Chapter 18

Not all nature hath given is worthy of trust,
the instincts of body are animalistic urges,
these care not for light, mind, or spirit will,
and err toward a primitive world that was,
yes endure we must to walk worthy paths,
yet a tainted soul is for the voids sure gain,
commit not the nature fickle flesh to spirit.

– The Path of Ascension, Saint Taurien, circa 10 B.E.

Fighting Instincts

Jovan 1st, 645 E.R.

“The Empire Reconciliation began in the year thirty-four of the reign of first Emperor Corinth,”  Kiannae read, and then frowned.  “Though Corinth is said to have resisted putting such emphasis on the year of his ascension, it was ultimately…”

“We’ve covered this,” Katrisha protested.

Moriel turned a bit tersely, but then hesitated.  He marched up to the desk the twins were sitting at, flipped through a few pages, checked the cover, and shook his head.

“My apologies, I seem to have crossed up lesson plans with the young prince,” he said, and walked the book back across the room.

“But we covered that a year ago,” Kiannae said a bit incredulously.

“He’s older,” Katrisha added, and rubbed a sore shoulder from morning training with Horence.  She had fallen rather hard on it when Kiannae had swept her leg.

Moriel tapped his finger along the spines of several books, pulled one out, and set it before the girls.  “Yes, he is.”  There was no particular tone with it, nor an expression that hinted at humor.  Kiannae nonetheless started to laugh, but stopped at a stern glance.

“Katrisha, please begin,” Moriel said when he was satisfied they had both calmed themselves.

She opened the book, turned a few pages, and pursed her lips.

“Perceiving Magic,” she began.

The underlying organism appears to have e-volved in abstract of the gift, and acquired it later.  Further this is reinforced in the individual by the gradual growth of aura, leading into adolescence and adulthood.

“Evolved?” Kiannae asked curiously.

“Hmm,” Moriel considered the two.  “Perhaps we should have begun instead with Cadius’ Comparative Species.”  He shook his head.  “We’ll get to that later.  Laurel thought this one would be good for you when I showed it to him.  In short, evolution is the manner in which the creatures of the world – people included – have changed over time by inheritance, mutation, intentions of the world, dire instincts, and mortal intervention.  Though the distribution of these effects, and mechanisms are sometimes in debate.”

“How the Sylvans are part cat?” Katrisha asked, and brushed the tip of her ear thoughtfully.

“Or the eastern ones part wolf,” Kiannae corrected.

“That would fit into mortal intervention in all likelihood,” Moriel nodded.  “Though it causes all manner of problems.  Shaper magic to our knowledge was not refined enough for such a task till at least the middle empire, but the Sylvans were as they are long before the Magi. Perhaps something more akin to the instinctual changes of dire creatures.”  He seemed thoughtful a moment.

“I’m not dire,” Kiannae said crossing her arms, and staring up at their tutor.

Moriel perked a brow, and leaned over the table, peering over his glasses in an almost comical manner, even if his expression remained its usual neutral.  “Aren’t you?  I think I’ve heard some tales that imply a few youth of the court might disagree.”

“I think that was me,” Katrisha said jumping to her sister’s defense, and with very little sheepishness about it.

“As if they can tell you two apart,” Moriel waved dismissively, and stood up straight again.  “A dire creature is at the heart little more than gifted are.  Yet instincts in an animal seem liable to shape them in ways mortals are – at least typically – not.  Still, there are exceptions.  Mostly shaper magic such as changed Roshana, and the other dragons.  But some with profound gifts not trained as mages do become larger, more muscular.  The legends refer to Osier, first king of the nation that still bears his name, to have been more giant than man.  A warrior who should have been counted among the shaman, but was refused.”

“That’s how Osyrae got its name?” Kiannae asked curiously, it had never come up before.

“Yes,” Moriel nodded.  “Much the same way that the nation – later Empire – of Corinthia came to be named such.  Formerly it was Anderhale, named for another line of kings.  In Osyrae, and perhaps the whole world, Osier was the first king.  That land though had no other name as a united people.  I’m sure the vale people referred to them all as Nords at some point, though I am aware of no clear written record of it.  Nord of course derived from the old vale speak nor, or North.  Much as Nohlend…”

“So was Avrale conquered by someone named Ave then?” Katrisha interrupted dubiously, not having realized Moriel was going to continue after a momentary pause.

“No.”  Moriel sighed.  “We are off topic,” he said as the interruption allowed him to consider he was rambling.  He glanced at the twins, and saw they seemed determined.  He marched up to the blackboard, and tapped the chalk thoughtfully.

“Words, Names, Titles, Language itself is much like the organisms of the world.  Changing, adapting, mutating over time,” he began.  He scrawled four letters quickly on the board, ‘Cwen.’  He underlined this, and turned back towards the girls.  “Writing was in a primitive form when the Magi left ancient Osyrae, but after the things they experienced the preservation of knowledge was critical to them.”  He turned back, and wrote ‘Maji’ and drew an arrow to ‘Magi.’

“So the spelling changed?” Katrisha asked.

“And the pronunciation,” Moriel said with a nod.  “The original form is believed to have sounded more like maz-i.  It meant, ‘teacher,’ or perhaps ‘teacher of peace.’  In all the great irony that gives us.  It changed further you might know, to refer to those they taught, and became mage.”

“What is, C-wen,” Kiannae sounded out, and then the look on her face almost implied she got it.

“Seems you have a guess,” Moriel said shrewdly.

“Queen?” Kiannae offered.

“In one,” Moriel said encouragingly.  “In the original form it meant woman, or possibly more like the honorific Lady.  We owe the original connotation to Navi, who declared herself Cwen of Every Vale, though it is most often translated as She of Every Vale, or Lady of Every Vale.  We owe then the modern queen to Napir, and the influence of the Storm Queen, who took up the word, liking the implication of female rule.  There is some semantic debate if Navi or Ashai the Storm Queen of the day would be the first true queen.  The line of the Storm is older, but their role is more Empress than queen, but the word in its modern form comes from the land.”

Moriel shook his head.  As in instructor he hated questions he had not predicted, not because he did not know the answer, but because he sometimes struggled not to ramble on with too much more.  A natural affliction perhaps from having spent too many years buried in books.  With his eyes as they were, his face a bit more buried than most.

“So is king just man in the end?” Katrisha asked dubiously.

“A reasonable guess,” Moriel offered, “but no.  It is related to kin, or kon in the original Osyrean.  The g was added to the end implying a sort of ownership, or possession, being above kin.”  He turned, and wrote two more words on the board.  “Notably it sounded more like Kon-ing, than Kong, as one might expect to pronounce it.  In some irony kin’s original meaning was ‘to birth,’ or ‘to spring forth.’”

Kiannae laughed.  “So both King and Queen come from feminine meanings?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Moriel offered in an indecisive tone.  He could sometimes be a hard man to read, with his somewhat pudgy face that always looked oddly jovial, even if his thin lipped expression rarely varied to either humor or displeasure.  He did have moments he cracked to an impish smile, but they were rare, even when it did seem he was joking.

“So,” Katrisha started with a pause, “Cwen was the title taken by Navi, Cwen of Every Vale, and like the song Every Vale became Avrale with time?” she guessed with less than certainty.

“Precisely,” Moriel nodded.  “Sorry, this happens when one doesn’t set out to follow a lesson plan.”  He turned back to the board, and again scrawled out some letters.  “Avr Vrael is the best record we have of the ancient words used in the title.  Though as Avr meant all, in a context of the land, and all of the land was vales it was somewhat redundant.  How exactly it shortened to Avrale over time is less well understood, but it is surmised that the two ‘vr’s merged.”

He considered his two pupils a moment.  “I will be glad to prepare lessons on comparative linguistics, and evolution if they are of interest, but let us return to the prepared topic for the day.”  He pointed to Kiannae.

She shifted the book, and tried to pick up where her sister left off.

As such the mind and nerves do not develop a direct method of understanding these energies they can later perceive.  The result is a form of syn-es-the-sia.  Eliciting texture, smell, taste, warm and cold, and perhaps most notably visual or rarely auditory phenomena that are not gathered by the eyes or ears.

“Synesthesia?” Kiannae asked curiously.

“It is much as the text implies, a conflation of one sense with another.  If you have ever noticed what seems like light when rubbing your eyes, this is at least related.  Injury, disease, and other causes do sometimes impart more widespread crossing of senses.  You each could speak to the fact better, but this text implies that your perceptions of gift, aura, and magic are thus.”

Kiannae pursed her lips, and resumed reading aloud.

To this end tuning out the direct stimuli and focusing on those intruding on a sense helps to better observe auras.  For example, unfocused vision, or even closing your eyes can be of use.  Unfocused vision is the preference as closing one’s eyes can confuse, and remove visual cues that help anchor perceptions in our grasp of depth.  

On the whole physical sensations are more reliable because – ironically – the confusion of stimuli is deeper to the point of making it hard to tell what comes from the gift, or from touch.  At the root all such perceptions are the influence of auras on our own, and by consequence our peripheral nerves which is their primary source.

“We already know this,” Kiannae protested.

“Do you?” Moriel pressed.

Katrisha frowned.  “I think perhaps more we know some of it.  I’ve heard of nerves, they let us feel things, but I didn’t know they were the source of our auras.”  She held up her hand, trying to look deeper, but she wasn’t sure if she could make out anything new.  She grabbed her sister’s to a small sound of protest, and tried again.  She just shook her head.

“Why don’t you continue reading, Miss Katrisha,” Moriel suggested.

She shifted the book, and found her place.

This connection is one aspect of the strength of gestures in performing gifted practices.  Gesture itself carries kinetic energy, and intention, forming symbolic linkages with the power of the primordial mind.  Though with this said, keep in mind that gesture is easily more crutch than boon, and can be deeply limiting if relied upon too heavily.

Magic is ultimately an abstract process, unlike the more primitive applications of conjuration and channeling.  With practice one can form spells around themselves without any motion at all.  With further practice more primitive offensive spells can be directed with gesture, while the conscious mind focuses on the more arcane areas of defense.

“That does seem more useful,” Kiannae admitted.

“I would surmise,” Moriel said with a thin sort of humor.  Having no experience in the matter himself, it had proven an interesting read when trying to better understand the girls he was expected to help teach.  Getting the twins to accept he had something worthwhile to teach them, was often enough of a challenge to give him a touch of pride when he got through.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Harfast 32nd, 645 E.R.

Katrisha kissed Wren on the forehead, and then helped him up to Renae’s waiting arms on the horse.  “I hope you two will visit again soon, it had been too long since the last time,” Katrisha said, as Renae settled Wren behind her.

“Yes, of course,” Renae said with a smile, “Perhaps you could come visit the Cloister as well, it’s very pretty there this time of year.”

“I fear Laurel is still far to cross with us to let us off castle grounds,” Kiannae said dismissively.  In truth she was quite sure the tensions with Arlen would also play some role in insuring that was not an option.

“Rightly so, it sounds as though you two were being very reckless,” Renae said disapprovingly.

“Yes,” Katrisha said sheepishly, “anyway, take care of yourselves.”

“You too,” Wren said as Renae urged the horse to turn.

“I will try and arrange to be here in the spring, but I can never be sure,” Renae said as she started the horse out the castle gate.

“I’ll miss you Wren,” Katrisha yelled as she waved, and turned to her sister who seemed cross.  “What’s wrong?” she asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” Kiannae grumbled, and turned to climb the stairs to the upper court.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Katrisha was startled when Kiannae slammed their chamber door in her face before she could enter.  She opened the door slowly, and watched as Kiannae finished marching across the room to the window, where she leaned on the seat, and stared out at the valley below.

“Ok,” Katrisha said taking a breath, now a bit cross herself, “what is bothering you already?”

“Nothing,” Kiannae muttered.

“That’s obviously not true, you’ve been stewing on something all day.  This isn’t because I finally beat you in a spar this morning, is it?”  Katrisha walked over and put her hand on her sister’s shoulder, but the gesture was shrugged off.

Katrisha was not really sure how to take Kiannae’s behavior, they had each seen the other angry countless times, but Katrisha couldn’t think of an instance where her sister had ever been unwilling to talk to her.  Katrisha frowned, and started to walk towards the bed, intending to flop down in frustration.  If it was really about the spar, she was going to be very cross, after all the times Kiannae had beaten her, and teased her for it.

“Why do you like him so much?” Kiannae demanded just as Katrisha reached the foot of the bed.

“What?” Katrisha said honestly confused, and turned back.  It was so far afield of her expectations it took her a moment to even begin to put a who to the implication.

“Wren,” Kiannae said angrily, “why do you love Wren so much?”

“He’s our brother!” Katrisha snapped tersely, and marched back towards Kiannae.

“He’s weird,” Kiannae said uneasily.

“One to talk Ki,” Katrisha said scrunching up her face angrily.

“It’s true,” Kiannae said shrugging off Katrisha’s attempt at levity, and turned to her angrily.  “And whenever he’s here, you pay more attention to him than me.”

“Because he’s here so rarely, and you are always here,” Katrisha countered defensively.  “He’s your brother too,” she added.

“I’m not like him,” Kiannae said narrowing her eyes, and clenching her fist,  “I didn’t kill mother.”

“Don’t say that,” Katrisha snapped back angrily, balling up both fists.

“If it wasn’t for him mother would be alive,” Kiannae insisted flatly.

“That wasn’t Wren’s fault,” Katrisha protested, and started her sister square in the eye, half remembering something, the oddest horrible little thing.  She had asked for a little brother, she remembered that suddenly.  She had forgotten.  She wasn’t sure why she had asked – she hadn’t been sure why at the time.  It nagged at her like something important, like a voice in a dream that had planted the idea.  Did that make it her fault she half wondered?  Had she asked for Wren…why had she?

“It’s still true,” Kiannae said stubbornly.

“I said not to say that,” Katrisha demanded fiercely, stepping up on her sister, “you know how he feels about it.”

“Is he here,” Kiannae gestured around, and sneered.  “What does it matter, I can speak the truth when the little killer isn’t here.”

“You don’t even remember mother,” Katrisha growled, “you don’t even listen when Wren talks.”

“What do I care what he has to say?”  Kiannae said turning away furious, but Katrisha grabbed her shoulder, and made her turn back to face her.

“I remember mother sometimes when I talk with Wren, when he tries to sing,” Katrisha said in a pained tone, almost crying.  Her mother’s smile intruded on her memory, her wrapping her arms around their father, and asking what he thought of the idea.  He hadn’t objected.  Katrisha’s nails were digging into her own palm.  She was so angry, but she wasn’t even entirely sure who with.  It was a jumble of sorrow and rage out of proportion with sense.

“That’s because he stole her soul,” Kiannae growled, and wrested fiercely free of Katrisha’s grasp.

“Don’t say that,” Katrisha said tearfully – not sure if she was defending Wren, herself, or both of them.  She pushed her sister hard enough to stagger her.  There was a clap like thunder, and Katrisha found herself thrown across the room, and dazed.  She wasn’t even thinking at that point, her sister had attacked her, had thrown her clear across the room.  She didn’t even quite realize she had stopped herself from hitting the wall, or just how hard she had been thrown.  Something snapped in her, some foreign instinct took hold, and she struck, struck before she had even stopped herself from hitting the wall…struck almost before she had even been thrown.

There was a moment of frozen horror on both sister’s faces as they realized what had happened, as they both realized what they had done.  A shard of razor sharp ice the size of Katrisha’s arm hung inches from Kiannae’s left shoulder, and was thrown forcefully to the floor where it shattered, and sizzled.  Both looked unsteadily to the door where Laurel stood, a hand out stretched, an expression stricken with complete horror, shock, disbelief, and rage on his face.  His own hand slowly curled into a fist.

“Why!?” was all Laurel seemed to be able to yell, panting from the adrenaline of the moment as it caught up to him.  Even the instinct that he had spun on, even the sound that had nearly rattled their chamber door from its hinges.  He had reacted before it had happened, and his ears were ringing.

Kiannae nudged a frozen shard with her sandal.  Katrisha tried to look at her sister, but couldn’t meet her gaze.  She couldn’t fathom what had just occurred, what she had just done.  She didn’t even remember doing it completely.  It had been a gesture at most, one half caused by the blow itself as the air was forced from her lungs.  That was what the book had said, one could learn to do simple offensive spells with a gesture, but she had not learned to do any such thing.  Yet as much as she could not understand how she had done it, as much as no thought or intent had time to enter into it, it was hard to feel it was an accident.

Kiannae hesitantly started to walk towards Katrisha, and gave a hurt glance to Laurel as he stepped towards them, prepared to intercede.  Kiannae held her hand out to her sister where she was leaned against the wall.  At first Katrisha didn’t notice, and continued looking anywhere but at Kiannae.

After a moment Katrisha managed to bring herself to glance at her sister, and at the hand that was offered to her.  Hesitantly Katrisha took hold of her sister’s hand, and was helped to her feet.  Kiannae slowly stepped closer, and wrapped her arms around her twin, who stood there impassively.

“I can’t believe…” Katrisha said hauntedly.

“I…” Kiannae started meekly, “I felt it too, I could have…”

“You…” Katrisha stepped back, and looked her in the eye incredulously.  “I…I nearly…”

“I threw you hard, really…I…I…” Kiannae stammered starting to cry.

“No,” Laurel commanded agitatedly.  “No, no!  You two do not get to break down into tears before you tell me what in the abyss just happened!  Both of you, too my study,” he growled.  “Now!” he snapped when the two simply stared at him with injured expressions.  He still seemed short of breath.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Laurel stood, rubbing his head tiredly, and looked again at the two identical girls, who stood silently before him, holding the other’s hands tightly.  Not the image of two children who had just nearly killed one another in a violent outburst.  He looked at them more closely, they weren’t quite identical he noticed, Katrisha was slightly paler than her sister, and it was beginning to make her freckles stand out more.  It was subtle, hard to notice, probably no more than Kiannae favoring getting more sun, but there it was, nonetheless.  It was the first time he had ever noticed such a distinct physical difference between them.

Laurel sighed after the uncomfortable silence had dragged on for too long.  The two girls accounts of their conflict had been equally sheepish, and strikingly similar – each had accepted blame without question for striking out at the other.  Kiannae had struck first, neither had challenged this, though Katrisha had vehemently insisted that the force she had been thrown with was not significant.  Laurel knew Katrisha was wrong, he had felt the magic, and the shockwave.  It had shaken their chamber door nearly free of it’s hinges beside him.  Had he not been there at that exact moment…

He closed his eyes, and steadied is rage, at that moment directed as much at himself, as the girls.  He had been concerned when he had heard of a splintered staff that morning in the girl’s spar.  Horence had insisted it had just been cracked before hand.  Laurel had an instinct it wasn’t.  Horence had previously reported that Kiannae seemed to be the naturally better fighter, always keeping Katrisha on her guard, but that he found it curious, that the harder Kiannae pushed, the better Katrisha seemed.  The staff had splintered at the moment Horence had been about to step in because it was getting out of hand.

Katrisha had taken the force of the blow, and brought the other end of her staff around so fast that even parried the blow followed through, and struck Kiannae hard enough on the shoulder to leave a bruise that she had spent an hour healing.  It was possible Katrisha herself had swung too hard, almost likely, but if Laurel did the math, with Horence’s description, the short to high leverage, force enough to have splintered a staff one one end, and break the attacker’s own block on the other…

“I am doubling your time with Horence,” Laurel said almost dispassionately, still in shock.  He had stopped Katrisha’s attack milliseconds short of catastrophic consequences.  He had managed that only because of the same instincts he knew in his gut had caused it.  The terror of the incident had left a mark on him he had not yet allowed himself time to fully process, distracted with far more intellectual ramifications.  “What you have told me…” he held a moment, calmed, changed his tone, and rethought his words.  “What Horence has told me of your training leaves me with almost no doubt.  You have the instincts of battle mages – and as much as it displeases me, I know what must be done.”

“What?” Kiannae asked uneasily.

“What happened between you two today…was not wholly your own faults,” Laurel said in a reserved tone.  “Though you will bear the responsibility of learning to control these instincts, as well as it seems, your tempers.  And as much it rattles every parental instinct I have come to harbor, as a mage I know that the only way to train you to control this, is to fully train you in combat magic.”

Laurel watched the small, confused, and almost excited glance between the girls.  “And to be clear,” he said with agitation, “I will work you so hard, as to leave no question this is a punishment.”

“Yes,” Katrisha said in a small voice.  Kiannae simply looked down again.

“As I said,” Laurel sighed, changing his tone again.  “This is not entirely your fault.  I fear I may have stirred these…’gifts’…through your training with Horence.  They would have emerged eventually, but…”  he shook his head.  “You will also need to resolve your conflict over your brother,” he said focusing squarely on Kiannae.  “I believe the escalation you experienced fed on itself presciently, and only the shock of the outcome startled you two out of the cycle.  I can only hope by learning to control it, that this kind of emotional feedback will not occur again.  Failing that, some form of meditation may be necessary.”

Laurel ran his fingers through his hair.  “As to the subject of your conflict, I can not tell you what to feel,” he said still focusing on Kiannae. “Only that I do not hold Wren responsible for your mother’s fate.  There is a great deal of blame to go around for what occurred, but no singular person can bear responsibility for the end result.  Do not throw away a sibling, who from all my dealings with him is a wonderful, promising boy, over something he had no choice in.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Styver 1st, 645 E.R.

Wren slowed his quick gate, and his sobbing trailed off as he took stock of where he stood.  The wood beyond the north wall of the cloister contained a large clearing.   Wren had known it was there on some level, the cemetery was not a secret, just rarely spoken of.  Death was inevitable, even if great gifts could stave it off for a time.  The many gravestones arrayed in ordered rows before Wren stood as a reminder that even that was not forever.

The number was striking, given the history lessons ingrained upon children of the order from a young age.  The cloister was only a few hundred years old, and had not stood at the time of the great war.  The dead that lay in that hallowed ground had passed in the simple course of time.  The eldest of the founding sisters and brothers came first, and then the younger members of the first generation in due course.

The weathering of the stones lessened towards the back, and Wren plopped down near a gravestone, and with a puzzled look reached out his hand to touch it.  He traced the name Somavera as hasty footsteps cracked twigs entering the clearing behind him.

“Are you alright?” Celia asked in a consoling tone.

“No,” Wren said plainly.  “I’m not right at all.  He’s right about that, I’m a monster.”

Celia ran up behind Wren, dropped to her knees, and hugged him tightly.  “Stop saying that,” she demanded.

“If I didn’t say it, it would still be true,” Wren choked out.

“It’s not true at all,” Celia said as a chill wind blew across the clearing, and made her shiver.

It was growing darker, the sun long out of view behind the trees, and the mountain range to the west beginning to shadow Highvale from what was left of the evening sun.  A few flickers of light began to dot the edge of the woods.  Celia scrunched her face with some concern, she’d never seen such a peculiar occurrence.  The lights danced ever so slightly, slowly swirling about each other in graceful arcs.

Another set of footsteps could be heard crunching leaves, and slowly entering the clearing behind the pair.  Celia turned to see Audry transfixed by the sight.

“They are like fireflies,” Audry said in a curious tone, “but they aren’t, are they?”  They were too large, and many much too blue in color.

“What are they then?” Celia asked confused.

“Wisps,” Wren said looking up almost irritably at the display before him.

“That sounds about right,” Audry said with an air of false authority.  “I remember now, a kind of elemental, right?”

A group of the wisps grew closer together, swirling about above one of the graves near Audry, and then quite suddenly scattered as a shimmering form appeared, and looked around as though confused.  Audry fell over backwards in shock, and Celia clung tightly to Wren who seemed expressionless as he stared at the new arrival.

This unnerving process repeated three more times, lastly right next to Wren and Celia.  She grabbed Wren’s hand, and pulled him off balance as she scurried away, but lost her grip.  Wren struggled to sit back upright, and simply looked up at the glowing white figure above him.  The ghost knelt down, and looked at him curiously.

“I’m Wren,” he said, as though answering some unheard question.  “No,” Wren said in a correcting tone, “Renae is not my mother, but I call her such.”

The ghost cocked its head to the side curiously, and looked up as an angry voice called out from the thin strip of wood between the clearing, and cloister.  “Audry?” Andrew called out irritably.  “Why won’t you listen?” he demanded.  “He’s evil I tell you,” he implored as he stepped into the clearing, and found his sister on the ground before him, and ghosts milling aimlessly.

Andrew had never seen a ghost before, and without much hesitation he grabbed Audry’s arm, and pulled her to her feet.  He tried to drag her with him from the clearing, but she shook his grip free, and stared at him defiantly.  There was a touch of fear in her eyes nonetheless.

“This isn’t right,” Andrew said sternly.  “This shouldn’t be happening!”

“What do you know?” Audry growled.

“I read it,” Andrew insisted, “ghosts are rare, very rare.”

“Since when do you read?” Audry cut back, all eyes, living and dead upon the brother and sister arguing.

“I read,” Andrew cut back.

“You certainly don’t read your assignments for class,” Audry sneered.

“Cause that’s boring,” Andrew muttered, “but this…this isn’t right.  Let’s get out of here, and away from the little soul eater.”

“Wren is not a soul eater,” Audry snapped, and pushed her brother who almost fell over.

“He’s not just a soul eater, he’s a necromancer,” Andrew yelled, grabbed his sister’s arm forcefully, and tried to pull her from the clearing.

“Wren didn’t do this,” Celia said, uncertainty in her voice, as she turned to Wren who still sat passively, his eyes closed, and tears running down his cheeks again.

Audry struggled again to get free of her brother’s grasp, and did so, falling over, and through an approaching ghost, which swept right up to Andrew, and stared down at him with a disapproving glare.

“To the Abyss with all of you,” Andrew said as he turned, and ran.

“He’s right,” Wren said.  “This shouldn’t be happening, I shouldn’t hear them.”

“Hear, what?” Celia asked.  “I don’t hear anything.”

“I do,” Wren said, and looked at Celia, his lips pursed definitely.  “They ask, they whisper, I don’t understand all of it, but I hear it.  I shouldn’t, no one else does, but I do.”

“How do you know?” Audry asked walking cautiously past one of the ghosts, and sitting down next to Celia and Wren.

“Because I read the same book he did,” Wren said with a shrug, and looked away.

“Just because it’s in a book doesn’t mean it’s true,” Celia offered.

“Do you hear them?” Wren asked rhetorically.

“No,” Celia admitted again.

“It just means you are special,” Audry offered uncertainly, her eyes darting nervously about at the ghosts that were slowly circling the trio.

“That’s a word for it,” Wren said, and closed his eyes again.  Celia reached out, and took Wren’s hand comfortingly, and Audry did the same.  There was a moment of painfully uncomfortable silence, and then without warning Wren whispered just loud enough to be heard. “Rest,” and the ghosts seemed to wash away in swirling strands of light caught in the gentlest breeze.

The wisps remained for a little while, some slowly swirled off into the wood, others seemed to flicker and fade.  “No,” Wren said sorrowfully, stood, and helped his friends to their feet.  “He’s right.  I did this, though I couldn’t tell you how.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Renae considered her adopted son thoughtfully.  Wren was all too aware of the coming question, but did not press to be asked.

“Can you explain to me the things I’ve been hearing?” she finally questioned, seeing the impatient irritation in Wren’s eyes.

“Depends what you have heard,” Wren said grumpily, and crossed his arms.

“Andrew raised a holy ruckus to his mother, in public no less, about you conjuring ghosts in the graveyard.” Renae sighed.  “As preposterous as it sounds…I’d not even ask, but, something tells me I should.”

“It’s true,” Wren said, “not that conjuring is the right word.”

“Then what is?” Renae said in a metered, perplexed tone.

“Causing?” Wren said uncertainly, looking out the window.  “I didn’t go out there to do anything,” he protested, “just to get away from Andrew.”

“He’s still not leaving you alone?” Renae asked unhappily.

“He’s never left me alone,” Wren said venomously.

“And you are saying what he said is true, that multiple ghosts manifested in the graveyard?” Renae asked uncomfortably.

“Four,” Wren answered.

Renae took a long slow breath.  “A ghost has been reported, now and then,” Renae said thoughtfully, “but four…”

“I caused it,” Wren said flatly.

“How could you have caused a ghost to appear?” Renae demanded doubtfully.  “Let alone four.  Real necromancers, if you can argue there even is such a thing – and not simply charlatans – have only the scarcest of success rates when mustering all their will.”

“I just did,” Wren said angrily, wishing he could deny the truth as easily as Renae seemed to be trying to.  “Do you want me to prove it?”

“I just…” Renae started, winced, and walked over to Wren, knelt down and hugged him.  “You don’t have to prove anything.”  Renae said, somberly.  “I’m just trying to understand.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Wren said, not returning the embrace.  “Andrew hating me for the truth, or you not believing it.”

“I believe you,” Renae said reassuringly, but there was still a touch of rational doubt in her voice.

“Iraen was your mother, wasn’t she?” Wren asked pointedly.

“Yes,” Renae said, “she’s buried out there.  She was older when she had me, much older than most, and she died young…there was a flaw in her heart that would not heal.”

“She said to tell,” Wren seemed to struggle for a moment, “‘Button,’ that she loves her.  That her heart is still with her.”

Renae pulled back and looked stricken for a moment, staring at Wren.  It was possible – only possible – Wren had heard her mother’s old pet name for her at some point, but she knew in her heart she had never told him, and it wasn’t the first time.  The winter morning with the wisps in the courtyard, when for just a moment she thought she had heard the hum of her mother’s voice, singing her to sleep.  He had said it, she had pushed it aside, he couldn’t have known, he shouldn’t have known even then.

“She called me Button,” Renae said weakly, “that I was the Button on her heart, that kept it together.  She…she died while I was far away.”  Renae began to cry, for so many reasons, not the least of which was the kind gifted boy in her arms, that she so rarely knew what to do with.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Laeur 3rd, 646 E.R.

Wren tapped his foot impatiently as he leaned against the wall next to Celia.  He glanced over as Celia’s incessant swirling of her finger in the air began to produced a thin trail of light, which momentarily distracted him from his boredom.  “You did it,” he said with a slight laugh.

“Took me long enough,” Celia sighed, and shook her hand attempting to get feeling back from how long she had been trying.  Her progress dissolved, and she glanced at Wren.  She smiled somewhat in spite of herself.

Wren’s presence was like a hearth on a cold autumn night.  He somehow made the world away from him seem a little colder.  Yet all at once there was a sense of that nature of fire behind it, an intensity that smoldered – perhaps impatiently – for the world’s plodding way.  This was enough to give the wary pause, and he could seem a flame that easily called all the moths of the world toward him.  That thought lingered, and bothered Celia, she wasn’t even sure why she had thought it.

“You’ve only been at it a couple days,” Wren said encouragingly, “on your own, Aaron has been training with Sister Calis for weeks.  I’ll ask Renae if you can come with us the next time I visit my sisters.  They can do so much more, maybe they could teach you.”

“I’d like that,” Celia laughed, “but I don’t know if my mother would let me leave the cloister.”  She started again, and almost instantly a trail of light formed.  She bit her lip excitedly that it had come quickly that time.

Wren glanced down the corridor again.  “Where is Audry?” he asked with a faint hint of concern, “it’s not like her to be so late.”

“Maybe we should go look for her?’ Celia said with a shrug, and let her glowing figure-eight drift away.

“I guess,” Wren said and started walking down the hall.

As they rounded a corner they came upon Andrew.  In the past year had undergone a growth spurt to the point of towering over the two.  He had long had an intemperate presence, one that shifted from a harsh breeze, to stone.  That moment he felt like a rolling boulder coming towards the two.  Neither had in their lives seen someone so obviously, and violently angry, but some instinct kicked in, and told them both to back off.

It wasn’t enough.  Andrew marched menacingly straight up to Wren, even as he tried to get out of the way.  “Stay away from my sister!” he barked as Wren found himself frightened and backed up against a wall.

“Leave him alone!” Celia yelled, but fell short of laying hands on Andrew to pull him back.

“Stay out of this,” Andrew spat, turning towards Celia, who stood her ground, but couldn’t quite bring herself to move towards Wren.  “Do you hear me?” he demanded turning back to Wren who was hunkered down on the floor against the wall.  “Stay away from my sister.”

“Shut up,” Wren squeaked in a small frightened voice.

“No,” Andrew said, “not till you promise to stay away from my sister you little mongrel.”

“Leave him alone,” Celia repeated demandingly, and moved to put herself between the two.  Andrew pushed her back, and she fell.

“Answer me you little shit,” Andrew demanded, “what are you going to do?”  Wren shrunk further, as Andrew leaned down over him, “hello, do you hear me you little freak?  Stay away!”

“Shut up,” Wren whimpered in a tiny voice.

“No,” Andrew said, “not until you promise.”

“Shut up,” Wren squeaked again, just a hair louder.

Andrew grabbed ahold of his robe, and shook him.  “No,” he said viciously, “promise me you will stay away!”

“SHUT UP!” Wren suddenly boomed in a horrifying voice not at all like his own.  The sound of it seemed to reverberate in the rafters, and rattle the bones.  It frightened Celia to her core who had grabbed ahold of Andrew to try and pull him off Wren, and her fingers slipped weekly off his arm.  Andrew fell backwards barely catching himself.  He scrambled in a strange helpless fashion for a moment.  His eyes were wide, and his face as white as a sheet.  He frantically clutched at his throat, he opened his mouth as though trying to speak, trying to yell, and suddenly without a further word pushed himself up against the far wall, and ran away.

Celia watched as Andrew stumbled, and flailed down the hallway in his haste, and then turned back to Wren who was curled up in a tiny ball, sobbing.  “Are,” Celia coughed slightly as though her throat was dry.  “Are you alright?” she asked cautiously moving towards her friend.  Wren simply continued to cry, and didn’t answer.  “Wren?” Celia said questioningly, her concern quickly starting to override her uneasiness.  She coughed again, and rubbed her throat.

“I…I…” Wren sputtered between sobs, and then gave up.

Celia wrapped her arms around him consolingly, and gently stroked his hair.  “It’ll be alright,” she said softly.  “It’s ok, he’s gone.”

“I…” Wren tried again, “he…he was right about me,” Wren whimpered.

“What do you mean?” Celia asked in confusion, but Wren seemed to just descend further back into sobbing, and began to noticeably tremble.

Several minutes passed, and Wren slowly began to calm.  When he finally met Celia’s gaze his expression was one of horror, sadness, and utter heartbreak.

“What happened?” Celia asked in as gentle a tone as she could manage.

“I don’t know,” Wren said with a haunted voice.  “I did something…I don’t know what I did, but I felt myself do it.  I think I might have hurt him.”  He looked away helplessly, unable to look his friend in the eye after admitting his fear.

“He was attacking you,” Celia said softly, “it’s ok.  He was well enough to run away.  It’s ok.”

“I don’t know what I did,” Wren said again with and unnerving tremor in his voice.  “It’s not…I…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought as the memory of South Rook gripped him.  How everyone had stopped for a moment, and even afterword seemed dazed, how he had ran to his room, and hid not knowing what he had done, or how.

“It’s ok, whatever it was he deserved it,” Celia said trying to calm Wren down.

“Maybe I deserve it,” Wren said in a small voice.

“No,” Celia said firmly, “you are sweet, and wonderful, and he is an ass.  He’s always hated you, for no reason.”

Celia turned as quick footsteps echoed down the hall.  Audry was running towards them, holding her arm tightly.  “Is he alright?” she asked obviously scared.

“He isn’t hurt,” Celia said, “but he’s been crying for a while now.”

“What did my bastard brother do to him?” Audry said in a tone almost as angry as Andrew’s.

“He was yelling, and shaking him,” Celia said, “and then…” she hesitated not sure how to describe Wren’s part.  “He ran like he was terrified.  Is your arm alright?” she asked trying to change the subject as her own suspicions sunk in.  It wasn’t possible, and yet it fit.

“He was keeping me in my room,” Audry growled, “wouldn’t let me leave.  Kept yelling at me, trying to make me promise to stay away from Wren.  I tried to push past him, and he pushed me down, and I hurt my arm.”  Audry rubbed her arm a bit.  “I’ve been working to heal it.”

Audry leaned down and looked Wren in the eye.  “Are you alright?” she asked anger and concern mixed in her expression.

“I think I hurt him,” Wren whimpered.

Audry’s expression suddenly shifted to dumbstruck.  “You…are crying ‘cause you think you hurt, him?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Wren said in a small voice, “partly.   I’m scared,” he added.

“He ran off,” Audry said reassuringly, “and if he comes back we’ll make him leave.”

“I’m scared of me,” Wren corrected her.

“You…” Audry started bewildered, not sure what to say.

“He had him cornered,” Celia offered, “his voice changed…it was so loud it hurt, and I kind of felt it when he lashed out.  I…”  She rubbed her throat, which felt a bit like she needed to clear it, but the coughs had done nothing.  She remembered Andrew grabbing his.  “He earned whatever he got.”  She added, keeping her suspicion to herself.  It was passing, whatever it was.

Audry shook her head.  “You darling, impossibly wonderful little thing,” she said touching Wren’s tear streaked cheek. “You get cornered, frightened half out of your wits, and now you are more worried about what you did to the monster who was bullying you, than what he did to you?”

“He’s not a monster,” Wren said defiantly, “he was scared, angry…I…”

Audry pulled Wren to her, and hugged him.  “Quiet,” she said firmly, “it’s no excuse, you never did anything to him, nothing.  He’s my blood and I won’t defend him, not for a moment, don’t you.  Don’t you dare waste another thought on him.  You are wonderful, and that’s all you need to know.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Laeur 22nd, 646 E.R.

Rennae rubbed her face tiredly as Andria walked into their room.  “Are you alright?” Andria asked with some concern.

“Shandra has been harassing me repeatedly about her son,” Rennae said looking at Andria with a cross expression.  “He won’t talk, won’t leave his room, and has been crying a lot it seems.”

“I’ve heard,” Andria sighed, “no one knows what’s wrong with him.”

“She’s started saying odd things about Wren, but nothing outright,” Rennae said looking out the window. “Nightmares, and obsessions.  Of course she mentioned none of this when I had talked to her repeatedly about the boy harassing Wren.”

“You don’t actually think he has something to do with it do you?” Andria asked doubtfully.

“I…” Rennae sighed. “I don’t know, I don’t think so, but I’ve heard he’s been bordering on bullying with some kids.  Getting worse not better, particularly towards Wren, and Wren has been…different lately.”

“And so…what?” Andria asked not sure where the connection was.

“You know as well as I do the potential power of that boy,” Rennae said laying her forehead on her hand.  “I mean…maybe if he cornered him somewhere, pushed him to the edge, maybe he could have done something…I don’t know.  I don’t think I could bring myself to ask him either.  He’s seemed so distant lately, and I…  I don’t know what to think.  There were also reports of a terrible yell heard in part of the cloister the other day.  Something, unnatural according to those who heard it.”

“You aren’t thinking of the madness in South Rook, are you?” Andria pressed.

“Wren was there,” Renae answered.

“That doesn’t mean Wren had anything to do with it.”

“No it doesn’t, but no one has an explanation.  No one has heard of anything like it.”

“It bears watching I guess,” Andria said with a frown. “Even if it’s true, as you say, if he was pushed to the edge I don’t think we need to worry about a repeat…but if some one else comes to that conclusion.  How can we control this if people start talking?”

“I don’t know,” Rennae said darkly, “and that’s why I’m worried.”

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Chapter 13

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.”

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Chapter 12

The land did fold, the hills did swell,
mid valley deep and shallow dell,
twas born fair Avrale,

a Queen she rose, ‘fore days of kings,
she set the Rooks, she made the peace,
upon the Broken Hill,

from Summers North, to Evenings West,
Southern Hearth, and Morning’s Breath,
these fair Towers stand,

these keepers were, the keepers are,
of golden field, forest green, n’ winding vale,
in noble Avrale.

– Every Vale, circa 50 E.R.

The Western Road

Coria 5th, 644 E.R.

A well adorned coach rolled through the early morning streets of Brokhal.  Such adornment was appropriate, as it indicated the importance of some of the occupants.  It was not however as Laurel would prefer to travel, for he did not thrive on attention the way Mercu did.  When he had traveled to Nohrook his visit was to be discrete – to some extent.  An adorned royal coach headed north would have fanned fears for any who knew of affairs in Osyrae.  Such was the argument he had made, and there had been no protest on that occasion.

Had there been any argument for subtlety on a tour of western Avrale, it was moot, for Mercu insured that it was deemed vital that the young Ladies Ashton be presented in style, as future mages of Avrale.  As to the young Ladies in question, they slept that morning, given they had not for much of the previous night.

Mercu himself sat half awake next to the twins, and opposite Laurel.  He had claimed, once the effort of loading half sleeping children was past, that it had been his plan all along to keep them subdued and manageable.  He had after all done everything he could to fan their natural excitement leading up to the trip, and had paid with his own sleep deprivation in the end.  Laurel had been minimally impacted by the whole affair, and as such felt more pity than scorn for his weary companion that morning.

Laurel looked out the window as the coach turned up the northern fork of the road leading away from western Brokhal.  He grimaced.

With the knowledge that comes from years of close company, Mercu smiled, and spoke as though reading Laurel’s mind.  “You know I’m right, it’s better this way.”

“Oh you are right,” Laurel sighed, “but it’s the principle of it.  I hate these trips, and extending them for scenic detours goes against the grain for me.”

“And the reason you hate these trips is the attention, and the demands of the little people.”  Mercu laughed.  “Much quieter to take the scenic route.”

“You know it’s not the little people,” Laurel muttered.

“Oh but isn’t it?” Mercu said with a shake of his head.  “No one more little, and petty than the scattered pretenders to royal authority.  So tiresome.”

“And yet you adore their time, and attention,” Laurel counters incredulously.

“The most fun of things, are always tiresome.”  Mercu grinned impishly.

“Aren’t they though,” Laurel laughed.  “Though, I would be mindful of calling Duke’s petty, and tiresome, given one’s son is sitting up behind you.”

“Charles,” Mercu chimed, “remind me, does your father style himself Duke, or Knight Commander?”  There was no answer from the front of the coach, and though it was not visible to anyone but Horence beside him, the already put out young man scowled a bit more.  He was happy to be headed west, but not at all thrilled with the company he was being forced to keep, and as such had chosen not to sit inside the coach, next to two girls he was not always on the best of terms with.

After a rather long stretch of Laurel’s disapproving gaze Mercu shrank slightly.  “Sorry,” he said with a sigh, “just having a bit of fun.”  He paused, thinking of a way to change the subject.  “Speaking of tiresome fun,” he said thoughtfully.  “Is it just me, or was the Lady Alice positively glowing this morning?”

Laurel considered Mercu shrewdly.  “More than you know,” he said with a nod.  “I dare say her aura is brighter than it has been in years, since before she gave up her studies.”

“Interesting,” Mercu said leaning forward.  “Do you think?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“I suspect, yes,” Laurel nodded.

“How delightful,” Mercu laughed and leaned back.

Laurel hummed slightly, and stroked his beard.

“What hmm?” Mercu prodded.

“Well, look who’s awake,” Laurel said, making every effort to appear not to be dodging the question.

Mercu turned to see Kiannae leaned against the coach door, staring out at the passing scenery.

Kiannae rubbed her eyes.  “What time is it?” she asked sleepily.

Laurel held out his hand, and a series of concentric marked rings formed, with a bobbing pyramid at its center that turned, wobbled, and came to rest.  “Almost seven,” he said, and waved the intricate configuration away.  Kiannae looked back out the window – she had mostly mastered a basic version of the spell herself, but was too drowsy to have tried.

Katrisha shifted, and clung tightly to her sister’s arm, giving no indication she was ready to rouse fully herself.  Kiannae rocked her head against her sister’s, and began to draw glowing lines absently in the air.  She paid no mind to keep them in tow with her, and so they trailed through the coach past Laurel.

Kiannae grew bored of absent minded magic, and decided to practice the spell Laurel had used to tell the time.  She poked, and prodded at it a bit, being uninterested in watching the slow crawl of time, and the pyramid changed its behavior, going from following the sun, to pointing northward.  Kiannae scrunched up her face with some confusion.  “Why are we going north?” she asked with some surprise.

“Mercu’s idea,” Laurel said restraining mild consternation from his voice.  “More scenic route, and I believe he’s arranged a special meeting along the way.”

“What meeting?” Kiannae asked her curiosity piqued.

“I’d rather not say,” Mercu said shrewdly, “I wasn’t able to confirm the arrangement, so it might be nothing more than a pleasant detour.”

Kiannae pouted, but Mercu simply smiled at her, and eventually she gave up, and looked back out the window in a huff.  After several more minutes she crossed her arms, and declared, “I’m bored.”  The act of which pulled her arm from Katrisha, jostling her awake.  Katrisha rubbed her eyes sleepily, and looked around.

“We’ve quite a ways still to Aldermor,” Laurel said taking a breath, and braced for dealing with the girls becoming difficult so soon.

“I have read there was a time when Sylvans lived in Aldermore,” Mercu offered thoughtfully.  “A group that had settled down from the highland tribes, that have also long since left Avrale.”

“I thought the Sylvan’s only lived in the great forest,” Kiannae said curiously.

“It was a long time ago,” Mercu nodded, “hundreds of years at least even before the empire came here.  “The Sylvans had tribes that extended through the highlands, while the people of Avrale dwelled in the valleys below.  Except in Aldermor, where the highlanders would trade with us lowlanders.  They say ever so often a child is stillborn there to this day, with adorned ears, or eyes like the two of you.”

“Why did the Sylvan’s leave?” Katrisha asked.

“War,” Mercu said with a frown, “but not between us and them.  When Osyrae came the first time into the northern vales, the highland Sylvans deemed themselves above the squabbles of lowlanders.  That started some bad blood I think.  What I’ve read though said they remained another thirty or so years, till the death of the reigning queen, when her son took the throne.  There seems to be consensus that is when the exodus began.”

“Did the new king make them leave?” Kiannae frowned.

“I can’t really say,” Mercu shrugged.  “There is no clear record of any direct action, no royal decrees in any of the books, but it was a very very long time ago.  So many wars, and changes of power, and the fall of the old tower at Broken Hill.  Who knows what happened that long ago.”

Katrisha and Kiannae were clearly displeased by the lack of any real answer, and Mercu shook his head.  “What I do have,” he carried on, “is an old story purportedly told by a Sylvan elder of Aldermor, to a scribe of the day.”  The two perked up, and Mercu smiled.

“It is said that the goddess Laeune had three children,” Mercu began. “Most lore agrees upon this number, or takes no stance.  Amongst them were Brother Wolf, Sister Lynx, and Yaun the Light, the first man – or woman – on this there is contention.”

“Why?” Kiannae asked.

“Many believe Yaun to have been a man,” Mercu said with a shrug, “others contend the first as a man is a preposterous fallacy, as children inevitably resulted.  Forget that any which way you slice it, the myth is fraught with problems of how one human became many.  This though is the story of how Yaun, the youngest, came to rule.”

“Brother Wolf, and Sister Lynx one day argued over who was mother’s favored child.  Each brought before Laeune many gifts hunted from far and wide across the world, trying to earn Laeune’s favor, and spur her to declare a favorite.  For such a plan to work they could not tell their mother of their competition.  Laeune was pleased at first, but grew weary of her children pestering her with gifts.”

“Seeking quiet and rest, Laeune snuck away while her children scurried off to seek more offerings, and borrowed a boat from Vhale, her grandson, and floated down a river through a wide wood.  As she dreamt, at last free to slumber without bother, she wondered upon her youngest, who had long ago begun to wander and rarely returned home.”

“As Laeune’s boat drifted to the base of a great mountain, she found Yaun sunning upon a high rock by the river, and sleepily considering a brilliant gem of many colors in the sun’s light.  Laeune asked what her child held, and with a smile Yaun said that it was the most precious of things, a single tear Laeune had cried when Yaun’s first child was born.”

“A tear was a gem?” Kiannae asked incredulously.

“There is a gem named such,” Laurel said thoughtfully, “and it does match the description.  It is a clear gem that refracts any light into many colors.  Still, it is not an actual tear.”

“The story says otherwise,” Mercu grumbled, and continued.  “It so happened that Brother Wolf and Sister Lynx each had come to hunt below the mountain that same day, and heard as Laeune proudly proclaimed Yaun her favorite, for such a treasured moment.  Each were infuriated and driven to rage.  They were bested by their younger sibling, and each plotted cruel vengeance for the slight.”

“How terrible.”  Katrisha crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

“Days later, Yaun strode the forest that was home to the eldest children of man, unaware of cold calculating eyes that watched her every step.  Nor were Brother Wolf or Sister Lynx aware they stalked the same prey.  As Wolf and Lynx pounced, they found themselves entwined with one another, and not their intended victim.  Yet anger fueled their fight even more, and their wounds were grievous.”

“There was much shame when Wolf and Lynx each woke to find their wounds tended by Yaun.  They could see in sad eyes, that Yaun knew what they had tried to do.  Nonetheless Yaun cared for each with such compassion.  Laeune, who had been dwelling near had seen the whole affair, and interceded upon Yaun’s behalf, misguiding her wrathful children to attack one another and not her most beloved.”

“Later, when Yaun was away, Laeune came before Wolf and Lynx.  She told them what she knew, and proclaimed that, ‘Never shall you, or your heirs rein.  Though I still love you, you have proven unworthy – but this one, whom you sought to harm, has shown you kindness.  To Yaun’s heirs I leave the all the world where my light falls.  Ever shall you pay your debt, as servant, and protector to Yaun’s blood, and in such you shall regain my respect.’”

“What did that have to do with the Sylvan’s leaving Aldermor?” Kiannae protested.

“It was a good enough story I suppose,” Katrisha consented, “but yes, what was the point?”

“Well,” Mercu laughed, “you see that is the story as I first read it, but I am told there is more.”

“Well?” Kiannae prodded.

“I knew a man,” Mercu answered, “a good fellow, though I must admit when I first met him I mistook him for a woman.”

“Did you now?” Laurel laughed.

Mercu gave Laurel a snide smile.  “He was a generation or so removed from the Sylvan lands, but his family kept some traditions alive.  I got him talking over drinks, that I bought in apology for my aforementioned mistake.  I’ll admit precisely how the topic came up I’m hazy, there were quite a few drinks involved.”

Laurel clearly repressed another laugh, and Mercu continued.  “At any rate, he said that the story, as he knew it, goes on to tell that Yaun’s children grew arrogant, and did not learn the lesson of Wolf and Lynx.  They set upon each other, and warred, and did many terrible things.  So it was that the Lynx’s children left the lands of men.  For you see – the Sylvans are the Lynx in the fable.”

“That’s why our eyes are the way they are?” Kiannae asked.

“We are part cat?” Katrisha laughed.  “Kat!  My name is Kat!  Is it true?”

“Well,” Laurel interjected, “that is the common wisdom, with what evidence there is.  Sylvans do normally bare both the slit eyes, and pointed tufted ears of a Lynx.  Half blood’s such as you two, and your brother tend to lack the ears, though you all, particularly Wren do have a slight point.”

Katrisha ran her fingers over her ear, and nodded.  

“One in a few hundred they say are born with fur, and decidedly feline features, maybe even a tail – which leads many to believe that ‘shaper’ magic was involved, that at some point in the past they made themselves part cat.”

“Why?” Kiannae asked scrunching her brow.

“Haven’t a clue.”  Laurel shrugged.  “It’s not even fully agreed upon theory.  The Sylvans by all account have nothing to say on the matter, they simply consider themselves to be, as they are.  Though I did once hear a man from Napir call them ‘the children of the wolves, and the cats.’”

“Wolves?” Katrisha asked a bit perplexed.

“There is another Sylvan forest, far to the east past Lycia,” Laurel answered stroking his beard, “More reclusive even than those who live to our north.  Purportedly they lack the slit eyes, but have even more pronounced ears – and there are tales of great, hulking wolf men among them.  I’ve never met one, nor do I know anyone who has.”

“But you were just talking about Napir,” Kiannae protested.

“Ah, yes,” Laurel said with a nod. “In the high passes, and south from the Storm Peak in Napir live small mixed tribes, purportedly of both breeds, but their bloodlines have been thinned with each other, and the common folk of the land.  Still, even amongst these are tall tales of ‘great lions’, and ‘mighty wolves.’  I couldn’t tell you if they are any more than tales though.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Aldermor was a small village, which seems to cling tenaciously to the edge on a wide raised tract of land that looked out over a very broad stretch of the local vale.  Fields stretched as far as the eye could see below, but only a few scattered alder trees broke up the rocky, overgrown area between the village, and the higher hills behind it.  Even the wild shrubs, and grasses seemed slightly sickly, and it was reasonable to assume the locals had long decided this land was of no use to try and cultivate, but a passable place for a village overlooking the fertile lands below.

Everyone but Horence had disembarked from the coach, which he had lead on across town to arrange a place to park it, and stable the horses.  Even the adults had rarely visited the quiet town, and all examined the area in more detail.

A long, freshly worn path lead off the main road from where they stood, to a far edge of the highland, where a small grove of trees stood beside the framework, and half finished walls of a large new structure. It rose defiantly where only crumbled low stone walls, and ancient foundations stood about.  This structure seemed odd, out of place even, but it meant little to the twins, who quickly lost interest in it.  

Charles seemed slightly more affected by the sight, which caught Katrisha’s curiosity for a moment before she recognized a woman in white, half surrounded by villagers.  She tugged at her sister’s sleeve, and then ran off towards Renae.  Kiannae followed at a more reserved pace, but cocked her head to the side when Katrisha veered off suddenly.

“Wren!” Katrisha yell, and then Kiannae noticed the boy, sitting on a short stone wall behind and to the side of the crowd.  At first Kiannae had not recognized her brother, who had let his hair get quite long, and had grown significantly in the past six months.

Wren looked up just in time to be scooped up by his taller sibling.  It was rather impressive to watch.  Wren was not much smaller than Katrisha, and did not look as though he could be so easily lifted by her – yet she had managed it, complete with spinning him about as she often did in greeting.

“Why aren’t you with your sister?” Charles asked, stepping up behind Kiannae, who had stopped to observe the curious chain of events.

“Why are you even here?” Kiannae asked crossly, as Mercu walked by towards the village shops, giving the pair’s exchange only a passing glance, and Laurel moved on towards Renae.

“I am going to visit my mother,” Charles said tersely.  “She lives in Wesrook, with my uncle, and my sister.”

“Yes,” Kiannae sighed, “but why are you here, with us?”

“I am no happier about it than you are,” Charles grumbled.  “It was my father’s idea.”

“Whatever for?” Kiannae said shaking her head.

“He said I should be nicer to the two of you,” Charles said uncertainly, as though it wasn’t exactly what he’d been told.  Kiannae had never though much more of Charles father, than the boy himself.  It seemed like a good thing, but it also seemed out of character, and the hesitation in the way Charles had said it seemed dubious.

Any further thought on the matter was abated as Renae walked up, crouched down, and hugged Kiannae to her.  “Hello dear,” she said sweetly, held the girl back out at arm’s length, then looked her up and down.  “How are you doing, and who’s your friend?”

“He’s n…” Kiannae started a bit terse, but thought better of it, “he’s Charles,” she finished instead.

“Ah,” Renae said considering the boy again.  “Sir Arlen’s son, yes?” Renae asked delicately, the boy had done nothing to earn her ire, but the way he looked at her was not particularly friendly.  It was apparent the boy was well aware of his father’s opinion of Renae, and knew who she was.  It was less clear how much stock he put in it.

“Yes,” Charles acknowledged, “heir of Wesrook.”

“Ah yes,” Renae said thoughtfully, she had heard pieces of that story.  “So it is true what I’ve heard, that your father is the Duke proper, and retains the right to the seat in his absence?”  Charles simply nodded.  “Curious,” Renae remarked, and stood, taking Kiannae’s hand.  “Come, let us join your sister, and Wren.”

Kiannae glanced back at Charles as they walked away.  She had heard Mercu before on the ride, but hadn’t really been paying attention.  She wasn’t really sure what to make of it, the annoying boy wasn’t a knight’s son after all.  It was worse, he was a duke’s.

“So what are you doing here?” Katrisha asked ruffling Wren’s long hair, which he went about straightening afterword.

“Renae is here to help oversee the construction of a new Cloister,” Wren said as he motioned to the distant half finished building.

“Another?” Katrisha said curiously.

“Yes,” Renae said as she walked up, Kiannae in tow. “Things are getting a bit cramped back home, and the locals have welcomed us here.  Though we needed to get assurance of the King’s consent.”

“Why wouldn’t the King approve?” Katrisha asked tilting her head.

“It’s not a question of whether the King would approve,” Renae said thoughtfully, “so much as if he would be willing to make his approval official.”

“Why?” Kiannae asked.

“Not all care much for our order,” Renae said with a forced smile.

“Why?” Katrisha prodded in turn.  There had always been hints on the matter, but never answers.

“To be honest, I often wonder myself,” Renae said with a sigh.  She glanced at Charles, who had walked off in his own direction.  She was more than glad he would not do her the service of explaining.

“It’s because our kindness weakens their grip on the people’s hearts,” Wren said bitterly.  Everyone looked to Wren a bit curiously.  “That’s what Audry’s mother says,” he shrugged.

“She’s probably not wrong,” Renae agreed hesitantly.  She wasn’t happy to have the girl’s opinions stirred so.  They showed signs of growing into hot headedness, and expressing open anti-Clarion sentiments would do them no favors.  “Still, we grin, and bear life’s troubles – one can only do so much, and those who will not listen, will not be persuaded.”

Laurel walked up then, and looked a bit flustered.  “I must…thank you…for bringing that issue to my attention,” he said with some annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” Renae said, somewhat disingenuously.  “The boy’s trouble – I’m not keen on saddling the new Matron down here with that kind of fuss, but there is no question he is gifted.”

“No,” Laurel said shaking his head. “I don’t think that would do at all well, another year or two, and he’ll be running amok with any young girl who will give him the time of day.  No sense making that easier.”

“Indeed,” Renae said, “though perhaps it would rub off some of the rough edges.”

“I’ve told his grandfather I will speak to Daven personally.  I’ve already two apprentices of my own after all,” Laurel said looking to the twins.  “I’ve no wish for a third, and a troublemaker at that.  Given he’s already whipping up little dust devils on his own, with no training, I suspect he’ll turn a proper enchanter’s education into passable combat magic, and run off with a caravan in a few years.  It’s unfortunate the only druids that are easy to get ahold of are so far away, his talent seems suited to their practices.”

“I suspect you are right,” Renae said thoughtfully.  “I rather think the boy would do better with us, than Daven though.  I believe your predictions of his fate down that road are quite right, that’s a dangerous life to doom him to.”

“He might take to the discipline, and stick around.  It would be his choice of course, in the end,” Laurel said somewhat absently.  “Still, if you wish to convince the new Matron to take the boy on, it’s little difference to me.  It would keep him closer to his mother.  I’ve made my promise to speak on his behalf – then perhaps he will have options.  Though given the option, I haven’t much doubt what he will choose.”

Katrisha looked back, and forth between the two adults.  “You said mother, and grandfather,” she said curiously.

“Hasn’t he a father, why can none of them teach him?” Kiannae chimed in.

Laurel winced.  “His father, by all reasonable accounts was a caravan mage who passed through this town once.  He’s not been back.”

“How awful,” Katrisha frowned.

“If he’s got his father’s sense, he might be better off in a Cloister,” Laurel sighed.  “He’ll be less likely to cause a girl trouble that way.”

“What do you mean?” Kiannae asked.

Laurel looked to be half way through formulating a dodge for that question, when Mercu sauntered up, flowers in hand.  This seemed to distract him thoroughly.  “I bring a gift, dear lady,” Mercu said with a bow.

Renae didn’t seem quite sure what to do, and finally relented to reach out, and take the flowers.  “Aren’t these the one’s the shopkeeper had on the counter?” she asked.

“The same,” Mercu admitted.

“I have no where to put them,” Renae laughed.  “What ever were you thinking?”

“Of that darling perplexed look on your face, of course,” Mercu said with an impish grin.  “Yet far be it from me to make the lady carry the load.  I shall hold them for you until such time as we can find a place to set them properly.”  He held out his hand again, and took the flowers back, then proceeded to loop his arm with Renae’s.  “Off then we go, on a grand quest for a table!”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

The Inn in Aldermor sat directly on the cliff face, and it’s dining hall protruded in an arc such that windows faced both west, and east down the valley.  It gave a lovely view of the sunset down the vale to the west, and surely did as well for sunrise.  The three siblings sat side by side, with Katrisha in the middle.  Wren was half asleep on her arm.  His energy had proved no match for his sisters’ as they explored the old ruins.  Though part of Wren’s exhaustion was owed to the fact he had sprained his ankle quite badly, and healed it himself.  Renae had found out anyway, and scold him for being reckless.

Laurel would likely have received most of the scolding, had Renae learned that in her absence the children had been allowed to run completely free.  Even without having attracted Renae’s ire, Laurel seemed a bit distant, and reserved as the company sat around the table for dinner.  The twins for their part were also tired enough to not enquire where Renae and Mercu had been most of the afternoon.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mercu said idly – setting his fork aside.  “This gifted boy,” he continued, “what are the odds of him having this gift, when his mother did not?”

“Little less than half,” Laurel said absently.  “Statistically speaking of course.  Maybe as much as ten percent to be as strong as it obviously is.”

“You think maybe the mother has some Sylvish blood in her?” Mercu pondered.

“Not impossible,” Laurel shrugged.  “Though there’s no sign of it.  Even a little might have skewed the odds in his favor.”

“Is that why we are so gifted?” Kiannae asked.

“Cause our father was Sylvan?” Katrisha added.

“Your mother was gifted as well,” Laurel said thoughtfully.  “From what I know of her, your grandmother was a woman of the Lycian Order.  A woman with the gift most often passes it to her children.”

“But not the father?” Katrisha asked curiously.

“Correct,” Laurel nodded.  “Both parents contribute to the gift of their children, but conventional wisdom says the mother has the strongest influence on the presence of the gift, while the father has slightly more influence over the strength.  Still there are no guarantees.  True emergent gifts occur, even strong ones from no appreciable linage.”

“Do gifted parents ever have ungifted children?” Kiannae asked.

“No,” Laurel answered.  “If both have the gift it can diminish, but not disappear between generations.  That is why most Royal lines still have traces of the gift, since the most adequately prepared individuals at the time of the Council’s founding were gifted.  The Council wished to avoid returning to the cycle of mage kings, so they picked those with the best mixture of education, even temper, and where possible weaker gifts.”

“Why didn’t they want gifted people to rule?” Katrisha frowned.

“It seems kind of silly.  Wouldn’t the strongest mages make the best kings, and queens?” Kiannae added.

“That was the belief for a very long time,” Mercu interjected.  “Yet ruling a kingdom doesn’t require magic.  It wasn’t just rulership that the gifted people were pulled out of either, they were also removed from the armies.  The Dragon War carried a terrible price – so many mage lines were decimated, so many of the strongest, and most gifted lost – three fifths some say, others claim it was more.”

“So the Council decided,” Laurel said with a nod, “to pull together the surviving mage lines, to help rebuild our numbers.”

“And to discourage them from starting wars, by taking them out of the seats of power,” Mercu added.  “After all – mages have power enough to begin with.  Make one a King, and it’ll go to their head.”

“As if it wouldn’t go to your head,” Laurel shot back.

“What can I say,” Mercu laughed, “I’m a passionate sort.”

Laurel rolled his eyes, and glanced at Renae, who had seemed uneasy for some time, and was staring out the windows at the sunset.  She seemed not to want to make any eye contact, and stopped eating.  

“We are what we are,” Laurel said with a sigh – and picked at his plate.  “I don’t think the council is wrong in their stance,” he continued, shifting his tone.  “Nor do I think they are right.  Perhaps it’s a prudent precaution, but those few kingdoms who slipped through the cracks and are still ruled by minor mages…they aren’t causing any more trouble than the rest.”

“I hear the prince of Western Palentine is something of a nuisance,” Mercu retorted.

“Only to his cousin in the East,” Laurel laughed, “and that’s more of a Clarion-Lycian squabble than a magely one.  Also, far more political, than volatile.  Palentine is almost obnoxiously stable.  They bluster, and fuss openly, but behind the scenes things are quite tame.”

“True,” Mercu nodded thoughtfully.  “I suppose the bigger problem is a lack of rules regarding Paladin Kings.”

Laurel simply huffed with amusement.

“Excuse me,” Renae said, and looked as though she was about to get up.

Mercu caught her hand gently.  “Are you alright, dear Lady?”  He glanced at her plate.  “You have hardly eaten.”

“You are kind to worry.  Thank you, just things on my mind.  So much to do.”

“Have we somehow offended?”  Mercu pressed.

“Oh – no, not at all.  The company is charming, as always – if anything I feel I may have caused some.  Regardless, I will be honest that I am stuck upon something I cannot decide if I would rather remember, or forget.”

“Then unless you are truly feeling unwell, perhaps remain for the distraction?  Further if you are working yourself hard, you really should eat.”

Renae glanced at Laurel, the twins, and Wren.  “Perhaps you are right.  I do apologise if I am not talkative.”

“I assure you dear Lady, I can talk for two,” Mercu offered whimsically.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Coria 6th, 644 E.R.

Breakfast brought the same view in reverse as dinner had the previous evening, with the sun shining down the valley from the east.  Wren was more awake that morning, while his sisters were the drowsiest ones at the table, with their heads lain on their arms over the table as they waited for food to arrive.

“Will I be joining you on your trip?” Wren asked as Laurel arrived late to the gathering.

“I am told that is the plan,” Laurel nodded, and rolled his head to the side, stretching his neck.  “I’ve no objections of course – you should have more time with your sisters.”

Katrisha perked up at this news.  “Wren’s coming with us?”

“Yes,” Mercu answered.  “I figured he could use a chance to see more of Avrale – so I arranged for Renae to bring him along on her trip here, and spent a good deal of time convincing her to let him join us.”

Renae laughed, and sipped at her cranberry juice.  “As if you worked so hard.”

“Enjoying one’s tasks does not make them a lack of work,” Mercu shot back, “it is rather the satisfaction of a job well done, that makes enjoying the work all the more pleasurable.”

“Well,” Renae smirked, “you did do quite well.”

“Must you two?” Laurel said rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Renae looked away, a bit embarrassed, but Mercu for his part casually shrugged.  The contrary illusion as to which of the two seemed the elder was for the moment exaggerated.  Any question as to the meaning of the exchange from the half awake children was cut off, as food arrived.

“You at least seem in better spirits this morning,” Mercu offered.

“I am, I thank you for encouraging me to stay for dinner last night.  Melancholy can become quite treacherous at my age.  Truly, I do not know what I was thinking trying to leave, there is more comfort at this table for what ails me.  I lost my daughter so long ago…and never got the chance to know my granddaughter.”

“I did not know you had a child,” Laurel commented, “or had lost her.  My condolences.”  That word seemed to make Renae cringe a bit.

“It was well before I met either of you.  She was a young woman before I first wandered from Avrale.  Neither I, nor my mother could keep her at the Cloister.  I have always thought at heart she wanted to be a mage, though I was the one who wandered afar in her absence.  When I returned both my mother, and daughter had passed, and my son in law wanted no part of me for his child.”

“That does sound a rough lot,” Mercu offered kindly.

“Were it not for Adria I would have felt entirely alone in the world.”

“Do forgive me if I am impertinent, but it was not a Clarion mater, was it?”  Mercu asked.  “I wonder only because such squabbles – and they are not always so gentle – were the subject when you thought to leave last night.”

“No – no, nothing quite so…” Renae sighed.  “You are not impertinent, I will assure you, but no I would rather not speak of it.”

“Forgive me then,” Mercu offered.

“If there is anything to forgive, it is on my part.  Let us eat,” Renae said with soft smile, only slightly forced.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Wesrook was not the largest city of Avrale, only the third.  Yet approaching it from the east, through the vineyards of the Serpent’s Spine, one could be forgiven for mistaking it for the largest city in all the western kingdoms.  The castle, and proud tower from which the city took its name sat on a bluff above a sheltered bay.  It brought commerce in from the island of Carth to the west, Osyrae and the free cities to the north, and from so far south as Napir.

Wesrook was rich, it was sprawling, and one could hear the clamor of the city in the day, all the way up in the high hills.  The view from the high road was like looking at a living map, the winding streets, and clustered buildings laid out below in an intricate web.  The impression lingered as well, as the road wound back and forth, a half mile at a time, to descend over five hundred feet to the city below.  It was a reminder – if the endless foothills that framed the valleys of the kingdom were not enough – that Avrale was built within a mountain range.

Far off in the distance, across a narrow straight, great hills could be seen to rise out of the mists, with a volcanic crater smoldering at the island’s north end.  This was the farthest vantage point visible from any of the roads of the old empire.  The distant mists of Carth, as seen from the high road were the things of famous poetry, and paintings.  One of which the twins had seen before, though neither could recall precisely where in the castle it hung.  It depicted the great eruption of the northern peak over a hundred years prior.

As the coach came lower, closer to the level of the city it became more evident that the tower of Wesrook was not its only prominence.  A great gleaming spire rose near the center of the city, much taller than even the highest mansions around it.  The structure did not seem to be stone, or even metal – there was only one thing that immediately came to mind from the way it glimmered – glass.

The coach would have been quite cramped, had all its occupants been fully grown.  Yet as most were young children, six sat in relative comfort, though Mercu found himself inclined to favor being pressed up against Laurel, giving the slightly gloomy boy to his right a wide berth.

As the twins pointed, and demanded to know what the tower was, Mercu explained.  “That is Daven’s Flame – home of the enchanter Daven, perhaps the greatest of his craft alive today.  He was once the Arch Enchanter of the Council in Mordove, and one of the richest men of the east.”

“Why does he live here now?” Kiannae asked.

“They say he fell in love with a woman of Carth, Caladine I believe she called herself,” Mercu said sagely, “a trader of magical wares that had traveled far, and wide, in spite of her young age.  This enchantress he believed far better than the station in life she happily maintained, and he proposed to her.  Something of a scandal really.”

“Did they marry, and move here to be closer to her home?” Katrisha asked.

“The story goes that Daven’s love would not stay in Mordove, and he, an important man, would not leave,” Mercu mused somberly.  “Years past before Caladine came again to Mordove, and wounded as his pride was, Daven proposed again, but again she left.”

“So he followed?” Wren asked curiously.

“Not at first, no,” Mercu said.  “Daven was a proud man, but pride comes before every fall.  Eventually his heart brought him here, to seek the woman he loved.  He renounced his seat on the Council, sold his holdings in the east, and came to a foreign land – with no more than a hope.  I won’t say he wasn’t a fool, for love makes fools of us all.  The woman he sought was a wanderer, and it was years before she returned to Wesrook, on her way home.  Daven had settled in well to the city by then, being little worse for wear in riches, or prestige.”

“She said no again, didn’t she?” Katrisha sighed.

“Well,” Mercu laughed, “not precisely.  It’s a bit much for even me to believe, but the stories say that she told him if he truly loved her, that he need not follow.  That if his love shone as brightly as he claimed, she would see it from the shores of Carth itself.”

“Difficult woman,” Laurel laughed.

“Well,” Mercu mused, “undoubtedly, but it would seem that Daven was as stubborn.  It took a few years as I’ve heard it, before inspiration struck him, one night as he watched a light house up the coast.  First he had a tall tower built upon the corner of his mansion in the city.  This alone was a grandiose act that drew much attention, but he had an exterior frame work fashioned around the tower, which caused even more perplexed rumors.  Lastly loads, literally tons of sand were delivered, and he cast out all the workers, and all his servants.”

No one seemed to have anything to say, and Mercu smiled.  “They say it happened in one night, that the crazy fool did it all himself.  He used magic to forge the sand into pristine, perfect sheets of glass, and set them into to the framework of the tower.  In the morning the people gathered around, and looked up at the new gleaming spire in the midst of their city.  In the evening it shone brilliantly in the setting sun, like a frozen flame.  Days passed, then weeks, then at last a well adorned ship flying the colors of Carth came into port.”

“You see,” Mercu laughed, “the woman Caladine, was not just an enchanter.  Caladine was not even her real name, she was Cadinae, a Princess of Carth.  She was the youngest of her father’s children, too far from the throne to be a real heir.  She had run away when she had been only fifteen, seen the world, crafted her wares, had many lovers.  A few she favored above the rest.  Only one had followed, only one had finally done something to impress her.”

Mercu paused, enjoyed the silence, and then shrugged.  “That’s the story, and by all accounts it is at least mostly true.  She married the man who build the glass tower over Wesrook.  Though she had gotten on in years by then, her gift was strong, and she was still fertile enough to bare him one son, and a daughter.  They live up there, in the tower he built, to this very day.”

“You have at least one thing wrong,” Charles said smugly.

“How would you know?” Katrisha said crossly.

“Because I know Daven,” Charles retorted.  “He has done a great deal of work for my mother, and she has been to the royal palace on Carth.  She told him once that you could see his “flame” all the way from there, and he told her that he knew, he had meant for it to be visible from the palace.”

“How did he know?” Mercu asked curiously.

Charles pondered for a bit.  “He’d been a man of some importance in Mordove, as you say.  When a man was caught harassing his…companion of the time, he interrogated him personally.  The man was an agent of her father, who had tracked her all the way to Mordove.  That was when she left the first time.”

“What a lovely bit of intrigue to the story,” Mercu laughed.  “I’ll have to remember that.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Upon entry, the city of Wesrook was not as clean as it appeared from afar – though it was evident that great efforts were made, as evidenced by men sweeping the streets.  One wondered readily if it was truly a complete exercise in futility, or how much dingier things would be without their diligent work.  

The three siblings were struck quite thoroughly by deep lustrous bronze skin of the occasional northerner they passed along the way, and almost as surprised by the remarkable pale complexion of those from the far south.  Foreign dignitaries were not entirely uncommon at Broken Hill, but none had come from Osyrae, or Napir in the time the twins had resided there.  

One man in fine clothing sat on a bench by the roadside, feeding pigeons.  His skin was nearly pitch black, a sight even Mercu seemed struck by.  After they had passed Mercu explained that the man was surely from the Northern Wastes, and that he had rarely seen one of such pure blood so far south.

Laurel added that peoples of northern climates tended to have darker skin, to endure the sun which did not wane in the winter months.  Further that the pale skin of people from Napir was believed to give them some advantage against the long cold nights of their winters.

A fountain square dominated the middle of of the town, directly beneath the gleaming spire of Daven’s Flame that had begun to shimmer orange in the evening sun.  They had passed inns, both questionable, and fine, but had not stopped at any.  The twins had begun to wonder exactly where they were going, and Wren had simply drifted off on Katrisha’s shoulder after a long day’s ride.

As the coach turned north again, Kiannae was about to ask when Mercu answered the question out of hand.  “We will be staying at Wesrook Castle,” he said with a smile, “I am told we will be expected.”

Charles had known his destination from the beginning, and suspected that the others would be coming.  He was none the less displeased at the final confirmation.  “Mother does love to host guests,” he offered masking his feelings on the matter as best he could.

“The Lady of Wesrook is a lovely woman,” Mercu laughed.  “I wish she would visit Broken Hill more often, but something it seems keeps her away.”

Charles glared at Mercu, but said nothing.  Mercu simply shrugged the accusatory stare off, and continued.  “I’ve never had the privilege of staying in Wesrook tower before, I hear the view is quite stunning.”

“We live in a tower back home,” Kiannae stated dubiously.

“What’s the difference?” Katrisha asked.

“The ocean,” Charles answered before Mercu could.

“It’s not strictly speaking the ocean,” Mercu noted.  “Though close enough.  Waves still crash against the rocks below the tower.”

“I thought you hadn’t been,” Kiannae protested.

“I’ve been through Wesrook several times in my travels,” Mercu defended himself.  “And I’ve slept in ear shot of the ocean many times.  The waves here are muted some by Carth blocking the full fury of the sea, but they should still crash quite pleasantly to the shore beneath the cliff – from what I’ve seen passing through before.”

“It is one of the things I miss back home,” Charles said, “the sound of the ocean at night.”

 < Previous || Next >

Chapter 10

The twine once unwound,
shall again be re-bound,
and from the least of these,
shall come the greatest to be,
all things move both ways,
just as in those ancient days,
that which once has passed,
shall come again at last,
and order’s brightest day,
shall in deepest night decay.

– Book of Entropy, circa 30 B.E.

Shifting Threads

Rhaeus 40th, 641 E.R.

Wren glanced nervously around a large room as he entered.  He had never been inside one of the classrooms, and didn’t really know the nine older children that surrounded him.  There was a glimmer of mutual recognition with a girl sitting by the door.  After a moment the girl waved Wren over, and seemed to be searching for his name.  “Wren, isn’t it?” she finally asked.

“Yes,” Wren said awkwardly.

“Come sit by me,” the girl offered, sliding over on her bench to make room.

“Leave him be sister,” Andrew said, glancing back from the next row, “can’t you tell he’s in the wrong class.  No one that young is here.”

Wren hesitantly climbed up onto the bench, and continued to look around the class.

“I’m Audry,” the girl said after a moment, “I don’t know if you remember me.”

“I do,” Wren said quietly.  “You arrived last year with your mother, and brother.  You had been traveling with a caravan.”

A girl about a year older than Wren, but still clearly younger than the rest of the class entered, and looked around with an even more meek demeanor than Wren had entered with.

“What’s with all the lost kids today,”  Andrew grumbled.  “Where is Sister Charis to send them to the right room?”

“I’m supposed to be here,” the girl said defensively.  “I was just moved up a class yesterday.”

“Scoot over Wren,” Audry said quietly, sliding further down the bench herself.  “Come sit with us,” she said waving the girl over.

The girl climbed onto the bench next to Wren, and looked over at him.  “Hi, I’m Celia.  Have you been moved up a class too, I don’t remember seeing you…”

“No,” Wren said hesitantly, “I was just placed this morning.”

“Have you been traveling with your mother?” Celia asked.

“No,” Wren said uncomfortably, “…mother has just been teaching me.”

“Oh,” Celia said, “is your mother one of the instructors?”

“No,” Wren frowned, “my mother…” he paused, “is Rennae.”

“I had heard the Matron had an adopted son,” Audry said sizing up her new classmate again.

“So your real mother is…” Celia started to ask but thought better of it.

“Dead,” Wren said tersely, and looked away just as the instructor entered the class.

“Two younger students are joining us today,” the woman said.  “For their benefit I am Sister Charis,” the woman said looking about the class, and settling her gaze on Wren and Celia.  “Would you two stand and introduce yourselves?”

Celia looked to Wren, and then slowly stood first.  “I am Celia Adesia, daughter of Renoa,” she said nervously, looked around at the other students in the class, and then quickly sat back down.

Wren got up onto the bench he was sitting on, and looked around at all the faces already turned his way.  “I am Wren Ashton, son of Meliae,” he said with some determination, “it’s nice to meet you all.”  He looked around again, sat down quickly, and slowly sunk out of view.

Charis pulled a book out from under her arm, and set it between Wren and Celia.  “You two will be sharing, I assume you know your basics since you have been placed in this class.   Everyone, please turn to page three ten.”

There was a shuffling of pages, and as it slowly came to a stop Charis looked back and forth between her new students for a moment.  “Sister Celia, would you read the first line please?” she said in a very proper tone.

“Emp…eror Corin…th was not born to any of the royal lines, of the late age of Kings,” Celia started shakily, “but to a com…an woman often recor…ded as a…har…lot.”

“Very good,” Charis said, and turned to Wren.  “Brother Wren, please continue,” she said softly, mindful of the fact that the small boy had sunk all but completely out of view behind the table.

Wren slowly pushed himself up, and got into a position where he could see the book, and search for the next line.  “Though…” he started nervously, “though…” he repeated, “his lin…e…lineage is not known for cer…certain, his mo…ther even…tually married a prom…promi…promi..nent…” Wren gave up and sank back into his seat.

Charis sighed, and moved on, her gaze fixing on Andrew whose expression did not suit her.  “Brother Andrew,” she said firmly, “please continue for us, would you?”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 19th, 641 E.R.

“Some mistakenly think it proper to attach ‘Protectorate of the Storm Queen’ to the name of the land Napir.  This however both ignorant, and incorrect.  Napir itself means Protected.  Properly Napir Ami, Protected [by] Storm would be the correct form,” Wren read aloud, and set the book aside with a sigh.

“I don’t see why you stutter so in class,” Audrey offered, her head leaned back against the window, listening to the rain.

“Is easier when it’s just you two,” Wren protested.

Celia reached over from her spot on the floor, and grabbed the book.  She flipped through the pages curiously till she found where Wren had left off.  She only read to herself though.

“Huh,” she said after a moment.  “Napir is one of very few lands that maintains its own language, though its use has begun to wain in larger cities.  It says here the suffixes that dragons take are words in Namin, the proper name for the language.  Except black dragons, who took the tradition as well, but use allusions to ancient Osyraen instead.  Hmm, what’s iron…y mean?”

“How is it used?” Wren asked.

“Etten, for instance, with some ’irony’ is derived from a word meaning ‘loyal.’”

“I think it means…contrary,” Wren offered.

“Oh I remember now,” Celia said with a spark of realization.  “The Green Matron’s mate, Mar’etten.  Yes, that would be contrary I suppose, and here it is in the footnote.  Yes.”

“You could have just read the whole bit aloud to practice you know,” Audrey chided.

“I think there will be plenty of time for that, it’s been raining for days,” Celia cut back.  “I will gladly have garden duty for a week just to be outside the cloister for five minutes without getting soaked.”

“The Court Mage says the high winds are shifting again,” Wren offered.  “He doesn’t think this position is sustainable, and perhaps it will finally snap back to its normal northern flow, ending the drought.”

“You always come back with the strangest things to say after you visit your sisters,” Audrey said, and gave Wren a funny look.

“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Celia protested. “I’d rather be learning about,” she struggled for a moment trying to remember the right words, “atmospheric phenomena, than all this old, dry history.”

“If the north was half as dry as these text books, no amount of rain would ever end the drought,” Audrey offered with a smirk, and closed her eyes again.

Celia reached over, grabbed a pillow and threw it at Audrey who caught it without even opening her eyes, wedged it behind her neck, and settled in more comfortably against the window.  “You may continue reading, Sister Celia,” she said in officious tone that sounded nothing like Charis, but clearly was meant to.

“You are terrible,” Celia chided, but was noticeably trying not to laugh.

“Terribly bored,” Audrey corrected.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Laeur 13th, 642 E.R.

“Assessment?” an older woman asked leaning over Wren.  His hands were just above the forearm of an older man.  He was so deeply wrinkled with age that if he had any appreciable gift he would have to be close to the end of his second century.  Giftless as he obviously was on examination, he was only likely about ninety.  He was also in a deep peaceful sleep.

It felt mostly like fire, tingly, uncomfortable, almost itchy.  The result of various inflammation, and irritation through the man’s arms.  “Arthritis, in most joints,” Wren said.  “Inflammation of the tendons in the right arm.  The nerves of the arm are sickly for some reason as well, Sister Seline.”

Selene did her own cursory pass.  “Very good,” she said.

“Wait,” Wren said.  He shifted down the man’s body, and hovered searchingly over his thigh.  “I’ve felt this before, at Broken Hill, when there was an accident.  My mother said to mention if I ever felt it again.”

Selene followed the boy, and focused a long moment.  “Oh dear,” she said.  “A a deep vein thrombosis, nasty little thing.  You felt that all the way up at his arms?”

“Yes,” Wren answered awkwardly.  “Or well, I felt something was wrong, anyway.”

“Everyone else gather around.”

The ten other students, including Audry, and Celia all gathered around Wren’s patient.  The mismatch of a six year old caring for the ancient man was all the more strange as the range of students gathered.  Wren and Celia were by far the smallest, and youngest.  Audry even was clearly a bit younger than most, nine, ten, even a twelve year old.

“Everyone, one at a time, very carefully, extend your senses in here, just behind the bone of the upper thigh,” Selene said, indicating the location.

The students did one at a time.

“This is a deep vein thrombosis, a clot in a major arterial vein.  They are very dangerous, because they can break loose, and wedge elsewhere in the circulatory system.  They are also hard to detect,” Selene lectured, as the last student finished their cursory examination.  “Now, pay close attention,” she said, and moved back into position herself.  “The clot must be carefully dissolved from the free edge, towards its attachment point.”

Everyone tried, at least at first to follow what she was doing.  Roughly half could not.  It was reduced to nothing more than a fine grain of platelets, until the vein surface itself could be soothed, and healed.  “This here,” she indicated, “while not the root cause, is part of the underlying problem.  This is where the clot began to form.  By smoothing, and making the vein more youthful we will reduce the chance of recurrence for many years.  You did very good finding this Wren,” Selene added encouragingly.

“What about the nerves in his arm,” Wren asked.

“Yes,” Selene nodded.  “Another reason I called everyone over.”  She moved back up the man’s body.  “The symptom if you would all care to examine, is largely here, here, and here.”  She indicated areas of the forearm, and elbow.  Everyone did a cursory pass, more than a few cringed slightly at what they felt.

“What’s wrong with him?” Audry asked uncomfortably.

“I’m sure he has mistaken it for more of his arthritis, but it’s not,” Selene nodded, and moved up to his shoulder.  “Here, under his clavicle, I want you to all examine it, and then someone tell me what they think they feel.”

Everyone took a turn, all with a mixture of expression on their face.  Wren saw it almost immediately, but when he saw Audry tilt her head, and seem thoughtful, he decided he would stay quiet when the instructor asked.

“Well, anyone?” Selene asked.

Audry glanced at Wren, and Wren justs nodded back at her.  She pursed her lips, uncomfortable being the first one to offer an observation.  She sighed.  “I think the nerve is pinched,” she said.

“Elaborate,” Selene pressed.

“Between the rib, and collarbone,” Audry said.

“Proper term,” Selene chided lightly.

“Clavicle,” Audry corrected herself.

“Very good,” Selene nodded.  “Very good indeed.  The problems here are two fold.  One is through repetitive use.  This man is a weaver by trade, poor posture from age, and bad habits hunched over his loom have contributed to the problem, also repeated motions.  This alone however was not the full cause.  Some of the problem is congenital, the bone is thicker here than it should be.  This was not a problem till the muscles that should be holding it up atrophied from posture.  Dealing with the bone will be a slow, detailed process, but we can begin restoring the atrophied muscle.”

“Observe,” she said, and began feeding energy into the muscle, encouraging it to pull the shoulder back, and the collarbone up.  “There, now to heal the underlying injury.”  She restored the long impinged nerve, and moved down the arm restoring life to the rest of it.  She then returned to the shoulder.  “Normally we try to avoid pain in those we heal,” she said, again lecturing.  “Pain however does serve a purpose, it encourages us not to do things that hurt us.  I will now grow a sensory nerve here,” she indicated the point of impingement.  “It will not hurt him much, but if he assumes a posture that exaggerates his condition it will give him a twinge of warning.  Since normally this part of the nerve has no sensation.”

A small cluster of nerve growth formed off the main nerve branch.  “This will also encourage him to return, and give us the time to properly adjust the bone, at which point this will no longer bother him.”  She rolled her soldiers, and her neck.  “Ah hypocrisy, I’ve been slouching myself.  Everyone, back to your own patients.  Wren, you may begin treating the arthritis.  Wait, Audry, may I speak with you.”

Audry returned to the instructor, worried she had done something wrong.

“Where is your broth?” Selene asked.

“I don’t know,” Audry said uncomfortably.  “He was being very cranky this morning.”

“Could you have your mother come talk to me, he’s making habit of this.”

“Of course,” Audry said, and with a nod from Selene returned to her own patient.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Vhalun 27th, 642 E.R.

Sister Charis walked slowly down the aisle, looking back and forth at the students following along in their shared textbooks.  “Lady Adria, was crowned Queen of Lycia in the year two B.E,” she said stopping at the second to last row.  She leaned over the table, and knocked hard right next to Andrew who shot upright from having drifted off.  “If you please Brother Andrew, read the next line.”

Andrew looked at the page before him hesitantly, and started to sound it out “Lady Ad…ria, was, cr…owned…”

“That was the previous line,” Charis sighed, “If you ever wish to be assigned to something other than maintenance duties, I recommend you pay more attention.”

“What do we need this for, our gifts are what matter,” he said obstinately.

“And I have not heard particularly astounding things about your healing studies either,” Charis chided him.  “Very well, how about you Brother Wren?”

“Ye…yes,” Wren stammered, and found the line in the book he was sharing with Celia and Audry. “Corinth was granted the title of Imperator, supreme commander of Lycia’s armies, and struck back against his homeland.  The two year campaign ended with the legendary siege of Tar…sis, and saw Imperator Corinth installed as regent, after King Dar…mon’s defeat before the gates.”

“Very good,” Charis said with a smile, “six months ago when you joined our class I had my concerns that you had been misplaced, but your progress is exceptional.  I can only hope others,” she stressed with a sidelong glance, “take after you.”

Andrew shot Wren a dirty look as Charis slowly walked back towards the head of the class.  “Now seems as good a time as any to break for lunch, those who wish may read on.  Extra marks will be given for those who can read aloud an entire paragraph this afternoon without stuttering.”

Audry placed the ribbon on the page where the class had stopped, and closed the book as Wren and Celia got up to leave.  Audry moved to follow, but her brother stopped next to her.  “Have lunch with me, and Lena today,” he said in a demanding tone.

“I was going to eat with Wren and Celia in the courtyard,” Audry protested.

“You do that every day,” Andrew countered.

“It’s ok,” Celia said, “there’s always tomorrow.”

“Ok,” Audry said with a frown.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Vhalun 31st, 642 E.R.

Wren considered the intricate web of string wrapped around Celia’s fingers.  “I don’t know which ones to take next,” he said with obvious frustration.

“Let’s start over,” Celia said untangling the string, “you go first this time, and then at this step I’ll show you.”

Wren turned as he saw Audry out of the corner of his eye.  She was at the far end of the court yard, arguing with her brother rather animatedly.  She suddenly pushed him, and stomped off towards where Wren and Celia sat.

“What was that about?” Wren asked curiously.

“Just my brother being stupid,” Audry growled.

“What about?” Celia asked.

“He…” Audry trailed off.  “No, nothing.  He’s just stupid.”

Andrew walked up on the three and sneered at Wren pointedly.  “Fine, stay close to the smart little soul eater,” he growled turning to his sister.  “Maybe he’ll eat your soul instead of mine.”

Wren cringed, and shrunk away from Andrew, and Celia rested a hand on his shoulder comfortingly..

“Shut up,” Audry yelled at her brother.  “Just because you have nightmares about being hurt by little boys doesn’t mean anything.  Wren is sweet, kind, and innocent.  You are just stupid.”

“Cassandra said to trust dreams, they are a warning,” Andrew muttered as he walked away.

“And mother said not to listen to Cassandra,” Audry yelled after her brother as he left.

“What did he mean soul eater?” Celia asked incredulously.

“Ever since Wren showed him up in class the other day, he’s been angry,” Audry sighed.  “Then he had a couple nightmares.  Heard some rumor from one of the other boys, and now he’s convinced Wren is evil.”  Wren looked away embarrassed, and obviously uncomfortable.  “He’s just stupid,” Audry said and hugged Wren, “you would never hurt a fly.”

“What rumors have they been spreading about Wren?” Celia asked angrily.

“It’s stupid, and not worth repeating,” Audry sighed.

“Tell me,” Celia said, “we all should know, so we can set them right.”

“Like anyone listens to any of us,” Audry frowned.  She gave Celia’s insistent expression a dubious look, but finally relented.  “It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but they say he ate his mother’s soul.”

“That’s horrible,” Celia all but yelled, “who would believe such a thing?”

Wren pulled away from Audry, got up, took a step away from his friends, and dropped to his knees crying.

“I’m sorry,” Audry said moving behind him, and hugged him again.  “I shouldn’t have told you.  It’s so horrible, and stupid, and I hate him.”

Wren sobbed, and tried to pull away again, but Audry wouldn’t let him.

“It’s true,” he finally squeaked between sobs.  “I’ve always known, Renae never told me directly, but I’ve always known.”

“What?” Celia said in disbelief, “you can’t mean that…”

“She gave me everything, to let me live,” Wren whimpered.  “I remember it sometimes, like a bad dream…I can’t wake up from.”

“That’s horrible,” Audry said consolingly, “but that doesn’t make it your fault.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me,” Wren cried.

“You don’t know that,” Celia said kneeling down in front of Wren and looking down at him sweetly.

“I…” Wren started, but looked away.  “I don’t know.”

“She loved you,” Audry said confidently.  “She loved you, and she wanted you to live, that doesn’t make you bad, it makes her good.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Coria 5th, 642 E.R.

Kiannae looked curiously down a side street at the sign for The Grey Lamb as they passed.  Mercu had assured the girls that they would not be back.  It had been over a year since Laurel would allow the girls out of the castle following the events of their last visit.  And even were there any reason to go – which there was not – Mercu had no desire to be scolded at length.

It was a more peaceful day than their last visit.  No caravan in town causing commotion with fresh wares, and weary, wealthy travelers.  Still a fair number of citizens filled the streets of the village, and it was no surprise that a lone old woman along the road side did not catch anyone’s attention.

Katrisha gasped as a wrinkled hand clasped onto her arm.  She turned to face the old woman who held her firmly, and stared at her with vacant glassy eyes.  After a moment of silence the woman spoke in barely more than a hoarse whisper, “The second is born but the first to die, yet over the life and death of stars presides.”

Kiannae turned, noticing her sister was no longer beside her, and took a step back towards the woman who held Katrisha’s arm.  Before she could even demand an explanation the woman turned to her with fire in her eyes, and spoke wildly, “what then of the heir, the Sylvan first born, the one whom a crown shall one day adorn.”

Katrisha pulled her arm away, and backed up not sure what to make of the woman or her strange words.  Her presence was unnerving, it felt almost like a broken mirror reflecting back unidentifiable parts of one’s own impression.

Mercu had noticed the twins were no longer following him, and turned to the scene as the woman all but yelled, “Fear the schemes of the dragon who lies, and a coming age when men wail and cry, dread more the child at the eye of the storm, and for those from which all mortal is torn.”

“That’s enough Cassandra,” Mercu growled as he marched up to them.  “We have no need of your fortune telling, and you won’t be paid for spouting your nonsense in little girl’s ears.  Come girls, move away from the mad old woman.”

“I’ve no need of coin old bard, my days are short, head my words children, you will do great deeds, and meet uncommon ends,” Cassandra spat.

“What was that about?” Kiannae asked as the trio walked on through the square.  She glanced back at the woman still staring after them.

“Just the new resident fortune teller plying her nonsense.” Mercu sighed.  “Pay her no mind.”

“What did she say to you before I came up,” Kiannae asked Katrisha.

“Something about second born and first to die, and stars,” Katrisha said with a touch of nerves.

“Like I said,” Mercu grumbled, “ignore it, odds are it means nothing.   Simply having heard it will changed it, or at the very worst paying it any head will just lead to its fulfillment.“

“How does that work?” Kiannae said obstinately, “you seem to imply it is real, but that it’s also not to be listened to?”

Mercu sighed, and stopped to lean against a shop porch.  “There are a lot of layers to it.  The first of which is that people lie, and if they aren’t lying they are getting things wrong.  Precognition, and prophecy comes from so deep in the subconscious,” he said tapping his head, “that by the time it reaches the surface it’s a garbled mess tied up in preconceptions, fears, and obscured by past memories.”

“So it’s misleading then?” Katrisha asked irritably.

“Even assuming something useful can be wretched from the mess that is the very process, the result is unpredictable, and can either be self defeating, or self fulfilling,” Mercu said running his fingers through his hair.  “Happened to me once.  I was told of the woman I would marry, and that I would be my own undoing.  The first part might have come true, if I hadn’t known, hadn’t behaved too rashly, and so the second part came true…”

“That’s very sad,” Kiannae said soberly.

“It is what it is,” Mercu laughed, “I’m happy now.  I can’t say if I’d be any more happy with her, but I doubt it.  I probably would never have met the two of you, Laurel, or lived here at court.  I think the long and short of it is don’t trust prophecy, and unless it’s very dire, and very specific, ignore it, and certainly don’t dwell upon it.”

“Dyeing is pretty dire,” Katrisha muttered.

“Yes, but we all die, someday,” Mercu laughed uncomfortably, “did she say how?  Did she give you clues, things to watch for, and when to be careful?”

“No,” Katrisha sighed, “except maybe dragons…”

Mercu cracked a crooked smile, “Yes, well, dragons are always something to be careful of.  If you spend every day of your life – and it could be well over a century and a half – worrying about the words of a mad old woman who might be nothing more than that…mad.  What will you have gained?  And what will you have lost?”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Laurel sighed and looked at the two girls before him.  “Mercu has told me of your run in with the fortune teller that’s come to live in the village.  Does what she said still trouble you?”

“No,” Kiannae lied.

“Maybe a little,” Katrisha admitted.

“Maybe a little,” Kiannae recanted.

Laurel shook his head.  “Mercu told me what he told you of prophecy, precognition, and visions of the future in general.  He’s right, every bit of it, prophecy is real.  It is also remarkably useless.  At best it’s like a memory of a dream, a memory of the future, but no less distorted than any other memory in a dream.”

Laurel rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “That all said maybe it will give you all some comfort that I’ve heard that prophecy before, or well, a close enough variation.  It was ‘the child at the eye of the storm’ that caught my attention.”

“How is that supposed to make us feel better?” Katrisha laughed darkly, “doesn’t that make it more meaningful?”

“Well,” Laurel started, and picked up a black book with an elaborate S embossed on the cover.  “The line reads, ‘A woman with hair of purest silver, shall stand at the eye of the coming storm, and from all that is mortal be ever torn.’  I don’t think either of you are in any immediate danger of having silver hair.”  Laurel closed the book for emphasis.

“It only speaks of one at the eye of the storm, the other could be dead,” Katrisha said crossly.

“There are a lot more verses,” Laurel said drumming his fingers on the book, “and by most interpretations the woman at the eye of the storm is interpreted to also be the second born, who is said to be the first to die.  It also contradicts itself at times, some think that the first to die remark should not even be taken literally.  The prophecy most held to refer to the Avatar, referred to his ascension as death.  So as Mercu advised you, and as I have always done – save for the necessity of my early schooling – ignore prophecy, it’s rubbish.”

“Ok,” Katrisha said hesitantly, as Kiannae simply nodded.

Mercu entered behind them, and Laurel shot him a look.  “Please leave girls, I have things to take care of.  You have the rest of the afternoon to yourselves.”

As Katrisha and Kiannae closed the door behind them, Mercu gave Laurel a very shrewd look.  “What’s troubling you?”

“I feel guilty,” Laurel sighed.

“What for?” Mercu asked with some confusion.

“They needed to stop troubling themselves, so I left out a line from a prophecy,” Laurel admitted, “and if they ever chose to look into it, they will catch me in that lie.”

“What did you leave out?” Mercu asked with a worried expression.

“‘A woman with hair of purest silver,’” Laurel started, “that was what I told them, to reassure them, since their hair is black.  It’s probably nothing really, but the next line, the one I didn’t tell them, reads ‘and eyes of truest emerald green.’”

“You don’t think then?” Mercu asked with agitation.

“No, I don’t.  I’ve no interest in prophecy…it’s just,” Laurel trailed off for a moment.  “I’ve had the dream myself, the most prevalent of all supposed prophetic visions.  The woman at the eye of the storm.  I’ve seen her face, it could be either of them, older to be sure, but her hair isn’t grey from age, it’s something else, it shines like polished metal, but flows like satin.”

“Take your own advice dear Laurel,” Mercu laughed darkly, “forget it, ignore it, and move on.”

“If only,” Laurel sighed.  “There is one more thing, troubling enough in itself…” he trailed off.  “I have heard a report just today that a dragon was successfully captured in Osyrae, and is being force marched to the capital.”

“The fools did it?” Mercu said in disbelief.

“I still worry to what end,” Laurel muttered.  “Twice in one day I hear ill tidings pertaining to dragons…”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Coria 8th, 642 E.R.

Jeoffrey pulled his hood tighter.  It was far too warm for his tastes to be wearing such apparel, but crowds had made him nervous since the festivities had begun.  There was a fire in the hearts of the people of the city since word had come.  It had been shouted from the rooftops, criers ran through the streets declaring the great victory.  A dragon, bound by mages, being marched fifty miles on foot from the northern steppes.  The reports he had received from scouts confirmed it, and the sudden lack of pressure on his people to leave the capital told him that the King wanted them to be there, and see.

It had been nearly two weeks since first word of the capture.  Enough time for a message to have reached Avrale discretely, not enough for word to have returned with the same caution.  Jeoffrey was anxious, even though he knew King John would have nothing helpful to offer him.  Still, just contact would have brought him some peace in such unsettling days.

A great silver cage stood a thousand feet beyond the city gates, past the outer slums that lay in the shadow of the capitals ancient walls.  The runes that bound the cage shone with fury that even ungifted eyes could see.  It was all a great show, with one obvious purpose; to inspire the people. It was working.  Shops and merchant stalls were everywhere, and word was that the dragon would arrive soon.

Jeoffrey moved aside as a squabble broke out between two drunks, and noticed a way out of the dense part of the crowd.  The gathered throngs thinned, and his eyes turned down the road.  It was lined with people all the way to the crest of a far rolling hill.  Two days the estimates had claimed the dragon would arrive.  It was then three, and there were whispers the delay had been due to a moment of carelessness, ending in one of the binding mages being bitten in half.

He felt the brush of something, and years on the streets of Osyrae had given him quick hands at that feeling.  He caught a wrist barely.  Small and quick, it almost slipped through his grasp before he could spin to face the wouldbe cutpurse.  His glance was already down, and even then his eyes almost slipped off her as she tried to pull away.  She was a bit smaller than he had even expected, and there was something hard about even getting a look at her.  The crowd bumping into him did not help.

He caught her other hand before she could stab him with the knife she had meant to slit his purse with.  She was very quick, but with both her wrists in his hands he was able to get a good look at her.  Her hair was blood red, purer than his had ever been.  Her eyes no longer evaded his but stared at him with fire, golden as the sunset.  She was about seven, dirty as any urchin, and a beautiful bronze like her countrymen, if just a shade paler.  The eyes froze Jeoffrey, they were eyes he felt like he knew.  Eyes that made him want to cry.

They were not the eyes of a sad waif ready to worm out of being caught.  They were the eyes of one proud, and determined, angry at having failed.  They were eyes that should not have been there, and then a bumbling fool stumbled into Jeoffery.  He lost his grip, and she was gone.  No amount of scanning the forest of legs before him could find her.  He tried to convince himself she had even been there at all, that she had been real.  He had to force himself to believe, even for a moment, what he wished to think he had seen.

There was movement in the crowd, and Jeoffery quickly got to his feet, and turned around towards the distant rolling hill.  He forced himself to look at what was urgent, rather than think of the girl.  She couldn’t have been, and the longer he tried to focus on the matter at hand, the more easily it seemed like she hadn’t – that it had all been a trick of the heart, and his foolish old head.

People at the crest of the far hill suddenly moved back down towards the throngs below, and a flash of black could barely be seen as a wing rose fleetingly, and then descended.  Jeoffrey watched transfixed as a head slowly came into view, then wings, and a body, all bound with bright blue runes that shimmered, and flashed.  The men about the dragon that held it were mere specks in the distance, but the great lumbering beast was clearly defined.

It was closer than Jeoffrey had ever been to a dragon.  He had seen a few in the past, in the distance, on a high hill, or up in the sky.  It was still closer than he really wished to be.  Those other dragons he had been told were greater dragons, intelligent, many times more deadly, but less likely to strike on a whim.  This beast being force marched to the capital was a wild animal, a furious monster bound only by the skill of a few dozen powerful mages.

The entire process was hard to fathom – the dragon was like a great marionette, that defied its puppeteers with every step.  The throngs along the road spread like a great wave, wisely moving from the dragon’s path, with only a few brave stragglers who let themselves get close.  It took over an hour for the dragon to be marched up the hill, and as it approached the cage it flailed, and roared more furiously before finally being forced in.

Jeoffrey struggled through the procession to maintain a vantage point from which he could see, but did not mind at all if that point was very far from the action.  As soon as the cage was closed upon the dragon, it was released from the bindings, and threw itself wildly against the enclosure, roaring, and shrieking in pain from the impacts.  Ten minutes of this persisted before the silent crowd, which backed ever farther from the enclosure.  Slowly as the dragon grew weary, the crowd’s murmur began to transcend the creatures groans and great labored breaths, until at last the massive beast collapsed in exhaustion, and the crowd burst into a thunderous roar.

A strange sympathy rose up in Jeoffrey for the deadliest of all creatures.  This wild beast, this monster that dwarfed any man had been subdued by the mages of Osyrae, and the message was as clear to him as to the people.  The dragon was the world, and the world would fall just the same, kicking, screaming, and groaning to the bitter end, but in the end defeated.  He almost forgot the girl, almost, but not quite.  Her eyes had made that impossible.

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Chapter 9

Good traveler hear,
words for the wise,
and journey in numbers,
if you value your lives,

for along all the roads,
more and less traveled,
stand hills ‘n groves,
that harbor deep shadow,

and from these places,
convenient ‘n obscure,
may spring bandits, dragons,
or beasts yet unheard.

– old caravan rhyme, circa 350 E.R.

Sisters of the Road

Vhalun 37th, 641 E.R.

Mercu watched Katrisha and Kiannae entertain themselves, and one another alternately.  The two girls rarely did the same thing at once any more, opting instead to show off for their mutual amusement, and often Mercu’s.  He pondered how much the two had grown in four years.

Katrisha for her part had become very fond of a trick to make small orbs of light attract each other, and further take less effort to touch and grab hold of.  Before her danced a half dozen or so such orbs of varied size and color.  The largest hovered stationary, as the others zipped around it, and each other in intricate arcs, and spirals.  Ever so often she would nudge, slow, or grab one to radically alter its trajectory.

Mercu had seen Laurel do similar things over the years, but his more prosaic displays were generally meant to match the exact behavior of real astronomical bodies.  Katrisha’s displays were often more intriguing for their playful artistry, and unusual eccentric orbits.  Even if this chaos and experimentation frequently lead to strays flying off through walls, and needing to be remade by their disgruntled mistress.

Though Kiannae had at times done the same, she was more fond of making swirling twisting patterns of light in the air.  Mercu had tried without much success to convince her to express her intricate forms with paint, or charcoal.  The results however, even barring the obvious disadvantage of not being luminescent, three dimensional forms, further lacked the same precision and grace.  She seemed over all uninterested in spending the time to learn the coordination it would take to match what she could do by intent alone.

A stray orb careened out of its previous tight orbit, and through a flowery display of intricately twined light, causing a momentary explosion of brilliant swirls.  Mercu braced himself for Kiannae to be very cross with her sister, but saw both girls transition from surprise to amusement as the fireworks of the collision evolved, and settled.

“How would you two like to come into the village with me today?” he asked before the two could get too deeply enthralled in their entertainments again.  Both looked to him with expressions of distinct disbelief.

“Really?” Kiannae asked uncertainly.

“You always say we can’t come,” Katrisha added hesitantly.

“This time I asked Laurel very nicely,” Mercu laughed, “and with the utmost of begrudging muttering, he relented to allow you two off the castle grounds.”

With that reassurance the girls bounded from their respective places, and were at Mercu’s side in a heartbeat.  “I will take that as a yes then?” he chuckled.

Both nodded, no longer risking questioning their good fortune.

“I’ve asked for you two to come along so that you can meet my sister, if you don’t mind.”

“You have a sister?” Kiannae asked obviously a bit confused.

“You never mentioned her,” Katrisha added.

“Didn’t I?” Mercu laughed a bit nervously, “lovely woman too, can’t think why.  I’m sure with you two along the odds of her killing me will go down by at least two thirds.”  The girls both looked a bit concerned at Mercu’s jest.  “No really, she wouldn’t hurt me…well ok she definitely wouldn’t kill me, but I fear it’s nothing I haven’t earned in one way or another.”

“Did you make her mad?” Katrisha asked in an almost scolding tone.

“I made her rich,” Mercu said with a knowing smile, “that’s almost worse.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

“Why are we walking?” Katrisha grumbled, and kicked a small rock down the road ahead of her.

“Because it’s good for you,” Mercu answered.

“How much farther?” Kiannae asked.

“Two more miles,” Mercu shrugged.  In truth he had tried to arrange a coach, but too much was going on.  However good he was at getting what he wanted, he was still very low on the ladder compared to official business.  The three mile walk was hardly his first choice, but he would never hear the end of it if he didn’t make the trek.  He began humming to himself absently as they walked on.

“What’s that?” Kiannae asked after a few minutes.

“Hmmm?” Mercu questioned looking to see if she was pointing at something.

“The song,” Katrisha clarified for her sister.

“Oh – just an old Palentine tune,” Mercu said dismissively.  “Gets stuck in my head sometimes.”

“I don’t recognize it,” Kiannae pressed.  “What is it?”

“Let me see if I remember all the words,” Mercu said thoughtfully – then began to sing:

“A minstrel girl to war hath gone,
still plying her bow ‘n strings,
she’s pierced near the hearts,
with arrows as songs,
the minstrel girl of Dawn,

Lost a father for bread,
her mother for scorn,
armed with fiddle ‘fore bow,
long after adored everyone,
that little dear in Dawn,

O’ With sorrow she strung,
ne’re a tear she shed,
each eve her cup was full,
great ‘n small hung their head,
for the songbird proud of Dawn,

Of age she was comely,
and keen of the eye,
come one way or another,
none could pass there by,
great lady come from Dawn,

They crooned of her voice,
the song of her bow,
the curve of her chest,
the grace of her draw,
fair hero born of Dawn.

She’s up on that hill,
where she tarried her days,
‘nother grave there beside,
prince or pauper none say,
who married a girl from Dawn.

So stand all good folk,
as a fierce lass once did,
utter take not another,
cry yet take me instead,
for home, for country, for Dawn.”

“Why doesn’t anyone know who married her?” Katrisha asked, as Mercu trailed off on Dawn.

“No one is really sure if she even existed,” Mercu answered.  “If she did, it was very, very long ago.  Centuries before the Empire at least.  Still there are two graves on the eastern hill above Dawn.  I’ve seen them myself.”

“Don’t they have names?” Kiannae prodded.

“I said very long ago,” Mercu laughed.  “You know the expression, ‘written in stone?’”

“Yes,” Katrisha said incredulously.

“Of course,” Kiannae protested.

“Well what does it mean?” Mercu countered.

“Permanent?” Katrisha offered.

“Even what is written in stone is not forever.”  Mercu shrugged.  “That the locals have kept the hill clear, and the graves from being completely overgrown is a wonder itself.  There’re marks on the gravestones, if you wipe away the moss.  Written in script so old no one knows it, and so eroded by the rain that even if one could read ancient Palentian you couldn’t make a thing of it.  They might as well be a few more scores cut by the rain.”

“If she married a prince wouldn’t there be a record?”  Kiannae countered.

“Oh yes – there probably would have been.  Yet there were so many, and they lived, and died, and castles burned, and lineages were forgotten, and true enough a couple wouldn’t you know it have claimed that it was one of their ancestors the song is about.  Course not a one can prove it.”

“What was the bit about losing her father for bread, and her mother for scorn?” Katrisha asked.

“It’s all sketchy.  The stories say she was the daughter of a common minstrel, very poor save his precious instrument.  He taught her to play, but could not keep food on the table.  He stole some bread to feed her – and wound up dead.”

“Over bread!?” Katrisha said furiously.

“The world is not always fair, or kind,” Mercu answered, and neither girl seemed satisfied.

“What about her mother?”  Kiannae asked.

“Stories vary – not all versions are quite polite.  Some say she blamed her daughter, or herself, went mad, or…well never mind,” Mercu was thoughtful.  “In the end the girl was left alone.  They say her sorrowful playing in the square filled her cup every day.”

“And then she became an archer?” Kiannae asked.

“Yes.  Dawn was always caught in the struggles between ancient Nohlend and Old Palentine.  The stories say – as the closing verse implies – that she volunteered, and became a great archer.  That not only did she offer to serve, but demanded to when first, second, and even trice refused.”

“Why would they refuse her?” Katrisha frowned.

“Because she was a young girl.  They gave her a bow ostensibly to keep her out of trouble.”

“Hmph,” Kiannae protested.

“Oh I quite agree – but that very arrogance helped earn her her fame.  When men were shrinking from the fight, men who thought so little of women, let alone a small girl, she stood up.  She pledged her life to the very people that had cost her her parents.  So there are noble families that squabble to own her legacy a thousand years later.”

“But she was just an archer, not a mage?” Katrisha asked.

“She might have had some gift – who can say.  Great warriors of old often did.  There are more practices than we always remember today.  Back then, in the early Age of Kings a little border town like Dawn would easily have let a gift slip through untrained.  And though great Mage Kings were terrors on the battlefield, they needed armies to counter each other’s.”

“Why is it called Dawn?” Kiannae asked.

“Nothing special – just an eastward port on the North Sea – could have been a hundred places with the name.  That one stuck.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Katrisha had only the vaguest memory of the village from a morning passage years before.  Yet as vague as her memory was she was quite sure it had not been nearly so busy.  As they passed out of the north side of the village proper she realized there had not been so many large enclosed wagons either.  She had heard that the caravan was in town, but while she knew what that meant functionally, she had never put much thought into what it might look like.

Kiannae, who had slept through the village all those years ago was even more overwhelmed by the diversity of sights, sounds, and people.  It was even more daunting than any of the weddings or balls that had been held at court in her time there.

The trio walked up to an enclosed wagon larger than either girl had ever imagined existed, and Mercu waved enthusiastically.  “Harris, my old friend!” he yelled his arms spread wide as he approached a man sifting through various bundled goods.

The man stood up and turned only to be embraced before he could fully recognize his assailant.  “Mer…Mercu?” Harris said questioningly as he pushed Mercu back, and looked him up and down.  “By the fates it is you, it’s been at least ten years since I saw you last.”

“Oh, more than that I think,” Mercu said with a chuckle.

“Who are those two,” Harris said gesturing to Katrisha, and Kiannae as they walked up behind him.  “You haven’t gone and had children have you?”

“No…though I suppose after a fashion,” Mercu laughed.  “They aren’t my blood, but are about as close as I’m likely to get, I think.”

“Fair enough, I won’t pry,” Harris said considering Mercu shrewdly, “I shouldn’t have been so surprised to see you though, I thought I heard Sam muttering something about her worthless brother other day.”

“Speaking of that, I seek the caravan master!” Mercu laughed.

“Yes, yes of course,” Harris said grabbing a rod that lay nearby, and rapped on the side of the wagon.

“Oi, what in the abyss is it?” a woman’s voice called out after a moment irritably, and a window on the side of the wagon swung open.  A lady with short chestnut hair looked down at Harris, and Mercu, and shook her head.  “Oh, it’s you,” she said dismissively, and yet with an air of surprise.  “I’ve passed through this kingdom no less than five times in the past ten years, and have to come almost to your door to get more than a letter handed to me.”

“It wasn’t the distance, dear Samantha, it was the company,” Mercu shot back.  “When your letter said father had finally retired somewhere out east, I figured it was time I did better by my dear sister.”

“Yes, yes, and I’ll believe your personal convenience had nothing to do with it,” Samantha responded leaning her head on her arm, a wry smile creeping across her lips.

Katrisha and Kiannae slowly inched up beside Mercu, and drew glances from Harris, and Mercu’s sister.  “Believe what you will,” Mercu laughed, “but the convenience of your visit did allow me to bring guests.”

“Are these the two then?” Samantha said smiling down at the twins.

“Indeed they are,” Mercu answered.  “Introduce yourselves girls – you do it so well.”

“I am Katrisha, daughter of the moonlight, and the winter frost,” the first said with a curtsy.

“And I am Kiannae, daughter of summer vales, and the passing storm,” the other proclaimed in turn.

“Well those are curious titles,” Samantha said cocking her head to the side.

“Something their father called them when they were little,” Mercu said, “or so I am told.  At some point I started encouraging the use, seemed fittingly mystical for young mages in training.”

Samantha gracefully hopped onto the windowsill, and slid out, landing in a crouch before the twins.  “You two,” she said grinning wildly, “are darling, and should not allow my wicked treacherous brother to corrupt you any further than he surely already has.”

“I will have you know,” Mercu said in a very officious tone, “that I am tasked with seeing that these two are wholly incorruptible.”

“Then we are all doomed, and the very chief future servants of the abyss stand before us,” Samantha said, throwing up her arms as she straightened up, and stared at her brother incredulously.  Mercu scrunched his face up in a slightly childish manner, obviously displeased to be so quickly besmirched before his young charges.

Samantha cocked her head to the side, frowned slightly at the lack of a witty comeback, and suddenly pounced upon her brother with an abrupt hug, kissing him on the cheek.  “I missed you, you insufferable lout,” she said squeezing him tightly.

She had the most remarkably calming, yet energetic presence.  Like an open field of flowers in summer, wavering in a gentle breeze.  You couldn’t feel it more than a foot away, but it then suddenly washed over you.

“You too dear sister,” Mercu said in a more relaxed tone, and returned the embrace. “I did write, but…I simply couldn’t face father any more.”

“Well you did kind of put him in a bit of a bind, didn’t you?” Samantha said pulling back, and looking her brother square in the eye.

“I only made him do, what deep down in his heart he wanted to, and knew was right,” Mercu offered coyly.

“Oh yes, and thank you for that.  It’s been such a chore convincing traveling merchant’s to follow a woman,” Samantha nearly hissed.  “Do you have any idea how much I miss having long hair?  But no, for some reason these insufferable men – who surround me – give me more respect if I look more like one of them.”

“I always respected you fine,” Harris said as he walked away, having felt his presence was an intrusion for some time.

“Sorry Harris,” Samantha called after him, “I just forget sometimes you are a man.”  Harris noticeably grumbled, and made a strange gesture as he disappeared behind the wagon.

Mercu laughed.  “I was wondering what was up with the hair, but how ever did you come to such a strange conclusion?”

“Well it started with a woman merchant, enchanter by trade,” Samantha said, moved to her brother’s side, and ushered him to walk into town.  She looked down at the two bewildered little girls beside them, and simply said “follow along you two.  I intend to find a drink for my brother and myself – he’s buying.”

Mercu looked as though he wished to object in some way, but simply remained silent as Samantha launched back into her story.  “Now where was I?  Oh yes, the merchant girl.  Sweet lass, simply failed to grasp that I preferred the company of men, however much they may aggravate me.  She kept saying I was repressing something.”

“You, repress something?” Mercu laughed.

“One to talk, dear brother,” Samantha cut back, and tapped him on the nose.  “At some point or another, when we were a bit drunk, she said the short hair makes them think of you less as a woman, makes them listen.  I really just wrote the whole statement off at the time, she was so drunk.  Then there was an incident with some tar…have you ever, in your life, tried to get tar out of hair?”

“No,” Mercu said with a bit of a cringe, “but…how did that happen exactly?”

“One story at a time,” Samantha laughed, “so anyway, not much choice, had to chop it all off you see, god it looked terrible for a while, but it happened at a waypoint where a lot of people were changing out.  Wouldn’t you know it, I had a lot less trouble getting the men to follow directions ever since.  Not night and day mind you, but noticeable – hit on me less too…which eh, blessing and a curse some days.”

“Sounds positively dreadful,” Mercu said in a mock somber tone.

“Eh, not the end of the world.  Slap ’em in the face with the knockers,” Samantha laughed, wiggling her shoulders, “if I really want the attention.  That’ll work nine times out of ten.”

“And the tenth time?” Mercu laughed.

“The tenth time I guess they have no interest in a good pair of knockers,” Samantha chuckled.  “I’d ask if you know what that’s about dear brother…but I forget you have a very broad appreciation in such matters.”

“You are terrible, sister,” Mercu said with a wide grin, “and have the nerve to imply that I will corrupt these darling little girls,” he said glancing back to be sure the uncharacteristically quiet pair were still following.  They were, and to his amused discomfort clearly rapt with their conversation.

“One need not be a Palentian saint to warn travelers that the bridge is out,” Samantha shot back.

“Still, for you to call my appreciation broad, is not unlike the sunrise calling the sunset orange,” Mercu laughed dryly.

“I dare say I am at least more particular than you, just not in the same petty ways,” Samantha said thwapping her brother lightly on the back of the head with the hand that had been rested on his shoulder.

“Is it petty to have a weakness for a keen mind?” Mercu said incredulously, re-adjusting his hat, “Really I would have thought it the other way round.”

“I know for a fact at least a couple of your lovers have not been the brightest…dear brother,” Samantha shot back with an accusatory glance.

“Each clever, and wise in their own ways, I assure you,” Mercu said defiantly, “though I won’t deny sometimes a pretty face…and other virtues cover a great many follies.”

“So that one you ran off with then, which was it, pretty face, or…other virtues?” Samantha needled.

“All of the above, and a way out from under father’s nose,” Mercu said flatly.

“If you say so, I never saw it,” Samantha said shrugging off the obvious dodge.  “Ah here we go,” she said stopping at the step of a large building at the edge of a town, above which hung a sign that declared in bold red lettering, ‘The Grey Lamb.’  Samantha let go of her brother and marched up the steps without a further word.

Mercu looked to Katrisha and Kiannae, and doubted the wisdom of bringing them along after all.  He realized he should have known his sister better.  It was not completely unacceptable to bring young children into a tavern, but he had always thought less of the rare parents he had seen do so.  “So what do you think of my sister?” he asked the twins, hesitant to follow just yet.

“She’s…” Kiannae seemed to be looking for the word.

“Loud, crazy, uncouth?” Mercu provided questioningly.

“Interesting,” Katrisha offered.  Her sister glanced at her and nodded.

Mercu laughed heartily.  “Perhaps in the ancient proverb sense of the word.”  He sighed.  “Ok, so we are going into this building here.  Talk to noone but me, my sister, and the bartender if need be.  Stay very close, and stay out of anyone’s way.  Ok?”

The girls looked at each other, nodded, and in unison said, “Ok.”

Upon entering the tavern the barkeep gave Mercu one look, and laughed.  “Oh and what ancient god of myth have I angered this day, to find both the Merchant Queen, and the Court Jester in my tavern at once?”

“Court Artist, thank you very much,” Mercu offered in standard retort.

“Indeed,” Samantha laughed, “only the Merchant Queen may so malign her own brother!”

“Oh, how had I not guessed as much,” the barkeep declared dryly.

“Because you are a dim little fellow Olie, though I guess you were bright enough to move down here from up north,” Samantha chuckled.

“Doesn’t take much brains to know a village with no people doesn’t much need a tavern,” Olie chuckled.

“Which explains why you were able to put it together,” Samantha added.

Mercu helped Katrisha and Kiannae up onto two bar stools between Samantha, and himself, and shrugged off the questioning glance from Olie.  “A round of your second best,  for my sister and I,” Mercu declared, “and something…lighter for the little lasses.”

“Only second best dear brother, am I not worth better?” Samantha asked in a hurt tone.

“Only if you enjoy the distinct flavor of cat…piss,” Mercu said, hesitating to say the last word but just embracing the inevitable exposure to excess swearing the girls would get that day.

“And you would know for a fact, that is the exact flavor?” Samantha chuckled.

“It is less of a flavor than a smell.  The tongue refuses to register flavor at all, and simply goes numb on contact,” Mercu laughed defensively.

“So something to drink when forgetting the world is the goal, not for reminiscing about how it used to be?” Samantha asked shaking her head.

“More like something to drink when leaving the world is the goal,” Mercu offered.

“I suppose second best will do then, to early in the day to leave the world!” Samantha declared.

Olie set two large mugs before Mercu and Samantha, and eyed the twins wondering what to give them.  “You two, you are the mage girls from up at the castle aren’t you?” he asked finally realizing he had the subject of many little rumors before him.

“I guess we are,” Katrisha said curiously examining the barkeep with an analytical gaze that made him uncomfortable.

“Don’t believe there are any others,” Kiannae added looking around the bar at the few customers, all seated far apart.

“And what do little mage girls drink?” Olie asked curiously.

“Cider mostly,” Kiannae responded.

“Humph, not the kind I have I’ll wager,” Olie laughed.  “Bah, I’ll figure something out,” he said and wandered off into the back.

“So, tell me of life at the castle girls,” Samantha prodded, and sipped from her mug.

“Why not ask me?” Mercu said feigning injury, “I’ve certainly been there longer.”

“I wanted the truth” Samantha chided, “and barring that, I’ll take the exaggerations of eight year olds, over yours.  They should be at least half as distorted.”

“Very well,” Mercu said and took a drink.

“So, please, do tell me of life at the castle,” Samantha prodded.

“It’s all right,” Kiannae said, “better sometimes than others.”

“Like when there is a ball,” Katrisha added.

“I guess those can be fun, but all the old people can be so dull,” Kiannae said absently looking about.

“We get to stay up later at least,” Katrisha countered.

“As if any force in the cosmos could change how late or early you two go to sleep.”  Mercu laughed.  “A ball just means you might get yelled at less for it.”

“And that’s nice,” Kiannae said, biting her lip playfully.

“I agree, staying up late for a good ball when the old people aren’t being boring is always grand,” Samantha laughed and took another sip, “not getting yelled at for it is even better.”

“Since when do you know much of balls dear sister?” Mercu asked incredulously.  “Getting yelled at on the other hand, I suppose you could speak volumes on that.”

“Oh, more than you would think,” Samantha laughed.  “Even if father never asked me to come along, like he did with you, I usually managed to steal something from the wares, sneak my way in, and have a grand time.  As for the yelling, did you ever wonder what it was about some of those nights?”

“It did seem every party, about half way through I’d see this very cross look on his face,” Mercu said thoughtfully.

“Do you remember in Western Palentine, the summer festival in the grand courtyard?” Samantha asked with an egging tone.

“It was a masquerade ball wasn’t it?” Mercu said eying his sister shrewdly.

“Yup, and you remember when a girl dancing with the young crown prince suddenly bent him,” Samantha stressed, “over, and kissed him.”  She laughed.

“Oh, fates…that was you wasn’t it?” Mercu laughed.  “I knew you were impossible, impetuous, I maybe even suspected you snuck into a few of those balls…but that.  Dear sister I do believe my respect for you just went up tenfold.”

“Would it go up any farther if I told you the prince proposed?” Samantha laughed.

“He what?” Mercu gasped almost spitting his most recent sip.

“Had to let him down of course, his father would never have let him go through with it,” Samantha said wistfully.  “I let him down very gently of course…very very gently,” she chuckled.

“I never thought it possible, but perhaps you are worse than me,” Mercu said shaking his head, “and you know what, I think I remember father muttering something about paying the King to take you off his hands.”

“To father,” Samantha laughed raising her mug towards her brother over the girls heads.

“May he rest comfortably in whatever pleasant home he’s found,” Mercu added, and tapped his mug to Samantha’s, “very, very far from here.”   They both drank.

“So the prince really liked you?” Kiannae asked curiously.

“He inclined me to believe so,” Samantha said taking a small sip.  “When it gets right down to it, royals are real people, even if they often have very big heads.  They are trained to be outsiders, to not be treated like real people, but guess what, deep down, it’s what a lot of them actually want.”

“So you treated him like a real person?” Katrisha asked a bit confused.

“Sort of.  To be fair I think I treated him like a piece of meat, but men don’t often know the difference,” Samantha laughed.

“You treated him like meat?” Kiannae asked her face scrunched up in confusion.

“That doesn’t sound nice,” Katrisha said flatly.  “Why did that make him like you?”

“You know, I suppose I don’t really get it either, but he wasn’t the last to have that reaction,” Samantha said leaning her head on her hand, and taking another sip.

“Boys are funny,” Katrisha said looking at Mercu, and then thinking better of it as he raised an eyebrow.

“Some of us aim for funny,” Mercu said with a laugh.  “It attracts a better kind of attention…well and the worse kind too still, really.”

Olie returned with two mugs similar to the ones Mercu and Samantha were slowly nursing, but containing a distinctly redder liquid.  “There,” he said with a touch of pride in his voice “not a drop of alcohol, and surprisingly not horrid for it either.”

Katrisha pulled the one before her closer, and sniffed at it.  Hesitantly she leaned the heavy mug towards her and took a testing sip.  “Strawberry?” she remarked questioningly.

“Among other things, had to cut the syrup down a bit, added twist of this and that for flavor,” Olie said vaguely. “Not quite as good as some of the things I make for my little one at home, but not bad for what was on hand.”

“You have a little one?” Samantha asked with genuine surprise, and mild interest.

“She’ll be six this fall,” Olie said absently, “darling little thing, ‘bout the same size as these two.”

“We’re eight,” Kiannae corrected.

But before Olie could offer his apology he caught a cold stare from Samantha.

“Funny,” she said in venomous voice, “think the last time I saw you was five years ago.”

“Oh,” Olie said, and cleared his throat, “it’s really not like that.  Girl’s not mine, might as well be though, since I’ve been helping her ma out ever since she was born.  She and I were just friends back then, but I married her two years ago.”

“I see,” Samantha said her eyebrow raised, “well congratulations on both counts then, I guess.”

“Yes, thank you,” Olie said, and quickly extracted himself.

“Story matches what I’ve heard,” Mercu said sipping at his drink, and restraining a laugh.

“Good,” Samantha said tapping her fingers.

“You really do have father’s temper you know,” Mercu laughed.

“And you have mother’s big mouth,” Samantha shot back.

“What’s Samantha mad about?” Kiannae asked Mercu quietly.

“Oh nothing,” Mercu said patting her gently.  “She just thought she’d gotten caught up in a bad situation.  Was a misunderstanding, nothing more.”

“Ok,” Kiannae said not quite understanding.

Two large men had been slowly making their way down from the far end of the bar.  As they arrived the closer of the two bowed, in a slightly wobbly way to Samantha.  “What brings a fine lass such as yourself here today?  I’ve not seen old Mercu bring in a lady before.”

“Well, then today you’ve seen the reverse, a lady brought him in,” Samantha said not even turning to look at the man.

“Now why would such a lovely sight as yourself lessen your own ample contribution to the atmosphere, by bringing along the silly old bard?” the second man asked in a meandering drunken tone.

“You hear that brother, they called you a bard,” Samantha said with a laugh, and took another drink.

“Oh, my condolences,” the second man said with a laugh.  “Explains what you are doing with him.  And makes good sense you are so lovely, given he’s such a pretty boy, you’ve got to compete.”

“You hang out around here much brother?” Samantha said ignoring the two men.  “Locals seem to know you pretty well.”

“I stop by now and then, when I want to hear the more slurred and drunken version of recent events,” Mercu said with a shrug.

“Hey now,” the closer man snapped.  “My friend and I don’t take kindly to being ignored.”

“That’s unfortunate, because I was being kind by tolerating your presence,” Samantha said taking a large swig of her drink.  “I could instead ask you to leave.”

“And if we don’t want to leave?” the closer man laughed.

“Well, that’s the still being nice option, the one that’s left is making you,” Samantha said in a tone that sounded more bored than threatening.

“Now now sister, lets not get hasty,” Mercu said eying her expression shrewdly.  “The village doesn’t take kindly to brawling, and neither does Olie.”

“It isn’t brawling to smack some respect into a weak little woman,” the second man all but yelled, “even less to grind her sissy little brother into the ground.”

“First off,” Samantha said and took the last of her drink in one long gulp.  “I am the little sister.”  Then without warning she swung at the man, and landed her punch square on his nose.  The man staggered backwards, almost knocking over his friend.  “Second, you want a woman asking for it, right here, let’s see if you are as much of a man as you think you are.”

“Oh fates,” Mercu said looking at the twins next to him.  He quickly lifted Kiannae over the bar,  as Olie made haste towards them.

“You stupid bitch,” the first man said with slurred speech as he held his bleeding nose.

“Stop this right now Matly,” Olie yelled picking up a half empty bottle, and brandishing it at the man whose nose was bleeding.

Mercu quickly put Katrisha beside her sister behind the bar, and glared at them firmly.  “Stay down.”

“Me!” the man spat through blood soaked lips.  “She hit me!”

“And I know you both well enough to know who started this trouble,” Olie shot back, “and who’s more likely to back down from a fight.”

“I never backed down from a fight,” Matly spat again.

“That isn’t true, now is it?” Olie said looking at Matly’s startled friend.

“Well, there was that one time,” the man said.

“Cut it Anton,” Matly growled, “I’m not stoppin’ anything till this little shit learns to respect her betters.”

“To the abyss with you then,” Olie said putting down the bottle, “the damages go on your tab.”

“What damages?” Matly asked incredulously as Samantha lunged towards him.  He swung at her approach, but missed as she dropped, and kicked the side of his leg, causing him to stumble sideways, and crash into a table.  The sparse other patrons who had been watching the escalation didn’t quite know what to make of the scene.

One large man stood, and walked towards the dazed Matly, who was rubbing his head where he had hit it on the now broken table.  “What’s the problem brother?” the man almost laughed, “this little girl giving you trouble?”

“Bitch broke my nose,” Matly growled.

“If you let her, you probably deserved it,” the man laughed, “but I suppose I can’t let that stand.”

“You aren’t drunker than your brother,” Samantha said as she watch the way the man approached her, “so I can only assume you are stupider.  So what’s your name pretty boy?”

“Hanson,” the man said sizing up Samantha’s stance carefully.

“You make a habit of getting in your brother’s fights?” Samantha asked looking for an opening.

“Not usually, only when his honor is sullied enough I need to save face for the family,” Hanson said taking a guarded testing swing at Samantha that she easily avoided, then tried for his leg, to no avail.

“Shouldn’t you maybe be trying to beat some sense into him yourself then?” Samantha said throwing her own testing strike, finding it deflected, and barely avoiding the returned blow.

“Don’t think I haven’t tried, boy doesn’t learn,” Hanson said with a shrug.  “Always goes off again and pisses off some worthless woman, then has to deal with her brother, husband, cousin…usually manages it himself though.  First time he’s been drunk enough to let a woman land a blow on him.”

“So you think the only reason I could land a blow on him, was because he was drunk eh?” Samantha asked with a laugh.  Hanson simply shrugged again, but didn’t see the kick to his groin coming.  “Stupid people don’t need to breed,” she said as the man crumpled to the ground.

Anton started to approach Samantha, but found Mercu in his way.  “If you and your friends really think so little of women, wouldn’t it be giving them too much credit to make the fight three on one?”

Anton glared incredulously at Mercu, and gave him a hard shove.  “Out of my way, no one lands a cheap shot on Hanson like that, and gets away with it.”

“Ok, not listening to reason,” Mercu said, and swung, catching Anton in the gut, then another to the face.

Anton rubbed his jaw a bit where the punch had landed.  “You hit like a girl,” he said, just as Matly got to his feet, and charged at Samantha.  She ducked, and rolled the man over her, and into another table.

“Thank you,” Mercu said with a laugh, and dodged as Anton threw a punch at him.

Hanson stumbled to his feet, grabbed a chair, and started to swing it at Samantha, but found himself blinded by a sudden flash of light.  He missed, and lost his grip on the chair which flew into Matly, who crumpled under the blow.  Samantha kicked the staggered Hanson in the stomach, tipping him over, and causing him to hit his head on the floor knocking him out.

Anton, who was distracted by the sight of Hanson and Matly’s defeat missed Mercu sweeping his leg out from under him, and knocked his head hard on the bar.

“I saw that you two,” Mercu said glancing at the girls peeking up from behind the bar.

“Sorry,” Katrisha said hesitantly.

“No, no, very good,” Mercu said as his sister walked over, dusting off her hands.  He turned to her, and with only a hint of humor asked, “As for you, dear sister.  That incident with the tar…it didn’t also involve feathers, did it?”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Mercu lifted Katrisha and Kiannae into Samantha’s wagon behind her, and pulled himself up as well.  He watched as the girls looked around the cramped interior of the wagon, and Samantha rummaged through various stacks of small wares at the far end.

“So this is where you grew up?” Kiannae asked.

Mercu looked around thoughtfully.  “One of them I think,” Mercu said uncertainly, “it’s hard to be sure if it’s the same wagon after all these years.”

“It is,” Samantha said emerging from her private stockpile with a bottle of wine in one hand, and a bundle of small sticks with various colored crystals at the end in the other.  “Axle broke on the way into the town father retired in.  I considered just replacing the wagon, but I couldn’t get a good price for it, nor a replacement fast enough.”

“It’s very small,” Katrisha said bluntly.

“It is a cramped way to grow up,” Mercu agreed, and then his face saddened, “particularly when mother died, and Samantha started traveling with us.”

“You never told us your mother was dead too,” Katrisha said sadly.

“I don’t think of her much,” Mercu admitted with a bit of shame.  “I only saw her every year or two when we would stop in the town where she, and Samantha lived.  I barely remember her any more.”

“I barely remember mother either,” Kiannae said sadly, “just the way she used to sing.”

“Here you two,” Samantha said offering the twins each one of the sticks she held.  “Palentian honey candy, very sweet, and they swear actually good for you…but never trust anything a merchant tells you about the merits of her wares.”

“Thank you,” each girl said in turn.

“Here, you too brother,” Samantha said offering Mercu one.  “I do know how you love to suck on things.”

“Must you?” Mercu said taking it, and rolling his eyes.

“What?” Samantha said feigning innocence. “I remember whenever you would get your hands on one of these when you were younger, you would sit around all day chewing on the stick while you drew in that book of yours.”  She popped the last of the candies into her mouth, plucked two glasses from a cupboard overhead, and poured wine into each.

Mercu accepted his glass of wine, and took a seat on a bench at the head of the wagon.  “It’s been so many years since I’ve been inside of one of these,” he said wistfully.

“If you miss it, you could have come to visit sooner,” Samantha chided.

“I really don’t,” Mercu laughed as the twins squeezed onto the bench next to him, “oh don’t get me wrong, the road itself, the company, even including you dear sister, but not these cramped overloaded wagons.  That I could do without.”

“Still good to get back to your roots, even the less pleasant parts, at least now and then?” Samantha said in a questioning tone.

“I suppose,” Mercu agreed with some humor.

“Do you have anything for us to drink?” Katrisha asked taking her honey candy out long enough to speak.

“Not much on hand,” Samantha said thoughtfully.  “You can try some of my wine if you like.  Mother let me have a little sip when I was about your age.”

Mercu perked a brow.  “I’m not sure if Laurel would approve, but I guess what’s the harm in a sip.”

Samantha leaned over towards the girls, and offered her glass to Katrisha.  “Be very careful with the glass she said.”  Katrisha took it, sniffed, and scrunched up her nose before trying a sip.  She shook her head in obvious distaste.  In spite of her sister’s reaction Kiannae took the glass from her, and tried it as well.  She put on a brave face for a moment, but inevitably gave way to perfect copy of her sister’s expression.

Samantha took the glass back, and laughed.  “Yeah that was about my reaction at your age as well.”  She looked to her brother, and sighed.  “So I don’t suppose you know of any good healers looking to travel?  Our current one is preparing to return home to the local cloister, she’s tired of traveling with two children in tow I guess.”

“I’m afraid that will probably be your best bet to find one as well,” Mercu said dourly, “unless you want to try and hire away the local Clarion priest, the King might even offer you a small boon for getting him off our hands.”

“The King does not favor the Clarions?” Samantha asked with some surprise.

“The King has tried to remain neutral,” Mercu said flatly.  “I think in spite of better judgement.  He seems to have earned most of the ire he could have from the Clarions, while gaining none of the benefits of keeping Sisters at court.  It’s been years since we have had a resident healer.”

“That does seem an awkward place to be in,” Samantha said and sipped her wine.

“Endlessly.  It’s only gotten worse with the Matron visiting regularly now,” Mercu laughed.  All we have left are preachers, and Idolus.  Miserable man, barely competent.”

“The Matron?” Samantha asked curiously.

“To keep the girls here in touch with their brother.”

“You had mentioned a brother in one of those letters,” Samantha said absently.

“You might meet him if you go looking for a healer at Highvale,” Mercu said with a shrug.  “Where are you headed next any way?”

“North through the pass of course…then north again,” Samantha said feigning indifference, but clearly she wasn’t.

“Much as we need someone to risk the east road,” Mercu said hesitantly, “I’m glad it won’t be you.  Even though there has been no sign of the bandits for well over a year, they were never caught, and they even killed old Hamon.”

“Hamon you say.  Everyone has heard about what happened, but I’d missed that he was involved.  That is troubling, and a damn shame too.  I’ve had an offer to reconsider, since Osyrae is itself not a charming picture,” Samantha said with a frown. “Still you know what father always said, the riskier the road…”

“The more we get our monies worth for the mercenaries we have to hire any way,” Mercu finished with a dark laugh.  “Still, an offer?”

“It was from a baron in South Rook,” Samantha said.  “Strictly it was an offer of payment to make a delivery.  It was clear it was a bribe.  I took a vote any way, and several people I expected to be against it, weren’t.  I don’t think I was the only one offered a lucrative opportunity, but not enough to sway the vote.”

“The road is heavily patrolled now.  There have been no signs, and where the bandits had camped in the northern woods showed signs they were driven off by Sylvans.”  Mercu hesitated. “Not that for the life of me I can think why I am making a case for you to try it.”

“Because someone needs to, and you are vested with the wellbeing of this nation.  Still, that they took down Hamon,” Samantha said coming back to the thought uneasily, and took another sip. “I wish I had another mage, I might consider it, but decent mages are hard to come by this far from Mordove, at least until you get into Osyrae, or one of the free cities.”

“I am a decent mage,” Katrisha offered in an offended tone.

“As am I,” Kiannae chimed in as well.

Samantha laughed, “After today I’d trust the pair of you to do the job.  I’m not sure I’ve seen our current mage do more than a common light orb.  Alas I don’t think Mercu here would spare you.”  The twins each looked a bit deflated, but seemed to accept Samantha’s answer.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Coria 5th, 641 E.R.

Wren sat between the bars of the railing above the main entry to the cloister, kicking his feet idly.  He looked up as three new arrivals entered.  A tall woman with long blond hair was greeted by Andria, and introduced her son and daughter each several years Wren’s elder.

The girl waved to Wren absently as she glanced up in his direction.  Wren waved back, and the girl walked to stand just below him.  “What are you doing up there?” she asked curiously.

“Nothin’,” Wren said absently, “just watchin’.”

“You should come down, and be introduced proper,” the girl said sternly.

“What’re you giving him grief for,” the girl’s brother said walking up beside her, “he’s just a little kid, leave him be.”

“I just wanted to say hello,” the girl said defensively.

“Well you have, let’s get back to mother,” the boy said firmly.

“I’m Audry,” the girl said ignoring her brother’s insistence.

“I’m Wren,” he replied in kind.

“Nice to meet you,” Audry said with a curtsy.

“Come on,” Audry’s brother insisted.

“Alright, Andrew,” she said dismissively.

“Have you been placed yet?” Audry asked, “Mother says now that we aren’t on the road we will be placed for teaching.”

“No,” Wren said absently, “my mother has been teaching me.”

“Oh,” Audry said, “guess that makes sense.  We are older.  Mother has been teaching us till now.”

“Others have been placed,” Wren said with a shrug.

“Audry,” the tall woman called waving her daughter over.

“Gotta go,” Audry said as she turned to leave, “guess I’ll see you around.”

“Watching the new arrivals?” Renae asked as she stepped behind Wren.

“Where are they from?” Wren asked, as he watched a woman with short brown hair walk in and look around searchingly.

Renae considered the group, and recognized the woman talking with Andria.  “Shandra, their mother, grew up here many years ago, but wanted to see the world,” Renae said rubbing Wren’s head.  “So like I once did, she signed up with merchant caravans.  The good ones never travel without a healer.  Most prefer us to the Clarions, more service, less preaching.”

“Who’s that one?” Wren asked curiously.

“A merchant prince’s assistant I expect,” Renae offered with only moderate interest.  “No doubt looking for some young Brother or Sister with the wander lust.  Usually they come themselves, but sometimes send a proxy to save time.”

“Hello there, who’s your caravan master?” Renae yelled down at the woman, who looked up at her a bit coldly.

“Yer talkin’ to her,” Samantha shot back. “I’d expect better of the Sisterhood than to make such assumptions.”

“Your pardon then,” Renae said with good humor.  “I expect less of the world to be fair.  Only once before met a woman in command of a caravan.”

“Apology accepted,” Samantha laughed, “it’s just fun to catch people in their reasonable preconceptions.”

“Your name then, if you would, oh grand caravan master,” Renae enquired leaning on the rail above Wren.

“Samantha Peregrine,” she said simply.

“Peregrine, surely it can’t be,” Renae said perking a brow, “are you any relation to a Mercu Peregrine who lives at court on Broken Hill?”

“My dear brother, who I had not seen in many years till just a few days ago.” Samantha laughed. “Why am I not surprised to find he is recognized by name in a Lycian Cloister?”

“I am not sure if I should take that comment kindly,” Renae said a bit tersely.

“I surely am not one to be making any judgements,” Samantha said more seriously, “just curious observations, and likely connections.”

“Yes there is no doubt you are his kin,” Renae said with a laugh, “but you’ve been caught in your own preconceptions.   I am quite familiar with good Mercu, but for reasons of a shared interest.  Have you met the twins?”

“Yes,” Samantha said with a smile, “darling clever little things they are.”

“And you are aware there is a brother then?” Renae continued.

“Ah, so then, the Matron Renae,” Samantha said assuming a shrewd expression, “and I shall risk being wrong again, and guess that the little one below you is the young Wren?”

“You would be right,” Wren said curiously.

“He speaks well,” Samantha remarked with some surprise, “a credit to his line, or perhaps to you?”

“I wish I could take more credit,” Renae said guardedly, “though I suppose I have a hand in it.”

“So tell me, good Matron,” Samantha began again, changing her posture slightly, “do you know of any you can spare, who might wish to see the world?”

Renae pursed her lips.  “There is one I can think of, who I’d like to think could be convinced.”  She was at least hopeful that it was the case.

< Previous || Next >

Chapter 8

I longed once that an Empress take the throne,
all such hopes passed that a dragon had come,
that one born woman is greatest err yet to rise,
is but small consolation that woman in her died,
we needed not another to raise these stakes,
to change the game be it now forever too late?

– writings of Sylvia Grey, circa 140 E.R.

Weary Shadows

Estae 2nd, 640 E.R.

Laurel paced the King’s antechamber behind the throne room.  “I do not like this,” he admitted.

“We are loathed to admit We agree,” the King said heavily.  “That no further violence has plagued the east road seems ill comfort, as only our men travel there now to be so plagued.  If as we suspect Osyrae was behind that caravan’s complete destruction, then they achieved what they wished with a single attack.  We’ve received confirmation that no caravans will pass that way any time soon.  Choosing instead to pass on through our kingdom into Osyrae, and few will bother to move the other way.  Nohlend has a better market for Osyrean goods.”

“A huge disruption to the trade routes,” Laurel agreed.  “Who knows how many years it will persist.  If no one uses the road, then no one will gain confidence it is safe.  All the while we are forced to patrol a useless thoroughfare.”

“Further we will have little access to goods from the east, as Niven will consume most long before caravans reach us from the south.”  The King grimaced.

“We could consider finishing the east pass,” the Queen suggested.

“The expense of that though,” the King shook his head.  “Even the Empire abandoned the notion, and it is a ruin hundreds of years old.”

“I do not believe it undoable,” Arlen offered.

“Would Helm agree to cutting a new road to meet it though?” Laurel mused.  “The pass alone would be a challenge, but fruitless if it is a road to nowhere.”

“I’ve no opinion of the disposition of Helm,” Arlen consented.

“It is possible that they would be willing for greater access to the grains of South Rook,” the Queen suggested.

“I am less sure,” Laurel said.  “There are many barons in Helm that have long sought greater independence from Avrale’s bounty.  It’s been so since I lived on those roads.”

“We could at least investigate the pass, and gauge the cost,” the King considered.

“You have a good report with Fenlin and Castor, don’t you?” the Queen began, turning to Arlen.  “Could you make a recommendation to them on the idea.  Perhaps they can lend not only funds to such an endeavor, in their benefit, but also have some sway with the barons of Helm.”

“I shall, if the opportunity presents itself, make conversation on the matter,” Arlen nodded.  “Castor I believe will be in Brokhal this autumn.  I think a private royal audience would have more impact.”

“Such can be easily arranged,” the King laughed.

“Who best to survey the pass though?” Laurel asked.

“Miners from Silvercreek would be easiest,” the Queen suggested.

“The gold miners Seaperch are more skilled,” Arlen countered with some pride.

“A long trip,” Laurel countered.

“Let us send word to both,” the King suggested.  “Two opinions surely cannot hurt.”

“Agreed,” the Queen concurred, making any further argument ill advised.

Laurel nodded.  “Very well, your leave your highnesses,” he said, and at their nod turned to exit through the rear chamber door.  He stopped just outside, and turned to look at a suit of armor, behind which could be seen two little girls, doing a passable, but ineffective job of hiding.  “You two are making quite a habit of snooping.”

Katrisha, and Kiannae slipped out from behind the armor a bit sheepishly.  He gestured for them to follow as he headed towards the west tower.

“There is an east pass?” Kiannae asked.

“Yes,” Laurel answered, “you can see it easily if you look out from any of the eastern towers.”

“Why isn’t it used?” Katrisha asked.

“It was never finished as a road.  The wildlands east of the mountains between Avrale and Helm are untamed.  Many reports of various dire beasts there.  A lot of expense to cut a road through, beyond just the pass.  That is why we would want support from South Rook.  They would benefit highly from such an endeavor.”

“Wouldn’t that also be close to the border of…” Katrisha hesitated forgetting the name of the kingdom south of Helm.

“Of Thebes, yes,” Laurel offered the name.  “They have much less to gain than Helm though.  They get more of their grain from eastern Niven, and we would compete with them for gold and silver exports.  In fact, I expect them to pressure Helm against such an endeavor.”

“What do we get from Helm?” Kiannae asked.

“Fruit mostly,” Laurel answered.  “Though we have vineyards to the west, and many orchards, citrus are prevalent in Helm.  Mostly we get trade from farther east on that road, textiles, and enchanted wares from New Corinthia, and Mordove.  As well as rare delicacies from Palentine.”

“How did the caravans come about?” Katrisha asked.

“The Empire laid the roads, but by some accounts the trade caravans are older.” Laurel answered.  “At any rate, the goal was to unite the once warring peoples of the world more firmly under the Empire.  Mercu would say the Emperor cut his roads along the well worn tracks of the more ancient traders.  That these in turn became the trade princes under the first Emperor.  They trace their lineages as proudly as any Kings.  Some claim to have been of the Maji originally, but I doubt such assertions.  There are few or no mages among them.”

“You traveled with Mercu,” Kiannae began, “with the caravans, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Laurel laughed.  “That’s how I know the trade princes are no mages.  They have to hire people like me, just incase bandits have a rogue mages backing them.  Of course some risk it, but most mages have better avenues of profit than thievery.  Still, even a clumsy hedge mage with enough practice can be a serious threat to common mercenaries.”

“There was a mage among the bandits in the north, wasn’t there?” Katrisha asked.

Laurel stopped, and considered her.  “More snooping I’ve missed,” he said narrowing his eyes.  “Yes, there were wards where their camp was.  The damage to the caravan could leave one suspect, but the wards were unmistakable.  Not the work of an unskilled mage either.”  He made no mention of the battle field they had found, or the unnerving aspect that one or more powerful mages were in play.  No sense starting into that if they did not already know.

“So why would he work with thieves?” Kiannae pressed.

“I think you know the reason,” Laurel countered, glad it seemed they had not learned the scope of the matter for the moment.

“Because Osyrae was behind it?” Katrisha offered.

“Our standing assumption,” Laurel nodded.  “Though why they went to such efforts I am unsure.  They gain a little advantage in the trade routes, but that hardly seems their end goal.  The Council refuses to consider my assessment of Osyrean involvement.  It would warrant action on their part, and they do not want to act.”

“Why?” Kiannae said scrunching up her face.

Laurel waved for them to continue following, and checked that no one was in earshot.  “Because even seriously investigating the matter could escalate the whole thing.  We do not want war, the Council want’s it less.  Osyrae has nearly as many mages as the rest of the kingdoms combined.  Though to be fair their internal politics and dragon presence keeps many occupied securing them against the two black flights.”

“Why are there two flights?” Katrisha asked.

“Because after the death of the Vhale, his Queen and highest General split over who had the right to rule Osyrae.  The Empress, or more over her generals cut an agreement – with her consent – between the human heir to Osyrae, and the two rival leaders of the black flight.  That has secured relative peace between Osyrae and the rest of the world for centuries.  Baring largely internal struggles.”

“And that is why it is bad for Osyrae that their king is meddling with dragons?” Kiannae asked.

“Very bad for them,” Laurel said grimly.  “Though the flights look down on lesser dragons, the risk is still high of them taking offense.  Even if Osyrae descends into its own Dragon War, the outcome could be very bad for everyone else.  If a single victor arose between the two flights, that could spell an end to the stalemate, and a return to a reigning dragon in Osyrae.”

“Who might be willing to start a war?” Katrisha questioned uneasily.

“Isn’t Vharen trying to start a war by attacking caravans though?” Kiannae interjected before Laurel could answer.

“Yes, and seemingly.”  Laurel sighed as they entered the base of the tower.  “I feel as though Vharen is trying to goad us into action.  The King will not take such bait though.  Wounded, and insulted as our nation is to do nothing, to act would defy our treaties, and the Council would turn on us…almost everyone would turn on us.  Avrale as a whole could be handed to Osyrae to keep the peace.”

“That’s insane,” Katrisha snapped.

Laurel stopped, and leaned against the curved outer wall of the tower near a window.  “Such is the nature of politics.”  He shook his head.  “All we can do is patrol our borders, and our roads, or perhaps forge a new road to avoid the old eastern one.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Rhaeus 39th, 640 E.R.

Laurel stopped just inside the twins bedroom chamber.  The circle of runes before him was strange, complex, seemingly meant to go unnoticed, and extended to the ceiling.  It pushed the limits of what he had taught the girls, and its purpose was all but completely obtuse to him.  “What in the fates are you two doing?” he demanded aloud.

“Navi was here again,” Kiannae said.

“We decided to see if we could catch her,” Katrisha answered.

Laurel shook his head.  “No one has ever been able to catch a ghost,” he reproved them.

“They are closely associated with magic,” Kiannae said.  “It seems reasonable that a spell could interact with them.”

“Well, assuming you manage something, be sure it won’t hurt her,” Laurel laughed, mostly humoring them.  He doubted very much they would accomplish anything, but he put little past the two with absolute certainty.

Katrisha flicked a light sphere across the room which passed into the circle, there was a flash as the spell triggered, and the sphere bounced around for a moment seemingly undisrupted.  “It’s just designed to be resistant to passing filaments after a spell passes through.”

“Clever,” Laurel acknowledged.  It made sense enough, but nothing like it had ever worked from his reading.  “You’ve lessons to be doing though, rather than fooling with unproven spells.”

“Alright,” they both said, and reset their spell before returning to their assignments from Moriel.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Dinner that night was as it often was, with the whole gathered royal family, and many knights, and other minor members of the court.  Katrisha, and Kiannae found themselves opposite Charles to no one’s obvious pleasure.  They were however much more amiable towards Princess Maraline who sat next to them.  They had over the years inherited several dresses she had outgrown, though they prefered to wear robes, like Laurel.

Her cousin Philip on the other hand prefered the company of Charles, and as such the two sides of the table largely ignored one another, save that Darion’s son, the younger Crown Prince, Adrien had no qualms conversing with either group, and could be ignored by none lightly, given his rank.

“I’m to visit South Rook soon,” Maraline offered, glancing towards Katrisha.  “Mother wishes me to spend more time there, she hopes the Duke’s son will take a greater liking to me.”

“Do you like him though?” Katrisha asked.

“Lukus seems nice,” Maraline said noncommittally.  “Nicer than the Duke himself certainly.”

“I’m surprised you have not been tasked with whispering things in his ear to nudge his father to help with the east pass,” Adrien commented.

“Who says I have not?” Maraline laughed lightly.  “For what good it would do.  Poor boy almost cried the last time we met over how little his father respects him.”

“He’s young yet,” Adrien offered.  “I’m sure he will manage to impress the Duke eventually.”

“I do not think anything impresses Duke Fenlin,” Maraline said with a mischievous smile.  “I’m sure if the Avatar himself deigned to parade through the streets of South Rook, he would find it quaint.”

“I do not doubt this at all,” Adrien agreed.  “Perhaps poor Lukus is doomed entirely.”  He glanced across the table.  “What do you think Charles.  Will your father convince Baron Castor to buy into the venture?”

Charles looked up from his conversation with Philip, and seemed dubious.  “He might, but I’ve a feeling the whole thing is a loss.  He was very displeased with one of the hires from Seaperch the other day.  Sounded as though exploratory attempts to clear some slides in the pass have collapsed sections of the rockbed into underlying caverns.  More bridges will be needed at least.”

“Oh my,” Adrien frowned.  “No, that would be a problem.”

“I’ve heard there was an unpleasant run in with a dire bear,” Kiannae offered.

“That I believe was just a regular bear,” Adrien shook his head.  “Still not a friendly though – possibly rabid.”

“I’d rather a rabid dire bear than to hear another speech from Duke Fenlin,” Maraline groaned.  “He was preaching so fervently at dinner last I was in South Rook, that I could see spittle from his lips shower the roast.”

“Eww,” Katrisha scrunched up her face.

“Oh yes, and then I was offered more of the roast,” Maraline laughed.  “I very politely declined.”

“Don’t we need the east pass?” Kiannae pressed.

“I think so,” Adrien said.  “Yet needing, and getting are not always the same.  If the costs are too high, or the challenges too great…  We can survive I think being cut off from Helm for a few years.”

“The real problem,” Charles offered, “I think is more that few caravans will be going into Niven, the flow naturally goes north currently.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Adrien acknowledged.  “I’d not thought of that.”

“We’ve all we really need though, don’t we?” Katrisha offered.

“Yes,” Adrien nodded.  “Good trade is advantageous though.  The North will be poorer for this, not that there are so many living there now.  Still the drought must end eventually.  Perhaps by then the caravans will be willing to risk the east road once more.”

“Or we could install a proper duke in the north,” Charles said, and got a dirty look from both twins.

“The North has done fine without,” Adrien said.

“Not so fine,” Charles countered.

“Save the drought,” Adrien shook his head, “nothing a duke could do to help.  They did well managing things in the beginning.  Honestly the drain on resources from royalty could only have made things worse.  I hope we never have such trouble in the south.”

“Unlikely,” Kiannae said.  “The climate in the north has been impacted by a shift in the high winds, this has driven most of the rain into the highlands near Mt Saeah.  South Rook is perched in such mountain ranges, however the winds shift the rain still comes.  Though the forests to the east, or Thebes could suffer.”

“Interesting,” Adrien nodded.  “I think I heard Laurel explain that once, but I couldn’t follow how he said it.  Your version was much clearer.”

Kiannae smiled, and returned to her food, but Katrisha caught Adrien considering her sister a moment longer.  She found this curious till she caught Charles staring at her, and gave him an unfriendly look which spurred him to return to his plate.

“Do you two think you will ever travel?” Maraline asked.

“I think I want to,” Kiannae said.  “See the world.”

“Oh adventurous,” Maraline said excitedly.  “I just meant the kingdom.”

“Is there so much to see?” Katrisha asked.

“Oh South Rook is very impressive,” Marlaine said with eager earnestness.  “Everything is so tall.”

“I prefer Wesrook,” Charles said.

“But you were born there, of course,” Maraline countered.  “The ocean is nice though, I’ll admit.  I’ve only been once.”

“I got to visit Nohrook once,” Philip interjected.  “You can see forever from the top of the tower.  Cities across the plains of Osyrae.  That is why no army has ever marched unseen on Avrale.”

“From the north at least,” Adrien said.

“Or from the south,” Maraline added.  “Though you cannot see down the pass from South Rook, the villages down the southern slopes can see anything coming up from Niven.”

“The fleets of Wesrook hold the sea,” Charles offered.

“And of course nothing comes from the East,” Philip said.  “Which is why we are trying to fix that.  Though I’d think a new Rook would be in order if we finished the pass.”

“I believe the King has considered that,” Adrien agreed.  “Though where is the question.  None would be overly pleased to hold a lonely tower, and there is so little to support a proper town through that pass.  Unless mineral veins are found, even tin could prove valuable enough.  Failing that perhaps in the lower reaches of the far side – hunting the wildlands…though Helm claims most of them.  Still I think the upper hills are strictly ours.  The treaty is very vague since no one really lives there.”

“I’m sure if the pass is completed we will come to some agreement,” Philip suggested.

“And without one,” Charles said, “we’ve the high ground in our favor.”

“Perish the thought,” Adrien said with a stricken expression.  “We’ve no wish of a squabble with Helm.”

“They would seem the aggressors,” Charles countered.  “The Council might expand our borders in recompense.”

“And you would wish such a thing?” Maraline glared at him.  “What of those that might die in such a contest?”

Charles looked as though he wished to protest her opinion, but merely lowered his head.

“Further we need Helm’s help for the eastern pass to succeed,” Katrisha said.  “The point is trade.  How much do you think there would be if the Council took lands from Helm, and gave them to us?”

“I merely wished to consider the possibility that we would not lose in such an event,” Charles said firmly.  “Of course I would not want a war, just showing that we have the advantage.”

“I do agree with that assessment,” Adrien said diplomatically.  “Better to have no battles fought, but if we could not avoid them, knowing we would win is comforting.”

“If only we had such comfort about Osyrae,” Maraline said sadly.

“I find the mater perplexing,” Philip said.  “Not that they tell us much.  Yet if King Heron was really killed by his brother, a man who seems by all accounts obsessed with the old ways, what is his game?”

“He wants the support of dragons,” Kiannae offered.

“And thankfully there is little chance of him getting it,” Adrien said.  “As if their great General or Queen would bow to an unproven mortal.”

“And that, for better or worse,” Katrisha said thoughtfully, “is why he is trying to prove himself.”

“And let us hope that he only proves himself flammable,” Maraline proposed grabbing her cup, and holding it up.  The others all raised theirs to this, including adults near nearby who had overheard the children’s conversation.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 3rd, 640 E.R.

Days of setting a trap for Navi had failed to accomplish anything.  The twins had all but agreed to give it up, before returning to their room one day, and finding the trap triggered but empty.  Several of the runes had however been nudged around, the arrangement forming an arrow that simply pointed down.

“What does it mean?” Katrisha asked curiously.

“Not a clue,” Kiannae offered.  “Other than the obvious.”

“Do you think Laurel did this?” Katrisha considered thoughtfully.

“Mercu maybe?” Kiannae countered.

“Do you even think he could?” Katrisha pressed.

“Maybe if he tried very hard?” Kiannae said uncertainly.

“What’s down though?” Katrisha said rhetorically.

“Storage rooms…lots of things.”

“Even assuming it were a prank, it would be meant to be a message from Navi,” Katrisha said.  “The tower she built was destroyed.  So, maybe all the way down?”

“There is a door at the very bottom,” Kiannae said thoughtfully.

“I never went below the lower hall,” Katrisha mused.

“I asked Laurel about it once,” Kiannae said thoughtfully.  “He said it was just an old stone down there.  Historical significance or something.  Nothing that sounded interesting.”

“We could go check,” Katrisha suggested.

“The door is locked.”  Kiannae shook her head.

“So?” Katrisha laughed.  “We know how to operate the latch on Laurel’s study, I’m sure a lock wouldn’t be too hard.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

It was not a particularly complicated lock.  Really only a simple catch, and turning it proved little more complicated than opening the study.  Inside however was complete darkness.  Katrisha, and Kiannae summoned lights that drifted about them as they walked into the room beneath the tower.  There was loose stone here and there, and even old planks piled against a wall.  It was at once an eerie place, and seemingly quite uninteresting.  Save a large stone that occupied the center of the main chamber.

The two walked up to it curiously.  It was covered in dust, that mostly filled the faint hint of lines carved into its surface.  They looked like the lines, and runes of a spell, but there was no discernible magic.  Kiannae brushed away some of the dust, and looked more closely at the markings.

“How strange,” Katrisha said, doing the same.  “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Kiannae said.  “I almost feel something, but I can’t see any magic.”

“How long do you think it has been here?”

“Longer than the tower maybe?” Kiannae suggested uncertainly.

“Than the old one you mean?” Katrisha asked.

“Yeah, why not?”  Kiannae said.  “I mean it looks like the stone is really part of the hillside, and that the tower was built around it.”

Katrisha brushed away more of the dust.  “Did Laurel really say nothing else about it?”

“I think he said it was a marker, something about…lines, shamans, I don’t know.”

“But I thought shamans didn’t do magic?”

“Yeah, by definition,” Kiannae said curiously.  “Sure looks like a spell, but with no obvious magic any more, there is no telling what it was for.”  She held her hand against the stone, and closed her eyes, trying very hard to feel a strange sensation nipping at the edge of her awareness.

Katrisha did the same, and for a moment neither really felt anything.

“Ow,” Katrisha yelped with surprise, yanking her hand back.

“What?” Kiannae asked.

“I don’t know, it started to feel hot,” Katrisha said shaking her hand.  “I didn’t notice, and then suddenly it hurt.  My whole arm feels warm.”  She stared at her hand.  “Does my arm look brighter to you, the arua I mean?”

Kiannae walked over, and considered her sister’s arm.  “Maybe just a little?”

“I thought I heard something down here,” Laurel said stepping into the room behind her, his own light following him.  “What are you two doing?”

“Our ghost trap,” Katrisha started, and hesitated.

“Someone rearranged the runes into an arrow, it pointed down,” Kiannae finished.

“And so you decided to poke around in a locked room?” Laurel pressed.

“Well,” Katrisha said, “I mean if the message really was from Navi…”

“Or supposed to be,” Kiannae said weightedly.

“Yeah, either Navi, or you, or Mercu wanted us to look down here.”

“Wasn’t me,” Laurel said curiously.  “Mercu maybe, but if it was, I don’t get the joke.”

“What is it?” Katrisha asked.

“Just an old marker stone,” Laurel said walking over, and crouching down to look at the markings himself.  “No one really knows who made them, but they are found along ley lines, and at nexuses.”

“What are ley lines again?” Kiannae asked.

“Or nexuses?” Katrisha added.

“Well,” Laurel laughed, “nothing all that important.  There are variations in the energy fields of the world.  They form lines, and those lines have to cross somewhere.  There are slight advantages when performing grand acts with the gift to being on a line, or at a nexus.  This here is where at least five lines converge.  One runs almost perfectly parallel with the cliff.  Some theorize that isn’t a coincidence.  Yet how or why Broken Hill was broken is…well no one really has a good idea.  Still the name itself implies some truth to it.”

“Why can’t we feel anything then?” Kiannae asked.

“Like I said, it’s mostly a slight difference,” Laurel answered, standing back up.  “But you’ve lived here almost your whole lives.  I can barely feel it any more myself, even down here.  We are just used to it.”

“It burned when I held my hand on the stone for a while,” Katrisha said.

Laurel gave her a funny look.  “That would be a new one.  Are you sure?”

Katrisha held out her left and right arms.  “It feels like it’s fading, but do the auras of my arms look different to you?”

“A bit,” Laurel said curiously.  “Your right seems brighter…a little…bluer.”

“That’s the one I had on the stone,” Katrisha said.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Laurel shook his head.  “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of weird joke?”

Katrisha got a funny look on her face, and stared past Kiannae, and Laurel.  The two finally glanced behind themselves, but there was nothing there.  “What?” Laurel pressed.

“I…nothing,” Katrisha said a bit distantly.  She had seen Navi standing there for a moment.  She had looked at her, smiled, and held a finger to her lips before dispersing.  “If it’s a joke, we aren’t in on it.”

“Come on, let’s get out of this stuffy old place,” Laurel said pointing towards the door.  “And no more picking locks.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

That night as Katrisha slept she dreamt of the stars.  It was a familiar dream, at once comfortable, and unsettling.  She felt very alone, and sad about something, but she could not remember what.  It was a sky she did not know, and yet in the dream she did.  She could name all the stars in those heavens far better than those above Avrale, though the names never stuck.

She glanced some distance away.  A boy, and a girl she did not recognize sat there.  She could not decide if they were arguing, or merely discussing.  Each pointed to one star or another.  She did not trust them, and yet felt that they were just children, small, insignificant, and somehow her responsibility.  There was a sense of annoyance at this. They faded away, and there was only the sky.  She felt very alone.

She closed her eyes, and saw not stars, but lines, a pattern that stretched out before her eyes.  She no longer felt alone, it was as though there were shadows around her, tugging at the lines like puppet strings, but at once no one seemed there.  She opened her eyes again, and nothing changed.  No stars, no one there, just the lines.  She could see how something flowed along those lines.

“How?” it was like a whisper.  “Who else is meddling now?”  Katrisha looked around, and saw nothing still, just lines that spread in every direction.  She could feel a presence, but could not see it.  “You shouldn’t be here, not yet,” the voice said.  “Please go.”  It was oddly pleading.

“Who are you?” Katrisha demanded.

“Just a dream,” the voice said.

“I don’t believe you,” Katrisha said.

“Always too clever,” the voice seemed half amused.  “Just think of the stars.  It’s better.  This is prophecy, and you want nothing to do with that.”

“Prophecy?” Katrisha asked uncertainly.  She thought she had heard the word, but only in passing.

“Threads in motion,” the voice said, “you never know whether you are seeing them spiral together, or drift apart.  I really don’t want you thinking about this.  I prefered not knowing this.”

“I don’t understand,” Katrisha almost growled.

“Good.  Stars, just think about them, or the moon – you love her right?”

The command had some effect, and almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she was staring at a starry sky again.  Still one she did not know, and still somehow familiar.  For a moment she wondered what she had just been thinking, or saying.  It bothered her, but not so much as the loneliness.  She felt like she was missing someone.  Where was Kiannae?

Katrisha woke with a start, her head foggy.  She glanced around in the dark room.  Her sister was asleep next to her.  She rubbed her eyes, and looked at the trap they had set.  Faintly her eyes focused on Navi standing before it.  She cocked her head to one side, then the other, drifted around until she was behind it, and faced towards Katrisha.

The ghost’s expression was placid, like someone lost in thought, until it seemed her eyes fell on Katrisha.  She smiled, and though she didn’t frown, it seemed a sad smile.  She stepped into the trap, which went off, growing bright around her.  She nodded, and then disappeared in a swirl of light, and the trap dissolved with her.

Katrisha pursed her lips, all the less sure what to make of any of it.  Her arm felt warm again, and the only thing she could remember from her dream was feeling alone.  She curled up to her sister, who stirred slightly, and grabbed the arm draped over her.  Katrisha felt a bit better, but still struggled to fall back asleep.

Some stars flicked before her eyes as they closed, she felt as though they all had names, but none she could remember.  There was one, bright like lamp in the dark, warm like the sun.  It had a name – she was sure – yet the name eluded her, only it’s meaning, ‘My Light.’  It was a very pretty star she decided, and finally found sleep again.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 4th, 640 E.R.

“Where’s the trap?” Kiannae asked her sleeping sister, who barely stirred.

“What?” Katrisha murmured.

“The trap is gone,” Kiannae said.

Katrisha blinked several times, and glanced across the room where the trap had been.  She only vaguely remembered seeing the ghost dissolve along with it.  “Navi…dispelled it I think,” Katrisha answered.

“Really?” Kiannae said incredulously.

“I think so,” Katrisha said.

“But Laurel said…”

“I think we should stop trying,” Katrisha said, shaking her head.

“Do you think we are bothering her?” Kiannae asked.

“I don’t know,” Katrisha said.  “Something…I just feel like we are going to cause trouble.”

Kiannae clearly didn’t like the answer.  Katrisha took her hand.  “Can we just not?  Leave her be, I feel like we should.”

“Ok,” Kiannae sighed.

“Thanks,” Katrisha said, and rubbed her face.

“I’m hungry,” Kiannae said, and Katrisha’s belly grumbled before she could answer for herself.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Breakfast was a more subdued affair than dinners typically were.  People came, and went at varied times.  Only King John, and Aria were eating when the twins arrived.  Both considered the two curiously.

“It does not seem like the two of you to be up so early,” the King said, as the two sat across from the princess.

“We were hungry,” Kiannae said.

“Well, that does sound more like them,” Aria offered.

“Indeed,” the King said with some amusement.

A servant brought plates with pancakes, topped in butter, and set them before the girls.  The princess nudged the syrup pitcher closer to where they could reach it.  Katrisha poured a sizable amount over her’s, and Kiannae followed.

“I still wish it had worked,” Kiannae said, even as her sister began eating.

“What had worked?” Aria asked curiously.

“We’ve been trying to catch a ghost,” Kiannae answered, and took a bite herself.

“You’ve been troubling the White Lady?” the King said a bit startled.

“To be fair I don’t think she was much troubled,” Katrisha answered.  “She seemed more inclined to meddle with our trap than get caught.”

“Seriously you jest,” Aria said a bit shocked.  “Ghosts can’t do such things.”

“Also, I’ll have no trapping of royalty in my castle,” the King said sternly.  “Alive or otherwise.”

“We’ve given up,” Kiannae said a bit sadly.

“Good,” the King said.  “I’ll not have some foolish mages trying to capture my ghost when I am gone.  I would be very…” he stopped as a servant hurried in, and seemed to be headed towards him.

“There’s been another collapse up in the east pass,” the servant said.  “Reports of injuries this time.”

“Fates,” the King said standing up, and wiping his mouth.  “Send riders for healers, immediately.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 5th, 640 E.R.

Renae ran her hand over one of the many wounded quartered in rooms of the castle.  She glanced at Idolus who was working on another man, and looked back to her own patient.  “Incompetent,” she muttered under her breath, and tried to figure out what to do about the bone in the man’s leg.  The alignment had been off when it had been healed.  And re-breaking it would be cruel, but if it was not fixed he would easily break it again, and probably walk with a limp even if not.   What remained would be to carefully reshape it, which would take an hour at least.

“We’ll need to work on this later,” Renae said to the man, “but you will be fine,” she reassured him.  He nodded, and she moved onto the next patient, who looked a bit uncomfortable to have a four year old examining his arm.

“What do you feel?” Renae asked.

“I’m not sure,” Wren said.  “Something…not right.”

She ran her hand over the arm, examining the interior carefully.  The bone was fine, she could feel where the break had been, but it had set properly before being healed.  She probed around it, trying to understand what Wren might have felt wrong.  She considered he might just be too new, but checked again, finally finding the clot amidst the swelling.  It was inside the vein, and threatened to easily break lose.

“Oh,” she said, swallowed, and carefully dissolved the dangerous thing.  “Good catch honey.  You tell me if you ever feel anything like that again.”  The man looked concerned.  “You’ll be fine sir.  Just a little clot, all better now.”

Renae caught Idolus moving at the corner of her vision, and saw the hateful look on his face, directed at her.  Her blood nearly boiled, and she made herself look to the next patient.  His face was a bit swollen on one side, and he was clearly having trouble opening that eye.

“Hello,” he said in an overly friendly tone.

Renae nodded, and checked his head.  Nothing significant was wrong, but the residual swelling would take some effort to lower.  “Wren, feel what I do,” she said, and began working to mend the inflamed tissue.  Wren put his hand over Renae’s, and tried to pay attention.

“That feels very nice,” the man said.  “Don’t often get such attention from a pretty lady.”

“As if you can see me,” Renae chided, and the man’s eye opened a bit more.

“Well, I do now,” he laughed.  “Little girl yours?”

“My son,” Renae said pointedly, “is learning to be a healer.”

“Ah,” the man laughed, “sorry boy.”  Wren gave both a funny look.  “And sorry to you too, ma’am.”

“It’s fine,” Renae reassured him as the swelling continued to go down.  “I keep telling him we should cut his hair, but he doesn’t like it.”

“I like my hair,” Wren said firmly.

“Don’t blame you kid,” the man said patting the top of his head which had a receding hairline.  “Maybe I’d have kept more if I cut it less.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Renae said.

“Oh good,” the man laughed, “not my fault.  More than I can say for the slide.  I told that damn fool from Silvercreek I didn’t like the way he’d set the charges.  He didn’t listen…I should have made him.”

“Doesn’t sound like your fault really,” Renae offered reassuringly.

“Just wish I had stuck to my instincts,” he said distantly.  “Others got it worse than me though.”

“There you go,” Renae said.  “How’s your head feel?”

“Much better,” the man said, and sat up.  He rubbed where his face had been swollen.  “Bit tingly, and…huh sensitive, but not in a bad way.”

“That’ll go away in a day or so,” Renae said.

“Shame,” the man said with a wry smile.  “Anything I can do for you?”

“The order always welcomes donations,” Renae said, and started to move on.  “Nothing you can’t easily afford of course,” she added.

A man groaned some distance away, and Renae stopped and stared at Idolus irritably.  “Do you do nothing for the pain?” she demanded, and at first it seemed almost like he did not hear her.

Idolus looked up after a moment however.  “Life is pain, it is good to be reminded, lest we forget, and cling when the time comes.”

“Leave that man right this instant,” Renae snapped, and marched toward Idolus.

“I will do no such thing,” Idolus said furiously.

“You are unfit to call yourself a healer,” Renae growled.

“I…” Idolus seethed, and the man he was healing yelped as he lost focus.  “You are little more than a whore.  You do worse than corrupt by merely being what you are, you actively seek corruption, and worm it under the skin of everyone around you.”

“Corruption?” Renae all but roared.  “How much are you charging the King to care for these men?  By the day, by the hour, by the injury?  You are the whore, you disgusting vulture, leave before I break my vows and strangle you.”

A guard entered uncertainty, and eyed the two healers that stood above a wounded man, seemingly ready to come to blows.  “What is the matter?” the guard asked, far from unaware, but at a lack of any other options to mediate a situation he did not wish to to deal with by force.  There did not seem a good way for that to go.

“Guard,” Renae commanded.  “Escort this defective, spiteful thing from this room.  Preferably from this castle.  He has no business tending to wounded.  I will attend everyone myself if I must, it will do no more harm than allowing him to lay his hands on them any further.”

“Ma’am,” the guard said, “I don’t answer to you.  He’s here at the invitation of the King.”

Eran entered then.  “I’d do as the lady says.”

“Sir?” the guard asked uncertainly.

“Abyss take you all,” Idlous snapped, and marched from the room furiously.

“Thank you,” Renae said, and turned to the patient Idolus had been working on.

“Figure they’ll heal better without his help,” Eran offered.

“Are you competent at all?” Renae asked.

“I…not much,” Eran said.  “I did what I could for the worst, and the first arrivals, but while I may have a better bedside manner than Idolus, I’m not even half the healer.  Figured I’d best stay out of it once he showed.”

“Can you at least triage, look for anything he’s botched too badly?” Renae asked.

“Yes Ma’am,” Eran nodded.  “You can go soldier,” he said to the guard, who gave him a funny look, and left.

“Start at the far end, and if you would show Wren what you find, and how to find it.  I need to focus on getting things done.”

“I’ll do my best,” Eran said, and considered the little boy who looked up at him expectantly.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 25th, 640 E.R.

“The only fatalities died instantly, four total,” Arlen reported, “no thanks to interference in the infirmary.” He sneered slightly.  “We’ve only just now recovered the last of the bodies.”

“The pass itself?” the King asked, ignoring the aside.

“Worse for wear I’m afraid,” Arlen answered.  “We lost a huge section of the hillside in a secondary slide.  Another bridge, and not one that will be easy to build.  I’ve been given recommendations for an alternate route, but it isn’t that much more promising.”

“At this point do you honestly still have a case that this project is worth it?”  Laurel pressed.

“If we had confirmation from Helm that they will build a road to us,” Arlen answered.  “Right now it seems they are unwilling to commit to anything, until they see us succeed with the pass.  We’ve full commitment from South Rook to fund half the project, but that was with old estimates.  I will admit I am losing faith in the idea.”

“Then it is a question of how We abandon this gracefully,” the King said unhappily.

“If we can convince caravans to return to the eastern road, the cost of the construction would clearly not be worth it,” Laurel suggested.

“And can We do that?” the King pressed.  “You know the trade princes better than Us.”

“We can try,” Laurel said.  “If we stop trying to make progress, and pull back to simply investigate the pass more passively, that might buy us some time to try.”

< Previous || Next >

Chapter 7

Weathered stones rest round ‘n crumbled,
of that old broken tower tall ‘n noble,

there a weary eye might catch a glimmer,
of long satin robes that wave ‘n shimmer,
a glowing face bares timeless eyes,
‘n gossamer hair brushes ghostly thighs,

a beautiful form fair ‘n striking,
a hollow visage doth easily frighten,
do not tremble for our good white lady,
count again omens give kindly,

for should she smile broad and clear,
know you are ever welcome there,
O’ though should she frown ‘n glance to you,
heed her warning ill fortune comes due.

– Ballad of the White Lady, circa 400 E.R.

The Lady of the Hill

Estae 17th, 639 E.R.

Laurel heard the clatter of little feet coming up the stairs in great haste.  It was hardly warning enough for a six year old to grab hold of one leg, nor her sister in turn to glom onto the other, nearly toppling him in the process.

“Laurel,” Kiannae began in a panic, “there was a lady in our room.”

“But she wasn’t all there,” Katrisha added.

Laurel steadied himself, and considered the frightened children clinging to him.  He smiled in his usual way, and shook his head.  “So you’ve met Navi, have you?  I’ve seen her a few times myself, over the years.”

Katrisha loosened her grasp on Laurel’s leg, and glared up at him, startled by his matter of fact reaction.  “Na…Navi?” she stuttered.

“Yes,” Laurel said almost laughing, “Navi.  Though most call her the White Lady, or some other such thing.”

Kiannae now seemed to relax her grip a bit, and looked up, the worry on her face softening.  “Who is Navi?” she asked choking back her calming hysteria.  “Isn’t that the name of a mountain?”

“Yes – good.  She was the first official ruler of Avrale as a unified nation.  At least so far as the best histories I have found are concerned.” Laurel paused thoughtfully.  “She is one of the more curious ghosts I’ve ever heard of.”  The girls faces both tensed with unease at that word, but Laurel just laughed.

“Don’t worry dear ones,” he said patting them both on their heads, “first off ghosts are harmless.  I’ve only ever heard of one that can even interact with the world around him, and he’s…quite friendly.  As for Navi, I’ve only seen her a few times over the years, she’s exceptional in that she actually turns to look at people, sometimes smiles or frowns, but no one has ever seen her do more.”

He watched both girl’s expressions, their relief was clear but they were obviously still on edge.  “Come,” he said with gentle command in his voice.  “Come up to the main study, I will tell you more about ghosts, spirits, and other such things.”

Laurel gently pulled his legs free, turned, and headed back up the stairs.  The girls followed close behind.  “As to Navi herself I fear there isn’t much to tell,” he began as they passed a storage room door.  “She is very old.  She lived before the Empire by hundreds of years.  She is an imprint ghost, though an exceptional and unusual one given she seems aware of the living world.”

“Why is she,” Kiannae paused making sure she repeated the word correctly, “an ‘imprint?’”

“There are two main kinds of ghosts,” Laurel said pleased with the question. “There are those that manifest near their remains – these tend to be more aware and responsive.  Then there are those that appear near where they lived, or where important things happened.  These tend to just be after images.  Like reflections in a mirror.”

“You said though that she looks at people, even smiles,” Katrisha said with some consternation.  “She smiled at me, I saw it, I was just too scared at the time to realize.”

Laurel laughed. “I’m glad to hear Navi approves of you.  But yes, very astute.  In cases like Navi it is believed that more is imprinted upon the place than just an image, that a very small amount of the person remains.  She had the original north tower built here in her day, much of the work she may have even done herself – according to the legends.  Though that tower fell very long ago, some of the stone was reused, so she remains.”

“So she only appears here in the tower?” Katrisha asked curiously.

“No,” Laurel corrected, “she appears near any of the scattered stones of the old tower.  Including above the waters of the lake below, as many stones fell from the cliffs when the tower was destroyed.”  He turned the unseen latch hidden within the study door, pushed inward, and stepped into the study.

“Why do some people leave ghosts and others not?” Kiannae asked, a touch of grief in her voice.

Laurel sighed deeply. “The day you can answer that with any proof is the day you earn a permanent seat on the Council.  No one knows.  All the obvious reasons seem to fail the test time and time again.  Of all the most powerful mages in history few have manifested as ghosts of any sort.  Some have theorized it is a matter of ‘precise mediocrity’ – that those too powerful burnout in death, and those too weak leave no mark.”

“That isn’t it either is it?” Katrisha asked scrunching up her face thoughtfully.

Laurel smiled, “No, it doesn’t seem to be.  History is full of innumerable mages of highly mediocre ability, and power.  Yet few, very few ghosts.  In spite of all this the one determining factor does seem to be the gift, and more often magic.”

“Wait, what’s the difference?” Katrisha asked a bit confused.

“Take your brother, or Renae,” Laurel answered.  “Both quite gifted, but neither are mages, because they have not trained in our practices.  Though I suspect Renae knows a few things.  Magic though, they very word comes from the Maji, from their specific practices.  Spellcraft is magic.”

“I’ve heard Renae speak of the living magic,” Kiannae countered, as they moved into the central study.

“Yes,” Laurel frowned.  “And you will hear commoners refer to any gifted practice as magic.  Does it really matter?  No, I suppose not, but it is better to use a word with proper meaning, is it not?  The superstitious will speak of witchery, and witchcraft as well, and the legends say they wove spells, but there is little evidence there were ever such practitioners.  Would either of you care to be called a witch?”

“I don’t know…” Katrisha said hesitantly.  “People don’t seem to like witches.”

“But does it really matter, as you said once, a name is just what we call a thing.  This rune, or that?”

“Ah,” Laurel laughed appreciatively.  “Yet as Mercu would assure you the words we use are very important, each synonym has it’s use – and maintaining their meaning is of value.”  He paused thoughtfully.  “Can you heal so well as your brother?” he pressed.

“I don’t think so,” Katrisha admitted, though she had little to base the statement on.

“Can he conjure dancing lights, and craft spells?” he tried again.

“No,” Kiannae answered a bit proudly.

“What he has studied, and what you have studied are very different things,” he paused pointedly, “why should we call them by the same name?”

“We shouldn’t,” Katrisha agreed.

Kiannae seemed to mull something over for a moment. “You said some ghosts can touch things?” She said returning to the prior topic.

Laurel nodded at Kiannae. “One can.  Some rare ghosts that manifest near their remains can speak, or even answer questions.  They tend to come and go quite erratically, and forget things between manifestations.  There is however one notable, spectacular exception.  Theseus Moire, an instructor who lived during the mid Empire.  Legend says he was so stubborn, that when he died between classes he went on to teach the next as a ghost!”

Laurel paused thoughtfully. “He is the only ghost I have ever…heard of who can move objects at will, and who can still limitedly perform magic.  Some say he grew smarter in death than in life, and that he never forgets…anything.  He kept teaching part time till Corinthia fell, then he was lost for at least a century.  Some…believe the Council found him, locked him away, and never said why.”

Laurel noticed the girl’s attention drifting, and said pointedly, “Ghosts are not the only such entities in the world however.  Spirits, or those commonly called elemental or half-flesh are individuals who have transcended the death of the body, and anchor their souls to this world through a surrogate form.  Not to be confused of course with true emergent elementals, as old Norbert was,” he added gesturing up to the core of the simulation over his head.

Laurel had never explained why the elemental had been called Norbert, and in fact had expressed his own personal bemusement on the matter.  He had however revealed that it had been used for less dignified things over the years, including keeping perishables cold, and staving off the heat of a northern summer.  Mercu had been able to tell some more interesting stories about the enigmatic crystal’s origin, none of which Laurel had been inclined to confirm or deny.  Though he did admit Mercu had done a fair amount of research into the history over the years, that he had not bothered to.

The short version of Mercu’s tales could be summed up that it was the spoils of a harrowing fight with a vicious elemental, in a very distant northern wild-land, far beyond the equator.  It had been the property of Laurel’s great grandmother, who had defeated it, and was probably worth an unfathomable amount of money, if it was not bound by successive wills to never be sold.

Satisfied he had their attention he continued.  “They are vastly rarer than ghosts, but much as Theseus they retain significant and persistent mental ability, but more so are often very powerful.  They range from stone men, to dryads, or even the fabled Lady of the Sands worshiped by several nomadic tribes of the northern wastes.  There existence is well documented, but none have ever consented to be studied.”

“Do they never die?” Katrisha asked with interest.

“Some argue they did die, in the conventional sense.  They don’t have living bodies as you or I any more.  As such they don’t age, though some do fade with time, while others seem absolutely immortal – even when forcibly scattered they reform eventually.”

“How did they get that way?” Kiannae asked.

“It varies,” Laurel said thoughtfully, “The process has never been observed, or replicated intentionally.  In a few cases the individual was known to have started the process in life, becoming deeply attuned with the nature of some material or another.  When death came to call, or in a time of desperation they abandoned their bodies, and became one with the practice they had long worked.”

“Why doesn’t anyone know?” Katrisha asked irritably.

“For over a millennia there are records of the study of all things gifted, and supernatural,” Laurel said, half sitting on the central table.  “I sometimes think more has been lost than is still known.  Yet one thing has never been done, or well proven to be done, no one can see beyond the Veil.”

“What is the Veil?” Kiannae asked vaguely remembering hearing the term several times, but not knowing what it meant.

“That itself is an open question,” Laurel laughed.  “Some think of the Veil as the boundary between our world and things unseen.”

“And others think?” Katrisha said scrunching her face.

“That the Veil is a bad term, overly weighted with old superstition, and misleading, but that it -is- the universe,” Laurel replied.  “I tend to believe that my self.”

“How does that work?” Kiannae asked looking confused.

“The easiest analogy is to imagine the surface of the ocean…” Laurel reconsidered his choice of words, realizing the girls had never seen the ocean, “or well how about the lake.  The Ether is the sky above, the Nether the water below, and you, me, and everything else are ripples on it’s surface.”

“Is that what’s on your face?” Katrisha asked innocently.

“Um, no,” Laurel said shaking his head, “Though I suppose that’s a fun way to look at it.”

“We don’t have any ripples,” Kiannae said looking back and forth between Laurel and her sister.

“That’s because you are young and simple, like calm little ponds, and I am old and complex as the stormy sea,” he said looming playfully over the girls who giggled at his antic.  He leaned back again and sighed. “Don’t worry if the idea doesn’t make sense to you, I barely fully grasp it at times…and it is just an idea, no real proof…well there is this.”

Laurel picked up a small ink well from the desk.  “There are two arguments about why this works,” he said as a shimmer appeared around the bottle, and then it simply disappeared.  “Can you still see it?” he asked.

The girls looked in wonder at the object Laurel seemed to imply was still in his hand.  There was something there, the tiniest refraction, and the faintest aura, but both were so subtle as to be hard to notice.

“I think so,” Kiannae said.

“There is an aura around it, but it’s hard to see inside of yours,” Katrisha said trying to focus.

“Ah, yes, here,” Laurel said setting the invisible bottle on the table beside him and sliding away.

“Yes I can see it,” Kiannae said, “it glows.”

“Yes, it’s not a very effective trick against those with the gift,” Laurel laughed as the bottle shimmered back into full view, “still, if you weren’t looking for it, you could miss it, yes?”

“I guess,” Katrisha said with a shrug, “it’s still neat.”

“Back to my point,” Laurel said shifting back closer to the center of the two.  “Two views, both…acceptable.  It is not a conventional spell, more akin to a conjuration.  One view holds that filaments are bending the light around the object, you can’t see it because light isn’t reflecting off it, or being blocked by it.  The other view holds almost the same, but contends that we are bending the Veil, that even filaments are part of it, the surface of reality is warped around it, and that light then simply flows around.  To me it feels more like I’m bending the Veil…but that’s a feeling, not a fact.”

“Aren’t feelings facts?” Kiannae asked looking confused.

Laurel rubbed his head.  “I suppose they are facts for the ones feeling them, but everyone feels different things.  Facts can be tested by multiple people, the same results seen again and again.”

“Don’t different people see different things too?” Katrisha asked.

“That’s where we get in a lot of trouble,” Laurel laughed.  “We take a lot of things on faith, as fact, without going to all the lengths of testing what others have before us.  What they observed, we accept, because of trust.  Or what they trusted that someone else observed…and so on.  Trust to a point, but when climbing a mountain, check your own rope I guess is the lesson.”

Laurel rapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table he was leaning on, and walked over to one of the many bookshelves lining the walls.  He tapped several as he scanned for the particular one he sought, and at last pulled it from it’s shelf.  “Here,” he said opening to about a quarter of the way in, flipping a few pages back and forth before settling on a chapter start, “Moriel tells me you are doing well with your reading, practice on this, and I will be back in a bit.”

Laurel wondered what was compelling him as he left the study, surely as long as he had been talking to the girls the apparition was long gone, yet suddenly he felt a need to see her for himself.  He stopped before the girl’s chamber door, and hesitated, mostly afraid to feel a fool, sure he would find nothing within.  Something else was bothering him, the impulse itself, but for once, on such a simple thing, he could not resist.

Laurel opened the door, and there she stood at the window, half there, a transparent vision of flowing white hair, robes, and luminous skin.  The presence of a ghost is a stranger thing than a living being.  It is hollow, thin, but still there.  She felt almost like a feather caught on the wind, and the wind itself.  She turned to face him, she smiled ever so briefly, but as she turned away Laurel saw a frown cross her lips, and before he could pointlessly demand a meaning, she dissolved away in swirls of shimmering light.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Mercu struggled as he often did, trying to get the twins into their bed, and at last exasperatedly declared, “If you two do not stop fidgeting, and lay down this very instant, there will be no story tonight.”  He turned at the sound of the door opening behind him, but the girls, distracted by his threat relented to lay down.

“I thought,” Laurel said looking at Mercu’s perplexed expression, “that since you often complain on the matter I would help you put them to bed this time.”  He looked to the girls who now lay ready to be tucked in, “But it seems I am too late.”

Mercu glanced back to the girls, shook his head, and covered his face with his palm, “I suppose it is the thought that counts, isn’t it?”  He looked back to Laurel.  “Well, I guess you may as well stay for the story.”  He turned to the girls again, and as he tucked them in asked, “What shall it be tonight?”

“Tell us a ghost story,” Kiannae declared.

“Yes,” Katrisha agreed.

“Still with the ghosts?” Mercu laughed.

“Don’t suppose I blame them, I saw her myself today,” Laurel chuckled.  “I’m afraid I’ll be of little help though, I’m quite well out of ghost stories of my own.”

“Still I must do all the work,” Mercu said feigning indignance.  “Very well,” he said tapping his finger to his chin, “Ghosts, ghosts…aha!  Yes, the tale of Thethis.”  He sat down, and picked up the old battered lute he often used when telling the girl’s stories.  “Long ago, and not that far away, where now only forests stand, there was a great lake, broad enough to have islands midst it’s wide expanse.”

“Now on these islands, and on the north eastern shores,” Mercu said with a strum of the lute, “there were a people who loved their lake, who were at one, and at peace with its still waters.  The waters served the villages of Thethis, they could walk, and dance upon that shimmering surface, as easily as its shores.”

Mercu waited a moment, strumming idly, and then continued.  “The people were happy, and good, respected, but not well loved by their neighbors.  Save one, a Princess who came to love a boy she had seen dance across the lake’s calm waters.  One day, she too caught his eye, and he took her out with him to dance upon the lake.  The King, the Princess’ father did not approve of the girl’s affections, and forbid the pair to meet again.”

“The Princess though loved the boy who would dance upon the lake, and ran away with him, to live, and hide among the island refuges,” Mercu strummed for emphasis, “but the King sent his men, who came to blows with the villagers of Tethis while seeking their Princess, and the boy.  It came to the verge of war, and word in due course reached the two lovers.  The Princess could not bear the price of her happiness, and set out across the waters with her love by her side.”

Mercu eyed the girls who still clung to consciousness, and strummed several soft notes before continuing, “But the King’s men, who had already made threats upon the people to not use their gifts, saw the two crossing the waters as a threat.  They had never seen their Princess walk upon the lake, nor did they recognize the clothes she wore that day, and archer’s shot both down.”

“The boy,” Mercu continued, “could not maintain control, and struggled helplessly as his love sank into the depths.  The waters though, bore him to shore within the night, barely still alive.  Fevered he asked why they had killed their own.  Realizing his mistake the commander cast the still living boy back into the depths, and lied to his King.  He said the people of Thethis had killed her, not his men.”

“So it was,” Mercu said darkly, “that the King did give a decree, in his anger, and sorrow, to kill all the people of the villages, every last one.  The people of Tethis fought bravely, to the last man, to the last woman, and even child.  And as the last of them, an old shaman lay dying, she whispered to her killer, ‘The lake will take you, two for every life lost for a lie.’  It is said, that as she let out her last breath, she simply whiffed away into the night, and was gone.”

Mercu strummed softly for a bit before finishing. “They say that most who were ever alone near that lake again would disappear, and that faces were seen in the mists.  People would forget, or grow bold, or foolish after a time, and even more would be lost.  There were also stories of people the lake almost took, who were just as mysteriously saved from their peril, and instead borne safely ashore by a strange boy, before he would disappear…”

“After many generations a King ordered the lake drained, and the river that fed it diverted.  Still,” Mercu said as he stood up, and leaned over the sleeping girls to kiss them each on the forehead, “there were stories of the faces in the mist, until slowly the forests took the land where the lake had once stood, and people would forget, save to remember the forest of mists, where none dare to tread.”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 2nd, 639 E.R.

Mercu was hardly awake from the groaning and thwack of a door thrown opened in haste, when a bawling lump hurled into his bed with force unbefitting meager size.  Instinctively he backed away from the unknown assailant, before he could register the proportions, and obvious disposition as a crying little girl.

“What’s wrong dear?” he asked in a groggy, but still startled tone – trying desperately to get his wits about him.  Katrisha continued to sob.

A minute passed as Mercu tried to calm the shaking girl in his arms, before a second girl, seemingly more bewildered than frightened wandered into the moonlight beyond his door.  “What’s wrong?” Kiannae asked sleepily, “I woke to Ka screaming, and then she ran away.”

“I don’t know,” Mercu said in a frustrated tone, he had been having such a nice dream too, which momentarily danced at the edge of his memory.

“There was a lady,” Katrisha finally whimpered, “a ghost…I think,” she paused uncertainly, trying to think straight.  “She was on a throne, in the dark, and something was moving…so big, and the eyes, the huge yellow eyes, and…and it was a dragon!” she finally blurted out her face stricken with fear, as though she had just then realized what she had seen.  “Her voice was so loud I could not understand, it rattled everything, even my bones.”

“That’s quite the nightmare you had, poor dear,” Mercu said slightly relieved by the triviality of the matter.

“It was real,” Katrisha demanded, and then seemed to feel silly for saying it.  Mercu considered her for a moment.  There was a certain dwindling faith in her statement, though it was passing, but not without striking Mercu curiously.  It wasn’t impossible…he dismissed it.  There was no sense encouraging the idea on so many levels.

“It was a dream my dear,” Mercu said reassuringly, “there are no ghosts upon thrones here, nor dragons lurking in the dark.”

“But…” Katrisha protested, and then gave up arguing, and clung closer to Mercu, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Well,” Mercu sighed, “you may as well come in also,” he said looking at Kiannae, “and do please close the door.”

Kiannae slowly walked in, and closed the door behind her, before moving to Mercu’s bed, and crawling up opposite her sister.

“So, I have told you of dragons,” Mercu mused, “and how they came to be.  Let me tell you of the kindest of all.  A daughter of Lycia, who sat ever adoringly at her Empres’ side.”

“She was the woman Alara, a handmaiden to the eldest princess of the Empire.  She was a controversial appointment.  The Lycian Order was young then, not even named, their defiance of growing Clarion influence all the more fresh, and burning of an affront to true believers.  They were however growing in popularity, most particularly in Lycia, with whom the Empire was always closest, and most vehemently entwined.”

“Why do the Clarions hate the Sisterhood?” Kiannae asked tiredly.

“That…” Mercu said thoughtfully, “is a good question, but an ever so long and dull story.  Dull at least without the bits far too unfit for young ears.”  He paused a moment.  “Now, as to Alara, she was the princess’ favorite amongst her attendants.  She was her closest confidant, dearest friend, and…they were close.”  He trailed off trying to reframe his tale.

“By training, Alara was a healer, a shining example of kindness and selflessness.  Everything a Sister of the Order would come to be, but surely not the model of what people think of dragons.  Yet when the time came, when the Empress asked for volunteers to fight the Black Flight, to become as she, there was none she could have trusted more.”

“Why – you might ask,” Mercu continued tiredly after a few moments of silence, “would a healer, seek to become a dragon?  Lycians love life, you see, they do not chase ascension, even if some believe it possible.  Alara loved life as much as any, and she was old, very old when the war came.  She did – they say – wrestle with her choice.  That if what she loved of life, she would forgo in the power that would consume her frail form.  Still in the end, she made her decision.”

“So was reborn Alara’sae,” Mercu said in a soft but dramatic tone, “unique amongst all dragons.  For while it is known that all other such creatures maws are death incarnate – be it by flame, by tooth, or more exotic means – Alara could breath life itself.  While all other dragon’s fought upon the front lines, trying to strike down foes, at the back of Corinthia’s army was a healer beyond all measure.”

“A dragon healer?” Katrisha laughed incredulously, as sleep fought to take hold again.

“So it was, and is,” Mercu said.  “She dwells still in Lycia, where she returned after the war.  A few of her brood, and her mate Mar’etten dwell there with her.  None ever have been able to match her particular gift, though each of her dragon-born daughters and sons are known for their unmatched skill as healers.  Only the most gifted of the Sisterhood are granted audience with her, to partake of the breath of life, and perhaps learn from its powers.”

“What’s a dragon-born?” Katrisha asked half asleep, her sister already slumbering.

“As dragon’s came from mortal man, so to are born mortals of dragon blood,” Mercu answered, and kissed Katrisha softly on the forehead, and smiled as she finally slipped back to sleep.

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 17th, 639 E.R.

Katrisha hugged Wren consolingly, as Kiannae watched through the cracked door beyond which Laurel and Renae had descended into uneasy discussion of the events that had delayed their regular visit.  Mercu for the first time Kiannae could remember did not seem pleased by Renae’s presence.

“It was a wonder even Randal survived,” Renae said grimly, “and barely at that.  They tried damn hard to insure no one was left.  Poor boy was always gifted, but to have lived with those injuries after having been left for dead…”

“Has he been able to say anything meaningful regarding the attackers?” Laurel asked with obvious distress.

“No,” Renae said in a dishearten tone, “he’s pretty well in shock.  Had more to say about some mercenary named Hamon, who gave the bandits a run for their money.”

“Hamon?” Mercu said his face going white, “who was the master of the caravan?” he abruptly demanded.

“Uh,” Renae said suddenly on edge from Mercu’s reaction, “a man named Valden I believe, did you know him?”

Mercu visibly shrank back, and looked away seemingly embarrassed.  “I think so…but not well,” he said after a heavy breath, “but Hamon I knew, he traveled with my father’s caravan for years.  I never thought I’d see the day he got taken down by a bunch of common thieves.”

“By all accounts he didn’t go down without a fight,” Renae said consolingly, “as I said, it seems to be about all Randal can remember is Hamon cutting down five of the attackers before buckling under an onslaught of arrows.”

“That’d be Hamon alright,” Laurel said with ill humor, “once saw that man take a dire boar with nothing more than a dagger, after the beast broke his sword.”

“Wren was there when Randall was brought to us,” Renae grimaced, “he didn’t take well to seeing his wounds – such a terrible thing on his birthday.  Even for all the healing Randal had done to himself he was an awful mess.  The patrol hadn’t been able to do much, and the clarions had turned him away as a lost cause.  I’ve seen worse myself, though not many, still turned my stomach a bit.  I’m not sure if he will ever be quite the same.”

Mercu caught sight of Kiannae peaking through the door, and cut between Laurel, and Renae, pushed the door open, and closed it behind him.  “So I’m guessing you’ve heard all that,” he said irritably, “not that I guess we went out of our way to keep out of earshot.”

“Why would people do such a thing?” Kiannae asked angrily.

“Greed, or desperation usually,” Mercu muttered, “and the effectiveness of the attackers, as well as the King’s willingness to relocate northerners  who suffered from the drought leaves me no doubt the answer is greed.”

“But why?” Katrisha insisted.

“We don’t always get what we want in life, and certainly not right at the moment,” Mercu said and walked towards the window.  “Even in the best of times there will be those willing to take what they want by force, and kill to keep their secrets.  I just can’t shake the feeling this is much more than it seems…” he said staring out into the valley below.

“What more could it be?” Kiannae asked with confusion.

“Not every bandit is a free agent, some,” Mercu said looking back at the children, “some are tools of rulers, and unscrupulous orders who wish to weaken, and test their enemies.  These are hardly the first bandits to pester the eastern road.  Laurel once saved Darion in route to Helm, that is how we came to reside here at court.  Those were common thieves…and fled, or surrendered at the slightest sign of magic.”

Wren who had been clench fisted since he had arrived held up his hand, and in his palm lay a single golden button.  “What’s that?” Katrisha asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mercu said walking up, and kneeling before Wren.  “May I have that?” he asked.  Wren nodded, and Mercu took the button and turned it in the light.  “That,” he said furrowing his brow at a thrones rose embossed on the button, “is the emblem of Osyrae’s royal house.”

“Does that mean that Osyrae did this?” Katrisha asked nervously, she had often heard the whispered fears of Osyrae starting a war, when adults had thought she was not paying attention.

“Perhaps,” Mercu said eyeing the button suspiciously.

“It is at once too convenient, and too little,” Mercu stood, and looked towards the door.  “We don’t want war.  If Osyrae does, then we would give them what they wish if we act, particularly on so little.  It is evidence none the less, that we must take precautions,” and with that he marched out the door.

He did not see as a white wispy form stepped from thin air, and seemed to look about as though confused.  The ghostly woman looked down upon the three children before her, but seemed to look more through, than at them.  She slowly knelt down before Wren, and seemed to consider him more directly.  The twins for their part stepped back, but Wren, though obviously nervous at the presence of this new stranger simply stared up into her hollow face.

There was a long uncomfortable silence, and all watched the unreadable expression of the ghost.  She seemed, almost to frown for a moment, but then smiled, and as quickly as she had come, was gone.  “All things pass,” Wren said sadly, and scrunched up his face, almost as though he did not understand his own words, “yet most will come again…”

⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃

Jovan 37th, 639 E.R.

Eran moved silently between the trees.  The tracks were clear, no more than a week old, and it had not rained enough to disrupt them.  Animals had done their damage, but not enough to render the trail untraceable.  A large company followed a good hundred yards behind their tracker, and were less silent, in spite of some of their best efforts.

Arlan wore armor too heavy for stealth, Horence was simply not so graceful trekking through the underbrush, and the priest in their midst did not seem to care.  Laurel for his part moved quietly enough, but at the center of a blundering lot, he was hardly inconspicuous.  No one seemed at all pleased to be there, or many with each other.  A group of common soldiers circled the leaders of the party, and more scouts kept watch at some distance out, in all directions.

Laurel only opened his eyes periodically to make sure he was not about to stumble over something, he was focused on less mundane matters.  Only the gifted of the group had any notion of the array of magical lines that circled the company, listening for arrows, spells, or other conventional threats.  Ready at a moment to snap into an active defense.  The range of the array was limited, but Laurel was focused on feeling to the extended senses it gave him.

When Eran stopped abruptly, Laurel was immediately aware, and gestured for the others to stop as well.  Soldiers readied themselves, the priest moved to the back, and Horence, and Arlen prepared for the worst.  Two short whistles, followed by a third long one lowered their guard somewhat.  The party moved forward in step, and came upon where Eran was perched on a ridge.  The markings on the forest floor below were anything but subtle.  It looked like a battlefield.

Huge scorch marks dotted the landscape, trees were toppled and blackened, a few corpses could be recognized even at a distance.  Laurel could sense there had been a ward on the hill where they stood, too faded to give any warning to its absent maker.  He wondered if it had been any use at all.  He hoped not.

Scouts slipped around the permitter, and two whistles, followed by a third sounded from each cardinal direction.  The soldiers moved down the hill, and circled the clearing as the leaders stepped in, followed by Eran.

“There’s a trail of blood here,” Eran said prodding some leaves.  “Couple more patches that way it looks like.  They were headed north west by the looks of it.  This is all as old as the tracks in,” Eran shook his head.  “They are long gone.”

“I’d hoped you would tell me this was it, that they hadn’t gotten away,” Laurel grimaced.

“Other than the patrol that never returned this is the most evidence we’ve seen of the bandits outside of the caravan,” Arlen growled.  “At least some of them met justice.”

“All this really tells us is that they fled into Osyrae.  Telling, with everything else, but useless,” Horence offered.

“It’s enough,” Arlen gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

Laurel stooped down and stared at the dried blood.  “There is no way they were driven off by our lost patrol.  Those bodies also aren’t our men I’ll wager.”  He looked around.  “This is also far too much damage for even one mage fighting common soldiers.”

“We’ll have to look closer at the dead,” Eran said, “but no, there is no way they are ours.  I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Nor have I exactly,” Laurel rubbed his beard.  “I’ve had a few proper fights with skilled brigand mages, but never did either of us leave a mess like this.  This looks like the work of two or more full war mages duking it out.  Maybe Sylvans…”

One quick whistle, followed by a cry of pain turned all to the north east.  One of the scouts ran, and stumbled into the clearing past the circled soldiers.  He lost his balance backwards, and fell, the arrow in his shoulder pushing through from the impact.  Everyone took positions, prepared for an attack.

“I can feel them out there, they are keeping their distance,” Laurel said under his breath.

“A warning shot maybe?” Eran asked.

“A bit bloody for a warning shot,” Horence countered.

“They are savages by their nature,” the priest said dismissively.

“They are no such thing,” Laurel snapped harshly.  “Keep your vitriol to yourself, Idolus.”

The priest sneered back at Laurel with equal displeasure.  He mulled over things he could say to further incite the man’s protective urges.  He had long abandoned further ideas of saving him, and therefor tormenting him was fair game, and could show him, and his dubious charges as the corruptive influence he held them to be.  He decided not to press the matter under perilous circumstances.

Eran moved cautiously to the wounded man’s side, as he struggled to get up.  He helped him to his feet, and brought him to Idolus.  “This will hurt,” Idolus said plainly, and pulled the arrow through.  The man shrieked, and Idolus began healing the wound.

“Still holding position,” Laurel repeated.

“We should hold our ground,” Arlen said firmly.  “We can’t let this evidence be lost.”

“There is nothing worth fighting for here,” Eran snapped.

“We must retreat,” Laurel said sternly.  “As a Council representative, I will not have us intrude if the Sylvan’s claim this part of the forest.”

“This land is still Avrale’s,” Arlen snapped.

“This stretch of forest was abandoned by Avrale hundreds of years ago,” Eran countered.  “Even then we are right on the traditional border.”

“We are going,” Laurel said flatly.  “Everyone form ranks, and back out slowly,” he yelled with commanding volume.  Several quick whistles from Eran gave the message to the remaining scouts.

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