbed the three keys from the table and handed one to his guard. “I’ll be with G-Gern. Split the two other d-diggers amongst yourselves, and show them to their r-r-rooms when they arrive.”

            The guard nodded and they each went into a different room. Hammerveen let his overcoat fall to the ground and removed his shirt next. He kicked his boots into a corner and sat on a wooden chair wedged into the other corner. His feet were sore. He rubbed them, though the reach over his belly made it a bit tough, and he began to relax for the first time in the last two days. It was only a couple of minutes before there was a knock at the door. “Sir?”

            “Enter,” he said.

            Gern came in with a pouch of spare garments. It wasn’t long until they were changed into dry clothes. “Ale’s served in the basement, day and night. Coming?” the digger asked. He was already at the door.

            “Aye,” Hammerveen said after some debate. “Would be good for us after the day’s disappointments.” He followed the digger from the room and rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Down a set of rickety stairs they went. His guards and the other two diggers were at the bottom, surveying the damp and dim room.

            “Ale for ye boys?” asked a man behind a bar that was little more than a board on two legs. He shared a striking resemblance with the lodgekeeper upstairs.

            “Ale, no, not yet,” Gern said, approaching first. “Antiwater. Twelve of ‘em.”

            “A more serious thirst, eh?” the bartender said. “Very well.”

            Hammerveen pulled his amulet from his pocket again and put it on the bar.

            “No need for the speech, sir,” the man said before Hammerveen had a chance to get a word out. He turned around and grabbed a glass jug and uncorked it. It was about three-quarters full. “Word’s already reached every nook and cranny of Boltown about your presence. Great engineers and adepts from Lightning Bay, seeking refuge in our muddy town. Name’s Bosh Bindell, innkeep’s brother.” From the jug he poured a liquid black as a starless sky, deep as the edge of the Shadowsea. He slowly filled twelve small glasses, one by one, stopping for a second to look at the men who had formed a semicircle in front of his bar. “Even if my younger brother upstairs hadn’t told me, I would’ve figured it out on me own. You’re all clean-shaven, and though you’ve been in the rain for hours, you still smell like royalty.” He put the cork back in the jug and placed it back on the shelf, chuckling. He started pushing the glasses forward, two at a time, and the men jumped in and started grabbing the glasses themselves. “I ain’t sold a drop of Antiwater in near a year. Not a man between the bay and the capitol can afford a thing without also losing a chunk o’ earnings. All the riches are in the south. That’s the truth of it. The north’s a mostly sparse and dark place.”

The six men raised their glasses together. They took the first swig and put that glass down, then slammed the bottoms of the next round of glasses onto the counter before taking that down their gullets.

“And even if they could afford it, they wouldn’t know how to take it like you do, like they did back in the ancient days when it was first brewed. So I say, sir, you need not pull that amulet from its pocket again while you’re here in Boltown. You’ll be well tended.”

            “Where can we get a good meal?” yelled one of the diggers that wasn’t Gern.

            “And a better lady?” asked the other.

            Hammerveen knew that Antiwater’s effects were almost immediate, but he was still surprised by how suddenly these two men had lowered their inhibitions. Gern was actually the only digger’s voice he had heard since their excursion started.  The engineer looked around. His water guard was at the right end, the light guard on the left, and they had both taken to a stool. The bartender was pouring a round of dark brown ales from a barrel at their request.

            “T-t-tell me,” Hammerveen said as he took his mug off the counter. He took a long few gulps. He could tell he himself was more at ease already, despite his size. “W-w-what makes us such honored guests? Boltown is not far from Lightning Bay, and all its residents are welcome at any time. Surely we are equals where it counts, g-good sir. Do you revere us, or do you fear us?

            “We revere you, absolutely. But there is also fear.”

            “Of what?” Gern butted in. “We came only to inspect the Conduit!”

            “We don’t fear you, gentle allies. But with great men of power such as yourselves, comes great men of obscurity as they,” the bartender said, motioning towards a table in the corner of the basement. “The one’s been scribbling in his little notebook with such furious speed since your feet hit the steps of this bar.”

            Only Hammerveen and Gern seemed to be listening by this time. The four men on the outsides of the semicircle had broken off into their own conversations. There was one man staring at their group, and when the pair turned around he made deliberate eye contact with Hammerveen. He grinned, and his teeth were yellow and jagged. His eyes were orange-yellow. He muttered something under his breath, which his friend seemed to log in his notebook. The speed at which he wrote was magnificent, even alarming.

            “Ay boys, that’s the man with that beast of a steed!” Gern said loudly. “Parked that big black stallion right next to the wagon! What an animal!”

            He was drunk. Hammerveen was sure of that. He felt a little woozy himself. But the stare-off with the man at the table seemed all too familiar. Suddenly he felt he was on the hilltop outside Boltown again, and the rain was pounding against him.

            “Where’d you say you were from again?” Gern asked them, taking a few steps towards their table. Hammerveen noticed the rest of his crew had started to take an interest.

            “Eastward. By way of the Oilcoast.”

            “What brings you this far west?” another digger asked.

            “Work. It is hard to find these days,” the man said. He was void of emotion.

            “You are not easterners,” said Hammerveen’s waterguard. He stepped forward, in front of Gern. “I’ve been east, as far as the forest. And I’ve fought west. You have the skin of a ghoul and the face of a demon. You are a westerner, born of fire and wind and filth.”

            “Under the table!” Gern yelled.

            Hammerveen just saw a glowing, orange and bright, covering the floor. The table suddenly flipped over as both men stood in unison. The westerner raised his fireball into the air. His partner, flapping a great whip up and down from floor to ceiling, sent the fire forward. The waterguard was able to tackle Gern out of the way, but they fell through a nearby table and chairs and were lost in a heap of limbs and wood. Hammerveen simply fell onto his belly. He could feel the heat above him and heard a man screaming. A bolt of light shot over him as well, but its aim was off. Blasted Antiwater, he thought.

            The fireball disappeared and the men started scurrying up the steps. The lightguard sent another bolt after them, but it hit a stair instead. Hammerveen sat up and turned. One of his diggers was on fire head to toe, writhing around on the ground, screaming in agony. The waterguard hurried to his feet and harnessed enough moisture from the soggy sodden walls and water reserve tub to douse the flames. The burns were everywhere, and surely permanent.

            “Shall we send chase, sir?” the lightguard asked Hammerveen.

            “No,” he answered matter-of-factly while getting to his feet. He turned to the bartender who himself was getting up from the ground behind the bar. “Tell me, sir. If we set out this very moment, which could we reach first? Lightning Bay or The Tear?”

            “Ride to The Tear. This is news for the capitol, not the Conduit.”