by Philip Blood
“No, imprints aren’t alive like a person; if the physical owner wills them to be silent they cannot speak, think or even dream. When the wearer again allows the imprint to speak it’s as if no time has passed for the minds in the object. On the other hand, if the imprint is given leave to speak it experiences everything that the owner of the cathexis object experiences,” she explained.
“How does this metal do all this?” Drake asked shaking his head in disbelief of the whole thing.
“Answer that question and you will be a rich man indeed, the nineteen cathexis artifacts are the most precious and sought-after treasures in the world. The few people who own one generally keep that fact a secret lest thieves and murderers besiege their lives, but to try and answer your question, as far as we can surmise the metal picks up and stores energy patterns, very similar to the patterns that form in your brain. A person’s aura carries those patterns and if the metal spends enough time within the aura it will absorb that pattern.
“In a very limited way the Kirnath sorcerers have learned to do a similar thing; we can learn from another person by absorbing information that they are thinking or talking about and store that information in our own brains. It’s really the same thing as normal learning without the in-between step of translating the teacher’s memory into a language, which they speak to you and then you translate that back into memory in your brain. Speaking of which, unless you have any further questions right now I’m ready to continue learning about combat. Now that we aren’t under immediate pursuit I’d like another lesson.”
“But you’re wounded, milady,” Gustin remarked like a mother hen.
“Only my spirit, my body is in need of something to undo the kinks from so much riding,” she insisted.
“Let’s try the knife again, if you think you’re ready?” Hetark said and then called out, “Drake, stop prying bark off that poor tree and come here, I want you to mock fight at half speed with Lady Ard...”
Elizabeth interrupted Hetark, “If I am your companion in arms and friend, I think it's time we dropped some of the formality, call me ‘Elizabeth’.”
Hetark nodded and continued, “Drake, I want you to fight at half speed, we’re going to work on the strategy of the knife fight. Like any form of one-on-one combat, there are many levels of action taking place. Have you ever played the board game Battle Square, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Jatar and I played often,” she responded.
“Good, real fighting is very similar to Battle Square, think about how you plan on what your opponent is going to do many moves ahead. Often a good player will plan his moves and his opponents moves eight or ten in advance. Not only that, but a good player's moves, and plan, will force their opponent to make certain moves that he has foreseen and is counting on for his strategy to work, follow me?” Hetark asked.
“Like a duckling after its mother,” Elizabeth replied with a grin.
“Good, now in a knife fight you play your opponent just like you would in Battle Square, except for one thing, if he takes one of your players in Battle Square you curse, but if he out moves you in the knife fight, you bleed; so try not to make any mistakes.
“Now, I hate to complicate things, but it’s important to learn how good your opponent is, and vary your strategy accordingly. For example, I’ve found that it’s easier to fight a good knife fighter than a poor one and both require different methods. Of course, it’s even worse to fight a great one than a poor one, but that goes without saying.
“Anyway, back to the good one fighting the poor one. A good knife fighter will react to your feints, thereby making the move you maneuvered him to make, and after a series of these quick maneuvers, called a compound attack, he will eventually be at the position that you planned six moves ahead, and that’s it for your opponent.
“On the other hand, a poor knife fighter will not react as you would expect him to, even if you fake an opening to which he could take advantage, so I find them a little harder to fight due to their unpredictability.”
“I understand,” Elizabeth said.
“When facing an opponent, take the first few moments to study them, don’t try for the quick win or you may pick the wrong strategy. If you decide that they are of the poor variety then just play safe, eventually they will defeat themselves by making a rash mistake that you can safely exploit. Patience beats the bad knife fighter. If they are good, then plan a compound attack that will step by step take them out of their game plan and into yours. Finally, if you find yourself fighting a very skilled knife fighter, one that is better than you are, run. Or if you can’t do that, try and settle your differences some other way or with some other weapon; maybe they aren’t as good with a sword, always look for an advantage.”
Elizabeth nodded curtly.
“All right Drake, I want you to simulate a good knife fighter’s strategy, take her out of her game plan, but slowly, let her see how you maneuvered her into exposing her body to your blade.”
A servant knocked at the door of Lord Rinholt’s temporary apartments in the Lindankar palace and delivered a message.
Lady Margret Rinholt was sitting in a large stuffed chair reading a book. When her husband opened the note she looked up over her reading glasses and asked, “What is it Brik?”
“Lord Armal has written me an invitation, it says, and I quote, `Please follow this servant down to the sitting room, I am battling with a bottle of wine that is getting the better of me and I need reinforcements, help!’ and it is signed Lord Armal, P.S. `Hurry.’”
“Are you men going to get drunk again already? Haven’t you gotten tired of headaches with all the celebrating that’s gone on these last couple of days?” she exclaimed in exasperation.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get drunk, but I will go down and see how bad Armal looks; perhaps I can get him to agree to a few trade concessions while he’s corked like a wine barrel,” Lord Brik said, rubbing his hands together.
“He’ll just forget what he promised after he sobers up anyway, but go on, I think I’ll go and look for Lady Elizabeth. You know, I haven’t seen her around for the longest time now. I wonder if she’s a little under the weather or something?” she pondered.
“I don’t know; Jatar seems preoccupied himself though I only spoke briefly with him after that assassination attempt. What a strange affair that was, there’s something unusual about the whole thing. Oh well, I won’t figure it out while standing around, so I think I’ll be off to see the sloshed Lord of Olsk,” he said turning to leave with the servant who still stood by the door.
The servant left Lord Brik at the door to the sitting room and headed back to his other duties. As he left he thought he heard a crackling noise, but it wasn’t repeated, so he just shrugged and continued on his way.
A few bells later Lady Margret went looking for her husband and after asking around, she found a servant that knew where Lord Armal had been drinking.
She followed him there and after knocking and getting no response she opened the door. The shades had been pulled, so the room was fairly dark, but she could see that two men were seated with their upper bodies lying on the table. She turned to the servant and said, “Dead drunk again, can you believe it?” , but as she drew nearer she saw the blood on the table and screamed.
CAracusS was preoccupied when he came in from the courtyard and started to climb the grand staircase, he didn’t look up until a voice rang out echoing in the open entry hall.
“Jatar, old friend, how goes the ruling Lord business? I hear you locked up your military staff yesterday; what happened, did they march crooked or did you think a quick trip to the dungeons would be good for their morale?”
It took CAracusS a moment to recognize the noble who had spoken from the top of the stairs, and then the necromancer’s face became angry as he exclaimed, “So, the lost sheep finally returns; where have you been? This was no time for a holiday, and quit screaming our business out loud for the whole palace to hear!”
The n
oble smiled with true gusto and exclaimed, “I’ve been busy, and unless you would like to continue this conversation on the grand staircase I suggest we retire to one of your private rooms where all questions will be answered, or at least a few; you may be real busy in just a bit,” the grinning nobleman prophesied.
“Fine, follow me,” CAracusS replied angrily.
They entered the Ardellen private library and closed the door before CAracusS spun around and demanded, “Well?”
“Well what?” the third conspirator replied innocently.
“Where have you been?” CAracusS asked in exasperation.
“I’ve been checking out a few things, none of which are your business really, but along the way I managed to do you a big favor,” he noted with excitement.
CAracusS considered using his powers to subjugate the exasperating man just to force a straight answer out of him, but then reluctantly discarded the idea since he knew they still needed the noble to play his role. The necromancer answered him with, “Oh, a favor from you, well that really reassures me. If I recall correctly, and I do, you fouled up your part of the plan and Lady Ardellen escaped with the heir! Now she’s out there somewhere and she knows that we murdered her husband and stole his throne. Von Dracek and my vorghoul are trying to find them and fix your blunder! Vorg help us if they fail.”
“It’s too bad he CAN’T help us! I would have loved to meet Vorg, that old bastard sure knew how to stir up the pot! Three thousand years after his corpse has crumbled to dust and people still remember what he did; now that’s a talent for causing trouble! Ah well, we’ll have to settle for my meager attempts, nobody else seems to be carrying on the legacy,” he lamented, whimsically.
CAracusS frowned and demanded, “Didn’t you hear me? That sorceress bitch is on the loose and you’re worried about stirring up trouble? Don’t worry, that woman will spread the word about what we’ve done and we’ll have plenty of trouble. She MUST be silenced, and soon!”
“I’ll take care of her when the time is right, besides you need to stop worrying about that and start worrying about how you’re going to raise an army for the war with Pruta,” he advised with a straight face.
The necromancer had been about to ask the man how he was even going to find Lady Ardellen when the last thing the nobleman said fully penetrated. At that point, CAracusS closed his mouth with a snap, thought for a moment and then said, “As far as I know Lindankar is not at war with any nation right now.” And a frown of thought appeared on Jatar’s face as the necromancer tried to figure out what the man was blathering about now.
“Technically you’re correct, you’re not at war… yet, however unless you want to be at war with both Pruta and Olsk simultaneously let me make a suggestion: support Pruta and start placing blame on Lord Armal for initiating the murderous attack on Lord Rinholt,” he explained and then nodded his head up and down as if confirming his words beyond reproach.
“What nonsense are you talking about now?” CAracusS thundered.
“Well, it seems that Lord Armal fell face first on the dagger I secretly borrowed from Lord Brik Rinholt. Then he went down to the same room and fell on the dagger I borrowed from Lord Armal’s recently murdered body, but after I rearranged things it really looks like the two Lords murdered each other, and people do seem to jump to conclusions. It continues to amaze me; how about you, aren’t you amazed?” he asked flippantly.
CAracusS was gasping for air like a fish that popped out of its bowl and he finally managed to sputter, “You did WHAT? That wasn’t part of the original plan, you fool! You can’t just murder two ruling Lords!”
“Of course, I can, I mean, well, I DID, so it is certainly possible, but you’re the one who will look like a fool if you don’t calm down and get ready to act normal. I hear footsteps approaching and I don’t think it’s going to be your afternoon tea. Remember to support Pruta and act as their ally, then just move in and start giving helpful orders to their leaderless country. Right this wrong which was done to their beloved ruler by the heinous… and now dead… Lord of Olsk. By leading Pruta’s army of retribution in the destruction of Olsk you can take Olsk under your control, and then just keep ruling Pruta when the smoke has cleared,” the irrepressible noble explained to CAracusS.
“That’s insane, it’ll never work,” CAracusS said, his mind working furiously as the echoing footsteps approached.
“That’s exactly why this will work; no one will believe the trustworthy Jatar would be insane enough to murder two Lords and attempt to take both their countries!”
Before CAracusS could answer the footsteps stopped outside the door and there was a knock followed by a servant’s hailing voice that called out with urgency, “Lord Ardellen, are you there?”
“Yes, come in,” CAracusS called out after a slight pause.
The door opened, but the servant hesitated a moment before speaking, “Lord, I have some terrible news, Lord Armal and Lord Brik have murdered each other and we don’t know what to do.”
“What?” CAracusS exclaimed with terrible acting, and then spared a dirty look in the direction of his companion before adding, “That’s impossible, are you sure?”
“Yes, milord, they were just discovered, both dead, and apparently at each other’s hand.”
“This is dire news indeed. Take me there, so I can decide what we should do,” CAracusS ordered, and then followed the servant out of the library.
After the door had closed the nobleman was alone in the room. He took out a coin and looked at the face imprinted in the metal. “Well you handsome Darknull, we really had some fun today, a good time was had by all! Tomorrow’s show should be equally amusing.” He laughed and then tossed the coin into the air, caught it and put the likeness of himself back into the inside pocket of his fine doublet.
The great Gellern forest surrounded Elizabeth and the knights for many leagues. A light breeze caused the tall green grass of their forest glade to sway while the bubbling sounds of the nearby stream called softy to their ears in a natural chorus.
Michael was managing to stand by holding onto a small fallen log while Elizabeth sat on her knees and held out her arms in outstretched invitation.
The one-year-old decided that the open arms of his mother were a worthy goal and took a step away from the log. Surprise instantly appeared on his tiny round face, as if to say, ‘Hey, what’s going on here? Stop the world, it’s moving on me!’
After that first step, the little explorer swayed back and forth violently for a few heartbeats before his sense of balance adjusted to the new sensation. Having mastered the new trick of standing unassisted he burst out with a high pitched scream of pure delight, which abruptly cut off when it caused him to sway again and nearly land on his posterior.
He recovered without falling, but the last sway took him too far forward and his choices were fall or save himself by sticking out a foot. His foot lurched forward, just catching himself from falling and his new inertia kept him going forward, so he had to get his other foot moving to save himself. And so, forward motion was discovered and young Michael started to walk. He took three shaky and rapid steps before falling into the waiting arms of his teary-eyed mother.
Elizabeth scooped up her son and clutched his small body to her breast while she told him how he was the most wonderful and clever boy ever born, which of course he already knew, but he didn’t bother to inform her of that since he hadn’t discovered how to form words quite yet.
As she held her young son, Elizabeth’s thoughts went out to her lost husband, “I wish you had been with me just now, my beloved, to see your son’s first steps. I promise you this Jatar, one day your son’s steps will shake the world, and in your name, he will accomplish all that you dreamed.”
Gustin walked up to where Elizabeth was holding Michael.
“Good morning, milady, how is everything with you this morning?”
“I feel better today Gustin, Michael just took his first steps,” replied the proud mother.
Gustin beamed and said, “That’s wonderful, though I remember my mother telling me that once I’d taken my first steps and discovered that I was now mobile, I started getting into everything in sight,” he admitted while taking a seat next to her on the fallen log.
Elizabeth gave him a half smile and answered, “That’s the way of children, everything must be explored. It’s part of the survival instincts of the human race; we’re driven to learn as much as we can because knowledge brings safety.”
“Well that’s true most of the time, but I grew up in the northern province where there are many high places. Our village is at the foothills of the northern range which gives a young child plenty of opportunity to discover the effect of gravity. Too much knowledge of falling is bad for your health,” the big man stated with a sorrowful smile, and then he sighed.
Elizabeth was curious, she didn’t know much about the big knight’s youth, but she replied, “That’s what parents are for; they’re around to temper the child’s insatiable curiosity, to make sure that it doesn’t get them into danger. Unfortunately, everything in life is a double-edged sword; the curiosity that drives a child to learn for its future safety can also put that child in extreme danger. Life comes with no guarantees, you roll your dice and see if you get the skulls or the roses,” she philosophized.
“That’s true, milady, and my older brother Dern rolled poorly; he died in a fall off a cliff near my home. My father found him; it was a hard time for my family,” Gustin reminisced.
“I’m sorry Gustin, how old were you?” Elizabeth asked, placing her hand on his big wrist in sympathy.
“I was five, and I remember that my father took me aside that day and he told me that my brother had many important things in life that he was supposed to accomplish. Then he told me that if I wanted I could help my brother accomplish those tasks.
“I remember his words clearly as if he said them yesterday. I told my father that I would try really hard to help Dern, but my dad warned me that I was not to live my life for my brother, but it was all right to do a little extra now and then in memory of Dern.
