Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2) (11 page)

              “Verrian?” His roommate grunted acknowledgment of his question, so he continued. “What do they call the four eight day divisions of the month?”

              Of course, as happened every time Shawnrik asked a question that completely surprised Verrian, the Half-Elf’s eyes lit up in astonishment, but he quickly answered the question. “They call it a week, Shawnrik. You see each…”

              “Oh, I figured it out, I just wanted to know what it was called.” Shawnrik finished with a cheerful, “Thank you.”

              “It never occurred to me that you might not have weeks on a calendar in Safeharbor,” Verrian said while his mind furiously went to work.

              “Oh, someone might have them, but that is probably just the Academies. Down in the streets we were fine saying something needed done on the twenty first of the month without calling it the Third Fifthday. It does seem a handy thing for rotating schedules like these, though,” Shawnrik said as he held up his schedule. “Instead of asking what class someone has on the fourteenth and having them need to look it up, I could ask what class they go to on a Sixthday, and since the fourteenth is the second Sixthday of the month, they would only have to remember their eight day schedule to know where they would be on any day of the month.” Shawnrik realized that he had been rambling, but Verrian had nodded along with every word of his statement.

              “Very good, Shawnrik. Now that you mention it, there wouldn’t be much need to separate the month into weeks if you didn’t have a schedule like this. I guess I just always took it for granted, like running water, or even the electric current. Safeharbor must be quite an unstructured place.”

              “Not really,” Shawnrik replied. “I think it is because only schools and maybe some businesses need to be run on such a strict and precise schedule. Most of the time, shopkeepers would open around sunrise when people started moving about the city, and close in the evening when everyone started heading home. There is no real need for precision in a place like that. Kind of like a clock. Only the rich ever had them in Safeharbor, and that was only because they like order and precision in their world of power and money. It was just another thing to set them apart from the common people, who had no problem telling their friends to show up in the evening, and have people wander in at random throughout the evening hours.”

              “I think I would like a place like that. My entire life has been structured. Being in certain places at certain times, and never having a few days when I didn't need to know what hour it was so that I wouldn’t be late for one thing or another. Yes, I think I would rather enjoy a place like Safeharbor.” Verrian sat on his bed, looking at the wall with a far off expression.

              “It isn’t as great of a place as it sounds, but I do see what you are talking about. Maybe that is simply one of the ways things have to be in a city ruled by such a precise thing as science.” Shawnrik hadn’t thought his friend’s eyes could get wider than they had been when he asked what a week was, but yet again he was proven wrong.

              “I think you just hit that one right on the head! My goodness, I am glad that we are in Philosophy together,” Verrian started. “You did get all of your classes that you signed up for, right?”

              Shawnrik nodded, handing Verrian his schedule.

Chapter 5

Learning Curve

Year: 3045 AGD

Month: New Year

First Firstday

Continent of Terroval

Ruined City of Asylum

“Now? Today?” Nim asked dumbfounded.

              “Yes, General, we just got word from High Commander Cantel; His Majesty and the royal family will be here before daylight abandons us.” The soldier saluted smartly and stood at attention, growing more and more pale as he listened to the line of curses coming from his commander’s mouth, some of which he thought were in several different languages.

              “Oh, that’s one of my favorites,” Ashur said as he walked onto the scene. “I always wondered if that would be possible to do.”

              “What are you talking about?” Nim asked curtly.

              “The one with the ripping off of the head… ah, never mind. So what’s wrong?”

              “His Royal Majesty Theodrik Theromvore the Second, in his infinite wisdom, decided to bring his entire family to Asylum.”

              “Oh, yeah that explains the language. Well, how long do we have to secure the perimeter?” Ashur was calmly planning what they would need to do before Nim told him that the king would be here before sunset. “What kind of crazy son…”

              The soldier now listened as another of his commanders went off, but this time he could understand every curse, and he felt his blood draining from his face. He tried to remain perfectly still so that the two men might forget that he was there, but it was all to no avail.

              “You tell High Commander…” Nim and Ashur began at almost the same time, and it took most of his concentration to be able to understand both sets of orders that were being rattled at him. The orders were nearly the same and he managed to get both orders with some effort, but he really did not want to give the High Commander the messages that they were sending. When he finally organized both sets of instructions into proper messages inside his head, he found himself standing in an empty street.

              On his way to the High Commander's tent, he began to edit the messages for content and figure out ways in which he could give the messages to Stewart Cantel without swearing every other word. By the time he arrived at the shell of a building that housed the High Commander's tent, he was confident that he had edited the messages into adequate responses. The guards of the tent gave him a look that said that they would not want his job just now and let him in without comment.

              The soldier didn’t quite know who intimidated him more out of the three men whom he was relaying messages for, but it didn’t matter now, because each of them carried such an aura of command about them that as soon as he put eyes upon the High Commander of the Knights, thoughts of the other two men fell to the back of his mind. Whereas Nim was lithe and serpentine and Ashur was a mass of corded muscle, High Commander Cantel was a miniature mixture of the two. He stood at full height examining his map, and yet he still wouldn’t reach the soldier's neck with the top of his head. Hidden under the purple, black, and gold of the Protectorate, the soldier knew there was a corded series of muscles much like one would find on a large hunting cat.

              Though Stewart Cantel stood motionless and seemed at ease examining the map before him, the soldier knew—as all the Knights did—that either dagger at the man’s side could be in his hand before one could blink. Walking to his Commander's side, the soldier saluted smartly and stood at attention for a few minutes. After some time, the High Commander rubbed his eyes in what appeared to be more agitation than tiredness, but the soldier knew it was most likely both—almost everyone was tired nowadays.

              “So, what says the General, Corporal?”

              “Sir, General Mithriannil and Major-General Theromvore bid me bring their responses.”

              “Ah good, so Ashur was there also. I expected as much, what do they say?” Stewart nearly laughed as the soldier squirmed at the thought of his messages.

              “Sir, General Mithriannil wishes to state his displeasure at His Majesty's decision and says that there is no way in… uh, that there is no way that the perimeter will be secure enough for a visit from the entire royal family by evening. Major-General Theromvore wishes his cousin to know that he can…” The soldier froze.

              “Can what, Corporal?” Stewart Cantel grinned as he spoke.

              “… um, well, sir, he wishes his cousin to kiss his backside. He also wishes to reiterate General Mithriannil’s opinion on the perimeter’s defense.”

              “Ah, well, my companions are not usually so colorless with their wording in times like these, but I think it better that we leave out the extra sentences for now.” Cantel raised an eyebrow. “However, I do wish that all messages in the future be relayed verbatim, Corporal.”

              “Sir, yes sir.”

              “Were it any other person, I would tell you to go and tell them to get off their backsides and do it anyway, but if I know Nim and Ashur, they will already have put their men to work.” Cantel turned back to his map and sighed. It seemed that he had forgotten about the Corporal, but after a minute of silence he quickly said, “You are dismissed, Corporal Tanner.”

              With his dismissal, Corporal Tanner left the tent to find out what he could do to assist Nim. His time as a Watchman in the city of Safeharbor had taught him many ways in which a city could be vulnerable, and it was important that those problems be addressed now. With the same determination and sense of duty that always drove him, he set off into the city to prepare for the arrival of the royal family.

First Secondday

Serenity Valley

Institute of Learning

              Shawnrik awoke on his second morning at the Institute to the same low buzzing that he had heard the day before. As he lay in his bed, he realized that the buzz continued to increase in strength. Halfway through rolling out of bed, he realized that the noise had stopped. Laying his head back on the pillow, the low buzz once again coursed through his body and up into his ears. It wasn't necessarily annoying, but it was persistent enough to keep a person from sleeping.

              When Shawnrik asked Verrian about it over breakfast, the little half-elf began a ten minute long lecture on harmonic frequencies that Shawnrik only understood every other word of. Shawnrik was barely halfway through his food when Verrian said they had to go, or they would be late for their first classes. It was then that Shawnrik realized he had been hanging on to every word his roommate had been saying in order to not think about his coming class. He couldn't remember ever being this nervous before; his insides felt like they were trying to worm their way out from his stomach. This would be the first time that Shawnrik would enter a classroom as a student, and he was unsure about what to expect.

              For the majority of his life, Shawnrik had to fight for every scrap of knowledge, and now he was in a place that just gave it away. If it hadn't been for Nim, Ashur, and Dunnagan, Shawnrik would have never believed that good people could exist in the world besides himself and Victor. He knew that Nim and Ashur were not the best role models morally speaking, but they were the ones that were responsible for getting him and Victor off the streets of the Dock's District.

              It felt like he had entered an entirely different world. These people seemed to have no other care in the world, and while that blissful ignorance was comforting, it also made him sick to his stomach.
How can all of these people be leading quiet, comfortable lives when there are so many people suffering?

              Shawnrik had been living outside of the hectic world he had grown up in for a year and a half now, and as the days passed he couldn't help but wonder when the illusion would shatter and the world would once again come crashing in. Knowing that one way or another his stay in this false world would come to an end, he had continued to keep his body and skills sharp, as Ashur and Dunnagan had taught him, so that he would be ready when that day came.

              If it hadn't been for the note from his best friend—who Shawnrik secretly thought of as his little brother—he would never have left with the Giants as his mentors raced off into certain peril. He also would have found the idea of attending a place like the Institute to be a waste of his time. But Victor
did
write that note, and it would snow in Haven before Shawnrik defied his friend's requests.               Victor had told him to learn everything and anything that he could, so Shawnrik would absorb as much knowledge into his mind as possible as quickly as he was able. He didn't understand how this information would be useful to him, but he figured that he would find out why eventually. For now, all he could do was trust that his friend knew what he was talking about; Victor had never been wrong yet.

              Shawnrik was still quietly brooding as the door closed on the small classroom where Basic Science would be taking place.  It seemed that all of his worrying had been for naught, as the most notable thing to happen was when the Instructor, a middle aged bald Gnome, announced, “This is Basic Science, if anyone is not assigned to Basic Science, you are in the wrong classroom.” At that point, every head in the room turned towards Shawnrik, and when he didn't leave, the class began in earnest.

              Most of the class was spent going over the things that they would be learning during the course and the expectations that the Instructor held for his students during the term. At the end of the class, the Instructor passed out a slip of paper that told the students which book they needed to acquire from the book depository. It was that slip of paper that Shawnrik talked to Verrian about when they met up outside of his second class, which also happened to be Verrian's second class: Mythology.

              Verrian couldn't understand why he was so excited, and Shawnrik had to listen to the young Half-Elf complain about the cost of borrowing a book versus the price of buying one. What Verrian didn't realize, however, was that Shawnrik had grown up in a place that only the very rich owned their own books. Ol' man Walkins had possessed a few, but they had all been stolen from wealthy stead holders and merchants, so they had all been about either farming or making money.

              They entered the Mythology classroom still arguing about being able to buy a book versus checking a book out on deposit. The room that they entered was nothing like the one that Basic Science had been held in. Instead of a small room with a few dozen desks, this room was massive. There were six tiers of long curved tables that allowed for adequate viewing of the flat expanse below. Looking at the top row, Shawnrik realized that it was large, obviously built for anyone the size of a full grown Giant. The next row down was slightly smaller than the one above it, and the next three rows seemed to be made for average sized humanoids. It was hard to tell from the top of the room, but Shawnrik was fairly certain that the bottom row as much smaller than the other rows, affording some of the smaller races adequate seating.

              Shawnrik decided that the second row might be best, but when he saw Verrian sit down beside him he nearly burst out laughing. The Half-Elf's neck was nearly even with the top of the table, his shoulders barely showing over the edge. Shawnrik couldn't laugh, however, because his friend was obviously picking a place where he would be uncomfortable just so that they could sit together. They could figure out the chair height later.

              Looking at his course schedule, he saw that the Mythology Instructor was T. Wildthorne. He noticed someone sitting behind a large desk at the base of the room, and upon further examination he decided that the person behind the desk was perhaps the cutest girl that Shawnrik had ever seen. She had all the features that screamed Elf, but she was more petite than any Elf Shawnrik had ever seen before. It didn't take him long to learn why.

              “I heard it takes her three hours every day to look that normal,” Verrian said, his head bobbing below the table top as he leaned towards Shawnrik to whisper.

              “What?”

              “Instructor Wildthorne,” Verrian stated. “She's an Elfling.”