by Rosie Scott
“I have. It is as wonderful as you say.” Uriel leaned to the side, grabbing an empty bottle of wine from the corner of the tent. He handed it to me and said, “Cyrus bought me a bottle as a gift. Hakan and I had it last night. I waited until after I performed my last surgery to drink it for obvious reasons.”
I turned the bottle around in my hand, noticing Cyrus's handwriting on the label. I read it aloud. “To Hakan and Slashin'?” I raised an eyebrow. “Who is Slashin'?”
Uriel grinned and pointed to himself.
“Hakan, what weapon do you wield?” I questioned.
“A hatchet and spiked shield for bashing,” he replied.
“Then such a pun works for you,” I said. “Uriel, you wield a spear. Spears don't slash.”
“I said the same thing,” Hakan agreed.
I held the wine bottle up with the names facing the lovers. “Whoever thought of these nicknames requires severe punishment.”
Uriel laughed. “Cyrus called us that one day and it stuck. I just encouraged it.”
I glared at him humorously. “Don't.” After the three of us laughed, I handed the bottle back to Uriel. “I didn't know you spelled your name in such a way, Hakan. It is spelled similarly to the name of my late friend Jakan, but the pronunciation of the first 'a' is different.”
“Perhaps it is the meaning behind it that changes its pronunciation,” Hakan suggested. “They named me for my head of red hair when I came out of the womb. Hakan means fire. Was Jakan a fire mage?”
“No,” I replied. “He was a thief. Jakan means troublemaker.”
Hakan smiled at the irony. “Ah. There's the distinction, then.”
Uriel leaned back on his forearms. “I'd rather just assume the difference is because language is finicky. It makes little sense half the time.”
“At least mispronunciation of this language can't kill you like it can in the magical language,” I pointed out.
“This is true,” Uriel agreed. “They taught me in magic training centuries ago that creating spells is dangerous for that very reason, Kai. Perhaps that's why few new spells are invented. But you're coming up with fresh ideas all the time as if you're not the least bit concerned about getting hurt during testing.”
“Because I'm not, honestly,” I replied. “I understand the magical language well. I respect it. I fear its power. I am fascinated by it. If a proposed spell will fail, I have a good sense for it, and I usually know why it won't work. The Seran University trained me well.”
“You are also the goddess of magic,” Hakan said. “I'd assume you can understand how it works more than most.”
I'd never thought of it like that, but I nodded at his suggestion. “Perhaps you're right.”
“Kai's birth father is Arturian Kilgor,” Uriel informed his lover.
“No shit?” Hakan tilted his head curiously. “Your personality resembles your father, then. His curiosity and magical discoveries put every other mage to shame.”
“I'll never forget when news of the Kilgorian Law spread overseas in the mid-300s,” Uriel reminisced. “We heard rumors, tested it, and then were dumbfounded by it. Mages had been using magic for millennia without understanding how it worked.”
“Were there more self-inflicted mage injuries back then?” I asked him. “More mages passing out or dying from over-exertion?”
“Not that I recall,” Uriel answered. “As soon as fatigue set in, most mages knew they needed to stop using magic. We just didn't understand what determined when the fatigue hit. Sometimes we could fight for hours with magic, sometimes mere minutes. We didn't know at the time that the weather and environment played such an important role.”
“You didn't notice storms being held at bay during battles?” I questioned.
“Ah...” Uriel shrugged. “Today, it's obvious that magic use affects the weather because we know it does and use it to track its reserves. Back then? It merely felt like a coincidence. Even those with suspicions didn't know how to test them. Energy is such a hard thing to test and measure. That's why I respect Arturian and his work a great deal. He skipped a life of luxury as a wealthy healer in Chairel to give into his insatiable curiosity. The same curiosity that runs through you.”
“That must be why you like me,” I teased him. “I have connections.”
Uriel chuckled. “It's certainly interesting to me to be friends with the daughter of Arturian Kilgor,” he admitted. “But all the reasons I respect him and his work are reasons I have to respect you. Arturian would be so proud of you if he had lived to see all of your accomplishments, Kai. You are continuing his work. We truly do live in an age of magic.”
“That reminds me,” Hakan spoke up. “I meant to thank you, Kai.”
“For what?”
Hakan exchanged glances with his lover before he looked back to me. “For not being greedy with your discoveries, I suppose. For sharing your spells and teachings with all of us. I can't say I ever wanted to experience the power of a necromancer since I didn't think it was possible. Now that I have, I'm grateful for it.” Hakan's tan hand moved over to Uriel's, appearing darker than usual over the healer's lighter skin as he brushed his fingers over it affectionately. “I look forward to working toward immortality. So...thank you.”
Hakan's gratefulness reminded me so much of the villagers of Dagmar when they'd thanked me profusely for giving them life spells on our way to Glacia. The intense joy I felt hearing it only made me more firm in my position that granting such power to the people was the right decision.
I smiled at Hakan and replied, “You're welcome.”
*
Thousands of Celds gathered in the center avenue of Celendar as a mass of inquisitive faces and fair skin between giant trees. After a fortnight spent recuperating our armies, the day for open recruitment had finally come. The number of Celds who showed up to the event took me aback. Some just wanted to catch glimpses of me and the Seran Renegades after having heard so much about us, but many of them either looked to join my army or came to watch others sign up before deciding whether to do so themselves.
Vipin's royal guards watched over the area, lined up around the trunks of surrounding trees and looking down over us from higher walkways. Cerin, Azazel, Calder, and I sat at separate tables on an extended cafe patio as Nyx and Maggie herded the potential recruits into lines for each of us. It was taking longer than anticipated to get started since Nyx kept flirting with the male recruits and Maggie got caught up in multiple friendly conversations. I'd told Holter to take questions from those in the crowd and bring them back to me, but so far, people were holding their inquiries until the initial chaos calmed down.
“If nobody calls for me, what do I do?” Holter asked from my side.
“You're my bodyguard, of course,” I replied, eyeing the pearl-white bow that had once belonged to Kacela. As Holter chuckled, I clarified, “My musically-inclined bodyguard. Get out an instrument and calm these people down.”
“Okay.” Holter grabbed a chair from a nearby cafe table and tugged it over beside mine. He sat down and pulled his small lute out of his satchel, and a light calming tune floated through the air.
Finally, the Celds formed into four distinct lines. Nyx continued flirting and Maggie kept up her jovial conversations, but at least we were making progress.
The first Celd who walked up to my table was dressed for battle, with a bow held in a scabbard on her back and a sword hanging from her hip. She immediately held a hand out to shake mine.
“I am Kainda Paquet,” she greeted. I noted that her grip was firm before she pulled her hand back. “It's an honor to meet you, Kai Sera.”
“You are confident and bold,” I replied. “I like that.”
The beginning of a relieved smile lit up her face before she hid it behind a more serious stare. “I'm glad. I will fight hard for you.”
“Why does a Celd want to join the army of a necromancer?” I questioned bluntly.
The question didn't faze Kainda. “There are
many titles that describe you, ma'am. Necromancer is only one.”
“Please call me Kai,” I replied. “Ma'am makes me feel old. Tell me the titles you do identify with, Kainda.”
“War general and battlemage,” she replied. “Many Celds avoid battle. I do not. I lust for it. It gives me joy. I am tired of hunting only animals. I look to use my skills against warriors. I'm also tired of Chairel's leadership; I want to fight for Celendar's independence.”
I smiled at her honesty. “What are your skills?” I asked, dipping my quill into the nearby inkwell.
“Blade, bow, blowpipe, earth magic. I have a magic license and have won many awards for my hunting skills. I was part of a defense unit sent out just a few moons ago to repel a war party of orcs from the Cel Mountains. I took down four on my own. I—” she stopped talking, noticing the hand I held in the air. “I do not impress you,” she surmised.
“On the contrary. You've already convinced me.” I glanced up as I brought my quill to the parchment of the book before me. “Tell me how to spell your name. You're accepted.”
Time went on, and we recruited more soldiers. Each time I accepted a man or woman into my army, Maggie and Nyx gave them the information they needed to set off with us in a week for Comercio. Some of the Celds around the outskirts of the clearing ahead wandered into line after seeing the recruits being treated with openness and respect.
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Calder grunted at a point. I glanced over at his table, which was a complete mess. Papers were scattered everywhere after coming loose from his logbook's binding. Some of the sheets of parchment had only one recruit's name on them while others had a few like Calder had randomly picked sheets to write on. Calder's quill was tucked behind his right ear, and the ink on the end of the feather was still wet, leaving shaky black marks over the periwinkle skin of his temple. The open inkwell on his table had toppled over, and black ink slowly pooled over sheets of paper. A frazzled recruit waited and watched as Calder tried his best to make sense of it all.
Cerin stared at the mess from his own table and said dryly, “You have to try to be this messy.” Azazel glanced up at Cerin's words from the next spot down and had to muffle his laughter at the chaotic scene.
Calder met my stare. “Paperwork, Kai. You should know how much I fuckin' hate it. And yet here I am, doing this under your misguided direction. Do you remember nothing about the captain's quarters of my ship?”
“I remember it well,” I replied. “I got a cheap trip out of your incompetence. My memories of your paperwork abilities are fonder than yours.”
Calder couldn't help but laugh at the joke. “Okay, but seriously...where the hell is my quill?”
“Have you checked your ear?” I asked him.
“Very funny,” he retorted, sorting through more papers.
Azazel raised his eyebrow. “I'd worry more about the current conquest of the table by the ink, Calder. It will soon achieve its victory.”
I snorted a laugh. “As adorable as all of this is to me, I'd appreciate it if you didn't ruin all of our forms, love.”
Calder stopped looking through papers, stood up straight, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before letting it whistle back out slowly between his lips. “Okay,” he muttered, opening his eyes and looking at the mess with a renewed focus. “One thing at a time. Ink.” He set the inkwell back on its bottom and pulled the affected parchment away to the corner of the table. “Conquered. Forms...” he stared at the parchment scattered everywhere. “Hopeless.” His nostrils flared with anger and he reiterated loudly, “Where is my gods damn quill?”
“Hmm...” I trailed off. “Have you tried your ear?”
“I don't keep things in my ears, genius,” Calder retorted dryly.
“How about behind them, half-wit?” I shot back.
Calder hesitated and reached up to his right ear, where he felt the feather of the quill just behind it. He exhaled shakily with a confused mixture of relief and irritation and said, “I swear, how do I remember to dress myself in the mornings?”
“Sometimes you don't,” I commented helpfully.
Calder chuckled. “Thank you for your help. I love you, smart-ass.”
I grinned. “Love you too, Cal.”
It wasn't long before a hopeful recruit came up to my table who appeared far more nervous than the rest. We had rejected no one who offered us their service, for we could train even the most inexperienced fighters during the journey to Comercio ahead. Even if a person wasn't any good at fighting, there were always other positions we could place them in, from collecting and logging alchemy ingredients to carrying supplies.
This Celd came up to my table like he feared getting in trouble, however. He diverted his eyes from my confident stare, and though he tried to mask his shaking, the waving strands of chestnut hair by his chin gave it away.
“Your name?” I asked, maintaining my stare, prepared for anything.
“Arber Wright,” he replied, pulling his eyes to meet mine. After a second, he looked away again.
“Are you here against your will, Arber?” I questioned. “You're a nervous wreck.”
He laughed abruptly. “No. I'm sorry. I'm not...used to this.”
“I suppose not. What are your skills?”
“Alchemy, first and foremost,” Arber admitted, finally building enough confidence to look at me. “I've fought with a dagger before, but I could stand to use some training.” He grimaced and asked, “Is that enough?”
“We have plenty of time to train you,” I replied. “Alchemists are valuable to an army this size. What are your reasons for wanting to join us?”
“I, uh...” Arber trailed off, looking panicked for a moment. “I guess I just agree with your desire to change Chairel.”
I couldn't help but laugh. “The thing I look for the most in people is honesty, Arber. If you can't be direct with me about your reasons for wanting to join us, you'll have to be my first rejection today. Would you like to try again?” Suddenly, it was so quiet. My friends had calmed their conversations to listen in on mine, worried about the man's intentions.
Arber nodded. “I apologize.” He glanced nervously around him and said, “I'm a career criminal. I only recently got out of Celendar's prison for a repeat offense. I look to escape the laws here. I've heard rumors that you have many like me in your armies.”
“Many like you?” I questioned. “What crimes have you committed, Arber?”
Arber hesitated for a few tense moments. “I've been a part of the Chairel-Naharan Border drug trade for decades. Smugglers in Al Nazir bring imported contraband to the border where I pick it up and sell it here.”
“What drug do you deal?”
“Ferris,” he replied nervously.
Calder burst into laughter after overhearing. “Oh, is that all? Then I apologize, friend. There's enough ferris on my soldiers to put you out of a job for the rest of your life.”
“I didn't start dealing ferris for the gold,” Arber insisted, even though Calder's relaxed attitude about it calmed him. “My sister had a brain tumor many years ago. Our family saved for moons to afford her surgery, but in the meantime, nothing helped her pain except ferris. I was caught and jailed for smuggling and selling it over and over again, but I believe in its merits. I've heard rumors that you allow your soldiers to smoke it. If that's the case, and it seems to be—” he nodded toward Calder “—then there's reason to believe you will legalize it in Chairel. I would gladly work toward that goal and fight for it.”
Out of the hundreds of recruits I'd personally welcomed into my army here thus far, this was the first one who wanted to fight for such a reason. I'd become so used to being around the harmless drug that I barely remembered it was illegal in Chairel, so I never considered that its legalization could be such an important issue to some. As I prepared to respond to Arber, I noticed many Celds in the crowds paying close attention to me for my answer. The Celds loved smoking herbs, but ferris didn't grow in their forest. I ha
d to imagine many of them crossed Chairel's overreaching legal lines to enjoy ferris as much as the rest, whether for its pain-relieving properties or just for fun.
“You're right, Arber,” I said, dipping my quill into the inkwell to prepare to write his name in my book. “I will legalize ferris in Chairel. I will have no control over Celendar at that point, but it appears this city's independence will precede its legalization here as well. Let me be the first to welcome you to my army.”
Arber's grateful words of happiness and relief flooded through my mind as I wrote down his information. In the crowds ahead, many of the Celds who overheard my answer got into line, finally convinced.
Fourteen
54th of High Star, 430
Three weeks after the Battle of Celendar, we left the magnificent forest city behind us and headed west to Comercio. With each step I took, my heart felt heavier. Celendar was the type of wondrous place that changed one's perspective to visit it, and it refused to release its special grip on me. In addition, Silas had not only lost his life there, but I couldn't attend the ceremony for the planting of his tree. I'd tried to leave gold with Vipin to help with the ritual's expenses, but he'd refused it and insisted I should simply come back to visit the memorial. Vipin had only been in a fraction of my life, but he'd left as much of an impression on me as Celendar had.
Celendar was near the western side of its namesake forest, so we had traveled farther through the woodland to get there than we would have to walk to leave it. Its location was intentional, for the forest's main water source other than the downspouts was the longest arm of a trio of rivers stretching south from the northern Chairel coast. Celendar had originally been built around the end of the river, but it had expanded out in all directions in the millennia since. The Cel Mountains inhibited its growth to the northwest, so the Celds doubled their efforts of planting trees in the east instead. The forest was far too thick to see the mountains from our path, but I felt their presence. I'd never been this far east in central Chairel, but Anto had been born and raised in an orcish tribe in the southern Cel Mountains, and we were mere days of travel from the path he'd used to flee his kin all those years ago.
