Three days passed as Stephan and the newly anointed youths settled into their new powers and roles. He made sure to drill the martial class-holders six hours every day, doing his best to follow Cliffort Academy’s methods of combining weapons training with physical exercises to build up strength and stamina.
The rest of his time he spent with Muriel and her wards, learning how to track. They could all find tracks easily, but reading them was another matter. Stephan was still far from his teacher’s level of glancing at prints and telling the man had paused to pick his nose, but he was good enough to notice the most obvious things. Such as that the nose-picker had stopped and remained in place for a short while.
The Trackers and the Ranger were gathered around a set of boot-prints, Muriel two steps away. Stephan was right next to them when he took a step back and threw her a disgusted look.
“I think Steve figured out why the one who made the tracks stopped here.”
They looked towards him, a girl’s hand on the footprint.
“We were definitely following a man,” Stephan said. The prints weren’t that big, and it was tough to guess sexes with everyone wearing similar footwear, but he was certain now. “And he stopped to take a leak.”
The crowd was silent for a moment, then they all jumped away, the girl snatching her hand back with a scream.
“And that’s why we don’t touch anything unless we can learn something by doing it.” Muriel had a slight smile as she said the words while the girl rubbed her palm against her pants.
Stephan was certain she had a faint sadistic streak when it came to teaching, probably lingering trauma from her own experience as a Tracker-in-training.
She turned towards him and gave him an approving nod. “You’re getting better. How old is the print?”
“Two to four days,” Stephan smirked. “I’d say three if someone important asked me.”
Muriel smirked back. “That’s what I’d say, too. We’re going to start with harder tracks for you. And while you can read the simple ones now, you still have trouble finding them.”
Stephan agreed. The Ranger and their Trackers found most prints instantly, thanks to skills. He would have to become good enough to emulate their abilities.
Is that even possible? To match the abilities granted by gods through practice and diligence?
He wasn’t sure, but he planned to do his best.
Hours later, with the day’s training done, they returned to Newhope town. Stephan had suggested Fort One, but Grace overruled the name on account of it being horrible. They had barely passed the gate when Hugh the smith ran over carrying Stephan’s spear.
“I got a level repairing this!” The youth beamed a smile, showing crooked teeth, but Stephan hardly noticed it.
The spear drew his gaze with magnetic force.
[The Wake - Each wound inflicted with this spear becomes a grievous injury when attacking stalkers of dreams.]
“This is a good weapon,” Stephan said. “Once we find the nightmare dungeon, the one going to clear it should always go with this spear.”
“It’s yours, m’lord.” Hugh pushed it into Stephan’s hand, but he wouldn’t accept it.
“I’ll take a common spear from the armory; this one is too valuable to belong to me.”
The young blacksmith still stared at Stephan with wide eyes as he made his way towards the manor.
“Good day, my lord,” Daniel greeted in passing, offering a shallow bow.
The building wasn’t up to Stephan’s taste. The only room where he could sleep properly was the solar, and they had agreed that Grace should have it, despite her protests. He still used the house, or its armory daily, and he left his sword and spear in there before taking off his armor and leaving it on a dedicated stand.
Each of the mail shirts had one, showing how proud Elric was of his trash. The production of plates for lamellar armor was ongoing, and soon Lilly the seamstress would finish the first suit; hopefully the effort of Newhope’s youths will birth something better than mass-produced mail.
If everything ran according to plan, they would be ready to take Baron Cole’s town in a handful of weeks.
Stephan went to the barn, where he and Muriel slept in the hay.
“Steve,” she called him, “I didn’t want to tell you this in front of everyone, but I found the dungeon.”
“When?”
“After the bear attack, I’ve started beating the woods for any other dangers while you’re training the fighters. Don’t worry, I’ll let you look for it once you’re ready. And you were right, the bear’s tracks led straight to it, and as far as I can tell, it was the only nightmare stalking the forest.”
Stephan threw himself back-first into a haystack. “I don’t know. If you say there’s nothing dangerous out there, then I could lead everyone to the dungeon so we can clear it and then make it a monthly chore for the Sentries. On the other hand, that means there’s no hurry.”
Stephan was silent for a second, not even thinking about the problem, just existing and enjoying the prickle of hay. Then some old memories surfaced and ruined the moment.
“What do you think is better?” he asked while shuffling uncomfortably.
“Dunno. Don’t care either.”
“You’re not being very useful,” he grumbled jokingly, already used to Muriel’s answers.
“I’m a scout and a hunter, not a military advisor,” she said for the third time in as many days.
“You’re just afraid of being wrong, aren’t you?” Stephan cracked a smile.
He enjoyed their chats in the hay. She was in the loft, right above him, because sleeping on the ground was unnatural for a treetopper, while he preferred his down-to-earth accommodations.
“I think we should clear it as soon as possible,” he drew a deep breath of the dry, sweet smell he always loved about hay, “that way the Sentries can start doing their work and leveling sooner.”
Then, more as a joke than because he expected an answer, he asked, “What do you think?”
Sounds fine.
“Sounds fine,” she said the exact words he knew she would.
“Are you angry about my decision to help these people?” he asked something he believed was weighing on her these past few days.
“I’m just a scout—”
“I’m asking Muriel, not the Tracker,” Stephan cut off the default answer without mercy. “Are you angry with me because I made a mess of your life and dragged you out of Treetop?”
Silence filled the barn.
Stephan waited until she finally spoke.
“I’m not angry,” she started slowly. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you, Sir. You are, well, you know who you are. Your light will blaze brightly for a hundred years and history will remember you for all time, while I… I think Boss would have been the better choice to teach you and follow you here—”
“I think you’re perfect, Mur. Better than the Ranger,” Stephan assured her. “And call me Steve, or Stephan, if you like that one better. I want us to be friends; I’m not looking for subordinates.”
“Everyone here is your subordinate, Steve,” Muriel said through a nervous laugh. “Whether you like it or not, everyone here is your subordinate.”
Stephan kind of agreed, but only kind of. “They are Grace’s people, and they are following her.”
“With all due respect, you’re wrong. She’s also your subordinate. I taught you how to see, but you’re not looking. That girl worships you, and you make a fine pair - the Paladin and the Saintess, a pair made by the gods themselves, like the King and the Queen.”
Stephan rolled his eyes at that, remembering Elizabeth’s trouble with that specific pairing and its implications, but then chuckled aloud because of something else.
Is she jealous?
He frowned before dismissing the thought.
“Grace is a child.”
“She’s a year or two younger than you are, and she is beautiful and very interested in you.”
He barked a laugh. “Grace is just grateful we saved her from that wyvern. She’s nice to you too, isn’t she?”
“Not really. She knows that if it were up to me, we would have left her to the wyvern instead of attacking the monster with a broken knife and a sack-full of bravery.”
Stephan disliked that quality of his. For some reason, he inspired others to be willing to step forth and suffer for the sake of his safety, when it was obvious it should be the other way around. He was supposed to risk his life to end their suffering.
“What do you think,” he abandoned the uncomfortable topic, “how quickly can we push her to level forty?”
That should probably be high enough to save Bernard. If we could do it… Stephan dropped the thought. Just the travel back, disregarding the river dragons, would take close to a month; the young Knight would be dead by the time they reached Cliffort.
“Years. It will take years of her doing her job. I’ve taken six to reach level twenty-seven, and the higher your level, the harder it gets.”
“You’re probably right,” Stephan had to agree. Once the difference in levels between the two of them shrunk, she wouldn’t get much from him, even if she healed lethal wounds and brought him back from the brink.
I guess I’ll have to save Bernard myself.