Upon the rock we stand,
above the sheltered bay,
watch over passing ships,
come with war or trade,
none shall carry us away,
ever we stand our own,
ne’er harm from the sea,
come to Avrale our home.
– The Watches of Wesrook, circa 40 B.E.
The Tower of Wesrook
Entering the courtyard of the Castle of Wesrook was not entirely unlike entering the lower court at Broken Hill. Though as there was no upper court above, the keep doors stood prominently at one end, and the main tower loomed above, and drew one’s eyes up. It was in fact slightly taller than the western spire at Broken Hill, slightly wider, but gave the illusion of being much more so.
The castle was situated just north of the rocky breakwater that formed Wesrook bay. Even over the clamor of the city behind them, still murmuring into the evening, one could hear the crash of waves beneath the cliffs. Four children piled out of the coach, followed by Mercu, and Laurel, as Horence dropped from the front, and patted, and rubbed the horse reassuringly.
A well dressed older gentleman walked up to greet the company, bowed to Charles, and nodded to Mercu curiously. “Young Lord, and good sir,” he addressed Charles, and Mercu. “Welcome to Wesrook – our Lady shall be along shortly, but the Duke Regent is indisposed for company this evening.”
“Chamberlain Faren,” Charles said in a manner that almost seemed pleased.
The twins were still on the far side of the coach with Laurel, and when Faren looked to Wren, with his long hair, he came to the wrong conclusion. “Ah, is this one of the twins we’ve all heard of?”
Charles looked at Wren, and then laughed. “That’s their brother,” he said just as the other’s rounded the coach. “Though I can understand the confusion, he does rather look like a girl, doesn’t he. Probably his upbringing.”
“Ah,” Faren said a bit embarrassed, “my apologies young sir.” Wren nodded to Faren, but gave Charles a bit of an unkind look, as Laurel and the twins emerged from behind the coach. “Court Mage Grey,” Faren said with a bow, “and these then, must be your twin apprentices. We were not informed their brother would be joining them.”
“A last minute addition to our company, my apologies if it cause any trouble Faren,” Laurel nodded.
“No,” Faren said, “there is plenty of room in the tower, and the Lady does adore children.”
“That I do,” said a woman approaching from the direction of the keep. She was tall, and elegant with flowing blond hair that wafted about as she walked. She carried herself with a grace, and purpose, that contradicted the readiness with which she knelt down, and hugged Charles as she reached him.
“Hello mother,” Charles muttered with a clear air of embarrassment, but returned the embrace nonetheless. She kissed her son on the forehead, and then stood up, taking stalk of the new arrivals.
“Laurel, Mercu, so good to see you,” the Lady said with a nod.
“Likewise Lady Meloria,” Mercu said with one of his more exaggerated bows.
“The twins are growing up quite nicely I see,” Meloria said with a smile, “They put on quite the show last I saw them.” Katrisha, and Kiannae each shot each other a confused look. “We were not properly introduced, so I am not surprised you do not recognize me,” Meloria added with a smile.
“You do look familiar,” Kiannae said.
“I believe I saw you dancing with Prince Darion,” Katrisha added.
“Ah, very good,” Meloria said. “Yes, Darion was so sweet to offer to dance with me when my husband left early for the evening.”
“I’d have done the service myself,” Mercu said apologetically, “alas I was otherwise occupied.”
“Yes, with these two lasses here.” Meloria laughed. “The show was quite worth it, I assure you.”
A little golden haired girl about two years younger than the twins bounded across the courtyard, and all but pounced onto Charles. “Charlie!” the girl squealed.
“Hello, Millarae,” Charles acknowledged with further embarasment, and hugged her.
“Your sister has been ever so anxious for your arrival,” Meloria commented. “Then of course she took forever getting ready. You should however call your brother by his proper name,” she admonished the girl lightly.
“Sorry Charles,” Millarae said sweetly.
Horence handed the reins of the horse over to the stable attendant, and came around to where the group was standing. “My Lady,” he said with a bow.
“Horence, good Sir!” Meloria proclaimed, to Horence’s obvious surprise. “How is your dear Alice? Any children on the way?” Horence looked more than a little uncomfortable. “Have I been too forward?” Meloria asked apologetically.
“No,” Horence said. “It is not something we had chosen to share yet.”
“Ah,” Meloria remarked thoughtfully. “My apologies. Come,” Meloria said gesturing towards the keep, “dinner will be served shortly.”
Katrisha tugged at Horence’s coat hem as the group walked towards the keep. “Alice is having a baby?” she asked when Horence acknowledged her.
“Yes,” Horence answered simply trying to smile at the inquisitive little girl.
“Why haven’t you two told anyone?” Kiannae chimed in.
“Leave Horence alone you two,” Laurel scolded lightly, as he could see the poor man was a bit put out by the questions, and he suspected why.
“It’s alright,” Horence said somberly. “It’s cause the first didn’t take, and we wanted to give this one time, to be sure.” Horence said in a matter of fact tone, but his face betrayed his even demeanor.
“Why…” Katrisha started to ask, but stopped as Mercu gave her a stern look, which actually carried more weight than any scolding from Laurel, as it came so rarely. Mercu patted Horence on the back consolingly, and they all walked into the keep.
Within the doors things were quite different from Broken Hill. Rather than a corridor, with a throne room past it, a round room greeted the visitors upon entry. It was not entirely unlike the throne room, as a balcony overlooked the lower floor, but there was no throne, and only a few benches were set against the wall, between stands holding vases, and other decorations.
At the far end of the foyer stairs followed the curve of the wall up to the balcony, and this was the way Meloria lead her guests. “I hope you do not mind that we will be dining upstairs,” Meloria commented. “I much prefer the rear dining hall for smaller affairs, it’s more intimate, and has a view out over the water. You’ve arrived just in time for the last of sunset.”
“That’s fine,” Laurel said, “our apologies for the late arrival, it’s a long way from Aldermor, but we thought it better to try in a day rather than stop along the way.”
“Yes, it’s a tricky choice that,” Meloria acknowledged. “I swear every other time I make the trip I change my mind on it, and neither way quite feels right.”
“One of these days they will have to invent a better horse,” Mercu suggested jokingly.
“They’ve already done that,” Laurel noted. “Not many have bothered with the expense though. So few people have the knack for shaper magic any more – though I have heard there may be a wild dire herd in Lycia that has promise for a sustainable breed.”
“I’ll have to have my steward look into that,” Meloria commented. “My husband will give me some hassle on the expense I am sure, but to be able to more regularly visit my son would be worth bargaining with him over.”
Katrisha eyed the way young Millarae hung on her brother’s arm, and wondered if maybe Charles wasn’t as bad as she often thought him to be, if the little girl adored him so. The girl looked up at her curiously, and Katrisha smiled back.
At the top of the stairs the party turned right down a well adorned corridor, and promptly arrived at double doors that opened on a small dining hall, big enough to seat about twelve. The room was bathed in deep orange light from the setting sun that licked the distant hills of Carth, and flashed off the waves crossing the vast expanse of water below.
Though this sight held everyone’s attention for a moment, but it was impossible to ignore for long a well dressed man with pitch black skin who sat at the right end of the table. At a glance one not familiar with his countrymen could be forgiven for mistaking him for the man from the city square. Such however was clearly impossible, as that man could not have arrived before the coach that had passed him. Further, upon closer examination he clearly had a much squarer jaw, and then all else could nearly be forgotten for a glimmer of his violet eyes.
“Might I introduce his Lordship Varmun Iverhn,” Meloria said addressing the new arrivals. “He’s something of a remarkable man. Born a royal to a tribe of the deep Northern Wastes, he has become a man of the sea, a trader, a diplomat, and even a musician.” The man stood, and bowed. “These,” Meloria continued in turn, “are Court Mage Grey, Sir Horence, Mercu, the young Ladies Ashton, their brother, and of course my son Charles.”
“A pleasure,” Varmun said in an almost frighteningly deep resonant voice with a thick unfamiliar accent. “The Lady speaks far too kindly of me.”
“On the contrary,” Meloria protested, and guided her guests toward seats. “I dare say your story is more remarkable than I have let on.” The three siblings were seated on the near side of the table, with Kiannae nearest the curious foreigner, Katrisha beside her, then Wren, and Mercu. Laurel was offered the seat at the left end, and Meloria took a seat between her children with their backs to the view, leaving two seats open for Horence who sat at the far right of the table next to the stranger.
“Do please, tell your story again,” Meloria said insistently.
“It’s not so much,” the man said in his thick voice. “I did only what many men so placed might have.”
“If many men of your land are so bold, or talented as you,” Meloria refuted, “I do not think you would be seeking allies so. Osyrae would not stand a chance.”
Varmun laughed lightly, though even this was a bit of a low rumble. “There are many quite bold in my land,” he replied, “but those of Osyrae are cold, cruel, and just as bold.”
“So they are,” Meloria nodded, “though not all of course.”
“No, not all of course,” Varmun admitted. “Those who I am unfortunately most acquainted, have harassed, and enslaved my kind since before living memory. Even the eldest shamans say it was so before their fathers, fathers, fathers.”
“You still have shamans in the north?” Mercu asked curiously.
“Oh yes, many,” Varmun nodded. “I think there are more shamans left than free common men in the north. Osyrae has enslaved all who can not fend for themselves. The shamans have lead the free together, and ever farther north, to the deepest oasis. I myself have the blood, as a chieftain’s son.”
“Does that make you a prince?” Katrisha asked.
“Much less I think,” Varmun said thoughtfully, “my father is Second Chief of the combined tribes, and I his fourth child, and third son, by his second wife.”
“Second wife?” Kiannae asked incredulously.
“You have not yet heard of our First Chief,” Varmun said with a flash of white teeth between his deep burgundy lips. “She has three husbands, and is the most powerful of all the shamans, she is.”
“How a woman could ever bare even two husbands I’ll never imagine,” Meloria laughed lightly, drawing a chuckle from Mercu.
“I was not so important by my birth,” Varmun continued, “not the most gifted of my father’s children, or even the strongest.”
“Yet the most clever,” Meloria offered.
“Hmm, yes,” Varmun nodded, “or so my mother would tell me. Perhaps she is right, I can not say. I did find I had more a way for the mage’s tricks, which did not earn me much more love.”
“I can not imagine why, your magic is spectacular,” Meloria protested.
“I have been told it is a gift all my own,” Varmun admitted, “but illusions are not much use – not compared to my eldest brother who’s strong as a wild dune walker, or my sister whose voice can bring any man, or woman to their knees, and call the wind to dance.”
“What’s a dune walker?” Katirsha asked.
“Perhaps I should show you,” Varmun hummed, and closed his eyes. A swirl of dancing light formed to his right, and traced out the contours of a great horned head, and ears which hung as large sheets that flapped back, and forth occasionally. The light traced back along a stout neck, to thick shoulders, and down legs at their narrowest point as hefty as a grown man’s chest. A low slung belly, and high humped back formed last, and vanished back through the wall.
“They are noble, but fierce beasts of burden.” Varmun smiled, and looked over the awestruck party. Horence could be seen to lean slightly away as the apparition shifted its stance in his direction. It started to unravel, and began to reform into a tall, broad shouldered man whose chest was indeed wider than the former illusions legs. “This of course is my eldest brother, do you see the resemblance?” He laughed leadingly.
The second form came apart in a swirl of birds that swooped around Varmun, and formed another luminous image to his left, that took on the face of a slender woman, with short densely curled hair. “My sister,” Varmun said, and the woman bowed, before dancing across the room, and vanishing through a wall.
“That is a very impressive technique,” Laurel said shrewdly. “I must say, I’ve only once seen the like. A mage who fancied himself an entertainer. His illusions were almost as elegant, but much smaller. That swarm of birds would have been past his limit.”
“Yes,” Varmun said. “You see, I am nothing special, even my gift is not unique.”
“Yet what you have done,” Meloria protested. “Taking your small share of wealth, and turning it into a trading empire, all to travel far, and wide in search of allies for your people.”
“Wealth I have found,” Varmun nodded. “A good life even, but allies, less so,” Varmun said sadly.
“I fear the Duke Regent, and myself each lack any authority on the matter,” Meloria said looking to Laurel.
“I can not say I agree with the Council on this,” Laurel offered carefully. “Yet the treaty does not cover the lands north of Osyrae, and I fear they have lost the will to act, even if it did.”
“Yes,” Varmun said. “So I have been told. They will march south again you know, it is their way.”
“I know,” Laurel answered, “it seems inevitable. Their great interest in your lands is resources, the deep desert mines are filled with rare, and precious stones. Not the least of which is Amberite. If they intend war, they will want as much of that as they can have.”
“Indeed,” Varmun agreed. “We are nothing more than a practice war for them, in preparation for their real goals. For the moment at least they remain unwilling to commit to more, so your Council, and your Kings ignore them.”
“We do not ignore,” Laurel said solemnly, “but we cannot act. At best we start a war without support, at worst we find ourselves between Osyrae and the Council.”
Varmun looked sadly out to the darkening sky. “As I say, I am not so much. I try, and try, but this is always the answer.”
“What will you do?” Katrisha asked.
“As I have,” Varmun said looking to the little girl. “I shall continue my travels, head south to other lands again. Seek audience with the White One.”
“I wish you luck,” Laurel said hesitantly.
“I know I have little chance of gaining such favor,” Varmun said sternly. “Yet as you say, if the Council will not aid us, only the former Empress sits beyond their authority.”
“There is little hope of her involving herself, unless the Black Flight joins Osyrae’s campaign.” Laurel grimaced at his own framing.
“So it is, but what other choice do I have?” Varmun shrugged.
“None I fear,” Laurel admitted. “It is no more a fool’s errand than to head east to Mordove, and there is the frightful possibility that Vharen will somehow drag the Black Flight to his side. That I could only hope would move her…”
“A terrible thing to hang hopes upon,” Varmun said with displeasure.
“Yes,” Laurel said with a nod. “It seemed he thought his conquest of a lesser dragon would win them over. If anything, I personally expected the capital to be burned to the ground for the slight.”
“I have heard of this madness,” Varmun said narrowing his eyes. “It is true then?”
“Yes,” Laurel said. “Though nothing has happened so far, either way. It is almost like the whole thing never happened – though reports say he has less humor than ever. I consider that a good sign, such as they come. That he won no favors for his theatrics.”
“Enough of such trying matters,” Meloria interjected as food began to arrive.
“Quite right,” Varmun agreed, seeming more cordial than genuine, there was still a sternness to his air. “I am delighted to see what new your chef has created.”
“Of all the accomplishments Meloria listed,” Mercu remarked, “I fear we heard nothing of your music.”
Varmun’s posture softened, and he let out a long breath. “Yes. Though I was of music long before I became a man of the world. I fear I left my instruments in my room.”
“You play more than one then?” Mercu asked.
“Three,” Varmun said thoughtfully, “more or less. There is a flute like instrument native to my people, I learned to play when I was a boy. The captain I hired for the first ship I bought played a violin, and taught me in the time he was in my employ.”
“And the third?” Mercu asked curiously.
“Well, that I do carry with me,” Varmun laughed. With a wave of his hand strings of light formed before him of varied lengths, he plucked several experimentally. There was a barely audible ring with each, halfway between a plucked cord, and a rung bell. He ran his fingers along several of the strings, and then without further hesitation began to play a haunting melody, as food was placed at the table.
“Is it not spectacular?” Meloria asked pointedly.
“Quite,” Mercu remarked.
“It’s very clever,” Laurel nodded. “Strung spell filaments tuned to musical chords, and solidified enough to interact with the air. Much more portable than even the lightest instrument.”
“I think it’s lovely,” Kiannae said leaning against the table, and listening intently.
“It sounds like the lights,” Wren said with a furrowed brow.
“The lights?” Laurel asked curiously.
“The ones from the woods,” Wren said staring at the strings.
“I think he may mean wisps,” Mercu said incredulously.
“Wisps don’t…” Laurel started before Mercu interrupted.
“I know.” Mercu sighed. “Renae might have mentioned something about seeing wisps around him. Though that was several years ago.”
“That is also something Wisps do not do,” Laurel shook his head.
The music stopped, and Varmun seemed to be considering the boy who was staring at him intently. “Wisps,” he said thoughtfully. “There are lights in the desert, as well as your forests. There was a girl who’s mother died in childbirth, she was touched all her days, and would be seen to walk into the night, and the lights would come to her.”
Wren looked away. “I see,” Varmun nodded, “my apologies.”
“A terrible business that,” Meloria nodded.
Katrisha pulled her brother closer. “It’s ok,” she said softly.
“Let us eat,” Merloria suggested.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Coria 7th, 644 E.R.
Katrisha lay staring out into the night – she had been for some time. It was well after midnight, and she could not sleep. She rolled over gently, and looked at her twin in the moonlight. Kiannae was fast asleep, her face half buried in a pillow. Katrisha closed her eyes, and listened to the rhythm of waves breaking far beneath the tower as she had for hours. A faint melodic sound could be heard somewhere far away. Completely frustrated, she slipped out of bed carefully, so as not to wake her sister.
Katrisha’s robe hung in a wardrobe by the door. She put it on, gently opened, and then closed the chamber door behind her. The hallway was very dark, and with a wave of her hand a bright blue orb illuminated her surroundings. The distant sound of music could still be heard, and she strained to tell which direction it was from. Deciding it was right she headed that way, and down a flight of stairs to a lower level of the tower. As she passed westward windows out over the ocean she could hear the music more clearly above the rumble of crashing waves.
Down another flight of stairs Katrisha came to double doors, one of which stood half open onto a large moonlit balcony. She waved away her light, and peaked through the open door. There in the moonlight stood Varmun, leaned against the railing casually, staring up into the sky. He strummed at his conjured harp, which scintillated with ethereal light. It took a moment for Katrisha to notice he was not alone on the balcony. Wren was lain against a wall, seemingly asleep.
“Come in,” Varmun said in his deep resonant voice. “Or out, as it were.”
Katrisha had a start that she had been discovered, and sheepishly stepped out onto the balcony. “Your brother came not so long ago,” Varmun nodded towards the sleeping boy. “It seems none of us three could sleep, though it seems I have helped him in that regard.”
“I am sorry to intrude,” Katirsha said with a bow.
“Do not be,” Varmun said, and continued playing. “This is a public place after all.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Katrisha asked, but then thought perhaps the question was impertinent.
“Why couldn’t you?” Varmun asked in turn.
“I often can’t,” Katrisha admitted, “but I asked first,” she pressed childishly.
“We are much the same in this,” Varmun replied. “I have always been a night walker. This was how I knew the girl who called the lights.”
“I’ve heard of wisps before,” Katrisha said thoughtfully, “but never seen one.”
“Most only see them from afar,” Varmun hummed. “It was only because of Eshai that I have seen one more closely,” there was a strange wistfulness to his voice as he spoke the girl’s name.
“Were you and Eshai close?” Katrisha asked.
“Perhaps,” Varmun said with an odd wobble of his head. “She did not speak much, but when she did…” He hummed deeply. “She was a beautiful girl,” he sighed. “Even those who scorned her could not deny this. A delicate desert flower. I loved her of course, I was a fool in many ways for this.”
“Why?” Katrisha asked walking closer to the large man whose face was almost a void against the twinkling stars.
“Why did I love her, or why was I a fool?” Varmun laughed.
“A fool of course.” Katrisha laughed more awkwardly.
“It is not polite to speak the reason,” Varmun frowned. “I shall say only she was for no man. Yet this, he said strumming the luminous strings before him. One of many tricks I learned from an exiled foreigner, who lived amongst us. It won me her friendship, if not more.”
Katrisha was curious what he had avoided, but held her tongue on the point. She asked something else instead. “Did she hear something else in the music, like Wren seems to?”
Varmun nodded. “She said the lights whispered secrets, and sometimes those secrets were like a song.” He ran his fingers along the strings, rather than plucking them. The sound they made was hard to hear, distant and wavering. “She said it was like this, but as though words – if not all she could understand.”
“What kind of secrets did they tell her?” Katrisha asked rapt.
“Warnings, portents, true names, and forgotten deeds,” Varmun shrugged. “The things of seers, but also things they do not see.”
Katrisha frowned. “I’ve been told not to listen to prophecy. It’s unreliable.”
“Yes, it is,” Varmun nodded. “Or so I am told. To glimpse the future is not to see what will be, but a shifting thread in motion. Most often you see only where it is, and not quite where it will land. There is solace in this, that the future is not set in stone.”
“Where is Eshai now?” Katrisha asked leaning against the rail next to Varmun, and peaked over it at the distant shimmering waves below.
“Still home, and safe I hope,” Varmun replied. “My sister guards her, and none refuse my sister – not father, not the shamans, or even the First Chieftain. I have seen her voice bring great warriors to their knees.”
“How?” Katrisha asked.
Varmun shrugged. “Your mages do not know everything, nor our shamans. There are secrets still in the world, old, potent, and subtle too. Eshai told me this, and I believe her – I believe also it is she that taught my sister this gift. For I heard it first from her, to call wisps, wind, a tone command that could move the world, and tremble the land. She even once called the Lady of the Sands herself.”
Katrisha’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard of her, she’s real?”
“Oh yes,” Varmun nodded. “She comes like snakes whipping across the dune, and then rises ageless, beautiful, and naked as the day we are born. No shame, and profound pride. She gave a kiss to each of us three that night, and only I could not hold her gaze. She made us a castle from the desert sands that stood for two days before it returned to dust.”
“How strange,” Katrisha said.
“Hmm, yes, the castle made the tribe whisper many things,” Varmun agreed. “The kisses…” he shook his head, thinking better of his musings.
“What of them?” Katrisha pressed curiously.
“They showed me where ever my heart lay, it would have to lay elsewhere,” he answered, and resumed his playing thin lipped, and wove a mournful happy tune.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Kiannae stirred, and pulled her blankets more tightly around her. As her eyes opened she was struck by the empty bed beside her. It was not like Katrisha to wake before her, and most mornings, at least cool mornings such as it was, Kiannae would find her sister curled up to her. She sat up groggily, looked around the room, and saw that Katrisha wasn’t in the room at all.
Kiannae walked over to the wardrobe, which had been left partly open. She Pulled out her own robe, and slipped it on, before opening the door. No one was around, though she thought she heard voices somewhere. Taking a guess she walked towards the stairs, and down to a lower level of the tower where she found Laurel engrossed in conversation with Varmun.
“Will you truly not petition the Council on our behalf?” Varmun said a bit irritably.
“You misunderstand me,” Laurel said wincing in frustration. “I will tell the Council all that you have told me. Yet I am certain they have heard it all before – even from me they already have third hand reports that Osyrae had turned aggressive towards the north.”
Varmun looked like he wanted to protest further, but did not.
“Where’s Katrisha?” Kianane asked.
Laurel simply shrugged. Varmun however looked to the little girl, and smiled. “I believe your twin is in young Wren’s room.”
“Thank you,” Kiannae said, and turned towards the chamber doors. She found however she wasn’t sure which room was Wren’s. Mercu emerged from one, and Kiannae walked up to him. “Which room is Wren’s?” she asked.
Mercu pointed to the room opposite his own, and rubbed his neck. “Thank you,” Kiannae said again, walked across, and opened the door without knocking. Katrisha, and Wren were both asleep, curled up together.
Kiannae had a twinge of jealousy. Katrisha was her twin after all, and though some mornings extracting herself from her sister’s sleepy embrace was a bit of frustrating effort, it always felt nice to wake up to being held. Kianane was also more than a little perplexed how they had wound up that way.
Kiannae walked over, nudged Katrisha who stirred only slightly. This however woke Wren who was momentarily startled, and sat up with a start, which threw Katrisha’s arm off him, and rolled her onto her back. This at least partially woke her.
Katrisha made an unintelligible murmur, and blinked up at her twin. There was nothing particularly new about this to her at first, as Kiannae was often awake before her, and would wake her up. She slowly realized that not only Kiannae was dressed, but she was as well. Slowly she remembered having been too tired when Varmun had carried Wren back to bed, and rolled her head to the left where Wren was rubbing his eyes.
“Morning,” Katrisha half mumbled.
“Why are you down here?” Kiannae half demanded.
“Mmm, couldn’t sleep.” Katrisha yawned. “Heard music, and went down stairs, found Varmun playing, and Wren asleep on the balcony. I think he put us both to bed up here.”
“Ok.” Kiannae frowned, there was still just a twinge of jealousy. “I’m hungry,” she said putting it aside. “I hope breakfast is soon.”
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Breakfast in the westward dining hall was much the same as dinner. Though with fewer light shows, and far more disheveled children, particularly Katrisha, and Wren who had slept in their robes. All three had failed to brush their hair by the point Kiannae had insisted she was too hungry, and so Mercu had fetched a brush which they had each been using in turn as food was served. It not completely up to the best standards of decorum, but was passable for children.
Katrisha, and Kiannae had brushed their own hair in turn, and Katrisha was in the process of brushing Wren’s as their food was set in front of them. Kiannae continued to having pangs of jealousy, but was feeling stupid, as she hadn’t offered to brush Katrisha’s hair either.
“I know you are not scheduled to stay long,” Meloria asked as her children began poking at their food. “But what are your plans?”
“I have unexpected matters to attend to with Daven, if the Duke Regent has nothing of importance to report, and remains too unwell to speak with me,” Laurel answered.
“I do wish he would submit to healing, there is no cause to suffering through this cold he has,” Meloria said with some displeasure.
“He’s as devout with his convictions as his brother it seems,” Mercu said in an even, metered tone.
“Oh, I assure you,” Meloria smiled in a faintly disingenuous fashion, “no one is as devout as my husband. Alas I fear the Duke Regent does not have his brother’s constitution. No common ailment would dare challenge his noble form.”
“I do believe you are right,” Mercu remarked. “I do not think I have seen Arlen sick a day in the past fifteen years.”
“I think I saw him sniffle once,” Katrisha offered.
“So not completely impervious,” Meloria laughed, “just insufferably close.” She turned to Laurel, “What is your business with Daven? If it is not too sensitive of course.”
“Not at all,” Laurel nodded. “Just a small matter I was asked to see to personally. I have enough apprentices of my own, and a gifted young man has manifested in Aldermor.”
“Oh,” Meloria said shrewdly, “you may not have luck there. He’s two already, taken on just in the last three months. Plus his own children, it’s slowed down his more complicated work.”
“Who were the parents?” Laurel asked more than a bit curious. “Not a traveling mage I dare hope?”
“No, no.” Meloria shook her head. “Nothing so scandalous. Stranger in fact, a blacksmith’s daughter on one hand, and a fishing captain’s son on the other. Neither of them have linage, but each of their parents are contentedly married by all accounts. It seems there is a rash of emergants. Daven has expressed some consternation on the matter, he says they are quite strong too.”
“How peculiar,” Laurel said stroking his beard. “The mother of the young man I am to speak for confessed that while she did sleep with a traveling mage – she suspected the father was actually a local boy. She blamed the mage for his sake. Three strong emergents in one generation in Avrale. That would be more than peculiar.”
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
The inside of Daven’s flame was as curious a sight onto itself. Most of the floors were open framework surrounded in tinted glass – with abstract arrangements of mirrors that helped it glimmer at dawn, and dusk. It was no more stairs than Laurel was used to climbing back home, but still a tiresome endeavor to reach the study on the top floor.
“Ah Laurel,” an elderly man said as Laurel ascended the last step. He began to walk over to his guest. “Do forgive me for not coming down. I do not trust these two alone for a minute.” He gestured to a young man, and woman who sat opposite each other at a workbench, visibly glanced up at each other, and giggled.
“It’s most alright Daven, and I am glad you remember me. We have only met the once when you visited Brokhal some years ago. Are your new students troublemakers?” Laurel asked curiously.
“After a fashion,” Daven glared at the two, and any hint of giggling ceased. “It’s no place of mine to judge, but I’ll not have their parents set upon me for them dallying under my roof.” He offered a hand to Laurel.
“Ah the troubles of youth.” Laurel nodded, and shook the older man’s hand. “Initially my visit was to be on behalf of a young man from Aldermor, but on hearing the news of your two students – giving my word aside – curiosity insisted that I visit. Is it true they are both emergent?”
“So it would seem,” Daven nodded. “The fathers both trust their wives implicitly. None the less…well let me show you.” He walked over to a shelf, and picked up a rod, and a large instrument with two curved prongs. “Strictly speaking this is all conjecture, but do you know what this is,” he raised the pronged object.
“I’ll wager it measures something,” Laurel said with the tilt of his head. “I don’t recall precisely what, it’s been years since I’ve dabbled in advanced enchantment.”
“Simply it measures strand density in magical effects,” Daven said absently. “It’s not exactly a precise science, as it must be calibrated to ambient sources. This here,” he indicated the rod, “is a calibration tool. It’s an old one, but doing the math for decay I know precisely how strong it should be. Now fluctuations happen all the time, we enchanters mostly ignore them, since they are hard to find a baseline to measure against.”
“And you think a fluctuation happened recently?” Laurel wagered a guess.
“Well, recently being a relative thing,” Daven nodded. “You are aware of Vemdel’s law are you not?’ Laurel searched his memory, but upon taking too long Daven simply sighed at him. “Court mages, you always forget the basics. Too caught up in politics, and flashy showmanship to really appreciate the academic. Vemdel’s law says that the rate of decay of an enchantment is inversely proportional to the ambient strands available during infusion.”
“So the age of the rod is the key here?” Laurel wagered another guess. It had been a long time since someone had lectured him on anything magical, and he had forgotten how much he did not like it.
“Yes, quite,” Daven placed the rod between the prongs, and a rune formed above it. “Twice as strong as it should be, give or take. That implies exceptional excess ambient strands at the time. Now this rod, it’s old, usually I’d have thrown it out, but it was made by my daughter, her, first notable enchanting success. As such I also know precisely when it was made, and that was within weeks of when these two,” he gestured at his clearly distracted students, “hypothetically would have been conceived.” He stood up a bit straighter. “Now, I’ve done some measurements against some of my own work at the time, under the guise of ‘checking in.’ All of it, within about a two month period has decayed about half as much as it should have. With results to either end trailing off to within margins for error.”
“So there was a significant spike,” Laurel mused. “You think that caused a rash of emergants?”
“The rash of emergents I can confirm,” Daven said firmly, “the rest remains speculative. What is not speculation is the farther west, the more one can find. Two here, fifteen on Carth. That’s just counting the major ones, I think there are a lot extra minor gifts kicking around, that no one has, or will notice.”
“A third major one out east in Aldermor,” Laurel added. “Assuming the mother is right, and the father wasn’t a passing caravan mage.”
“Is that so,” Daven mused. “There is a bit more to my speculation. You are a student of the sky are you not? I seem to recall hearing you have quite the orrery built up in your tower at Broken Hill.”
“Yes,” Laurel admitted. “A hobby of sorts.”
“You know then of the dark companion?” Daven pressed.
“The hypothesis, yes,” Laurel said curiously. “There have been some theories put forth, mathematical proofs based on orbital anomalies that claim to predict the path, but no observation has been made to prove it’s existence. That is in part why it is called ‘dark’ because if it is there, it cannot be seen.”
“There have been several major bursts of emergent gifts recorded since the dawn of the Empire, and a few implied by pre-imperial record,” Daven started again. “Now the date ranges are all very fuzzy for most of these surges in gift, but checking against them, and the period of the observable spike, and conception of this latest batch of emergents – then checking it against several of the projected orbital paths, one matches up. Or rather it matches up with approximately when Thaea would pass through the path of the ‘companion.’”
“Have you submitted your findings to the Council?” Laurel asked suddenly quite interested.
“Not yet,” Daven shook his head, “nor am I sure I will bother. The council has been no fan of mine since I resigned, and further has taken a dim view on conjectures regarding the ‘dark companion’ for, truthfully as long as I was in their number.”
“Unfortunate,” Laurel said disappointedly.
“Yes,” Daven nodded. “Perhaps I will get around to it. I need to project the course forward a bit, and make some observational attempts. I don’t expect to see anything, no one ever has.” He paused for a moment. “So the boy in Aldermor, what of him? It seems he was the original reason for your visit?”
“I’m a obliged, as a matter of course to ask if you would take him on as an apprentice,” Laurel said with a shrug. “Yet under the circumstances I have no illusions you will do so.”
“No,” Daven shook his head. “Much too busy with those two,” he gestured at his students again. “I saw that,” he raised his voice slightly. The two pulled their hands apart quickly, and pretended to have been working the whole time. “I will put the two of you in separate labs if you can’t stay on task.”
“I wish you the best of luck with that,” Laurel laughed reservedly.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Coria 9th, 644 E.R.
All were gathered in the courtyard at Wesrook Tower to bid goodbye to guests. It was still early, and the twins were their usual sleepy selves.
“You are sure you can not stay longer?” Meloria implored more out of polite manner, than any real pressure. She was actually quite aware of the schedules to be kept.
“Much as I would like to avoid South Rook entirely,” Laurel laughed, “I fear I must attend my appointments there. At least by virtue of taking the western road I will have to stop there only once.”
“You must visit again,” Meloria said insistently. “And bring these darlings with you again,” she added leaning a bit towards the twins, and Wren. “And good Mercu as well,” she said with a smile.
“Wild horses could not keep me away my lady,” Mercu said with a nod of the head.
“Ah,” Meloria grinned, “but might they bring you? I really must learn more of this breed from out east.”
“I will see you all at Broken Hill in a few weeks,” Charles said with a bow, seemingly directed particularly at Katrisha.
Millarae trotted up to Katrisha, and pulled slightly on her sleeve. Confused Katrisha relented to lean closer. Millarae got up on her toes, close to Katrisha’s ear, and failed entirely to whisper in spite of all other efforts to be conspiratorial, “My brother likes you.”
“I don…” Charles started defensively, and then cut himself off. “I think you, and your sister are becoming fine ladies of the court. Nothing more.”
“You like her,” Millarae said snootily, and stuck her tongue out at her brother.
Meloria covered her mouth to try and contain her laughter. Katrisha narrowed her eyes at Charles – something seemed very fishy to her about the whole thing. She was distracted however when Meloria spoke up. “Should such a thing come to pass, it has my blessing. Either of you girls would make darling additions to the family!”
“That might be a bit politically complicated,” Laurel offered, wary of Katrisha’s history with Charles, if not so many other issues.
“Ah but not strictly forbidden,” Meloria offered. “If it is true love, ways can be found.”
“I assure you there is some distance to be walked along that road.” Mercu cautioned, with humor.
“Ah, but that there is a road at all,” Meloria mused, “a lady can dream.”