Bog Standard Isekai

Riding away from the monastery felt positively scandalous. Rather than speaking in hushed tones and whispers, the knights-at-arms boasted loudly and shouted to make their voices heard over the stomping of hooves. And rather than wearing simple brown robes, Brin was again decked out in his resplendent armor, making a terribly ostentatious show of his wealth and power.

It was liberating in the same ways that hurricanes were windy. He thrilled in the movement and excitement of seeing the world pass under the hooves of his steed. They didn’t bring Nobility for him, this one was named Obedience and was an energetic, almost hyper kind of warhorse. He never missed a chance to leap over a hole in the road rather than going around, and had a boisterous way of walking that left Brin constantly bouncing in the saddle.

Brin would never let anyone hear him complaining out loud, but he was quickly getting saddle sore and each of Obedience’s bouncy steps was starting to tire every muscle in Brin’s body. He wouldn’t have minded any of this before the curse, but with his weakened body it was a trial. Despite all that, Obedience really did represent his name very well. He would slow down, speed up, or turn to the side with barely more than a thought from Brin. If only he could learn not to step so bouncily Brin and he would get along great.

Currently, Hedrek was telling them all a story about the time he got drunk and challenged a [Cooper] to a barrel hefting contest.

It was a story he’d heard six times from even before his stay at the monastery and Brin wanted to hear more about what they’d been up to lately, so he said, “Friends! At long last we are reunited in faith and companionship, in all loving service of the gods and by Solia’s holy will. Please, lend to me an account of what has transpired–”

“What’s he saying?” asked Govannon.

“He’s quoting something,” said Brych.

Hedrek laughed and Cid sighed. “Brin, did you learn Ollandish from scriptures and prayer books?”

Brin paused for a second. Right, he had been defaulting to Ollandish. That’s mostly what they spoke in the monastery and he’d gotten quite good at it. Or so he’d thought. “...yes.”

“Right, we always defaulted straight to Prinnashian, didn’t we?” said Aeron. “Should we switch to Frenarian, just for today?”

“Then shall I ease thy labour and speak thusly. Long has it been since thy native speech did greet thine ears, hath it not?” Cid said in Frenarian.

“Oh. Cid. You only know High Frenarian,” said Brin.

“Naturally, to converse with my peers,” said Cid.

“Let’s stick with Prinnashian,” Brin said, back in the language that most of the Lance grew up with. High Frenarian was like talking with your mouth full of cotton. Was he going to have to talk like that in the Tower? Most of the other students would be nobility. “So what have you guys been doing this whole time?”

“Well, Cowl has been with you,” said Cid.

“Yeah, believe it or not, I already knew that one.” Brin glanced back at the [Knight of Burdens] looking as impassive and unreadable as always, though after several months of being near him and not talking, Brin had started to believe he could read Cowl’s moods, and right now Cowl was perfectly happy to be here among his Lance again. Whatever mental agony had led him to take solace in the monastery seemed to have passed.

“Meredydd got married!” said Govannon.

“Ok, no,” said Meredydd.

“Meredydd and his lady love! Truly a story for the [Bards],” said Hedrek.

“I didn’t… stop! I’m not married! I’m barely engaged!” protested Meredydd, but Hedrek was already singing a traditional Ollandish wedding march, and he only knew one out of four of the words.

“They love this,” Meredydd said to Brin. “They love doing this because I didn’t have anything to do with it. I got a letter three weeks ago from my parents saying they’d already picked out a bride, and in my ignorance I thought my Lance might help me commiserate. Honestly, Brin, I love my family but they’re commoners. They’re from Sickside, for Anshar’s sake. What do they know about arranging a marriage for a knight-at-arms?”

“The Order has already sent a solicitor. If this match really isn’t suitable, they’ll sort it out,” said Cid.

Meredydd groaned, “But just because the Order might say she’s suitable, doesn’t mean–”

“Relax,” said Aeron. “They won’t have chosen someone poor.”

“That’s not the only thing I was thinking of!” said Meredydd. When he cast his eyes around to his Lancemates and found no support, he cleared his throat. “Anyways, Govannon and I beat Hedrek in a duel. With just the two of us!”

Brin raised his eyebrows. “Just the two of you? That’s impressive.”

“Now our score is nineteen to one,” said Hedrek.

“Hedrek won’t give us another match after twenty, because he’ll run out of fingers and toes to count on,” said Govannon.

Hedrek snorted and shook his head.

“Still, Hedrek, I’m surprised they managed it. Were you having an off day?” asked Brin.

“Nah, they got me fair and square,” said Hedrek.

“Ok, but all I’ve heard is about you guys. What about the Frost King?” asked Brin.

“We’ve seen him twice from a distance. It’s never come to fighting, though,” said Cid.

“What does he look like?” Brin asked.

“Hm, well I don’t know. It was Brych that got the best look at him!” said Hedrek.

Brych rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Brych. What did he look like? Sort of shaggy, would you say?”

Brych sighed. “Not this again.”

“I heard his ears were perked up and his eyes were bright, but empty. And his tongue, spilling out of his mouth,” added Govannon.

Everyone broke into laughter, except Brych who just smiled resignedly, and Brin who was a little upset that they’d gone and made an inside joke without him.

“Your eyes still haven’t completely recovered?” Brin guessed.

“They’re doing a lot better now,” said Brych.

This story originates from NovelFire. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“But at one point when they were still blurry, you mixed up the Frost King for a… dog? Is that what I’m gathering?” asked Brin.

“In my defense, the Frost King does have a dog. It was the smell mixing me up.”

Galan, who’d been riding up ahead a little to give the men some space to catch up, now slowed his horse a bit. “A [Watchful Knight’s] ability to rely on his secondary senses is one of his greatest services to his Lance. It should be a point of pride, not a target for derision. Actually Brin, I’d be interested to hear about your progress.”

Brin paused, thinking for a panicked minute that maybe Galan didn’t realize that he’d exiled Brin for the last half year, but he couldn’t come up with any possible explanation for how he could mistake that. “I don’t know if I did anything that can be considered progress.”

“Then by that may I assume that the gods did not see fit to reverse your curse into a blessing? And yet you ride well,” said Galan.

Brin did a reflexive mental calculation about who knew what and who he could trust, but to his relief he came to the decision quickly. He could trust these guys with anything. “The gods didn’t grant me any favors in that department, and believe me, I tried every possible way of asking. It’s not a total loss, though. My [Scarred, but Healing] Title works on curses now, and it grows stronger the longer it works. It could be a year or two before it finally removes the curse completely, but by that time I might be healing wounds fast enough for it to matter mid-fight.”

“Man, the Zaff vs Brin rematch is going to be legendary! You have to make sure we’re there for that!” Hedrek said.

“Oh, sure. I had such fun last time, and it would definitely be worth the risk. And that's totally something I can plan. I’ll have my solicitors contact his solicitors… Fantastic idea Hedrek, thank you,” said Brin.

“Ha! There he is! There’s the Brin we know and love!” said Hedrek.

Brin felt a wave of relief. This whole time he’d been wavering back and forth between feeling perfectly natural and feeling like a stranger on an alien world. He was probably a bit weird now, after spending seven months in church. Was he still funny? Was he still cool? Had he ever been cool? It seemed at the very least he was close enough to old Brin that they could still recognize him.

“And Lumina? Have you heard from her?” asked Galan.

“Her last letter was more than a month ago,” said Brin. “Last I heard, she was back in Steamshield and working on getting the Tower back in order.”

“Ah, then my news is more current than yours. The Tower is restored, and the education of new [Mages] will resume in five weeks’ time. Lumina has asked me to ensure that you are returned to Steamshield in time to begin your studies with your new classmates.”

“Oh.” Brin had sort of known that this was coming, but it still felt like a shock. He’d imagined he’d have a bit more time with his Lance. He’d only now reunited with them, but he wasn’t back, not really. They were going to continue on in this life, and Brin was bound for something different. “Is that where we’re going? You’re escorting me back to Steamshield?”

He thought it was weird that they were heading north and away from the sea if that was the case, but he didn’t know Ollandish geography that well.

Galan shook his head. “First, we’ll go to the Sleeper’s Fort. There are rites and mysteries of our Order that cannot be performed outside of our headquarters. I’ll have you inducted as a full knight of the Order before sending on a leave of indefinite absence. Unless you object. I’ll give you the choice, although I would remind you that when you took your vow to our Order, you vowed to–”

“I don’t! I’m honored, Galan. Really,” said Brin.

Galan nodded. “Good.”

“I hope you know that I wish I could stay here with you all. If anything, I should be apologizing to you that I have to split loyalty to the Order with so many other responsibilities. Which reminds me, I suppose I should be asking about New Edelor next.”

“[King] Metlion endures. He renamed Witch-town. Did you hear? He named it Brintown, in your honor,” said Galan.

Brin groaned. “Of course he did.” He couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that there was a whole city named after him, though.

Brin was hungry for news, and for the first time in ages, he was among men who didn’t feel like open discussion was a venal sin. He pressed for more details, taking in the larger situation, and just happy to feel like he knew things again. Galan’s view of the world was very high-level, and he knew the movements of nations and armies, though he couldn’t say anything that might be considered a military secret. The Lance’s view was much more down to earth, though they’d only seen the Ollandish side in-person. For the rest, they had to rely on rumor. Even so, Brin got a pretty good idea of the world’s situation.

Brintown had swelled in size, near to rivaling Lionsburg. Both were shanty-towns, or maybe tent cities, full of refugees from Prinnash. Overall, the mood was hungry, busy, and incredibly optimistic.

Prinnash was a lot worse off. Between the goblins, easterlings, and war machines from Theranor, it was difficult to say if Prinnash would survive as a nation. Despite all that, the Prinnashian members of the Lance didn’t seem too worried about their families at home, because the actual death count remained small, at least outside of the western edge where the goblins were running wild. Cities traded hands day by day when someone showed up with a big army and then left again, but Prinnashians had as little appetite for a civil war as they did in Olland. It was all posturing and rich-person games for now.

Frenaria fared best and worst of all. The undead were indiscriminate killers and the death toll was high, but civil order didn’t break down. Neither the Lance nor Galan knew the name Duke Cobol, so he hadn’t led a rebellion like Lumina feared he would. In fact, with such a clear and obvious enemy in the undead, Frenaria was probably more united than ever.

Things would probably be fairly calm when Brin got to the Tower.

They rode as they talked, and the day seemed to move by quickly as quickly as the landscape underneath their horses’ hooves.

At the beginning of the trip, the snow was a small and hard half-inch crust hanging around on the ground because it hadn’t quite gotten warm enough to melt it all. As they moved further into Olland, the snow grew thicker, wetter, and higher. Less like the gray and wind-swept January-style winter, and more like the magical winter wonderland that belonged in December. Great evergreens held mounds of snow up on their branches dozens of feet in the air, and when they rode underneath a slight breeze would sweep down a bit of snow dust that fell like a shower of sparkles.

They passed small towns full of cottages that seemed well-used to this weather in winter. Their windows bore the orange light of warm fires, and their entranceways and footpaths were well-shoveled to allow laughing children to run from house to house.

The entire trip took around four days, and Brin loved it all. It was the exact opposite of being in the monastery because the minutes seemed to fly by so quickly, but then when he looked back on everything at the end of the day, he couldn’t believe that so much could’ve happened all in one day.

[Recovery] leveled up! 2 -> 4

Just resting from his sore muscles from riding at the end of the day seemed to be enough to level the [Recovery] Skill, and it was wonderful and strange to make such easy progress on something after being idle for so long.

Deeper, they rode into Olland. Galan spoke now and again about how it was a shame that he had to see his homeland at its ugliest in the dead of winter, and Brin assured him again and again that he loved the snow and that it was perfect just like this.

It was night when they arrived. Galan kept them riding well after when they’d normally have stopped for the night, so Brin kept his eyes forward in anticipation. He didn’t create any Invisible Eyes to scout forward, because he wanted to experience it at the same time as everyone else. The lack of Invisible Eyes felt almost like blindness, and fueled his anticipation.

Then all at once, they saw it. First, there was a moat around the walls. The water wasn’t frozen, though a few islands of snow and ice rode the gently moving currents.

The walls were high, but strange. They were built in a diamond pattern, with gaps big enough to put an arm through, which meant that even from the other side, you’d still be able to look straight through it. Despite that, the stone looked strong and pristine, undamaged by the wear and tear of winter freezes and melts.

On the walls there were watchtowers, each with several spotlights, powered by illusion magic that Brin could feel from a half-mile away. Enchantments, no doubt; he was sure he would’ve known if the Order of the Long Sleep employed that many [Illusionists].

Then past the walls and the towers, there was a long practice field, with many areas marked for different duties, here for a horse track and there for dueling.

In the middle of a field stood the fortress proper. It was twelve stories high, and designed in the Ollandish style with large posts that rose the entire height of the structure.

Brin stared at it for a long time, first just enjoying the majestic sight, and then because all of this was tickling a memory. This reminded him of something, and he couldn’t quite tell once.

It was the spotlights that finally hit it home. They weren’t facing outward to seek out invaders. Who would dare challenge the Order of the Long Sleep here in their home? No, they were shining on the field on the inside.

This place was laid out just like a prison. But who or what were they imprisoning here?

Galan seemed more at ease the closer they rode to the fortress, and when they rode across the drawbridge and through the gates, he took in a deep breath and held it before finally letting it out in satisfaction. “Welcome to my home. Welcome to the Sleeper’s Fort.”