CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

Volume 2: The Road to the Academy

Chapter 45: The Sixth Seat on the Wagon

Fiona was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Cassian returned to the public hall, the sealed core tray beside her and professional composure losing a determined battle against delight.

“You passed,” she said, then laughed before he could answer. “You made Branch Master Dain stop his own examination. Do you understand how difficult it was to look dignified while everyone argued about whether that could happen?”

“I assumed professionalism meant converting impossible events into paperwork,” Cassian replied.

“That is normally our strongest defense.” Fiona pushed the tray forward. “Before the hall recruits you by force, are you keeping these cores or selling them through the Guild?”

“I will sell them. Carrying three Grave-class cores through Caeldor seems like an unnecessary invitation to inventive criminals.”

While Cassian completed the examinations, the specialist rooms confirmed all three cores as intact Low Grave-class specimens. The final valuation placed each core at twelve Gold Royals.

“The gross value is thirty-six Royals,” she explained. “The Guild retains ten percent for appraisal, regulated resale, storage, and liability. Your payment becomes thirty-two Royals and forty Marks.”

“That fee appears expensive until I imagine negotiating with an unknown buyer while carrying evidence worth robbing.”

“Exactly why the fee remains popular.” Fiona tapped his new plate. “All three cores enter your contribution record, but they do not count as completed commissions toward your provisional review.”

In my old life, wealth like this would have felt impossible. Here, thirty-two Royals feel less like freedom than evidence of a secret someone may eventually demand I explain.

He accepted thirty-two Royal, and forty Silver Marks.

The moment Fiona finished, the waiting adventurers closed around him with the coordination of people who would deny having coordinated anything.

Several had watched from the examination benches. Others had received the story in fragments, each retelling making Marek faster, Cassian younger, and the final attack increasingly capable of removing districts.

“Three-word compression across four branches,” an elderly mage said. “Who taught you to preserve structure that tightly?”

“Several teachers contributed to my education,” Cassian answered, offering a truth broad enough to conceal every useful detail.

A swordswoman leaned across the mage. “Forget the incantations. He knew where Soren’s weight had to return before the spear stopped moving. Boy, our company needs battlefield control.”

“His restraint was better,” a healer argued. “Three men, one monster, and two examiners walked away without serious treatment.”

“Join the Copper Comets,” someone called. “We possess excellent contracts and only one member who snores offensively.”

“That is false,” another voice answered. “All four of you snore offensively.”

Cassian raised both hands. “I received the plate less than an hour ago. Joining a permanent company before reading one commission would display enthusiasm rather than judgment.”

“He refuses invitations like a branch clerk,” the swordswoman complained.

Fiona pointed toward the commission boards. “Let him complete one professional decision before you turn him into shared equipment.”

This is flattering, alarming, and somehow louder than fighting Marek. I would rather face another training sword than explain my childhood to twenty curious adventurers.

Part of me wants to enjoy their approval. Another part keeps counting exits and wondering which friendly question will become dangerous after the wrong honest answer.

◆ ◆ ◆

The eastern board divided work by rank, distance, urgency, and whether the Guild expected applicants to return with the same number of limbs.

White sheets covered routine labor, blue marked guarded travel, and red borders warned of confirmed hostile creatures. Black corner seals indicated incomplete intelligence, a category Cassian distrusted immediately.

My first commission should prove reliability, not satisfy pride. Unfortunately, the work that most needs control is usually the work designed to punish anyone seeking proof.

Cassian ignored courier work and routine escorts until the highest commission permitted by his provisional Steel standing caught his attention.

BLACKROOT GOBLIN WARREN EXTERMINATION occupied a red-bordered sheet. The listed nest lay near the Hollowmere village cluster, three carriage days east of Caeldor.

The preliminary estimate named thirty to forty goblins, no confirmed advanced variants, and a High Steel difficulty. The base reward was eight Royals, with rescue compensation and salvage rights.

Goblins rarely threatened trained parties through strength alone. They poisoned shallow cuts, prepared overlapping escapes, copied human signals, and turned familiar tunnels into weapons against anyone impatient enough to chase.

“Minimum five registered adventurers,” Cassian read quietly. “Every member Steel or higher, with at least two High Steel or one Silver-ranked adventurer. Provisional members cannot lead.”

“You have discovered the sentence preventing you from adopting a goblin cave alone,” Fiona said from behind him.

“The sentence appears personally targeted despite predating my registration.”

“That feeling is how Guild regulations introduce themselves.”

Five adventurers occupied the board’s other side. Matching road badges showed a rising sun above a wheel, though their expressions suggested disagreement was among the company’s essential supplies.

The shield-bearing young man glanced from Cassian to the red-bordered posting. “You have been studying that commission for several minutes. Are you interested, or counting the investigator’s mistakes?”

“Both possibilities remain open,” Cassian replied. “My provisional standing prevents me from accepting it independently, regardless of what I conclude.”

The dark-haired archer lifted two fingers from the wall. “The five-person condition prevents it as well. We happen to have five, but that does not mean we have six.”

A copper-haired girl leaned closer. “You truly are ten?”

“I have found no evidence suggesting otherwise.”

The sandy-haired boy grinned. “You cannot judge him for being young, Pella. You are fourteen.”

Pella rounded on him. “You are fifteen, Tavi. One additional year does not make you an ancient authority.”

The braided girl adjusted her healer’s satchel. “Both of you are making seventeen feel considerably more exhausting than it should.”

“Try eighteen,” the archer said. “The decline becomes noticeable.”

The shield-bearer sighed. “I am twenty, and this conversation has aged me further.” He offered Cassian his hand. “Renn. Low Silver, front line, and leader of Brightroad Company.”

The archer nodded without leaving the wall. “Oren. High Steel, archer, pathfinder, and the person who proves Renn chose the wrong road.”

“Mira,” the braided girl said. “Middle Steel, healer, and Water mage. I repair whatever their decisions damage.”

Tavi tapped one of the short blades at his belt. “Middle Steel. Scouting, traps, short blades, and excellent advice nobody respects.”

Pella pointed at herself. “Low Steel. Fire and Light mage. Ignore Tavi unless he mentions a trap.” She paused. “Even then, inspect the trap yourself.”

Fiona lowered her voice beside Cassian. “They submit reports late, argue over food expenses, and laugh during funerals only when the dead specifically requested it. Their civilian-protection record is among this hall’s best.”

They look less like a disciplined company than siblings who accidentally acquired weapons. Fiona is not stopping them, which means the disorder is probably trustworthy.

Their closeness is obvious in the way nobody asks permission to interrupt. I remember meals in Frostwood, and the comparison arrives with enough warmth to make me cautious.

Renn touched the Blackroot posting. “We are considering this commission, but we have not accepted it. What experience makes you interested in a developed goblin warren?”

“I have fought individual goblins and small groups,” Cassian said. “The commission also requires restraint, tunnel control, and accurate reassessment if the preliminary information proves wrong.”

Mira studied him more carefully. “You have never entered an organized warren?”

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“Not one developed enough to deserve that description.”

Renn nodded. “Your barriers and Earth Magic could improve our chances underground. That makes a temporary partnership worth discussing, but only if you understand how command works inside danger.”

“I watched your examination,” Renn continued. “You may be stronger than anyone here. During this commission, strength does not make you the leader, and joining us would mean accepting my field orders.”

“Authority during an active engagement requires speed,” Cassian replied. “I will follow your commands unless obeying would immediately endanger civilians or the party.”

“That qualification is reasonable,” Renn said. “Goblins use false retreats, hidden pits, poisoned blades, narrow tunnels, and numbers they conceal deliberately. Follow first, then challenge me after everyone survives.”

Oren raised one finger. “They also display noisy idiots where scouts can see them, then hide the dangerous ones behind the obvious ambush.”

Tavi placed a hand over his heart. “Professional admiration at last.”

Renn looked across his company. “Any objections to bringing Cassian for Blackroot?”

“His control improves our chances of recovering captives alive,” Mira said. “I have no objection.”

Oren nodded. “He watches before acting, and he admitted what he has never done. Both are useful underground.”

“One commission,” Pella said, pointing at Cassian. “He does not become a permanent member merely because he can fly.”

“I had not planned to claim company ownership,” Cassian replied.

“Good,” Pella said. “We have very little ownership available.”

Renn offered Cassian his hand. “Brightroad can offer you one temporary place for the Blackroot commission. I lead in the field, and the arrangement ends when the commission closes. Do you accept?”

Cassian considered the five adventurers before taking Renn’s hand. “For this commission only, I accept.”

“Then we have six,” Renn said. “Let us make the Guild regret giving us paperwork.”

The clerk registered Renn as leader and Cassian as a provisional specialist. Each member signed the shared-risk clause before they agreed to meet outside the eastern hall after sunrise.

I came here seeking one commission and acquired five traveling companions. My professional career has already developed the pacing of a tavern story told by someone dishonest.

◆ ◆ ◆

Nash examined the Steel plate from across the Laurel Suite table without touching it. Her crimson hair remained hidden beneath the hood, though fewer shadows seemed necessary around Cassian now.

“They gave you permission to fight monsters,” she said.

“They gave me permission to accept regulated work, submit reports, pay fees, and occasionally fight monsters.”

“You could already fight them without permission.”

“Institutions prefer abilities after someone has placed them inside a ledger.”

Cassian explained the Blackroot commission, the Brightroad members, and the expected seven-to-nine-day absence. Nash’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

I hate that leaving is reasonable. I hate more that staying solely because he fears abandonment would teach him that closeness always becomes obligation.

“Three days there,” she said. “Then the cave. Then three days back.”

“That is the estimate. I will leave the full route with the steward and the Guild.”

“People leave routes before they disappear forever.”

There it is. Not an accusation, and not permission to comfort him. He is telling me the future has hurt him too often to deserve belief.

Cassian rested his hands on the table. “I have already accepted the commission. I will not cancel it because you are afraid, and I will not pretend your fear does not matter.”

Nash’s eyes sharpened. “Do not make your room smaller because I am afraid.”

“I will not. I am making sure my choice does not trap you while I am gone.”

“Then prepare,” she said. “Just do not promise nothing can happen.”

“Something can happen,” Cassian said. “So I will prepare for delays instead of pretending danger respects promises.”

He arranged meals outside the suite twice daily, prohibited entry without Nash’s permission, left emergency money, and sealed instructions for the steward if he missed the registered return window.

The steward would knock using an agreed pattern and leave without waiting. Nash could request a carriage, change rooms, or leave the inn entirely without surrendering the funds Cassian placed in her keeping.

Preparation cannot guarantee I return. It can only make my absence less capable of trapping him, and that may be the most honest promise I can offer.

That evening they celebrated at a quiet restaurant above the river terrace. Nash chose stew, fresh bread, and a honey pastry after pretending the pastry required extensive consideration.

“The plate is ugly,” Nash said while dividing the pastry exactly in half.

“The Guild calls that durable institutional design.”

“It looks like part of a door hinge.”

“A provisional Steel door hinge,” Cassian corrected. “Rank remains important.”

He is teasing me because he wants tonight to feel ordinary. I will not ruin that gift by naming the fear sitting between us.

◆ ◆ ◆

Brightroad’s covered wagon waited outside the eastern hall at sunrise. Six padded seats faced one another beneath a canvas roof, with supplies secured behind the rear bench.

Pella pointed at the final seat. “That was mine for stretching during long journeys.”

“Your legs still reach the floor,” Mira said. “Civilization will survive.”

Tavi offered Cassian a hand into the wagon. “Welcome aboard. For one commission, our rules are simple: obey Renn during danger, obey Mira after danger, and never accept food Pella describes as experimental.”

“The last rule suppresses magical progress,” Pella protested.

Oren took the driver’s bench. “It preserves biological progress.”

They left Caeldor through the eastern roads, joining freight wagons, pilgrims, mounted couriers, and farm carts beneath the morning shadow of the outer wall.

The NovelFire remained broad for half a day before dividing into commercial branches. Mile stones carried Crown distances, while painted Guild marks identified wells, guarded yards, and routes recently troubled by monsters.

The city falls behind faster than expected. Nash is already beyond sight, and my mind keeps inventing reasons to turn around despite every precaution we made.

Pella endured less than one hour before leaning toward Cassian with the intensity of someone approaching a dangerous confession.

“How do you compress four branches into three-word incantations?”

“By understanding each structure well enough to remove what repetition made unnecessary.”

“That answer explains everything and teaches nothing,” Pella complained.

“It is an excellent academic answer,” Tavi said. “I plan to use it whenever anyone asks why I missed a trap.”

Mira raised a warning finger. “Nobody demonstrates magic inside the wagon. I refuse to treat injuries caused by educational enthusiasm.”

Renn asked Cassian, “What did you do before arriving in Caeldor?”

“I studied magic, monsters, history, and practical survival. I also completed limited hunting near Frostwood.”

Silence held for half a breath before all five Brightroad members laughed.

Mira wiped one eye. “You forced Marek Dain to concede. Your definition of limited should be classified as a regional hazard.”

“He may describe an entire goblin warren as a moderately inconvenient neighborhood,” Tavi said.

“Do not encourage the neighborhood,” Renn replied.

“Then I will reserve judgment until it introduces itself.”

Their laughter does not feel cruel. They are laughing because my answer is absurd, and for once the absurdity can remain harmless.

I have spent years controlling what others know. It feels dangerously pleasant to let a harmless piece of truth become a joke instead of a vulnerability.

The first evening revealed the discipline beneath Brightroad’s noise. Oren checked tracks before camp, Tavi swept for traps, Mira inspected everyone’s feet, and Renn assigned watches without repeating himself.

Pella gathered dry wood only after testing it for burrowing insects. Their jokes continued, but hands moved through practiced tasks without collision, proof that familiarity had survived real danger.

Around the fire, Renn said, “I want Brightroad to reach Mithral without becoming the kind of company that leaves wounded members behind to protect a promotion.”

Oren added, “I want to map safer roads. Every official atlas becomes optimistic wherever monsters dislike cartographers.”

Mira stirred the pot. “I want a traveling clinic for villages that see licensed healers only after disasters.”

Tavi lifted his cup. “I intend to become famous enough that my family must admit adventuring was not a terrible decision.”

Pella pointed toward the fire. “I will become a Grand-tier combat mage, assuming Mira stops interfering with breakfast research.”

“My aspiration is keeping you alive long enough to become embarrassed by that sentence,” Mira replied.

Renn looked at Cassian. “What about you?”

Cassian watched sparks rise into the dark. “I want enough knowledge and strength to protect the people who depend on me without turning their lives into extensions of my decisions.”

The joking faded, though nobody treated his answer as strange.

Renn answered by passing him the bread. Mira added more stew without comment, and Tavi waited almost a full minute before asking whether protecting people included protecting breakfast.

That is still too much truth for strangers and too little for friends. I do not know which of those they may become, so the middle will have to suffice.

The next two days passed through river farms, wooded ridges, and villages built around coaching yards. Brightroad traded jokes in daylight and maintained silent watches after dusk.

Oren taught Cassian how eastern farmers marked goblin sightings with reversed fence stakes. Tavi demonstrated three common snare designs, then complained when Cassian identified the release knots immediately.

They are competent enough to trust and relaxed enough to forget I am evaluating them. That combination may be rarer than strength, and considerably harder to replace.

By the third afternoon, the road narrowed toward Hollowmere. Fences appeared patched with fresh timber, and livestock pens stood emptier than their size suggested.

No children watched the wagon arrive. Doors opened only after residents recognized Brightroad’s badge, and even then several adults kept hunting bows close enough to reach.

◆ ◆ ◆

The Hollowmere headwoman received them inside a crowded meeting house. Farmers, parents, and two injured herders filled the benches while rain tapped against the shutters.

The empty spaces beside these people feel louder than the room. While the Guild still calls this a livestock commission.

“The Guild report says livestock theft and roadside harassment,” Renn said. “Tell us what changed after the investigator left.”

“Everything,” the headwoman answered. “They used to steal one goat and scatter when we rang bells. Now they raid three farms together and drive the animals away alive.”

A farmer stood abruptly. “They took my daughter and my niece six nights ago. Another village lost two girls before that.”

Mira asked, “Did anyone see where the captives were taken?”

“Toward Blackroot Hill. We followed until arrows came from both sides of the path.”

Oren leaned forward. “Both sides at the same moment?”

“They waited until we entered the hollow. They even removed their dead afterward.”

Renn’s humor vanished completely. “How many of them attacked?”

“Perhaps twenty attacked us. There may have been twice that number, because we never saw them all together.”

Renn sent a written warning toward the nearest Guild relay, reporting coordinated raids, captives, concealed numbers, and probable advanced leadership.

The sealed message traveled with a village rider to the western coaching post, where relay horses could carry it toward Caeldor. Even under ideal conditions, assistance remained days away.

Waiting is safer for us and may be fatal for them. Rushing is brave only until the cave closes behind the rescuers and creates more captives.

Pella asked quietly, “Do we wait for reinforcement?”

“The relay needs a day outward and help needs longer returning,” Renn said. “Captives may not have that time. We scout, confirm, and withdraw if the threat exceeds us.”

Cassian added, “Finding the captives does not require committing to the entire warren. Information first, rescue if possible, extermination only within safe limits.”

Renn accepted the recommendation. “That is the order. Nobody pursues a retreating goblin without confirmation from Oren or Tavi.”

Brightroad left the village before the rain ended. Oren led from the road while Tavi moved through the wet undergrowth, searching where careless scouts would avoid mud.

Near Blackroot Hill, they found goblin tracks in several sizes, each patrol using disciplined spacing. Concealed observation pits overlooked the obvious approach.

Smaller prints remained near the center of each patrol line, protected by heavier tracks on both sides. That formation suggested specialists, wounded leaders, or shamans valuable enough to guard.

Tavi crouched beside a bone charm tied beneath a branch. “This is ritual work. Ordinary raiders do not mark patrol boundaries for shamans.”

Oren pointed toward a second trail. “The visible entrance is theater. Supply traffic is using another route around the eastern slope.”

The forest near the cave remained too clean. Waste had been buried, broken arrows collected, and the patrol paths disguised beneath dragged branches.

The commission described a nest. Nests are noisy, hungry, and careless. This place is hiding its numbers because something inside understands the value of being underestimated.

Renn raised a closed fist, stopping the company beneath dripping pines. Beyond the trees, Blackroot Cave opened like a dark wound beneath the hill.

“We observe the entrance, locate the second route, and count every patrol before sunset,” Renn said. “Nobody enters until we know what is waiting.”

Cassian settled beside the others and studied the silent cave, already certain the High Steel classification described only what the goblins had allowed the investigator to see.

End of Chapter 45