Chapter 64 - Earl

  The following day, I was retrieved not long after breakfast. It was a two-guard escort to the Able’s room in the side chamber of the main hall.

  “Ah welcome, Earl,” he said as I was escorted in. “The Archons are due to arrive shortly, and I wanted to get these digits attached before they do.”

  “Huh. Thought you’d forgotten about me.”

  “Not forgotten, but it will require a huge amount of mana with your Harmony issues, and the Monarch has expressed her concerns that you will return to your old ways of committing the Akra. Speaking of which, I do need confirmation that you will not continue with that?”

  I weighed up my options. Should I or shouldn’t I promise? It wasn’t in my nature to be blackmailed, but I did really want those lovely fingers back. So I lied. That at least was in my nature. “Of course I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  He peered beneath his bushy brows at me with an expression that showed nothing but distrust. “They can always be removed again.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they can. But let’s not forget one important thing.”

  “Oh please do enlighten me.”

  “If I pass this truth test, the Archons are going to make an offer, and that offer will likely be higher if I have all my fingers. That’s the only reason you’re putting them back on.”

  “You are a complex animal, Earl. Truly unique in my estimation, and you are not wrong. But I will warn you, unlike our more relaxed view of the salute, it is personal to the Archons.”

  “I’m not surprised. It was their fucking slaves that rebelled, isn’t it? Kill a billion slaves and then get butt hurt when they bite back and kill a hundredth of that number?”

  The Able’s eyes widened. “I would not speak of that great travesty in those terms ever again if I were you.” He paused and then looked suspicious. “Where did you hear of that particular history? To my knowledge, the only people you have spoken to since being here are the guards, myself, and a few shop keepers.”

  Realizing my blunder, I shrugged. “I pick things up. A few snippets here, a few snippets there. It all sounds like the same kind of bullshit historical stories from my own world.” I stopped there, cautious of over speaking. Nothing gave a liar away faster than talking too much.

  “I see,” he said, not convinced at all. “Shall we begin connecting these?” He waved a small metal tin in front of me.

  “If those are my fingers, then yes. Let’s.”

  He opened up the tin and beckoned me to sit across the table from him, pulling one of my fingers out from the tin.

  I sat while he studied it, then looked at my hands. “I’m not entirely sure which finger belongs to which hand.

  “Pass them here,” I said, thrusting out my hand. “I’ll know.”

  He put the finger back in the tin and slid it over to me. What proceeded was a five-minute test phase.

  I waved one at him. “This looks a little chunkier. This is definitely the right one.”

  “I will bow to your judgement.” He took the finger and a knife from a pot on his desk, and began cutting into the bottom of it.

  I watched with curiosity, and then annoyance as he passed the knife over to me with a sly smile.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to open the stump up a little if you want this to reattach. Under normal circumstances, I could open the necessary wound with magic, but these are not normal circumstances.

  I rolled my eyes at his drama and cut into the stump. It didn’t cut first time, which made me smile. I was getting durable! I used the point of the dagger on the second attempt and stabbed in with a lot more force.

  It worked. It hurt. I swore repeatedly. The Able leaned back until I recovered.

  “That seemed excessive,” he replied, leaning forward to inspect the wound. What he could see of it anyway with all the blood pumping out.

  He jammed the finger on the stump, then pointed. “Can you hold it in place? And do try to keep it straight. My magic will help up to a point, but the less I have to do, the easier it will be.”

  “I’m hardly going to hold it on back to fucking front, am I?” I snapped, still feeling the deep throbbing pain from stabbing myself.

  He wasn’t listening. Hands glowing, he began the healing process. It took a while before I felt any change. Though, sweat beaded on his forehead almost immediately. By the time I felt the two separate parts of my finger knotting back together again, the Able was gritting his teeth.

  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” he gasped.

  “That’s what they all say,” I replied, getting some relief now from the healing.

  A few minutes more and he fell back, looking pale, and close to vomiting. My finger was attached but not even close to being fully healed.

  “I can do no more. I will have one of the other mages finish healing the wound, but you will not get both fingers this day.”

  “That bad, eh?”

  He pulled a vial from his desk, and muttered, “Worse.” Then he drank the contents of the vial.”

  “Does that heal you?”

  He shook his head. “It helps with symptoms of Mana Fatigue, but it doesn’t replace lost mana, no.”

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  “Cool. So where’re these other mages, then? This thing’s still pissing blood out.” I held up the injured digit to demonstrate.

  He pulled a cloth from the desk and thrust it at me. “Tie it up, then go and alert the guard that we need a healer. I’m too weak to stand at the moment.”

  I did as he asked and crossed the room, popping my head out into the hallway. Both guards turned at the sound.

  “Can one of you go get a healer please? And before you start any shit, the Able is fine. He’s just tired from healing my finger. We need a mage to finish the job.”

  Something passed between the two of them, and as one headed off, the other entered the room.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” he asked, clearly worried.

  The Able raised another of the vials in greeting. “I’m fine, Vost, just weary, thank you.”

  The guard seemed satisfied, but when he returned to the door, he took up position on the inside of the room. Clearly, he didn’t trust me in the room with a weakened Able. To be honest, I didn’t blame him at all.

  An hour and the efforts of two arena mages later, my finger was almost healed, and the Able was looking much better. Which was just as well, as the Archons had arrived.

  We were called into the main hall to greet them. The two golden armored wankers had an entourage of five other people this time. Four of them in similar if less gaudy armor. The other visitor was in flowing robes of white and gold. They were the only one I was interested in.

  Name: Aelsor Mesor

  Title: Master Seeker of House Besas

  Level: 37

  Class: Mage

  Confirming my suspicion that he was the Seeker, I inspected my finger again, while I waited for the drama to begin.

  It’s good to have you back, little fella, you’ve been missed more than you know. I chuckled to myself as I imagined unveiling it in the arena. I was even tempted not to flash it in my next fight to lull everyone into a false sense of security. Maybe wait until the final unless a perfect moment presented itself.

  After a back and forth of pleasantries and other boring bull shit between the Monarch and the Warden of Besas, I was led off to another one of the main hall’s antechambers.

  It was a small room, with a desk and a two chairs and very little else. Only the Seeker and one of the Archon guards were allowed in the room with me. Any more would apparently void the test. Sounded tenuous to me, but apparently the guard had complete control over his emotions and so wouldn’t affect the test.

  I suspected I could rile the sour face bastard up, but I’d see how the test went first.

  Seeker Mesor took a seat, and I sat opposite him. He frowned at that, and I frowned back.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “It is customary to be offered a seat. That could have been for my guard.”

  “This ain’t your house, pal. And I’m not your prisoner, so wind your fragile neck in and crack on with the interrogation.”

  “You realize I hold your life in my hands, yes?”

  “Is that what you think?” I asked, before giving him a slow wink.

  I felt the guard bristle, which caused the Seeker’s attention to snap around to him, golden eyebrows raised in anger and disgust. I suspect it was because of the show of emotion. I chuckled at the little display until those eyes turned back on me.

  “You are a Siroth sympathizer. True or False.”

  “False,” I replied easily. Which was completely true. I understood their plight, but I couldn’t give two shits about it.

  Goldilocks frowned. “You have interacted with members of the Siroth?”

  I shrugged. “You tell me. I’ve egged the crowd on, so if there’s any Siroth in the crowd, then maybe. And I fought the Unalaran. Was he Siroth?”

  The Seeker slammed his delicate hands down on the table. “I will ask the questions.”

  “But I can’t answer them if I don’t have all the information,” I said with a smile that seemed to irritate him further.

  “Did you know what the middle finger salute meant to the people of the Union when you performed it.”

  “Which time?”

  “So you admit to knowing?”

  I sighed. “Which time?”

  “Any time!” he screeched, spital flying from his mouth.

  “Then yes. I knew some of the times I did it. But that doesn’t stop it meaning something else to me.”

  “And you did not stop.”

  I put my head in my hands, elbows rested on the table. “How many times to I have to tell you fucking idiots that it means something different on Earth?”

  The Seeker stood up abruptly, chair scraping back and falling over. “You dare call me an idiot!”

  I raised my head to meet his glare. “When I tell someone the same thing repeatedly and they still don’t understand it, I consider them to have met my definition of an idiot. You fit the bill.”

  “I consider an idiot to be someone who continues to perform an action they have been told is considered vile and obscene.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’re not wrong there. But then, I was kidnapped by you Union fucks. Why should I give a shit what you think?”

  Annoyance turned to exasperation just like it always did. “Because we will kill you. Do you want to die?”

  I shrugged. “What choice have I got? We all die. I only care about how I live.”

  “You should care about how you die, because we can make it very difficult for you. Very painful.”

  “Better than living in fear of you. Bowing and scraping for fear of being killed. Already dead at that point, I’d say. Unless your happy living that kind of life.” I pointed to myself. “I’m not.”

  He studied me for a long moment. “Would you serve the Siroth?”

  “I don’t serve anyone, and I never will. However, I’d align my goals with someone if they could help me get what I want.”

  “Which is?”

  “Strength. Power. Equipment.”

  He laughed, the first positive emotion from him for the entire interview. “I do not know what to say about you, Earl. I’ve sensed no deception, but you have a dangerous mentality. I could not recommend you as an acquisition for my master, despite his keen interest in you.”

  “Has he seen me fight?”

  “No. This is a peripheral tournament. Only the semifinal and final will warrant the use of a recording crystal. His interest comes from another source. It stretches to all Earthers, but to you in particular.”

  “Why?”

  “The why is a mystery to even me, but he asked me to assess your suitability, and I must say I find you suitable for very little. I have been specifically asked to find out about your stats. Ideally, my lord is looking for Warrior Mages, but it seems you lack magical aptitude. Is this true?”

  “It is, yeah.” I agreed.

  “That is unfortunate. Earthers with high Harmony are high on my lord’s wish list. What is your Harmony?”

  I smiled. “My Harmony is… my fucking business. Last I checked, you were here to see if I was a Siroth sympathizer or something. You have your answer.”

  “You are in this room to answer my questions. I suggest you answer them.”

  “’Fraid not.”

  He stood again, anger boiling over as a ball of red crackling power appeared in his hand. “You will answer my question or you will be eating this Aether Blast.”

  I couldn’t fight the smile as I stood up. “Do it.”

  His eyes went wide. Disbelieving.

  “Go on then. There’s nothing worse than someone dishing out threats they don’t back up.”

  “I will,” he said, raising the ball to the side of his head ready to throw like a ball.

  “You should,” I agreed. “Though I still won’t tell you any of my stats.”

  “You’ll be dead, you fool. I will tell them you attacked me.”

  “Great plan. They’ll probably believe you.”

  He shook his head. “What is wrong with you?”

  I nodded at the ball of power. “You’re not going to throw that, are you?” I tried to keep the disappointment from my voice, but I really wanted to see how well I’d do against it.

  He sagged and reabsorbed the power. “I suppose not. Despite all of your goading, it would achieve nothing other than sap more of my precious time than I’m willing to spend time for your sakes. I will, however, be giving an honest appraisal of you to Prime Besas.”

  “I hope I impress him as much as I have you.”

  His nose wrinkled as if he smelled something awful, then he got up and left without another word.

  Not sure what I was expected to do in all of this, I got up and followed him out.

  “…no link to the Siroth. I doubt he has the capacity to form a connection to anyone. Put simply, he is the single most preposterous, antisocial ingrate I have ever had the displeasure of meeting in many years of life. If I never see him again, it will be too soon. Do not expect an offer of purchase to be forthcoming from my appraisal.”

  I leaned against the doorframe and chuckled to myself as the Augur created a portal and the seven Archons left.