A Soldier's Life

Chapter 179: Last Day in Caelora

In the glowstone light, it took us a few minutes to identify that one set of tracks looked slightly larger. “Backtracking is much harder than following a trail of laid footfalls,” Maveith intoned softly, pointing towards the likely path. We moved to follow it.

A hundred feet further down the tunnel, the first turn showed signs that someone had been waiting in ambush around the corner. The dust was disturbed, and there were spots of drying urine on the wall—clear signs we were heading in the right direction. A specter interrupted our inspection of the intersection. Maveith’s hammer made quick work of it, and we moved out before it could re-form.

We followed the trail, cutting down a few more specters that appeared more frequently. The roots of the hearth tree blocked several passages, and it seemed the company was circling around the root system in the opposite direction from where we had arrived. It did not make much sense, unless they were planning to leave the city by a different route.

I recalled the map of the city in my head: the hearth tree was in the northern district, near the city wall. My best guess was that they were planning to exit as far from the library as possible in case the summoner searched there first.

After killing a fifth specter in just a few minutes, I paused in the corridor. “Maveith, do you think we should try to find our way to the library instead of following the company’s path?”

Maveith considered the question. “Why? Do you not wish to reunite with everyone?”

“It’s not that. They’re headed for areas of the city with a high concentration of specters. We could get swarmed, and Castile may have stopped using the kettle on dissipated specters to make it harder to follow them, since they don’t know the summoner is dead. We spent weeks thinning out the specters around the library. It might be safer for us to go that route.”

Maveith looked thoughtfully down both directions of the corridor. “If you think the library is safer, then we should go that way.” Maveith tightened his grip on his hammer.

I turned around, and we backtracked to the first split in the corridor. Soon, we encountered a familiar specter: a teenage elf in a ball gown. I remembered her clearly from the first time I had faced her. I cut her down, and we started following the other set of tracks. Before long, we reached the room beneath the adventurer’s tavern we had sheltered in. The wyverns had collapsed the structure. Konstantin must have laid the false tracks to this point to confuse the elven mage.

We continued to follow the clear path all the way back to the wine cellar. Only six wandering specters confronted us on the journey—far fewer than on the short path we had followed for Castile and the others. We entered the wine cellar, which appeared undisturbed, and no specters were present.

“I could use a rest, Maveith. I think we’re safe here.” I sat down on one of the bunks we had hauled into the room. I was exhausted and famished after using so many healing potions. I assumed we’d face a fight to make it from the library to the city gates. I was tempted to retrieve something from my dimensional space, but my aether channels were still flaring. Just one small item should not hurt, right? I pulled the dreamscape amulet to my hand and winced at the pain. How long was this burn going to last? Maybe Castile’s books in the dreamscape had an answer.

Maveith eyed the amulet knowingly. “I’ll stand watch for specters, Eryk. You can rest.” He began walking up and down the rows of bottles while I made myself comfortable. With just a painful trickle of aether, I entered the dreamscape.

The dreamscape creations greeted me. Lucien, the horse master, was among them, and a heavy weight settled on me seeing him alive and smiling. I talked to him about horses while Oscar circled me excitedly with a ball.

Raelia’s clone demanded to know when she was going to be freed from her prison. Konstantin, Xavier, and Adrian pestered me to spar, but I turned them down as I moved to the shelves of books. Scholar Favian interrupted me, saying, “You know, Eryk, if you are passing through the library, I wouldn’t mind getting some more reading material.”

I paused, looking at him. I had already added all three hundred books the Caelorian elves had on herbalism and apothecary to the dreamscape. I recalled the other sections of the library: cooking and brewing, weaving, woodcraft, and a floor filled with books on metalurgy—everything from household goods to weapons and armor. “I’ll see what I can do, Scholar Favian,” I replied, and the manifestation of my subconscious smiled brightly.

I focused on learning what I could about aether burn from the books Castile had manifested. The news was not good. If you continued using aether while feeling the sensation of burning, you risked destroying your ability to channel aether—it was described as “feeding the fire.”So, I had already reduced my capacity to channel.

After a storm of curses, which made everyone back away from me fearfully, I calmed down. The text said that healing aether channels required consuming apex channeling essences, and it would take around a dozen or more to restore each point of potential. I guessed it might take less for me—maybe I could even manage with major essences. However, I currently had no channeling essences. The only ones I ever had came from the manticores and gargantuan dungeon spider.

I reread the “Burnt Mage” chapter a few times before putting the book back on the shelf. The amount of pain a burnt mage experienced depended on how many points of potential they had lost. Based on the pain I felt, I feared I had lost quite a few points. There was nothing I could do about it now, and there was nothing I would change about the fight—except running sooner. Since my slow-aging spellform constantly drew aether, I would be in constant pain until I consumed the necessary aether channeling essence.

I played with Oscar and practiced with my new spear for a while before leaving the dreamscape. Maveith had pulled dozens of bottles of elven wine from the racks and placed them on another bunk. “Any specters?” I asked as I stood.

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“None,” he grumbled tiredly.

I nodded—that was good news. It meant the specters had not tracked us. “Rest for a while, Maveith, and then we’ll visit the towers in the library before leaving the city.”

“Why?” he asked, confused.

“I want to gather some books to take with us.”

Maveith looked at the wine he was selecting. “I was hoping you could take some of these if you had space. I am partial to the deep red ones in the green bottles.”

I revealed my issue to him. “I’ll see what I can do. I burnt my aether channels fighting the summoner.”

With a very serious tone, Maveith said, “Your body tells you when you need to stop using aether. Everyone knows that.” I frowned but did not respond. Castile had told me as much, but I had pushed my limits. My aether tolerance far exceeded my aether pool, and I had been forced to drink the aether restoratives repeatedly, just seconds apart. Eventually, Maveith lay down with the dreamscape amulet, and I took watch.

Hours later, Maveith woke with a yawn and a burst of morning flatulence. I moved away from the deadly cloud and figured it had been long enough to try accessing my dimensional space again. I pulled out the elven tablet reader table, and while my channels still burned, it had not gotten any worse. I took a deep breath and activated the table through the pain. I was stunned by what I saw.

My aether channeling was 27/57—dropping from 28/58. I had only lost a single point of potential. Why was the pain so intense? Was I just weak? What would it feel like if I lost two or three points? Suddenly, I felt a lot more sympathy for the old healer back in Sobral.

Maveith kept his distance, respecting my privacy. I reset the reader. “Do you want to use it?” I asked, but he shook his head. I pulled out the thermal stone and a large quantity of food for a feast, letting Maveith prepare it.

We had potatoes, bacon, and liver for Maveith. Even with my ring of sustenance, I had an enormous appetite , keeping pace with Maveith, who was more than a little surprised as we mock-raced to finish our food.

I moved all forty-eight bottles of dark red elven wine into my space to join the nine remaining bottles. The aether burn was the same whether I was moving a large or small item. Maveith shook his head in sympathy—or perhaps disappointment—as I winced from the effort. It was a different type of pain than physical. I reactivated my slow-aging spell. It felt like fire coursing through my veins instead of blood. Over time, I hoped I could get used to it.

Before sending my pack to storage, I studied the runes on both of the summoner’s rings, turning the thermal stone slowly. I would figure out what they did in the dreamscape sometime later. I attached the black blade to my hip and decided to send the magebane blade to storage with the pack. My head exploded in a flash of light—then nothing.

I woke on the floor with a genuinely concerned Maveith kneeling over me, shaking me. “Eryk, wake up!” he shouted, rattling my armor with his efforts.

“I’m awake!” I protested. “What happened?”

Maveith exhaled in relief. “Your backpack shot across the room and slammed into the wall, and you collapsed!”

My head hurt, and my aether channels flared with each beat of my heart. I recalled what happened. I opened my dimensional space, selected an open spot for the pack, tried to close it, and then—boom.

Something in the pack could not be stored in my dimensional space. I quickly scanned my storage and was relieved to see everything intact. Raelia seemed unharmed, though I would not know for sure until I released her. I rubbed my aching head, reactivating my slow-aging spellform again and dealt with the pain. I picked up the pack, ensuring the collector was unharmed. “Something among the summoner’s belongings resisted being stored. I think I’m fine—it was just extreme backlash, like when I failed to store the summoner’s head, but ten times worse.”

I stood unsteadily, searching through the pack. I had my suspicions—it was either the robe or the belt. Or it could have been the rings or the amulet. My splitting headache felt like some modicum of revenge from the dead mage. I pulled out the robe and belt but decided against trying again. I replaced them, shouldering the pack. I stored the magebane blade and the essence collector instead. “Let’s head to the tower.”

We only encountered two specters on our walk, and one did not even attack—it was just an elf boy wandering the undercity with a toy soldier in his hand. We climbed the tower, and the lingering, unwashed smell of the company still hung in the air, even after weeks. The sun was shining outside, and Maveith looked to me for direction.

“Bring me the books on smithing. We’ll take as many as I can store to sell. In the meantime, I’ll page through as many of these other books as I can to add to the dreamscape.”

Maveith did not question the delay in leaving the city and got to work. It was about midday, judging by the sun outside. I decided I would work until sunrise the next day, then we’d leave.

My Elvish had improved significantly, making it easier to translate the titles. Scholar Favian had not shuffled the books too much on the shelves. I started with the cooking and brewing books, leaning toward brewing. Since I was only paging through, I was not consuming the knowledge but enjoyed the faded illustrations briefly as I worked, preparing to add them to the dreamscape later. After sunset, I worked under the glowstone while the stack of smithing books Maveith brought started growing large—I doubted I would be able to take them all.

Maveith finished his task, bringing all the viable books, and I moved on to paging through the woodcraft books. My eyes burned as I turned pages hour after hour. Maveith was snoring softly by the time dawn crept through the window. I had just finished the woodcraft collection and let Maveith sleep until I was done. Then, I stood, cracking my back.

I was surprised I could store all five hundred books Maveith had brought from the other library, but I had to remove some apples and potatoes. My extra-dimensional storage cube was getting crowded, but eventually, I would page through the books to add them to the dreamscape and could sell them. Maybe I could return one day to collect the rest, though I assumed that once Castile reported back, the Empire would clear the city of specters and take the intact tomes.

“Maveith?” I called out loudly to wake my friend. He woke quickly, standing on alert. “It’s almost time to leave. I’ll get some sleep while you cook. Wake me when you are ready to leave.” With that, I channeled a bit of aether into the dreamscape amulet and fell into slumber.

“It’s time to go,” Maveith said after taking the amulet from my hand as I woke. Maveith had left a plate of food for me to enjoy. It was mid-morning, and our last day in the lost elven city of Caelora.

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