by Kal Spriggs
“He has a knack for that,” Eleanor sniffed. For a moment, her eyes went distant as she thought about her son and Aramer thought he saw a sparkle of tears in her eyes. The moment passed and she cleared her throat, “But we know that he has survived, that he still carries the Starblade, and that when he heals he will rejoin us.”
“Yes,” Cederic said. The wizard turned his colorless eyes towards Aramer, “Which brings us to you, Herald, and your schemes. Much effort was made to recover the sundered Starblade, now that it is out in the world again, please share with us what is it you plan to do about it?”
Aramer grimaced, “This sharing thing is not something I enjoy, you know.”
“I hadn't realized,” Eleanor said, her tone dry.
Aramer sighed and looked away. “Honestly, I hadn't really believed we would get this far. Twenty generations of my family have worked towards that goal.” He shrugged a bit, “Lady Katarina's oath to the High Kings is the next part. If we can make her the next ruler of Masov...”
“No small endeavor, but that much we could see already,” Eleanor said. “I've been out of this game for decades and Cederic, here, no offense,” she said politely, “comes from a teeny, tiny island where politics doesn't mean a damned thing.”
Cederic shrugged, “None taken.”
“One of the five, even the oldest and most respected, does not a united High Kingdom make, especially not with a realm as shattered as the Five Duchies,” Eleanor said. “I'm assuming that you've support of some kind, else this is doomed to failure in more ways than one.”
“The Luciel Order,” Cederic said quietly, “that is how he contacted Noth.”
“Ah,” Eleanor nodded slowly, “of course, them... I'd be surprised if they weren't all weak in the knees over the idea, especially at the thought of the Starblade.” She cocked her head, “What about the Order of King Gordon?”
Aramer shrugged, “You know how... direct they can be. I thought it best to leave them out until things became more open.” He didn't want the other two thinking too much about who else would be involved, so he spoke quickly to change the subject, “This is not something that will remain quiet for long. All manner of beings will sense that the Starblade is back in play and know that the game has changed. I fear that the opposition will change tactics now... and move up their own timelines.”
Cederic nodded, “I think it likely that they will try to move quickly, though patience and guile are both attributes of many of our opponents. We can assume that where it was in their interests to see Katarina succeed in rebellion in order to sow chaos they will now seek to have her crushed.”
Eleanor looked between the two men, “So beyond the Usurper and his men, we need to worry about the... powers that be, attempting to intervene, possibly directly?”
“Or indirectly,” Aramer muttered, reminded of the mercenaries in Hector's colors at the battle of Southwatch. It wasn't inconceivable that their enemies had infiltrated his ranks. Then again, Eleanor was much more focused on Hector as an enemy, rather than as another potential tool or even an ally. She doesn't realize that this fight is less about the victor and more about what it accomplishes, he thought. He liked Lady Katarina and he thought she would be an ideal ruler in a time of peace, but Lord Hector had the military acumen and ruthlessness that made him a valid war-time leader. Ideally, they could reach some compromise and it wouldn't come down to a choice between one or the other.
Which is probably why our enemies will do everything they can to prevent that, he thought darkly. And he had few doubts about Eleanor's own preferences, for that matter. She always was one to take things very personally, he knew.
In an echo of his thoughts, Eleanor spoke up, “So, we oust the Usurper and install Lady Katarina... when do you plan to take the Starblade and attempt to rally support?”
“I'm sorry, what?” Aramer asked.
“Well, for obvious reasons, my son is hardly the best person to act as that sort of focus, not to mention the fact that the Starblade will be like carrying a big target. As a common-born peasant, I'm right out as well, plus I'm female and there's enough hide-bound idiots who will insist upon a male leader. Cederic, by his nature is a less than ideal candidate. That really only leaves you to take up the blade.”
Aramer stared at her in shock, “I think not!” The very idea was both absurd and somewhat blasphemous. The Starblade was the most powerful and iconic relic of the High Kings, the very symbol of their rule. For him to assume that mantle of authority was tantamount to insisting he would be the next High King.
“Well, someone has to do it,” Eleanor said reasonably, “why not you?”
“I don't want that at all!” He clamped his hands over his mouth at how loud his voice had become. Aramer saw her eyes narrow and she gave the very slightest nod. He felt icy equanimity return, “You provoked me... you really thought I pulled all of these strings in order to make myself the next High King?” He was proud of how calmly he said the words.
“I wasn't sure,” Eleanor said, her voice just as calm, “and for this kind of stakes, we have to be certain that you weren't corrupted by the opportunities.”
Cederic nodded in agreement, “Doing something like this will be difficult enough without ambition getting in the way, Herald. So who do you plan to install as the High King?”
Aramer shrugged, “There are many candidates... men and women with the potential to fill that role. There are dozens with the authority of blood, the skills, and the strength of character... though they may not even know it themselves. I do not plan to reveal them as targets, not if the opposition doesn't already know them.” He sighed and met Eleanor's eyes, “I tell you with all honesty... your son is the best choice to carry the blade until one of them can step forward.”
Her lips went into a flat line, “You put him directly in harm's way.”
“I don't have many other options,” Aramer admitted. “At least with Aerion we know that he is ignorant of the blade's importance and unlikely to try to claim it as his own.”
Eleanor snorted, “And if he did any such foolish thing I'd beat some sense into his thick skull.”
“So we are agreed?” Aramer asked.
“Aerion will carry and guard the blade,” Cederic nodded. “Until such time as the proper bearer can be determined.”
***
Quinn Makelsen
Aboard the Ubelfurst, the Ryft
16th of Pargan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Quinn waited in the dark corridor and chewed on his fingernail. It was a habit his parents had broken him of in childhood, yet he had found that since Southwatch, since the deaths of his friends, he had developed a number of bad habits. I can't sleep, he thought, I can barely eat anything, so why should chewing my fingernails bother me so much? Probably because it made him feel like a nervous boy again. Like the boy who had wanted so desperately to break away from his family's traditional duties, to become something more...
As he thought that, the door across from him opened.
This is it, Quinn thought, this is my chance. The gray-haired man didn't seem to notice him, his head down in thought as he walked towards the ladder that led above decks. Quinn stepped forward, “Sir, that is, Master Cederic?”
The wizard had already passed him and nearly reached the ladder and he seemed surprised at being addressed. “What? Are you talking to me?”
Quinn hurried to catch up, “Yes, sir, I...”
“No need for master or sir, Cederic is fine. Did someone send you with a message?” Quinn forced himself to meet the man's odd, colorless eyes as the wizard peered at him in curiosity.
“No,” Quinn answered quickly. “I wanted to ask you... that is, I wondered if it would be possible for you to teach me about wizardry, about runic magic.” Quinn forced himself to put as much confidence in his voice as he could, but he still heard a quiver of uncertainty in his words. His friends had thought his interest in magic absurd, even dangerous. Josef had cautioned him with tales of magic
gone awry, while Aerion had insisted that Quinn should worry more about learning the skills of combat. Only Walker had supported Quinn in his interest, more, Quinn suspected, from his own contrary nature than any real care over what Quinn actually did. Then again, he thought, Josef died at Southwatch and Aerion is most likely dead as well, which shows that I should seize whatever opportunities I can.
The look of surprise on the wizard's face was almost comical, “You want me to teach you?”
Quinn felt a spurt of anger. “Look, I know I'm not nobly born. I don't come from a family of wizards like out of the old tales. But I'm smart and I learn fast. I'm well read, I worked as a printer's apprentice in Longhaven. I've read of science and math and even a bit about the theories of magic. If that's not good enough for you, then I'll just figure things out on my own!” The last came as almost a shout and Quinn realized that his nervousness had shifted over to anger.
Cederic raised one hand in a gesture of mollification, “Enough, boy, I meant you no insult. You caught me by surprise, that's all.” He cocked his head and stared more intently at Quinn. “I've never instructed anyone, much less taken an apprentice, which is what you seem to ask. What is your name?”
“Quinn Makelsen. Look, I don't have anything to pay you with,” Quinn said, “but I can be your assistant, help you in your work, that sort of thing.” As he said it, he realized how foolish it sounded. What need did a wizard have for someone to fetch and carry for him?
Cederic didn't answer for a long moment. When he finally spoke his voice was distant, “You were a printer's apprentice? Was your father a merchant in Longhaven?”
“No, sir,” Quinn said. He stood a bit taller, “My father was the assistant chamberlain for the old Baron of Longshaven. My mother was a maid for Lady Rinata.”
“The son of servants,” Cederic nodded, “a respectable background. My father was an innkeeper in a small village, so I don't look down upon your background.” He pursed his lips, “From servant to printer's apprentice to soldier... quite an interesting set of careers you've strung together, only to add wizard to the mix. Why do you want to learn magic?”
“I want to know... everything,” Quinn said, as he searched for the right words. He felt like the wizard weighed his every syllable for meaning.
Cederic gave a snort, “No one knows everything.”
“Not even your master?” Quinn asked sharply.
Cederic leaned on his staff and shook his head, “No, not even Noth. No one and nothing is all-knowing, nothing born mortal and not even the eldest of dragons.” The wizard stroked several of the runes on his staff. “Knowledge is power... why do you want power?”
Quinn looked away. “I've been weak... I couldn't stop the men who attacked my mother. I couldn't save my friends at Southwatch...” Quinn forced himself to meet the wizard's eyes and blinked away the tears, “I don't want to be helpless anymore, I want to have the strength to change things.” He could tell, right away, that it was the wrong answer. Something shot across the wizard's face, either disappointment or disagreement, Quinn wasn't certain.
“One of the first things every wizard learns is that there are costs to every action taken,” Cederic said softly. “Power brings with it responsibility. Responsibility to use that power rather than abuse it. It is not inconceivable that I could have defeated the Armen forces at Southwatch and saved the lives of your friends.”
Quinn straightened in shock, “Could you have?”
Cederic waved a hand, “In reality, no. I'm neither that powerful nor that skilled and our enemies there had a wizard more powerful than I, as well as a number of shamans, dark spirits, and even demons. Still,” he leaned forward, “if I could have done that... should I have?”
“If you could have saved their lives, yes!” Quinn said sharply.
“Why?”
Quinn opened his mouth to answer and paused as he tried to conjure up the right words. “Because... because they were good men, they didn't deserve to die, and the Armen didn't deserve to win!” It all seemed so simple as he said it, yet he had to admit, it was simple because it felt right rather than because he had thought it all through.
“Even saying I agree with you... who are you to decide who lives and who dies?” Cederic asked softly. “Can you say that the world would be better with your friends still alive... or that it is worse for their sacrifices? The sailors, Marines, and officers of Boir have heard of their heroism against our mutual foes. The tale of their victory against such odds has already forged bonds of friendship between Boir and Lady Katarina's forces. Are these not worthy accomplishments?”
Quinn nodded slowly, but he couldn't help the tears that flowed as he thought about Josef and Aerion... and how Walker had stared at him with accusing eyes. “I wish I could have my friends alive and well.”
“As do I, boy,” Cederic said softly. “But some things are beyond our power... sometimes with good reason. A wizard must learn not just how to wield power, but also when to use it and when to restrain himself. Keep that in mind as we go forward, Quinn Makelsen.”
Quinn looked up quickly, “Wait, so you will teach me?”
“This was your first lesson,” Cederic said, as he turned away.
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
The Hidden Valley, Duchy of Masov
27th of Pargan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Katarina stared up at the iron-bound wooden gates that blocked the entrance to the valley, set into the carved stone entrance. She knew that they had been working on that gate when she left, but seeing it complete and in place still gave her a shock. In her mind, she had almost pictured the valley and its people just as she had left it those months ago.
To see it changed gave her a feeling of both excitement and dread. What other changes have been set into motion, she wondered, and have yet to be seen?
The gates opened and Katarina winced at a slightly-off-key fanfare. She heard Gerlin give a chuckle, “What a magnificent display, eh, Bulmor?”
She saw his smile fade, though, as he saw the men and women drawn up in ranks on the other side of the gate. Almost three months previously she had left the valley in the charge of fifty or so moderately skilled fighters, a handful of experienced soldiers, and around a hundred of those who were willing but untrained and unequipped.
Almost three hundred men and women stood in a tight, professional formation in front of the gate, formed up into sections and companies. At their front was a smaller formation and Katarina's eyes narrowed as she recognized some of those she had left in charge. Samen stood at the center, a broad smile upon his face and he was flanked by Solis and Jasen. The former innkeeper had shed a great deal of weight and actually looked like a halfway decent fighting man, while Jasen looked as fit as ever, though she could see lines of weariness around his eyes. Clearly he had driven himself just as hard as those he had trained.
“Welcome, Lady Katarina, welcome!” Samen said. The former hunter, and probably poacher, wore leathers, like always, but the heavy leather jerkin had metal rings added to it to provide protection, she saw.
Katarina dismounted and stepped forward, “It is good to see such a display.” She gave him a smile, even as her eyes ranged the assembled ranks. Most of the men and women had only simple spears for weapons. Few of them had any kind of protection beyond leather or cloth padding. Still, they looked ready for a fight and they stood in disciplined ranks. Equipment we can secure, she thought, training is more important. “You may dismiss our soldiers, Samen. I think we need to assemble a war council.”
She waited as the orders rang out and she was impressed with the crisp movement of the men and women who had gathered to fight Lord Hector. They didn't have the parade polish that dress units might have, but she didn't need or really want that. She wanted a disciplined force capable of fighting Hector's mercenaries. That they already had the motivation to do so, she didn't doubt, else they wouldn't have sought her people out. As she watched the companies wheel away, she sa
w that they had gained the discipline necessary to fight as a group, rather than as individuals and she could only assume that Samen and Jasen had drilled them in formation fighting as well.
Samen stepped forward and gave a bow, “Lady Katarina.”
“Thank you for the display,” Katarina said, “at least I know you haven't been sitting on your thumbs here while the rest of us were gone.” She said it with a smile, but she still saw something angry flash behind his eyes. Good, she thought, he needs to be reminded that we went out into danger, else he'll think too much of his own accomplishments.
“We've done what we could to train them,” Jasen said quickly. “You won't find a more enthusiastic lot, especially at the thought of getting some back against Hector's mercenaries.”
“We've had some issues, though, as far as equipping them,” Solis said, his voice harsh. “We've made do with weapons, got a new blacksmith in here who's been turning scrap metal into spearheads, but even then many of them are training with weighted poles rather than real spears. No armor to speak of, much less uniforms, and supplies will be very tight–”
“We can discuss that in private,” Samen said. He gestured for a pair of soldiers to come forward and take the reins to Katarina's horse. “I'd like to give you the tour, my Lady.”
She stepped up next to him as he led the way past what looked like a scaffolding around a building taking shape, tucked up against the side of the mountain next to the gate. It was built from stone, with the same sturdy construction she'd seen in Watkowa Village. He pointed at it, “Gatehouse for the entrance, with room for a small garrison as well as the machinery to open and close the gate.” He gave a scowl, “We've already had some issues with minor spirits drawn to it, I hope that the wizard can help with that.” Spirits of various types would be attracted to machinery, she knew. Some would try to siphon away the kinetic energy when it was in use, making it harder to move and operate even simple pulleys and gears.
