CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

Volume 1: The Frontier Years

Chapter 28: Those Who Answered

A week later, the five Gold-ranked adventurers reached Frostwood in the afternoon, and the village noticed them before the southern watch bell finished its second signal.

They came on good horses, but not matching ones, and their equipment had the uneven quality of gear chosen over years rather than issued all at once. Nothing about them looked ceremonial. Scratches marked buckles, repaired leather crossed expensive armor, and every weapon sat where a practiced hand could reach it without searching. Cassian, helping Gareth carry a narrow plank toward the work shed, stopped when the first rider entered the village road.

The leader rode at the front. Joren Valek looked to be in his mid-thirties, a little over six feet tall and solidly built without the exaggerated mass of a heavy infantryman. Dark brown hair reached the back of his neck, and a short beard softened a face that might otherwise have appeared severe. A pale line crossed his right temple, disappearing into his hair. His armor was layered steel and dark leather, lighter than Roland’s plate but far more substantial than a hunter’s gear, and a long sword rested at his left hip beside a shorter blade worn for close work.

Joren’s eyes moved constantly, but not nervously, taking in watch platforms, the repaired palisade, soldiers at the road junction, and every gap between buildings. When a little boy stared openly at his horse, Joren leaned down and said, “Careful. He charges one apple for admiration and two for touching. I have been negotiating for years, but he remains unreasonable.” The boy laughed and ran back toward his mother.

Serious, but not stiff, Cassian thought. He watches first and relaxes other people deliberately. That is useful in a leader if he is one.

The largest member of the party rode behind him on a horse that looked too small despite being a heavy frontier breed. Frein Kest stood well over six and a half feet when he dismounted, with shoulders so broad that his iron-rimmed shield resembled a normal soldier’s buckler against him. His arms were thick beneath a sleeveless coat of layered mail and leather, and his shaved head made the old scar above his left ear easy to see. A two-handed hammer hung across his back.

Frein looked toward the palisade, then toward the northern tree line, and grinned. “Smaller than I expected.”

Joren glanced back and asked whether he meant the village or the monster. Frein chose the village, which made Joren nod. “That was the safer answer.”

The woman riding beside Frein laughed loudly enough to make several villagers look again. Lyra Sen, the party’s mage, was the smallest of the five, perhaps five and a half feet tall, with copper-red hair braided into two practical ropes and green eyes that seemed incapable of remaining still. Her traveling coat was short, split for riding, and reinforced with plates etched in fine spell formulae. Three metal rods of different lengths were strapped across her back beside a dark wooden staff.

She barely waited for her boots to touch the ground before turning to Joren. “Do you think Cedric Vale is actually here? The Guild reports in Stagwatch said Cedric Vale survived. I want to ask whether the creature formed grammar properly or only copied repeated phrases, whether its mana changed while speaking, and whether—”

Joren held up one hand. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Lyra protested, which made him glance at her chest as though checking the claim.

“Not convincingly.”

The ranger dismounted with more grace than the others and immediately checked whether anyone had noticed. Lucan Mirell was handsome in the practiced way of a man who knew it, with sun-browned skin, shoulder-length black hair tied loosely at the nape, and a narrow mustache he probably maintained with more care than he admitted. He wore a fitted green-gray coat over light armor, a recurved bow across his back, and knives in enough places that Cassian stopped counting after six.

Lucan spotted Tessa Rhen near the village center and smiled as though the road had finally rewarded him. “Had I known the Guild was sending its finest investigator north, I would have arrived sooner.”

Tessa did not smile. “Had I known you were coming, I would have asked the checkpoint to dig a second ditch.”

Frein laughed while Lucan placed a hand over his chest. “Still wounded by my charm after all these years.”

“Not wounded,” Tessa replied. “Still waiting for evidence that the charm exists.”

The fifth rider dismounted quietly while the others laughed. Selene Arven, the party healer, was in her late twenties, of average height and slender build, with warm brown skin, dark hair braided around the back of her head, and soft gray eyes that found the village wounded before they found the officials. Light armor showed beneath a cream-and-blue traveling coat, and heavy medical satchels hung beside a short staff.

She noticed Gareth’s missing hand, then Rowan being helped across a doorway, and her expression tightened.

They were hurt badly, Selene thought. And we still came because three words and a rumored core were enough.

The thought did not make her turn around.

Corven and Marcus waited near the square with Tessa and Roland. Cedric stood a little farther back, his expression already worsening as Lyra stared at him with open excitement.

Marcus spoke first. “The marsh drake hunters.”

Joren sighed. “I was hoping that explanation would survive at least until supper.”

“It died before you reached the checkpoint,” Marcus said. “Your ranger asked for a map of Ironclaw territory in Stagwatch.”

Lucan raised a finger. “In fairness, I asked whether such a map existed. That is academically different.”

Tessa glanced at him. “You are not academic in any recognizable sense.”

“That is hurtful. I once read most of a book.”

Joren covered his mouth with one hand while Frein laughed again.

The ease between them was obvious. They interrupted without offense, mocked one another without malice, and adjusted positions unconsciously whenever villagers passed too close. Lucan checked rooflines while pretending to admire the square, and Lyra talked constantly while keeping one hand near the rods at her back.

A party can become a system too, Cassian thought. The habits are shared even when the personalities are not.

Roland stepped forward before the humor could make the meeting seem casual. “I know who you are.”

Frein immediately looked pleased. “Good things?”

“Some,” Roland answered, which only made Frein decide it meant yes. Roland ignored him and turned to Joren. “The Grey Lantern Company. Three Ruin-class engagements survived. The Fenmaw Tyrant in the Greyfen Marshes was yours.”

Joren’s expression changed slightly. “Ours and forty-two marsh wardens, two barge crews, a district mage, and several people who never received songs.”

Tessa folded her arms. “That answer is one reason your reputation remained good after the bards found you. The creature had destroyed three ferry settlements, broken two levee roads, and made half the eastern Greyfen trade route unusable for a season. You held it in a flooded basin long enough for the wardens to collapse the north bank and trap it.”

Frein scratched his jaw. “Then I hit it.”

Lyra gave him an incredulous look. “After it nearly swallowed you. You were inside its mouth up to the waist.”

“It still failed,” Frein said.

Selene sighed. “He had thirty-seven puncture wounds and kept asking whether dinner had survived.”

Frein frowned thoughtfully and asked if it had. Four voices answered no at once, and for the first time even Corven smiled.

He said, “You have a real record. That is why this conversation matters. Five amateurs would be easier to turn around.”

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Joren’s smile faded, though his tone remained calm. “We heard the stories and came to see whether they were true. There is no law against traveling north.”

“No,” Tessa said. “There are restrictions against entering a closed monster zone, interfering with a Crown investigation, accepting undeclared private monster contracts, and deliberately provoking a classified threat.”

Lyra lifted both hands. “We have not done any of those things.”

“Yet,” Tessa replied, and Joren glanced toward Lyra, who looked offended by the accuracy.

Marcus brought them into Aldric’s study while soldiers remained outside both doors. Cassian returned to copying work in the archive and heard only parts of the discussion through the connecting door. Joren did most of the speaking and rarely answered immediately when Marcus framed a question too narrowly.

“We have faced Ruin-class creatures three times in ten years,” Joren said. “I am not claiming that makes us experts on everything given the same rank. It means we know the difference between a frightening report and a death sentence written in advance.”

Cedric’s voice answered from the far side of the room. “Do you also know the difference between a Ruin-class creature and a High Ruin creature marked Intelligent Type?”

A pause followed.

Joren replied, “Yes. I also know classifications are made by people working with incomplete evidence.”

Lyra could remain silent no longer. “It spoke. That alone changes everything. Do you understand how rare that is? Did it use tense correctly? Did it respond to new sentences or only produce prepared phrases? Did the sound come from a normal throat structure? Was there mana movement around the jaw or skull when it spoke?”

Cedric’s answer was colder. “Four people died.”

Lyra’s excitement disappeared so quickly that the silence after it hurt. Selene spoke gently before anyone else could. “She knows that. Lyra becomes loud when frightened or fascinated, and this situation has given her both reasons at once.”

Lyra looked down. “I did not mean disrespect.”

Cedric’s tone softened by a small degree. “Then remember that the creature is not an academic specimen waiting for you to finish asking questions.”

In the archive, Cassian thought, She is reckless, but not empty-headed. Curiosity moves faster than judgment.

Marcus continued, “You say you came to verify the stories. What does verification mean?”

Joren gave a quiet laugh. “It means I dislike questions with traps hidden inside them. We want to inspect public evidence, speak to willing witnesses, and decide whether the reports are credible.”

Tessa leaned forward. “And after you decide?”

“We decide what to do next.”

“That avoids the thing I asked.”

“It answers the thing you said,” Joren replied, and even Marcus looked faintly entertained.

Roland, however, remained serious. “I have heard of your company since before Greyfen. You are capable. I would rather say that plainly than pretend you are fools. But you are making the same mistake we made before the first death.”

Frein leaned back in his chair and asked which mistake Roland meant. Roland answered without hesitation. “Believing experience against other monsters tells you how this one will behave.”

“Experience has to count for something,” Frein said.

“It does. It counted for enough to keep some of us alive. It did not make us correct.”

The heavy fighter considered that longer than Cassian expected before conceding, “Fair.”

Tessa knew the Grey Lantern Company well enough to understand the danger. They survived because Joren could retreat, Selene could overrule profit, Lucan could guide people through bad country, and Frein followed orders in battle. That is the problem, she thought. They are competent enough to believe competence will save them again.

Corven laid out the restrictions clearly. The party could remain in Frostwood, use public roads, and speak to willing residents. They could not enter the restricted zone, interfere with patrols, follow Crown investigators, or create a situation that forced Marwick soldiers into rescue. Joren accepted the wording without argument.

Frein frowned and asked what happened if the monster came to them instead. Corven replied, “Then I recommend hitting it.”

Frein nodded, satisfied. “Good rule.”

Lucan leaned toward Tessa and murmured that he liked the lieutenant. Tessa informed him that Corven was married. When Lucan stared at her, she added, “You looked like you were considering your chances.” Frein made a choking sound and Selene covered a laugh with one hand.

That evening, Frostwood learned the Grey Lantern Company by fragments rather than titles. Frein helped soldiers raise a damaged palisade beam, catching most of the weight on one shoulder when three men lost their grip. Lyra cornered Cedric for technical questions and nearly walked into a water barrel while discussing Ironclaw’s response to different elements.

Lucan tried to charm Mara Whitlock and failed before completing his first compliment; she asked whether she should prepare a bed for him in advance. Selene spent the evening with Gareth, asking about his brace and phantom pain rather than Ironclaw. He became more open when he realized she was not conducting an interview.

Cassian watched them throughout the day and found no hidden circle of geniuses. Frein accepted obvious jokes several seconds late, Lyra forgot where she had put her gloves while wearing them, and Lucan collected three different rejections before supper. Joren alone seemed to keep the whole picture in view, though even he did not strike Cassian as brilliant. His strength was steadiness: he explained things without humiliation, redirected trouble without making a room cold, and rarely let excitement choose for him.

Average judgment used consistently can look like brilliance next to poor judgment repeated loudly, Cassian thought.

The Grey Lanterns ate together in the common room of the village inn, and after the door closed, the tone changed. Joren waited until Lucan checked the back stair and Lyra laid a small sound-dampening charm beneath the table.

Frein tore bread in half. “So when do we kill it?”

Selene closed her eyes. “You could at least pretend subtlety exists.”

“We are alone.”

“That has never stopped you from being embarrassing.”

Lyra leaned across the table, eyes bright again. “If it truly speaks, the core could be unlike anything recorded. Do you understand what collectors, research halls, and noble academies would pay for a core from an intelligent Ruin-class monster?”

Joren looked at her. “You are assuming it has a core worth taking and that we survive long enough to sell it.”

Lucan poured watered wine into five cups and called survival a detail. Joren reminded him that such details killed people.

Frein pointed out that they had helped bring down three Ruin-class creatures during the company’s ten-year history.

Selene looked around the table. “That number becomes less comforting every time one of you repeats it.”

Frein shrugged. “Still three.”

Joren rubbed one thumb along the rim of his cup. He disliked how simple their motive became once stripped of better language. A speaking monster meant rarity, and rarity meant value: freedom from contracts they no longer wanted, money for Lyra’s research, and the clinic Selene had spoken about for six years. And I want to know whether we can do it, he admitted privately. That is the most dangerous part.

Aloud, he said, “We are not walking into the deepest part of its territory tomorrow. We inspect the outer route. We confirm tracks if we can. We see the battlefield from a distance if the way is open. If anything feels wrong, we return.”

Selene’s expression was gentle but unhappy. “You know that is how we always begin.”

“That is because walking directly into danger would be stupid.”

“Walking toward it politely may still reach the same place.”

Lucan smiled. “That should go on our banner.”

Frein frowned and asked when they had acquired a banner. Lucan told him they had not, which led Frein into a confused objection that ended when Lyra laughed so hard, she had to cover her mouth.

The tension eased, but Selene did not forget the answer she had not received. She looked at Joren. “Say it clearly. If we find the Ironclaw and believe we can kill it, are we taking the fight?”

Joren met her eyes.

“We did not cross half the kingdom to admire tracks.”

Frein nodded, satisfied. Lyra looked almost feverishly excited, while Lucan’s smile faded and Selene lowered her gaze.

I knew the answer before asking, she thought. I only wanted to hear whether he could still say it honestly.

The next morning, Joren and Tessa spoke beside the well. Tessa had already decided he would try something; the only uncertainty was what name he would give it.

“You know Halden will notice if five Gold adventurers vanish from the village,” she said.

Joren smiled. “Then it would be foolish for five Gold adventurers to vanish.”

Tessa’s eyes narrowed. “That was not reassurance.”

“I did not mean it as reassurance.”

Tessa studied him. “You survived Greyfen because you listened when the marsh wardens told you where not to step.”

“We also survived because the Fenmaw Tyrant underestimated Frein.”

“Everyone underestimates Frein.”

“Especially Frein,” Joren said.

From across the square, Frein shouted that he had heard them. Joren called back that this proved him wrong, which appeared to satisfy the heavy fighter.

Tessa exhaled. “You joke when you want people to stop pressing.”

“I joke because life improves slightly when people laugh. When that fails, I listen.”

“Then listen now. The Ironclaw is not a trophy waiting for a competent party. It studied soldiers while killing them.”

Joren’s expression became serious. “I heard you.”

“That is not the same as agreeing.”

“No,” he admitted.

Tessa had no lawful reason to detain him for a violation he had not yet committed. Competent enough to hear the warning, proud enough to believe he can account for it. She disliked that combination.

Later, Cassian trained with Cedric behind Aldric’s house. The exercise was simple in appearance and exhausting in practice: maintain a thin shell of mana around one hand while Cedric interrupted him with questions, tossed pebbles toward his shoulder, and changed the rhythm of the lesson without warning.

After the third pebble, Cassian accused Cedric of choosing the timing deliberately. Cedric’s expression remained innocent. “I am shocked you would accuse a teacher of designing an exercise.”

“The timing is irritating.”

“Then the exercise is functioning.”

Cassian maintained the mana shell while answering a question about internal flow and turning his head just enough to let another pebble pass. Control under distraction. Useful for flight, and more useful for anything that wants to kill me while I am concentrating. He did not say that.

Cedric saw only improvement and a child becoming increasingly annoyed by stones.

By afternoon, the Grey Lanterns had publicly accepted the restrictions. That evening, Lucan lost another attempt at flirting when the innkeeper’s widowed sister listened to his compliment and asked whether he needed directions to the stable. Frein laughed until his sides hurt, while Selene called Lucan obvious and Lyra observed that no evidence supported his definition of charm.

Before dawn the next morning, using magic to distract soldiers on watch, five shadows left by an older logging path west of the main watch route. They carried no full packs or pack horses, only food for one day, climbing cord, healing supplies, weapons, and the confidence of people who had returned from dangerous places before.

Joren led them beneath the trees while Lucan moved ahead, checking ground and listening for patrol bells. Lyra seemed almost unable to contain her excitement, though Selene made her promise twice not to cast unless necessary. Frein carried his hammer across one shoulder as if the weapon weighed nothing.

Selene finally asked how far they intended to go. Joren replied, “Only far enough to see whether the stories are true.”

She looked toward the dark forest ahead. “That is not a distance.”

Joren smiled, but this time no one laughed. Behind them, Frostwood remained asleep. They had agreed not to hunt the Ironclaw, only to look, but in dangerous country people often gave different names to the first steps of the same road.

End of Chapter 28