Thrain, part 16: Good Introductions
Kalovame is bad news. Torp has an answer. Will Tylen trust him?
Need a recap? Chapter summaries
It took a second for him to remember he was wearing the recruit’s armband. “Uh, yes…” The man wore black, with red and gold trimmings; obviously a soldier, but judging by the pinned symbol on his breast, someone of importance. Tylen did not know any different form of address though.
“Uh, yes sir,” he said at last, hoping that would suffice.
“You may call me Kalovame, at least until Muster begins.” The soldier’s strength made quick work of getting him back on his feet, at which point he realized he was a good deal taller. The look in the man’s eyes dissuaded him of any notion that it was an advantage. “How long have you been Runecasting?”
“Um. Only this morning, actually.”
Something about the way he smiled at this made him uneasy, and he wondered if he should have told him. Torp had said the guards worked with thieves…did that include the Warcrest? He dearly hoped it did not, but he no longer wished to be so open about things, and regretted what he had said already.
“Impressive. You must have some mentor.”
“I do -- or um, I did.” Furiously he cast about for some way to avoid mentioning Torp. Why he had vanished he did not know, but the unease within him was growing, and it felt like an even worse idea to bring him up. He hadn’t intended to say anything more, but was not accustomed to being careful.
“He died when Haelstra raided. That’s why I’m here. He told me about this, and the Weave.” In halting fashion the weakest lie he had ever heard jumbled out of his mouth, and his face felt red.
The soldier seemed content with it, however. “Ah, a shame,” he said, warm as ice. “What name did they have you say?”
It took a second for Tylen to recall the interaction with the Warcrest volunteering. That seemed alright to tell him; after all, the man could likely find that info without any help from him.
“Tylen Sixty-fourth, sir.” The man had said he could call him Kalovame, but that also felt wrong.
“Tylen Sixty-fourth…” It felt like hearing his name verbally dissected. “I hope you don’t fail the Evaluation.” Then he walked away.
He stood long without moving, unable to shake a sense of dread. It was almost as though he had done something wrong, but he could not tell what. All the more strange that seemed to him, for he felt strongly still that he wished to fight, and avenge his mother.
“Hey, kid.”
“Torp!” He turned and it seemed the old Runecaster had materialized next to him. “Who was that soldier?”
He did not answer immediately, instead peering about with his eyes, turning in ways that didn’t match the directions he was looking. “Kalovame, Rivalen General of the Warcrest. We must go, I have different ideas for your training now.”
“Wait, what about the other three Runes?”
He shook his head. “That would not be good to do, now. Come, we must go meet someone.” Taking off at a rapid pace, Tylen had to leap into a jog to catch him.
“But why? I thought you agreed to train me.”
“Trust me, kid. Kalovame is a black mark on the Warcrest. We would do well to keep him from you.”
But why would… He slowed to a stop, a bit frustrated and now realizing part of what made him so uneasy. After a moment, Torp noticed and turned.
“Tell me why.”
The old man only stared at him at first.
“Tell me, or, I’ll go sleep in the Barracks.” It was the only thing he could think of on the spot. “After I get my sword.”
He grinned at that. “You really are your--” He coughed. “You’re really all in, kid.” The smile was nowhere to be found. “Agree with this, then. Come meet my friend with me, and I will tell you about Kalovame.”
That seemed reasonable to him. “And why I needed to Trace today.”
Torp gave a defeated nod.
“Oh and I am still learning the other three Runes.” He hoped that was still reasonable.
“Hear my story first. That is all I ask.”
He nodded. “Ok.” Patting his pants and confirming his tokens were still there, he glanced at Torp, waiting for him to lead on. Kalovame still spooked him, but at least he would get answers from his teacher.
The grin had returned slightly, and the Runecaster passed a slow hand over his greying hair. “This way first, then. I do have to ask him…”
The last part was said more to himself, it seemed to Tylen. The man’s eyes went distant all at once, and although he began walking his thoughts already seemed far in front.
He felt another nagging thought in his mind, and as they made their way to yet another section of Ildris, he mulled over the words they had said trying to find what it was. While it had been strange how quickly his mood shifted when he had insisted upon knowing why, that was not it. Not Kalovame. No, it was that pause, Torp had coughed. He did not know what the man had been going to say, but he felt quite certain he had said something else in its place.
However much he wondered, it did not feel pressing enough to care too deeply, as there was yet more of Ildris before him. Now, best he could tell, they passed through a market district. He would have said they went through one earlier that morning, but in comparison to this they went through a quiet street still asleep.
Packed like troops in a canyon, throngs passed in ineffectual hurry, making their way past tent, shopfront, temple entrance, and… A man shouted at him, and Torp had to drag him forward. He couldn’t bring his feet to move.
They were not on the first level.
He could see in glimpses railings or stairs, by which one could descend large unflagging stone steps. Down below, if it were possible, it was even bussier. All around him, now that they had passed inwards some, golden-tan stonework, brick, and marble supported hundreds of people, sellers of all kinds, and even houses built atop the taverns and shops -- and that built above all those below. One particular place, which he just glimpsed as a narrow way opened through the crowd, was a slender black-wood and white marble structure, spindly, and it started low on the wrought stone floor beneath theirs, and came up through it to finally end tilting fifty feet up in the air. It had open entrances at the base and near him, which briefly lent him a view of crystal globes, odd materials, and Runes etched on many, many things.
At this point, Torp had dragged him most of the way for he could not stop gazing about him in wonder. The music too, it resounded with a jovial and frenzied merriment he had not yet heard before. A thought occurred to him; what if he used Weave on the Old Runes? He could do it, he was passing over many of them, but the press of the people made it difficult to concentrate, and he was enjoying himself and did not wish to remember darker things.
Then his attention was snatched by necessity as he nearly fell down stairs. Torp had yanked him into the turn downwards, and while he still had his hand on him, it was more meant to give him direction than stop him from collapsing.
“Nearly there,” Torp said.
“Your friend lives here?” That sounded like the most incredible life. It was a bit darker down here, and yet still wondrous.
“Hm. Not by choice. You’ll see.”
Still around some crowd, though in this off-shoot the stairs had led it was less, they paced their way past several merchants selling things he had mostly never seen or heard of. Many, he did not even have a name for. And then Torp stopped, and they entered a building. It had swords.
He felt his chest tighten, and a crushing sadness passed over him. The smell of metal, leather, and fire reminded him of Marn, and Eldan’s Hearth. Pushing it down, he looked around to let the might and craftsmanship of the weapons distract him. That was reasonably successful, all the work Marn had ever shown him did not prepare him for the artistry here. Swords of shapes elegant and brutal adorned every wall, some strapped to similarly designed shields, others alone and fearsome. Many handles were so embellished as to perhaps make them more useful as clubs. Really, he wondered if they had some other purpose. With as little skill as he had with his own sword, some of these he was certain he could just chop right through.
A man appeared from behind a manikin which bore a full armor, shield, and mace. He seemed only a little younger than Torp, with brown hair that came low on his ears, and green eyes that paired well with a smile, which he had.
“Ho-ho! Well if it isn’t Ya--”
“Rivall! It’s not been so long you can’t call me Torp.”
He made his way over and they greeted with familiarity, though Rivall seemed a bit surprised. It must have been some time.
“Ho, yes. Torp.” His smile was oddly confused, and Tylen wondered if they disagreed about how close they actually were.
“Well, ah, who is this young man you’ve brought with ya?” He turned to him, and a shadow passed over his face. That was all the more confusing, but if he was Torp’s friend Tylen would be friendly.
“I’m Tylen, sir.”
The man’s face looked like a pane of broken glass.
Even after any stretch that could be considered polite had passed, he said nothing. It felt like Kalovame again, although decidedly less uneasy. Somehow, whatever he had said meant way more than he thought it did.
“Rivall,” Torp said, “I’m showing him Ildris, before Muster. And, keeping him from the Barracks before he need go there.” It almost looked like Torp was nervous, but he couldn’t imagine that given the fearlessness with which he’d faced down three men in an alley.
“Ho, so ya are…” He still looked at Tylen. He began to feel like he had done something wrong, but he did not know what exactly he would apologize for.
“Where but are my manners! Tylen, well meet. I am Rivall.” The cheer returned to his face, and the shadows departed with such haste he would have been hard pressed to know they had been there. “Swordsman, swordsmaker, and reluctant shopkeep here, living on the Square’s Song. What for is it I can ya do?” He grinned as he said the last part, it seemed a kind of joke.
Normally, he might have asked about the swords and talked of the one Marn gave him, but he’d followed Torp here by his request, and now… Well, Torp seemed oddly uncomfortable, and he felt he might be able to get some information now that Rivall was here.
“I have a sword, actually. Torp wanted me to meet you.”
Rivall turned to him, and for a good second Torp found something wholly gripping about several of the swords straight past the shopkeep. Then, he met his eyes and cleared his throat.
“Kid is right.” He glanced at Tylen, and he felt that same measuring he had begun to detect, where Torp was deciding whether or not to tell him something. In this case, like he had hoped, whatever he wanted to tell Rivall forced his hand.
“Kalovame has taken an interest in him. Got his lasts at the Runium.”
Rivall looked like he had been told Tylen was being pursued by a vengeful spirit.
“I need a reason he will not be selected.”
The younger man’s face appeared to be rapidly aging up, and the shadows had returned.
“Don’t ask it,” he said.
“If I had another way, --”
“Then find that way, Y--. Torp.” He turned away and grabbed some well-shined sword, which he took to like it had no shine yet at all.
“If I had thought of one, do you believe I--”
“Ho! Thought. If that had entered into things then maybe--”
“Rivall!” Torp stepped forward and thrust his hand out, but gently settled it on the man’s shoulder. “My need is dire. Will you train him?”
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