by CM Raymond
As this filtered through Doyle’s mind for the dozenth time that day, Stellan approached him from behind.
“What’s the play, sir?”
His voice was gruff, and Doyle was certain that the commander of the secret Guard resented the fact that a bureaucrat had been given charge over the mission.
“The hell do you mean? We push on. Need to get that hunk of shit out of the mountains and get back to Cella.” Doyle kept his eyes trained ahead and attempted to sound confident. “You will be capable of following those orders, won’t you Stellan?”
“As you command, sir.”
They rode in silence for an hour, and the skies began to darken. The terrain was already becoming questionable, and it took Doyle all he had to keep himself steadied on the back of his steed.
Damn horses, he thought.
They had thought about using some form of magitech transport, but the tech struggled in uneven conditions. The speeders and motor carts couldn’t even handle certain paved parts of the city, let alone the wild terrain.
Stellan cleared his throat. “All due respect, sir, but I’ve spent plenty of time in the Heights. With the look of those clouds rolling in and the path ahead, it might be good for us to take cover in that valley over there and set up camp. I wouldn’t want to get caught exposed in a squall in the Heights, and those are just foothills compared to the North.”
“You afraid, Stellan?” Doyle tried to put himself back in control using a tone he had heard Adrien use a million times.
“Sometimes fear is the soundest course. I wouldn’t want to confuse wisdom with cowardice.”
Doyle laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a philosopher, Stellan, but we’re not paying you for your brain. You’re here because you can kick ass and take a dagger in the gut while still smiling. And because I need a brute like you to dig this thing out of the ice. You can leave the planning to me.”
Even as he said the words, Doyle knew it was a mistake. Stellan was the best the Guard had, and he couldn’t have made it to that post without some judgment, but it was too late to turn back on his call. They’d push on into the mountains. With some luck, they would find the device before dark and try to push back to Cella by the light of the magitech torches they carried with them.
“Don’t be a damned fool, Doyle,” Stellan retorted. The other men had crept close enough to hear the exchange. They snickered audibly. “We get caught in the peaks without fire or shelter we could be done for. Doesn’t take a philosopher to know that.”
Doyle shook his head. “No. We push on. This mission is of the highest priority to the Chancellor.”
“Oh, yeah,” someone said from behind. “Then why’d he send you?” Color rose to Doyle’s cheeks as he heard the men laughing at him.
“We keep going,” he shrieked, “And if I hear any more of your insubordination I’ll have you flogged in the square when we return.”
The men grumbled but fell largely silent as Doyle turned back around in his saddle. He leaned into the wind, pride welling up within for making such a strong call—even if he did remain uncertain.
He turned to look at Stellan, to see if the man would push back, but he simply nodded and fell back in line.
Doyle craned his neck to watch him go. There was something different about Stellan, though Doyle couldn’t put his finger on it. The man was a soldier. Fearless, and obedient unto death, but not particularly tactful. This person with him was different. Doyle could see the gears turning behind the man’s eyes.
When Adrien had first mentioned the possibility of him being the traitor, Doyle found it laughable. Now he wasn’t quite sure. If the Chancellor’s assistant could not only bring back the last piece of the puzzle and also show that Stellan was the spy on the inside, he would certainly find favor from his superior.
As the foothills became steeper, the trees became sparse—hammered away by the constant wind and ice.
After another hour, the snow came. It whipped their faces and blinded them to the path ahead. Doyle tried to trust the sure footing of the horses, while he gritted his teeth and prayed that the squall would pass.
It only snowed harder.
Shit, Doyle thought. Stellan may have been right after all.
****
Over the weeks of teaching at the Academy, Ezekiel had settled into his new role. Though he always kept his eye on building the rebellion and ultimately on the restoration of his beloved city, he nevertheless took joy in teaching the students. At his core, this was who he was—not a warrior or a savior or a legend
He was a teacher.
While many of the other instructors approached teaching history as plotting events on a timeline and making students regurgitate the seemingly disconnected events on a test, his approach was different.
Ezekiel told stories that made the past come alive—after all, he had lived through much of it. And within just a few days of beginning his tenure at the Academy, the students had taken to both him and his style. No longer did they sit as far away as possible with detached looks on their faces. Instead, they all pulled their desks in close, breaking the traditional rows.
As he expected, the students were hungry, and Ezekiel saw the class as a chance to subtly right some of the wrongs that they had been taught by the other professors who had a propensity for toeing the line. Those in control of Arcadia also held sway over the curriculum. History had been revised, and Ezekiel had every intention of taking it back to a more accurate representation of what had transpired. He longed to teach them the truth.
But this had to be done tactfully, without raising suspicion.
The students leaned in as he began his storytelling for the day. “Now, where were we?”
“The Founder,” a student near the front said.
“Ah, yes! Him. There are many stories about the Founder and many more legends. How he single-handedly stopped the Madness from spreading and raised this city from the dirt. As you know, most of that is exaggeration, but that doesn’t mean the myths hold no truth. After all, where there is smoke, there is usually fire. The truth is, the Founder was just a man. His name was Ezekiel, and while not perfect, he truly did care for this city, and all the people of Irth.”
His eyes glimmered as he began his own story. “You all know by now that the Founder didn’t bring magic with him—the great power that you wield already existed inside of you, inside of everyone, really. But he did teach the earliest Arcadians how to control it. More importantly, however, was his moral teaching. Ezekiel knew that changing the world was easy, but that making it better was hard. Do right by each other. Trust one another. These were the kinds of lessons the Founder taught, right alongside casting fireballs. The strong must help the weak, and the weak should do their best to become strong. Justice above all else. It’s how the Matriarch and the Patriarch lived and it’s how the Founder wanted Arcadians to live. Using magic meant nothing if it wasn’t used for good.”
The students sat in rapt attention, their eyes hardly blinking. This was a far cry from their usual lessons that focused solely on technique.
“But,” he continued. “When the Founder left, things began to change. The Chancellor—”
As if on cue, a creaking door from the back of the room grabbed his attention. Adrien walked through the open doorway, with dark sculpted hair and regal robes. He took a seat behind the students, and the class all shifted nervously. It wasn’t uncommon for the Academic Dean to observe a class of a new faculty member, but the Chancellor never made this kind of appearance. It set the room on edge, Ezekiel most of all.
“Chancellor,” Ezekiel said. “To what do we owe this...honor.”
“Don’t mind me, Professor Girard,” Adrien said, something between a smile and a sneer spread across his face. “I figure even the Chancellor needs to brush up on his history from time to time.”
Ezekiel considered trying to get inside his mind, even just for a few seconds, but he was concerned that Adrien might sense the mental assault… not
to mention the glowing red eyes. But his presence here made it difficult for Ezekiel to deliver his planned lecture.
“Of course, old friend… Pardon me, Chancellor Adrien. Be our guest. I was just getting to what you would consider the good part.”
Ezekiel picked back up where he had left off but now took it down a different trajectory. “As I was saying, the Founder had given the keys to the Kingdom to our esteemed Chancellor. He trusted his young student to be the steward of magic and justice within the walls of Arcadia. But this was no easy task, and in his absence, the city the Founder envisioned soon began to change.”
Glancing to the back of the room, he saw Adrien’s eyes narrow. The visit wasn’t a routine teaching evaluation, but an opportunity to ensure Girard walked in step with their history. Ezekiel was already toeing the line.
A hand shot up in the front row. “How did everything change?” a student asked.
“Good question!” Ezekiel said with a grin. “The Founder, you must remember, was wise—the Oracle had granted him access to all kinds of advanced knowledge. And while you might think it best to listen to the advice of an expert, especially one who demonstrated as much power as the Founder, the Chancellor knew better. He created his own rules, to shape the city in the ways he saw fit.”
Ezekiel laughed uncomfortably. “For example, the Founder was convinced that magic should be freely held by all who could control it. There were no rich and poor in his vision of Arcadia—only hard work and a fair chance. But I’m sure your families and teacher have told you stories from that time—that justice like that came at a cost. Magic is dangerous, there is no doubt about that, and it was impossible to live without some injury, either to the caster or to others. And while the Founder helped put an end to Madness, greed still existed in the hearts of men. Unseemly folk began using magic for unjust advantage.” He returned his gaze on Adrien. “That’s something our Chancellor knows all about.”
Adrien’s face stiffened slightly, and Ezekiel could see that a few of his students were turning over the statement’s double meaning.
Careful, Ezekiel thought to himself.
“Which is why the Chancellor put a stop to all of that,” Ezekiel continued with an overly broad smile. “The Founder, with his silly idea of justice for all, could not have predicted the evils that Chancellor Adrien knew so well. Which is why he implemented the restriction. And next class, we’ll discuss how the restriction has made everything better throughout Arcadia. You’re dismissed.”
The students filed out; Adrien remained in the back row until the last one was gone.
“Interesting lecture, Girard,” Adrien smiled. “I would have chosen a different day if I knew I was walking into my origin story.”
Ezekiel cleaned the chalkboard. Without looking back, he said, “Arcadia’s origin, not yours.” He stopped cleaning and took a seat facing the Chancellor. “Although you’re right that these days, it’s hard to see the difference.”
Ezekiel struggled to contain his anger in the man’s presence, but the jabs were intentionally aimed. He waited to see if he could get a reaction from his old student. Adrien stared for a second, trying to figure out if he had been slighted.
“Never figured you as a teacher, Girard. Thought you’d made enough to go off and sit on your ass for the rest of your days at your fancy country manor.”
“Ah! The life of leisure. It’s something for a few years, but then it gets a bit old. Plus, there’s nothing quite like the comforts of the city—well, the Capitol and the Quarter anyway. The Boulevard never did rise with the rest of us. Almost as if it was designed that way, don’t you think? Anyway, I’ve been given so much, I decided it was only just that I gave a little something back. When I got word of all this Prophet and Founder… stuff… happening, I thought I could contribute right here.” He spread his hands out over the classroom.
Adrien laughed. “A donation might have been better appreciated. You were a terrible student, Girard. Hardly someone I would have pegged to be a professor. You would never have made it through the Academy yourself if others didn’t carry you—not to mention the giant contributions that your father had made.”
“People change. Isn’t that right, Adrien? From humble Steward to mighty Chancellor. That’s the way your story goes when it’s told in the right light.”
“What are you implying, Girard?”
“Just implying that I know what my job is…that’s why you’ve hired us right? To tell your lies? I’m not judging of course. I’m sure you know what’s best for the city. And what’s good for Arcadia is good for us all.”
Adrien raised his eyebrows. This Girard was different than the man he remembered. “I’m not sure altruism suits you, Girard. The student I used to know was always a selfish little prick. What’s your true motive here?”
Ezekiel focused on not showing any tells. For an instant, he considered blasting the damn fool with all the fury of his magic. But he withheld. The sound of students’ voices echoed through the hallway. Adrien was a cautious man, always on guard. If Ezekiel attacked him now, the fight would almost certainly come with collateral damage—and there was no guarantee that Ezekiel would win. The root would need to be removed but only at the right time. Ezekiel had to ensure that the city was with him and that his actions here wouldn’t make things worse. A violent attack from Unlawful extremists that resulted in the death of innocent students...that would surely put an end to any hope of rebellion--of real change for Arcadia.
Instead, he laughed. Laughed hard. “Oh… Adrien, you always could see the evil in people. That’s a gift the Founder never had. The truth is I’m here because of this Unlawful problem. If it gets out of hand, it could be bad for me. Bad for my daughter. When you get to be our age, leaving behind a legacy is all that really matters.” He paused, grinning like a fool. “There you have it. I’m not here to save the world. And while I know the truth, I’ll teach your lies. Because the status quo serves me well, serves my family well.”
A smile slowly crept across Adrien’s face. “Well, far be it from me to be critical of another man’s motivations, Girard. Just glad to see you have the good of the city at heart. We should discuss this further. Perhaps you could join me in the residence for dinner sometime?”
“Don’t you ever leave this dusty old tower? You should get out more, Adrien. See the city that you control. After all, nobody lives forever, and you wouldn’t want this tower to become your tomb.”
Ezekiel let the words hang in the air for a minute before looking out the window to see the setting sun. “But of course, I’d be happy to join you for dinner sometime. Unfortunately, I must now go. My daughter is expecting me and she... well, she can be quite the hellraiser. Maybe you’ll meet her some time to see for yourself. I’m sure she would just love that.”
Before Adrien could respond, Ezekiel turned and left him alone in the classroom. He was steaming as he stepped out of the tower and into the cool night air. Walking out through the Noble Quarter, Ezekiel ran the confrontation over in his head. Was Adrien onto him? Did he really buy the Girard act? Should he have put an end to it right there, consequences be damned?
Relief rushed over him as he entered the house. He dropped the illusion and returned to looking like himself. Hanging his overcloak on a peg by the door, he descended the steps into the basement. Waiting for him there were his real students, Gregory and Hannah, and he was overjoyed not to have held back in front of them.
Ezekiel exhaled and his eyes turned to fire. “Now, who wants to learn some real magic?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Karl’s snores were loud enough to wake a drunken bear—in fact, they sounded like they could have come from a drunken bear. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Parker couldn’t take it any longer. He slid out of his bedroll and ducked out of the little lean-to they had set up just inside the stand of trees.
Stretching, he felt every muscle in his body scream from the previous days training—even a few muscles he
didn’t know he had. It was brutal, but by the end, Parker felt like he was starting to get the hang of it. Karl was an excellent fighter and an even better teacher. The old rearick knew the spear through and through, but also saw how to adapt it to Parker’s unique style.
At the rate he was learning, he’d be able to stand his own with confidence by the time they made it back from the Heights.
As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Parker walked to the edge of the forest and relieved himself. He watched as the sun began to light up the landscape.
Being a city boy through and through, Parker realized that he had just spent his first night camping. Sure, he’d squatted in abandoned buildings for a night plenty of times, but sleeping out in the woods was something entirely different. Seeing the early rays of the sun catch the frost on the grass, Parker wondered why in the world anybody would choose to live in Queen’s Boulevard when a world like this was open to them. With just a little ingenuity and a strong dose of stubbornness, someone from the slums could make a go in the wild and probably do quite well.
