Trysmoon Book 1: Ascension (The Trysmoon Saga)

by Brian Fuller

  “What happened?”

  “Reports are a little strange. This is the third time we’ve had a fire like this in as many months. Ilch’s work, but we can’t quite pin down how it is done.”

  “The circumstances are unusual, then?”

  “Yes,” the First Mother replied, signaling for him to sit. “I’ll tell you while we eat. I’m afraid this incident will curtail the time I allotted to spend with you.”

  “Perfectly understandable, Milady.”

  “But before we talk of the fire, I wanted to warn you to exercise a little caution. The Chalaine told me about your repartee with Chertanne this afternoon, including the bit about the ‘street whore’ and ‘wooden personality.’ Chertanne will try to bait you into mistakes, and you must not return in kind. Despite how childish he can be, the Ha’Ulrich wields a great deal of power and has many loyal friends. There are several rumors of plots on your life circulating, and at least two seem credible.”

  “I assure you I was more civil than he warranted. I will try, however, not to tempt fate any further.”

  “Tempt it? As far as Chertanne is concerned, you’ve been poking fate with a sharp stick! I cannot ask you to act against your conscience, but realize that exchanging unpleasantries with Chertanne only sours his disposition and can only hurt you. Understood?”

  “Yes, Milady, but if Chertanne doesn’t warm to the idea of behaving more decently, I’m afraid there will always be winter between us. ‘Frost will always hate the song bird and the blossom,’ as they say.”

  “And who says that?”

  “It’s a poem, actually.”

  “Recite it for me, if you can.”

  Gen took a drink and leaned back.

  Frost will ever hate the blossom,

  Set its hand against the flower,

  Seek to choke the songbird,

  Tempt snow from raindrops

  In the shower.

  Fog will ever hate the sunshine,

  Set its breath against the light,

  Blind the keen-eyed traveler,

  Cloud the blue-skied day

  Into night.

  If such enemies in nature be

  As frost and flower, fog and sun,

  Then lift your eyes and watch;

  Nature makes enemies

  For everyone.

  Mirelle nodded her appreciation. “Not a very cheering poem, but appropriate, perhaps. You let the Ilch be Chertanne’s enemy. It will be impossible to protect the Chalaine from every indignity Chertanne will burden her with. It is enough that you keep her alive. So avoid Chertanne, if you can.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Very well.”

  The First Mother sat quietly for several minutes, eating the meal and staring at the smoke plume. She was obviously upset. Gen noticed she didn’t use her silverware, absently tearing away the bread with her fingers. The meat and fruit, already sliced, she also took by hand. He imitated her. The cooks obviously spent more time on the First Mother’s food than they did on that served in the commons. The meat was tender and perfectly seasoned, the fruit bruiseless and at the peak of ripeness.

  After downing a slice of apple, her eyes fell on him again. “I wanted to tell you some news we just received from your homeland, though it may pain you to hear it. Should I continue?”

  “Please. I have been anxious for any word.”

  “Torbrand Khairn is a clever one, I’m afraid. As you know, in late autumn he secreted a sizable force of men in the center of your country, in your town. By the time anyone found out, winter had struck and nothing could be done save the spreading of news that Aughmere had invaded.

  “Come spring, King Filingrail pulled a good portion of men off the northern line and sent them on the long march south to support Duke Norshwal’s army. Once the King divided his forces, the Aughmerian army of soldiers, hiding their numbers, struck the northern border, putting your countrymen to flight. The latest news is that the Aughmerian force in the heart of your land simply withdrew—though to where, no one knows—their ruse completed. Tolnor has a long summer ahead of it. I am sorry.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I suspected as much. Tell me more about the fires.”

  “Yes. As I said, there have been three of this kind. In each case, witnesses said there was an ‘explosion’ of fire. This isn’t someone lighting a fire with a torch or throwing a lantern into a building. One explosion was in the rafters of a Church, another in the cellar of a popular inn. Today’s was in a busy guild house. We suspect magic, but have no clues as to who is behind it. The people are terrified. More than I care to count have died, and the fire today is engulfing neighboring buildings, residences for the poorer classes. You’re thinking something. What is it?”

  Gen thought a few moments more. Mirelle’s description touched off something in what he had of Telmerran’s memory. “Were animals found at any of the fires? Dead ones?”

  “I haven’t heard. Why?”

  “During the First Mikkikian War, there were brother Magicians, one of Duammagic, the other of Mynmagic. They would use animals and fire against the Uyumaak. The process is taxing and difficult. The brothers would capture an animal—a bird, for example. They would build an enormous fire, and as it burned, the Duammagician would capture its heat until the last ember winked out and somehow bind the collected heat to the bird. The Mynmagician would then control the bird, guiding it into the middle of an Uyumaak camp. The Duammagician would release the binding, causing an explosion and great devastation.

  “The process would exhaust both Magicians for many hours, and during such a weakness, an Uyumaak patrol stumbled upon the brothers and killed them, not knowing they were the perpetrators of the strange attacks. Of course, this kind of faunurgy requires one Magician from each discipline of magic who is powerful. They would probably work away from people and in the dark to hide the smoke from the bonfire that the spell requires. During the period of weakness afterward, they would be vulnerable and easy to capture.”

  “I do remember a report from the Church fire of a parishioner saying she saw a raven perched on the rafter, taking it for a bad omen and leaving. Aren’t the animals burned with the fire or explosion?”

  “No,” Gen replied. “The Duammagician has to protect them somehow to withstand the heat focused upon them by the binding. The impact of the blast will usually kill them, but when found, they are unburned, unlike everything around them. It’s just a theory but one worth pursuing if none of the others are producing anything.”

  The First Mother rose. “I must relate this to Regent Ogbith at once. It is somewhere to start, the first place we’ve had. He may wish to speak to you of it. Ethris as well. Stay and enjoy your dinner. I promise I will invite you again. I am determined to have some conversation with you that doesn’t relate to Chertanne, my daughter, or killing.”

  “Good evening, your Grace,” Gen said, rising and bowing as she hurried off, Cadaen in tow. Gen relaxed and ate slowly, watching the orange sky deepen to red and purple. The breeze whipped up as the sun fell, lending potency to the smell of smoke. Thanks to Samian, he knew a heavy storm would pass through an hour or so after dark, a welcome relief to those faced with the flames below, though the initial winds would exacerbate the spreading of the fire.

  Guessing it was close to the sixth watch, he passed through the Great Hall and descended into the Antechamber of the Chalaine to relieve Jaron. After his branding, Ethris had told him several interesting things about the Antechamber and the Chalaine’s Chambers. The most interesting was about the Walls in the Chalaine’s room.

  “This secret is held even from the Chalaine until her majority,” Ethris had explained, “and for good reason, as you will no doubt deduce. The Walls not only show locations within and around Rhugoth, but they can act as a Portal to them as well. The brand upon you is the key you need. But touch the Walls and speak the location and a Portal will be opened. If a foe makes it past the outer guards and into the Chalaine’s inner sanctum, it is
not your duty to fight. Anything that can win its way past the myriad of protections, both magical and mundane, and navigate that maze will likely be beyond your skill to defeat. In such an eventuality, you are to take her through the Portal. When the lake is not frozen, take her to the Defender. If it is, take her to Renberry Cathedral on the other side of Mikmir. It is the home of the Prelate and has a fighting order of Churchmen—the Eldephaere—attached to it. Once the Portal is passed through, it will be destroyed so that nothing can follow.”

  Besides this, Gen learned that all of the statues in the Antechamber were Foe Stones, creations from before the Shattering that could detect anyone entering with evil intent and shout warning. Even more impressive, two of them could transform themselves into the image of the enemy and fight. The small pool at the center of the room could heal wounds and cure poison, and behind a plant on either side of the bridge a rune was inscribed that—when touched by someone bearing the protector’s brand—would send the bridge crashing into the abyss below.

  He entered the Antechamber, finding the number of the Dark Guard there increased by the addition of Kimdan and Gerand. They stood stiffly at attention, one of the other Dark Guard Masters standing opposite them to enforce discipline. Jaron, the Chalaine, and Fenna stood at the entrance to the maze, and Gen crossed to them and genuflected.

  “Welcome, Gen” Jaron said.

  “Good evening,” Gen replied. “Are you to teach me the maze?”

  “Yes,” the Chalaine answered, “and to say farewell to Miss Fairedale, who is done for the day. Goodbye, Fenna.”

  “Goodbye, Milady.” Fenna curtsied. “It is good to see you again, Gen. I hope you rested well.” She turned to Kimdan. “Thank you for the rose, Kimdan! It is beautiful.”

  And then she left, a little too hurriedly by Gen’s reckoning. Kimdan stood silent but grinning, fetching an angry stare from the Dark Guard across the room. The grin disappeared quickly. Inwardly, Gen groaned. Fenna had started a game he did not want to play, and the Chalaine, obviously, had part in staging the first round.

  “Let’s begin, then,” Jaron said, entering the maze. “It’s large and tricky, so pay close attention.”

  Gen figured the size of the Chalaine’s maze double that of her mother’s, requiring several minutes of confusing turns to get through. Traps, mundane and magical—usually both at the same time—greeted any wrong turn, and Gen’s normally good memory was significantly motivated by the desire to avoid them. At the other side, they had him go through by himself while they tagged along to give warning should he choose amiss. Luckily, he learned the maze quickly, and Jaron applied a hearty slap on the back.

  “Took Dason four days to get it straight,” he disparaged before leaving. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Eldwena, Fenna’s nocturnal counterpart, arrived next. Eldwena was older than Fenna and had a round puffy face with short blonde hair. Gen noticed she was pregnant. Her eyes and mouth bespoke a lifetime of fuss and worry.

  “Where’s Dason?” she inquired, clearly startled.

  “My mother dismissed him and named Gen my protector. Gen, this is Lady Eldwena Moores. Eldwena, Gen.”

  “How do you do?” Gen said. Eldwena gaped in shock and ignored Gen’s greeting.

  “Your mother dismissed Dason? Was this today? I always miss everything when I go home. How could she dismiss Dason? He was so beautiful!”

  “You’re married, Eldwena.”

  “Well you’re the Chalaine and you thought he was beautiful, too!”

  “Come, Gen,” the Chalaine said, turning away. “Your quarters are two down from my door. The first room is Jaron’s. He usually doesn’t sleep there, however.”

  “Have you seen Dason, Gen?” Eldwena asked him.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Gorgeous man, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I will leave that judgment to you ladies.”

  “Oh, it is a shame,” Eldwena bemoaned. “Dason was a good one, he was. Made me laugh like my poor Robbie never could. Of course, Robbie makes me laugh, just at him, though, not with him. I don’t suppose you’re any good at cards, are you?”

  “Too good for the both of you, I fear.” Gen said flatly. The Chalaine stopped with Eldwena, the latter regarding Gen intently for several moments, eyes narrow.

  “Is he joking, Milady?” she asked.

  “I don’t think Gen jokes with anyone, Eldwena. Come, let’s go inside and not bore Gen with further talk of Dason. We’ll find our own entertainments. Good night, Gen.”

  “Good night, Chalaine. Lady Moores.”

  They went inside without further comment, for which Gen was grateful. After such busy days, he felt in great need of several hours of unbroken solitude. If he could get through the rest of the day without hearing the names ‘Dason’ or ‘Kimdan,’ he would count himself blessed.

  Chapter 22 - Betrothal

  For the Chalaine, the summer, warm and dry, dragged by on lazy, broken legs. Feast after reception after meeting after presentation demanded her attendance, and Chertanne attended every one with her, drunk as often as sober. He jumped at any opportunity to receive the doting and worshipful attentions of his followers while conveniently turning dumb at the mention of any real work to be done or decisions to be made. To be sure, Chertanne was a skilled and charismatic celebrant, and—for all his moaning about Gen’s lack of station—he spent almost every night in the poorer quarters of town among common folk, reveling in their adoration and attention.

  One day, the Chalaine and Fenna decided to use the Walls to watch him on one of the rare occasions a meeting didn’t require his presence. Everywhere Chertanne went, Dason trudging unhappily behind, the people thronged him. He loved it and played to their enthusiasm. But soon, the Chalaine had to will the Walls to fade; Chertanne was not a moral man. Three of the noble born daughters of Rhugoth had joined his harem of concubines since his arrival, raising his “tally” to seventeen. Between the meetings and his carousal in the town, the Chalaine wondered if he ever had time to visit them. She hoped he didn’t.

  At first she tried to talk to him, attempting to develop at least a rough politeness between them, if not a formal relationship, but a few days decided her against it and she gave up addressing him altogether if she could help it. For one, she didn’t like it. Jaron didn’t either, and the Chalaine found Jaron’s hand on his blade hilt, fingers white-knuckled, on more than one occasion. If the Blessed One were to ask Fenna to join his harem, the Chalaine thought she might use his sword herself. She wondered if Chertanne would still be alive if Gen were her day protector. At the worst, Gen would raise another challenge, and Chertanne would send Dason to his death at Gen’s hand.

  And seeing Dason still hurt her. He was miserable, always wearing a face full of pathetic resignation, and he would no longer meet her eye. Better than anyone, he knew Chertanne’s character. The Chalaine fancied that Dason felt badly for her and wished he could make amends for failing to stand with Gen for her honor. Of course, all she could do was fancy and guess at his feelings. She never spoke with him anymore. He was visited by the full consequence of his choice, and she could not rescue him. Ruefully, the Chalaine realized she was paying the price for choices she had no hand in making, and the cost continued to mount.

  She increasingly leaned on Fenna and her mother to fend off her darker moods. Though not typically in Fenna’s character, the young handmaiden perversely chose to throw her energies into winning over the quiet protector just because it was harder rather than be content with the ready attention and affection available from Kimdan. She claimed she could see a great depth in Gen, despite his reluctance to share much about himself. The Chalaine saw no depth. Gen emanated power, but otherwise he was single-minded and empty to her view, especially in contrast to Dason’s lively, colorful personality.

  Nothing convinced her more powerfully of this than the Testing Day for the Dark Guard’s apprentices. The testing allowed the Dark Guard to measure the skill of each apprentice
so they could tailor their training to each one’s strengths and weaknesses. Rather than test the apprentices themselves as they normally would, the Dark Guard invited Gen to do it for them while they watched and judged. The Chalaine suspected they did it out of curiosity about Gen as much as any real need to better their evaluation of the young men. She and Fenna went to watch, Chertanne blighting them with his presence, although having Dason nearby nearly redeemed the occasion.

  The first part of the day consisted of Gen going after each of the apprentices using different styles of fighting, some Dason and Jaron admitted they had never seen. Kimdan, expectedly, fared the best but faltered as Gen did combinations of exotic, unorthodox moves. It ended with Gen punching the Regent’s son solidly in the face and giving him a black eye. Kimdan, furious, tried to avenge himself immediately, but Captain Tolbrook pulled him back and sternly lectured him for his absence of control.

  The scene was then reversed, each apprentice attacking Gen with every slash, swing, and thrust in his arsenal. Gen barely needed to move, even for Kimdan’s ebullient assault. Blessedly, the whole spectacle was so engrossing that Chertanne uttered far fewer unsavory comments than usual. The Chalaine could sense that Gen scared him like no one else ever had. He showed his fear by disparaging Gen when he could, though Gen gave little material for him to work with other than his low station and dull personality.

  After the midday meal, they returned to a special treat the Dark Guard had planned. In a loud voice, Captain Tolbrook announced to the apprentices that they were to rush Gen as a group, Kimdan in command. Any apprentice who scored a mark on Gen would earn a day off.

  “That’s not fair!” Fenna protested. “Five against one!”

  “Not fair for them,” Jaron informed her. “You’ll see, Miss.”

  And he was right. Kimdan, not even bothering to pretend to lead his squad, sprinted at Gen madly and attacked, Tolbrook chiding him loudly. Kimdan, however, had nothing at his disposal that Gen couldn’t do four times faster and with twice the force, and before the other apprentices even arrived at the melee, Kimdan had fallen in pain. As the Chalaine watched Gen dismantle the apprentices, fighting with unparalleled fluidity and ferocity, she felt for the first time that she comprehended him. Gen was a tool, good for one thing and useless for all others. Her mother and Fenna might see more, but Gen was pure sword fighter. While courage and loyalty were his allies, personality and charm were superfluous to his purpose.