132. Peacetime Blues

  One week into her life as a Kronvakt initiate, Serac’s patience had nearly run its course.

  Now that she’d peeled back the layers and glimpsed into what palace life was really like, she saw it for the bland drudgery it was. Three regular meals a day, and all of them delicious, yet they bracketed charmless rotework. Patrols around the palace grounds only confirmed just how peaceful Krongard was in its every corner. Supervised sparring sessions were not much more than glorified warm-up routines. Granted, there was much to be learned from these activities, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the thrill of hunting murderous Aberrants or the satisfaction of rebuilding a community.

  Most gallingly, Serac hadn’t had a chance to smite anything all week! As such, her Liminal Karma hadn’t moved even one measly ?. Here again, a pecking order was in effect, meaning the more senior Kronvakt members got first dibs on jobs involving actual Karmic rewards. Which did explain how a junior member like Rodrin Skjortsdatter might struggle to ‘progress’.

  All that to say Serac had every reason to be frustrated, and as it turned out, Trippy was in full agreement:

  “It saddens me to see the state of these Wayfarers. Peace and stability have bred complacency and predictability. These Kronvakt chase not the furtherance of their Path but the securement of their livelihood. They’re a mere few steps away from [Anchoring] themselves, and they don’t even realize it!”

  As always, Trippy’s endorsement made Serac stop and question her own beliefs. ‘Peace and stability’ sounded pretty good on their own. Something she might wish for many of the Anchored souls she’d befriended on her journey. But did she want it for herself?

  No. At least not yet. There’s still so much for me to explore, understand, and challenge—both of the world and within myself. That, in essence, was what Trippy was driving at. Serac’s Path couldn’t end here. She couldn’t allow herself to be dragged under by complacency and predictability… even if it meant having to disrupt the peace and stability that otherwise reigned.

  As was the wont of the peaceful and predictable, the Kronvakt’s mornings began with meetings in the mess hall. So far, these meetings had offered little to no useful information for a pair of seditious outrealmers. Serac nevertheless made it a point to give her full attention. These were, after all, her only source of news about the Realm outside Krongard’s ivory tower. Today, her diligence finally paid off, as one of the items of discussion turned out to be—

  “—skirmishes around the Stamgard-Rotgard border.” Hilde Vindsdatter, the Kronvakt’s second-in-command, ran the meeting as usual. In contrast, Rathor the Captain sat behind her with a languid posture, offering nothing but a vacuous smile. “As you know, tensions between the two segments have been rising since the Realmhunt. It seems the Rotters have grown bold enough to escalate to real violence. No casualties as yet, but it may be a matter of time before—”

  “What are the Kronheer doing?” This from [SKJAL SORENSEN], the erstwhile barracuda with the sword-and-buckler. “These are Anchored souls, barely recuperated from a years-long withering. Surely, they’d be no trouble for our trained soldiers to handle?”

  “That might have been true,” Hilde answered with a glare of warning, obviously displeased by the interruption, “if it were only the Anchored souls the soldiers had to deal with. According to reports, the Rotters have renegade Wayfarers working with them behind the scenes, which… complicates matters, to put it mildly. If tensions really were to boil over into armed conflict, there’s no telling which side has the upper hand.”

  Serac exchanged the briefest of glances with Zacko, even as she resisted the urge to break out in a broad smile. From the sounds of it, the newly unemployed Tomasen twins had picked up where the outrealmers had left off, putting their considerable weight behind Rotgard’s restoration. She wasn’t too sure about this ‘armed conflict’ they seemed to be driving toward, but at the very least, she was glad her Roots-dwelling friends had someone to stand up to their bullies.

  “Do we intervene then?” Skjal the barracuda again. “Nip the rebellion in the bud, and capture these renegades while we’re at it? My team is ready. Just say the word, and we’ll take care of it. No need to trouble the Prince.”

  Skjal was one of the few Kronvakt members Serac had grown to respect and maybe even like. He had a rough manner about him, but he seemed just as bored of palace life as she—and just as itching for action. She wasn’t too sure about his eagerness to butt heads against the Tomasens, but at the very least, she was glad someone in Krongard seemed to have their priorities straight.

  Skjal’s suggestion landed to mixed reception from the rest of the room. Silence from most of the fellow Kronvakt and apparent hesitancy on the part of Hilde. The manta ray looked over her shoulder at Rathor, perhaps hoping the Captain could provide some direction. The half-blood prince merely broadened his smile, as if in encouragement.

  Serac felt a prick of irritation, as was often the case whenever she watched Rathor go about his princely duties. Not for the first time, she wondered: does this guy care about anything other than what he catches with the end of his stick?

  Hilde turned back to the group and made to speak. But she was interrupted again, this time by a much quieter voice than Skjal’s.

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  “There’s no need for us to fret.”

  All eyes turned to a corner of the mess hall. To Eddur Lokksen. The barreleye stood by his lonesome, ignoring the many empty seats that separated him and his peers. His eyes, as always, pointed directly to the ceiling. But that didn’t stop Serac from feeling as though she was being watched the whole time.

  “If four centuries of King Tyr’s reign have taught us anything, it’s that the Crown ought not meddle in the trifles of the Trunk and Roots.” Eddur’s lips barely moved as he spoke in a garbled murmur. “Grievances and injustices, imagined or otherwise. They all pale in urgency to the one force that drives and unifies our Realm. Soon, spring will arrive, and the people’s thoughts will turn to sating their renewed appetite. Why fight a rebellion when there are seeds to be sown and homes to be built? Mark my words. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

  But the Crown has meddled, Serac wanted to shout. The people had to fight just to claw back everything they’d lost, and they’re still fighting. How can you be so sure things will just ‘work out’?

  Serac narrowed her eyes at Eddur, uncaring whether he noticed her open suspicion. Was the barreleye just a very odd individual, or did he know something others didn’t? Whether the rest of the room shared her concern or not, it soon became moot. For the prince finally deigned to speak, and his was the only opinion that mattered.

  “I like where your head’s at, Lokksen,” Rathor sang, his smile as bright as it was impenetrable. “We all have spring to look forward to, so why the doom and gloom, hey? And you, Sorensen. If you’re so desperate to test your mettle, let me be your sparring partner today. I’ll even take on your whole team if you wish. Come! To the Yard with the lot of you.”

  That was that. Rathor up and left without another word, leaving Skjal and his team to scramble after him—and Hilde to stare in resigned disbelief. As for the rest, Eddur was next to get up from his corner and glide to the exit. His fellow Kronvakt followed, one by one, until Hilde and the outrealmers were the only ones left in the mess hall. The manta ray then dropped her shoulders and mumbled, “Meeting dismissed,” before herself turning and exiting the room.

  Serac glanced at Zacko and was met by a what’re-you-gonna-do smirk. The Rakshasa didn’t know much, but she thought she understood what had just happened.

  In one stroke, Rathor had pleased nearly everyone in the room. First, he agreed with Eddur and the majority of the Kronvakt, who seemed reluctant to get involved in the affairs lower down in the Realm. Second, he redirected Skjal’s gung-ho energy onto himself, in the form of an invitation the latter couldn’t refuse.

  The only one left in the lurch had been Hilde, but Serac sensed this too was strategic on Rathor’s part. Such was the manta-ray woman’s devotion to her prince that she would back him no matter what. In fact, if Serac had the right read on things, Rathor’s open disregard for Hilde only made the latter’s ‘love’ for him burn hotter.

  Serac broke out in an involuntary shudder. As if it weren’t enough for palace life to be so regimented and tedious, did it also have to be so messy beneath the surface? At any rate, it was time for her and Zacko to start their day.

  “What do you reckon?” the Manusya asked as they left the mess hall behind. “The Pasture again? Stock up on more ‘ammo’ for your new spell?”

  “I think so.”

  Serac had since made peace with her mixed feelings about ‘farming’ the Calmspawns. Further testing showed that each Untamped Calmpsawn was only good for one [Harvest] drop, which put a natural cap on how much Serac could farm (and also prevented her from flooding the market with infinite [Ulvknall Livers]). She did, however, add her own personal rule: one [Harvest] per Calmspawn species.

  “Our schedule’s free until lunch,” she continued. “We might as well make use of it. More importantly, we need to figure out what we’re doing tonight. Aimless sneaking can only get us so far, and it’s time we changed our approach.”

  “I agree,” Zacko said, “but what option do we have? We’ve explored every corner of the palace and still no dice. The only place we haven’t looked into is the Apical Bough. If we haven’t roused any suspicion yet, breaking into the royal chambers would certainly do it. The one potential lead we had was Pete, but he’s gone AWOL on us ever since his transmutation.”

  Serac dropped her shoulders and sighed. A week had passed since the scare at the brig, with no further sign of Petter anywhere in the palace. She was even starting to doubt her and Zacko’s conclusion—that their mackerel friend had broken himself out using Wayfaring powers. Perhaps he really had perished inside that dark, lonely cell…

  Speaking of dark, lonely places, the outrealmers were back in the Pasture. More specifically, they made their way into an artificial cave built entirely of layered amber, home to the Tamped versions of cave-dwelling Wildspawns. Chiefly, these were your Slangespytts and Rumpetrolls, but Serac was only interested in the latter to [Harvest] some tadpole goop. Ideally, she could Untamp a whole swarm of them and get them to combine into a Rumpejette—bigger bang for her Cartridge buck. But so far, everything she’d come across were individual cubes, perfectly Calm and ready for the taking but not fit for purpose.

  Deeper into the cave, the layers of petrified sap thickened, thus shutting out outside light and turning the color of amber into the gloomy dark of burnt resin. No real obstacle for Yaksha ripple-readers, but the outrealmers were thankful for the dim, jade-green light emitted by their [Abyssal Plates]. And it was in this near-total darkness that Serac’s horns picked up a signal. A region of attenuation straight ahead on the footpath. Something—no, someone solid and Yaksha-sized where the ripples bounced and settled.

  Serac tensed as she realized the figure was labeled by Pathsight. Kronvakt? What were they doing here and how much had they heard of her and Zacko’s conversation? But then the figure drew closer, and so too did their status sheet, until the words filtered through the turmoil in Serac’s mind:

  [Designation: PETTER SVENSEN]

  [Wayfarer Race: YAKSHA]

  [Karmic Level: 1]

  [Liminal Karma: 0 ?]

  [ZEALOUS Instrument: MATCHSTICK]

  [Auxiliary: SHAKER]

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