Which brings us back to these four people who were climbing, incrementally, to the precipice of the Lunapera. They were an elite unit of soldiers called the Turin-Sen, which loosely translates to, “Best of the Turin.” They didn’t give themselves this name. But they earned it. You don’t believe me? Pick a fight with one of them. I dare you.
There is one other way in which the Turin and the Rone differ: The Turin know magic. And we’re not talking about pulling bunnies out of hats. This is primal shit. Storms of lightning. Crumbling mountains. Elemental. Vicious. It’s not easy to learn. And it’s even harder to control. But these four soldiers, the Turin-Sen, were the ones who could do it. They were the elite warriors of the sword and the spell. The most dangerous operatives in the continent.
Their chief instructor in these matters was a man named Argos. Argos had no official rank or title in the Turin Government or Military. It hardly mattered. The Regent, the highest political office, did not inspire fear or unquestioning loyalty like Argos. Add to that his physical and magical prowess, and there was nothing left to argue. Argos was a rank unto himself.
When the four Turin-Sen reached the summit, Argos stood silhouetted against the crescent moon, his silver-white hair blowing in the mountain breeze.
“Welcome, my Turin-Sen, my children of the Mountains,” Argos said, his usual greeting. His baritone voice resonated across the cliff face like a cello bowing through an adagio. Even the Moon was jealous of Argos’ ability to enthrall.
“Were that I could spend the rest of time with you, teaching you all that I know. But time has finally run out, and we must put aside instruction in favor of fealty.
“The Regent has informed me that the armies are ready, and the supply chains prepared, and the battle plans laid out. The war is about to begin. And to that end, we must serve our country, and be examples for our fellow countrymen.”
“What part shall we play in the coming conflict?” asked Halmir, the youngest member of the Turin-Sen.
“You will be my instruments of victory, of course,” Argos replied. “But the details will come later. For our last lesson, we are going to talk about shadows...”
Chapter 6: Sarah
The most confused person at the wedding of Lady Caroline and Lord Rutherford was Lord Rutherford.
Harold Rutherford was sure he should have remembered that he was going to be married, but it seemed everyone in court already knew it, and they were smart folks, by golly. Surely, if Michael, Landos, Vye, and Gabriel all thought he was getting married, they must be right.
Lady Caroline was the niece of Count Ralsean, Deliem’s neighbor to the east. Nieces of Counts, as a general rule, are lucky to marry a Baron or Knight, if they can find one. More often, they end up married to someone with equally tenuous ties to nobility.
Michael had said in previous breakfast meetings that he thought they should try to develop stronger ties with Count Ralsean. He seemed to be a benevolent ruler of his people. Michael held many meetings with Landos about ways in which they could bolster the alliance.
When it became clear that Lord Rutherford was out of control and needed to be domesticated, Michael thought this might be the perfect opportunity. Yes, the poor girl would have to live with Harold, but Michael guessed she would end up running the place within a month. And in the meantime, they will have done Count Ralsean a favor and gotten one of his female wards off his hands. And to a Baron, no less.
Only Lady Vye saw the problem with the wedding. It was not a problem with Lady Caroline; She seemed capable of putting a leash on Rutherford. It was not with Lord Rutherford, although Vye questioned the idea of promoting his propagation in any way. The problem was with Sarah Ralsean.
Count Ralsean arrived with his entourage. His wife, the Countess Ralsean. His own High Lieutenant. Personal guards, a footman, two servants, and his Great Dane Claudius. His two sons also marched into town with personal staff. But Lady Caroline rode in a carriage at the rear of the procession with her maid of honor, Count Ralsean’s only daughter, Sarah. And Sarah was the problem.
She was one of those girls, Vye thought. She was the sort of girl that men convinced themselves must be a great person simply because she looked that good. Long, straight blond hair, bright blue eyes, a warm smile, pretty nose, and petite figure. And she had those perky breasts that, while they weren’t very large, always let you know they were there no matter how modestly she dressed. She came across as demure and pleasant. And maybe she was all of those things. But certainly she was given credit for them before she opened her mouth.
Vye and Landos were waiting in the courtyard, welcoming the guests to Hartstone Castle. It was Landos’ job to make the first greetings, then escort everyone to the Great Hall, where Michael would be waiting with Rutherford. But what it meant was that Landos first saw Sarah by the light of the setting sun.
“That’s not…” Landos started. “That’s not Lady Caroline, is it?”
Vye watched the young, blonde waif emerge from the carriage.
“No,” she said. “Lady Caroline has darker hair. That must be Sarah Ralsean.”
“I thought…” Landos said. “I visited Ralsean, just recently. Sarah is his youngest, right?”
“Yes,” Vye said.
“She was twelve years old when I was there.”
“Landos, you haven’t been to Ralsean since you were twelve yourself. You went with my father.”
“Hmm,” Landos said, as though learning math during that very sentence. “It’s just… I just remember Sarah as this awkward twelve year-old. She’s really grown up well.”
That was when Vye first suspected there might be trouble. Her fears were heightened by the events of dinner.
After formal introductions, Michael asked Vye to step aside for a moment. Usually, this would be to confer with Vye on some military matter. It wasn’t.
“Vye,” Michael said in a whisper, “Is that really Sarah Ralsean?”
“No, it’s Flopson the Jester in a dress,” Vye said, mocking him.
“I just mean that I thought she was his youngest. I thought she was twelve.”
“She was, a decade ago.”
“Oh,” Michael said. “She’s really grown up well.”
The wedding went off fine. It was at the banquet hall that Vye felt that creeping sense of dread. That knot on her shoulder that told her something was wrong. That tension. She had never imagined that laughter could make her feel this way. Sarah had this cute, girlish chuckle. Vye knew that it was the sort of laugh that made men victims. She suspected that Sarah knew this too.
They might as well have been jousting. Fencing. Competing in an archery competition. Michael makes a joke that gets Sarah to laugh. A strike for Michael. Landos switches to the main gauche. He turns on his heel and tells a counter to Michael’s joke. Sarah laughs again. Mark one for Landos. Vye sighs in her mind about the arrogant competitiveness of men.
Finally, the pastries were finished and the port emptied. It was time for all parties to retire.
“Well,” Landos said, standing and offering a hand to Sarah. “May I escort you to your room?”
“I’d be delighted,” Sarah said.
“Wait,” Michael said, “Landos, why don’t I take her up?”
As the High Lieutenant, it was customary for Landos to do the escorting. Certainly it was thought to be below the Count to bring guests to their bedchambers.
“I thought,” Landos said, without hesitation, “That you were going to speak to Lord Rutherford.”
Michael and Landos, earlier in the day, before either of them had laid eyes on Sarah Ralsean, had agreed that one of them must talk to Rutherford. It seemed they must point out to him that he will be married, that he must behave himself, and that it will be a great embarrassment to everybody if he continues to lust after other women. Michael, at the time convinced that he would want to get away from the dinner, had pulled rank and chosen himself to drive these points into Rutherford’s mind.
But Vye co
uld feel the tension in the room when Landos reminded Michael of this fact. It was how they had arranged it. Landos would escort Sarah to her room and Michael would have a man-to-immature-man chat about marriage with Harold.
“Yes,” Michael said, as though just remembering, “You’re right. A good night to you, Lady Sarah.”
Landos waved Sarah out into the main hall. Vye lingered at the Count’s table.
“Do you need anything?” She asked Michael.
“No,” Michael said, staring out the door from which the dinner company had left. “I’m just going to speak to Harold here for a minute.”
“You sure you’re alright?” Vye asked. “You look…distracted.” It was the closest she could come without asking the question she couldn’t ask.
“I’ll be fine,” Michael said, snapping himself back to task. “Thank you.”
“Good night, Your Grace,” Vye said.
As Vye headed to her room, her mind swimming with the early thoughts of trouble, she was vaguely aware of laughter coming down the stairwell.
Chapter 7: The Trade Commission of Taverns and Inns
In the corner of the common room of the Spicy Kangaroo Tavern, Jareld and Thor sat awake well past sundown. Jareld was contemplating a riddle. The inscription they had found in the cave was a poem that had been written in the first century of Rone. In Atinlay, it had a certain grace and meter to it, but in Cirilian it lost its flavor. When translated, it went something like this:
I like meadows of green grass,
And listening to the birds chirping,
While I look upon your bright eyes,
And think of times of happiness,
Won’t you please stay with me,
Upon this meadow of grass,
Through the winter and the spring?
For the life of him, Jareld could not imagine why Sir Dorn had gone through the trouble of inscribing this on the wall. It wouldn’t have been easy, either. Jareld estimated that to get the calligraphy right, it would have taken him a week. And in the end, it wasn’t a very interesting poem. It was sort of commonplace. It was not worthy of the time it would have taken the last of the League of the Owl to write.
Jareld decided that the choice of poems must have been a clue in itself. He studied bird migration patterns. He cross-referenced star maps with meadows and fields. He tried to see if a bird could find a meadow by the stars. But the clues were too vague. He could have found a hundred such places, and still had no idea where to start.
Jareld also concentrated on the word “terrasas,” the Atinlay word for green. Despite the care Sir Dorn had taken to inscribe the poem, he had misspelled the word as, “terassea,” the Atinlay word for the color of blood. But even if this was an intentional error (and not the result of, as Jareld assumed, Sir Dorn being inferior in his study of languages,) it was once again too vague to provide a meaningful clue.
So Jareld decided there was only one thing he could do: find help. Though he hadn’t graduated yet, he knew the Oath of the Towers, which every graduate must make before commencement. It says a lot of things, but the one thing Jareld was thinking of was that it said a Graduate was obligated to help other Graduates and even current Students.
And so, Jareld and Thor made their way toward Castle Hartstone, in Deliem. There, Jareld hoped to get in touch with the Towers’ most prestigious graduate, Michael Deliem.
Chapter 8: Triangles
Vye found it difficult to relax in the week following the wedding. Sure, Harold and Caroline traipsed off to Rutherford Manor, where everyone hoped that they would eventually become friends, besides being married. And yes, the Castle was restored to its daily functionality. Even the leftover pheasant was surprisingly good when reheated.
But what started in Vye’s shoulder as an overhand knot quickly progressed to a granny knot, then upgraded to a tiller’s hitch. By the end of the week, Vye was dealing with a full-fledged cat’s cradle. If it went any further, Vye was worried she would have to hide out in a Cathedral bell tower, mumbling about sanctuaries.
You see, Count Ralsean agreed with Count Deliem. They should have a formal alliance. And who should stay behind to negotiate such a thing. Why, it was Lady Sarah, of course. Sarah, with her pretty smile and her ridiculous body. Vye wondered which came first: the hourglass or Sarah’s figure.
It made perfect sense to use Sarah as a diplomat. People were inclined to agree with her. Especially men, but also women. She was just so fucking pleasant, Vye couldn’t stand it. Of course, her skill-set, that is, flashing a smile and negotiating great terms, overlapped somewhat with Deliem’s own chief ambassador. Which is why Sarah spent so much time with Landos.
Sure, during the day, she would spend time at court, with Michael. But in the evenings, after the formal dinner, she would spend a considerable amount of time with Landos. He would give her a tour of the castle. He would take her on a moonlit walk in the garden. He would speak to her in whispered tones to elicit a giggle.
Since it would have been improper for Vye to ask for a massage from, well, anyone, and since psychotherapy hadn’t been invented yet, Vye decided to run her thoughts past the smartest man she could find in the castle.
“Enter,” Gabriel called, a moment after Vye knocked.
Gabriel slept in a loft above the training room, in the basement, just off the forge. As such, his room was blissfully warm during the winter, and unbearably hot during the summer. The walls were lined with sparring weapons, dummies, and storage for a lot of the jousting equipment. There was a musty smell to the room. Sweat and iron.
Gabriel was never idle, and even as Vye entered, she found him repairing the shoulder clasp on a leather sparring jerkin. He didn’t even look up, but after a moment, he spoke.
“Good evening, Julia,” he said. Vye never went by her first name, and most people didn’t know what it was. But Gabriel had been training Vye since before she came of age, and he never got out of the habit of calling her by her familiar name. If others were present, he respected her position. But when it was just the two of them, he never gave her a rank.
“Good evening, Master Gabriel.” She, too, had maintained his title as though they were still student and mentor.
“How are you?” Gabriel said, feeling that it must be his turn to speak.
“I’m fine. I wanted to talk to you about Sarah Ralsean.”
“Oh,” Gabriel said. “Do you also want to marry her?”
“No, I-- Wait, who wants to marry her?”
“Your Count, Michael Deliem, has expressed his desire to me.”
“Oh, God. What are you going to do about it?”
“Do? What am I going to do about it? I’m going to do nothing about it. Do you think I should send a letter to Count Ralsean? Do you think I should warn him that his daughter is in danger of losing her virginity here in Hartstone?”
He had become quite animated, waving his hand around for emphasis.
“I suspect she’s in danger of losing it wherever she goes,” Vye rejoined.
“You know too well the hearts of men.”
“It’s not the hearts I’m worried about.”
“Yes,” Gabriel smirked with the corner of his mouth, “Indeed.”
“But seriously, we have to do something.”
“There you go again, insisting we have to do something. Why would we interfere? The Count is at a good age for marriage. He’s in love, or so he believes. And this will certainly seal the alliance with Ralsean. Why do you want to do anything?”
“Landos.”
“What about Landos?”
“He’s in love with Sarah!”
“Oh! That’s a different story altogether. Quick: Sound the alarms! Light the beacons! Call the King!”
“Master--”
“It doesn’t matter, Julia,” Gabriel interrupted, “Landos isn’t nobility, so he cannot marry Sarah anyway. He is a servant to Michael. He is a high-ranking servant, and certainly he has authority over many other servants, but at the en
d of the day, he is a servant. If Michael so chooses, he can have Landos clean the stables. There is no emergency here.”
“I don’t see it that way,” Vye said. “Landos is young and in love.”
“They’re both young,” Gabriel said, “And I’m not getting any younger during this conversation. There is no problem. Michael will ask Ralsean for his daughter’s hand, Ralsean will say yes, and Landos will have to accept loving Sarah from afar.”
Gabriel redoubled his efforts on the stubborn clasp, seeming to end the conversation. Vye wandered to the door, but she had one more question.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Gabriel took a breath, calming himself. And he smiled. There was an epic story to be told in that smile, but all he said was, “In my youth.”
“I never have.”
“You’re still in your youth.”
“The one thing I’ve noticed though, even in my youth, is that people can do some crazy things when they’re in love.”
She exited the room. To calm her nerves, she took a walk on the catwalk. It had a good view of the shore, and the sun would be setting over the west wall. But that knot in her shoulder only got worse when she saw Sarah and Landos on a lower parapet. Landos had probably taken her out to look at the same sunset, but now, they were kissing.
Chapter 9: A Noble in Name Only
It took four days for King Vincent to hear of the marriage. It took him seven minutes to decide not to attend.
As there were only ten Counts and two Dukes in the Kingdom, one of them getting married would usually be a big enough event to warrant the King’s attendance. But Michael and Sarah had arranged for their marriage to be on the first day of summer. Apparently, they hadn’t received the latest Jousting Schedule. The season opened with a grand affair at the Royal Court, and King Vincent was terribly excited about his Champion of the Joust, Sir Noble.
Sir Noble had a troubled childhood. As a commoner, having the name David Noble always led to problems, especially in a society that placed such importance on nobility. He was beat up often, especially by the children of noblemen, for trying to impersonate a nobleman. He would try to explain, between kidney punches, that it was just his name, and it didn’t mean anything.
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