Chapter 40: Truth
It was a bumpy ride down the sloping path, the outside a bleak picture of dark colors that shaded the promises of the land. Naked trees through all of it stabbed at the earth at intervals, their roots gnarled around the thick mud, poking out like traps set out by nature to catch the unfortunate.
Inside the carriage, however, it was a show of sparkling lights. Fitted to each corner of the compartment, wide enough for an eight-man company to fit in, were jewels sprinkling soft golden light down the seats. While appropriate for even a royal parade, it was instead being used by men clad in plated armor.
Such indulgence and extravagance, and yet Valens had to admit it was better than breathing in the rotten stench of that cave. He lounged merrily with one hand stretched over the backseats, Celme and Marcus by his side, the edges of his lips curled in a beaming smile even as Mas fellow tried to glare him down to death.
“Relax, will you, Sacred Brother? This carriage has the comfort of a palace, but you’re ruining the mood,” Valens teased the man, which earned him a different look from Garran, with the captain keeping silent in his usual moderation. “Though if you wish, I can do a check on your facial muscles. You might have a few of them pulling at your visage to give you that look.”
“Heretic,” Mas spat, right hand moving over to the sword resting by the door. “Your tongue can’t save you from—“
The captain didn’t even have to say anything to silence the man, as a simple look did the job. Valens presumed the hierarchy of their order could be tighter than it appeared, but the difference of their respectable strengths could be a reason as well. He couldn’t see either man’s levels, but he didn’t need to, as everything was clear over the Resonance.
It’s like the difference between a lion and a slightly overfed cat. Oh, and a wild fox in the mix that’s our indifferent friend.
The muscle intensity alone reflected their stature, with the captain carrying layer upon layer of burning strength under his rather simple, a touch chiseled form. He easily weighed over three times what Valens was worth, and it was a marvel how the carriage kept its balance with men of his stature pulling it down.
Those are strong horses, and this is some quality wood.
Valens nodded and felt a touch around his arm when he was about to continue with his questions. Celme scrunched her nose at him, displeased by the casual way Valens handled this uncomfortable situation. She and Marcus resembled a pair of street urchins shoved into a royal ball, eyes squinted at the golden light shimmering too bright from the jewels, overwhelmed by the air of strength radiating from the sacred warriors.
But Valens had his fair share of royal company back in the Empire, perhaps more than he would’ve liked. However they feared the Magi and their disturbing potential, the heavyweights of the aristocracy and the industry often bribed their way inside the Institute to have their children trained at the craft. Master Eldras often likened this to an ‘infiltrate and take control’ kind of approach, though this scarcely worked in the way they’d hoped.
Most of the people Valens considered friends were from such families, and not one of them would prefer the riches of the material world to the endless pit of fascination that was arcane. Charmed and spellbound by the profession, smitten with the craft to the point of no return.