Echo’s PoV - Southern Castle

The Outlands’ light through the Gate appears strange after days of this world’s white-yellow Sun. Ebusuku doesn’t comment on the Erakkö form I’m currently wearing, but I see the wry smile flit across her lips before she waves the Archons through. After days of gaining startled reactions from the locals, I’ve finally seen the wisdom in what a Dwarven Celestial suggested about blending with the locals. The last flights of Archons line up near the castle’s front gates like they’re waiting for one of Farhad’s lessons to start.

“Archon Echo, why have so many of your fellows come through? Did your patrol spot a force on the way?” asks Angarhela, having approached unheard despite his clawed feet and armour-clad form.

It’s the first time he’s snuck up on me. Have others complained about me doing the same to them?

“My apologies for the confusion, General. I saw nothing approaching. Sidero and Klipyl have found a second breeding site to be cleared out, and we’re going to assist them.”

The general motions a secondary hand at the scores of Lantern Archons, his fingers slightly curled in a gesture I recognise now as a sign of curiosity. “How much bigger is it to need so many?”

“It’s hard to say, since the opening is another massive pit. They’re here to gain combat experience together,” I reply, not wanting to explain Sidero’s impact on their leveling. “I’ve Sidero’s latest map that shows where it is if you’d like to see it.”

Angarhela nods appreciatively and clicks his nails while I unsecure the storage bag from my back. “How far have they reached?”

“Slightly under four hundred kilometres at the furthest point, Sidero has expanded her southwards course with a grid search centred on the first site. They found this pit forty kilometres to the southwest of it,” I explain and pull out the flexible metal sheet Klipyl brought back.

Unfurling it reveals embossed contours of the low foothills and rolling grasslands to the south. The sheer detail turns the practical map into a work of art, and the General brushes his fingertips across it taking in the contours leading southwards from the castle.

“Shaper Sidero does incredible work, does she not?”

“She’s not a Shaper as you know them General, but yes she does,” I agree, looking over the fine lines that show a stream running through the grasslands.

“Sidero’s not an Archon, is she?”

“No,” I admit, but dislike leaving him ignorant of her kin’s dangers, “but she’s not like her kin either. They are far more dangerous, even malevolent to deal with. Lady Amdirlain trusts Sidero to assist you against the Thri-Kreen, otherwise, she wouldn’t have brought her here. Klipyl’s is a strange situation as well, another entity far different to her kind, though she seems to have their—appetites—still.”

The general coughs at my attempt at discretion. The soldiers’ tales about yesterday’s visit made it quite clear her appetites are still present. Though I’d been pleased to find no damage done to those who’d indulged her curiosity.

“After you return, I’d like to speak about her and Klipyl before you patrol again. While your Lady’s help has proven beneficial to us, they both seemed far stranger than the rest of you.”

“I’ll ensure I make time. I know little beyond that Sidero is an old friend of Lady Amdirlain’s, however. She says Sidero will keep her agreements and is very strict in her adherence to rules. If she visits again I’d suggest speaking about your laws, perhaps the same applies to Klipyl and what rooms not to make use of for any… gatherings.”

“My guards said she was quite forward in how she spoke to them when she came looking for you recently.”

Holding back my laughter at what might count as forward, I keep my expression serious. “I’m sure she was.”

“The castle shapers are particularly interested in knowing about the chains Sidero wears. Do you know about their alloy?”

“Very little. The metal is apparently alive, under her control, and able to undertake actions independently. I’m told she’s able to invest that ability in any chain near her, but her shroud is especially dangerous.”

“I won’t keep you, but whenever you have time to speak, I’d appreciate it. I’ll arrange a scribe so you don’t have to answer more Shapers’ questions.”

Uncertainty sends a chill through me for a moment, and hope I’ve not over shared. “I’ll ask Sidero for permission and what information I might share.”

“Thank you for correcting me,” replies Angarhela, stiffening in concern. I quickly return his gesture of the interlaced hands and bow, to accept his apology. “I hadn’t considered that she doesn’t report to you. Perhaps convey our respects and thank her again for her help.”

He quickly accepts the map when I offer it, taking it carefully with his true hands. Despite the steel’s thinness, the size makes for a substantial weight. “I’ll pass along your regards and arrange a time to speak further when we get back.”

Pit’s PoV - Kingdom of Remus

The last Dwarven township is high in the foothills, and the closest slope is now lost amid the backdrop of the distant mountain range. The late morning sun creates cool puddles around the few trees that dot the grasslands. Recent rains make the dirt showing amid the lush grass choking the road, dark. No idea why the Dwarves who gave us the directions referred to this as a road; it’s more of an animal track, pegged out occasionally with rock piles to mark the way. Intentional rock piles, unlike the rubble of the few hamlets we’ve passed through so far, with grass already reclaiming the earth amid broken buildings and long cooled funeral pyres.

“Are you not listening Jenqith?” Aggie asks, and I glance back to see her looking down from atop the pony she’s riding.

“Sorry, it takes more getting used to than I had expected,” I admit. The sounds of wildlife in the long grass makes my ears twitch, calling for my attention.

“Maybe use one that starts with the same sound,” Aggie suggests, and before I have time to reply continues. “Pitnari, maybe?”

“Now I know why Amdirlain says picking a new name was hard for her.”

“You have an advantage there. It’s not a name that you’re going to keep using for the rest of your existence. It’s just something to fit in while travelling,” offers Aggie. “You may find something that appeals to us.”

Even with my back to her, I rub my whiskers to hide my lips curling in the Basteti’s odd smile, unsure how many times she’s offered the same reassurance now. ”None of us could remember any names from before the maze. Sage insisted we needed to pick one, or one got picked for you.”

“Found it annoying to say hey, and three people answer?”

“Not far off. They bothered once there was five, but that was before my time,” I reply, rubbing away the floating grass seeds tickling my nose. “How far to the nearest town that’s still standing? I’ve not seen much except animal tracks.”

“There might only be ruins until we hit the Kingdom of Darius. The road used to head towards the main township this far north. The Dwarf guardsmen believe it’s still standing, but no traders have come through. Maybe any trade is going via towns further south, or by routes east of the mountains.”

“What does it mean for anyone left in this region?”

“Hard times with fewer traders coming through looking for crops and offering goods until their King or Senate decide to push for re-settlement. I hope they station legionaries further north this time, instead of letting the outliers tend to their own defences. The Kingdom of Darius wasn’t hit anywhere near as bad, but there local lords, not senators safe in the capital decide.”

I hadn’t been paying attention when I picked the first name, but this latest sounds better. “Pitnari, I’ll try that one. Why didn’t you offer it earlier?”

“That’s right, blame me! You picked the first one I offered,” Aggie retorts, and I have to duck when she flicks the loose end of a rein near my ear. “Not like it wasn’t your choice, friend.”

The pony takes the motion as a prompt to move faster and pushes his muzzle against my shoulder.

“True, but I’m naïve about the ways of the world, and you choose to guide me wrong.”

Aggie leans forward and pats the pony’s shoulder. “You’re not alone, Mr Pony, it seems there is an arse about.”

“You’d best give the pony a name he might answer when you call to me,” I warn in good humour, and start towards the only tree close to the road; the shade might allow Aggie some respite during her noon meal.

“Okay Mr Pony, it’s you, me, and one smart arse.”

At the pony’s huff, I just shake my head. “Why didn’t you leave that beast wandering free? We made better time without it.”

Aggie gives a merry laugh and pats the pony’s neck again. “Nevermind Mr Pony, he’s just a grumpy kitty.”

Amdirlain’s PoV - Limbo - Monastery of Will’s Hand

It was bittersweet how her mind could recall minute details now. While it was a capability that allowed her to remember family events like they were yesterday, it also let her remember other things exactly the same way. Prompted by the morning chime, Amdirlain reluctantly reformed. After the evening’s initial churned up emotions, she’d stayed concealed away from the dormitory thinking about her family.

Her arrival by the upper pathway immediately drew Master Tenzin’s stern notice. “Know that you will clean the first-floor study corridor before dinner today.”

“Yes, Master Tenzin,” Amdirlain said and took her position for morning meditations.

Nomein knelt beside her, the Novice’s cheerful demeanour stilling as she took in Amdirlain’s withdrawn expression. “Is something wrong Amdirlain?”

Master Âdaka’s arrival let her avoid the question and she closed her eyes to settle into a centred state, only to find more memories waiting for her. The girls’ soft tenors reminding her of Rachel and Sarah fussing, the hard stone like the tiles under her knees and unsettled nerves churned in sympathy with remembered nausea.

“Your mum will freak if you cut your hair,” Rachel breathed. Her hands supporting Julia while keeping her loose hair back from falling into the bile, which was all she’d had to heave up. The toilet’s lip dug into her clenched fingers, the edge of the moulded plastic feeling razor-edged with everything too sensitive.

“She looks sad brushing it when it’s falling out. Having it all gone is better.”

“But don’t you want to keep it for a bit longer?” asked Rachel glumly.

“It’s only hair. Better to have it gone,” Julia murmured, undecided if she should give her comb collection away, or keep them in case she lived to regrow it.

“I’ve found your dad’s hair clipper. What number guard should I use?” Sarah asked, plastic rattling around inside the box. “The biggest is sixteen, the thinnest is a one.”

The stomach muscles that trembled in her memories caused her hand to clench in sympathy. “Don’t worry about a guard, just use them without one.”

“I might cut you,” objected Sarah, and the clippers gave a quick buzz. “Flush and let’s get this done. I’m using the number one.”

Her hand still rubbed Julia’s back, as Rachel turned her attention Sarah’s way. “What’s the rush?”

The clipper’s blade clacked against the sink and Sarah hurried off but called back down the hallway from the direction of the kitchen. “If we get started before Mrs E is back, she won’t have a choice but to help finish.”

Rachel closed the lid and hit the button while Julia rested back on her heels. “I didn’t expect hair to come out so soon.”

“Apparently I’m sensitive to the treatment,” Julia replied and glanced up in time for Rachel to plant a washcloth on her face, but she mumbled through it—the cool enjoyable. “Chemo chic, it’s the new heroin chic. All the top models will die for it.”

“Julia!” protested Rachel and scrubbed her face roughly with the cloth.

“What, Rachel? Shit happens, it’s hair. Sarah’s right, let’s get it done. Mal might hear the clippers and come inside.”

“When did you get so unemotional?”

“Some things aren’t worth being bothered about,” replied Julia with forced casualness.

Rachel gave her a careful look and poked her shoulder. “When’s the funeral?”

Julia locked the tears away and gave Rachel a smile. “Elizabeth’s was last week. Good odds or bad, there are always odds against. You can have those combs of mine you like.”

“You keep them for afterwards. You promised your mum to keep your hopes high, so don’t be a sourpuss,” Rachel chided gently before her voice softened further. “It sucks that they caught hers so late.”

The clatter of a kitchen chair on the bathroom tiles prompted Julia to stand, and Rachel helped her stay upright when the world suddenly spun. Compared to Julia’s petite form, her blooming and gangly height makes her seem years older, but they were both barely thirteen.

Âdaka’s instructions let her shift out of the memory’s grasp, and inhaling she felt for the moving air. The memory of her mum’s laughter at her ‘lamb’ when she found the trio with jammed clippers and Julia half-sheared eased the pain. By the time the meditation session ended she was feeling more herself. Giving Nomein’s shoulders a pat, she flowed upright and headed for the refectory.

Expecting to have a few minutes alone, it surprised Amdirlain to find Master Jarithä standing where Master Tenzin normally supervised the meals. “Good day to you, Master Jarithä.”

“Know that you caused Master Tenzin some concern last night during her evening checks. Know she contacted several of us to see if we knew your whereabouts and you proved impossible to scry to check you were safe.”

“My apologies. I’m used to taking care of myself, and last night I couldn’t bear the thought of the cell,” answered Amdirlain, and wondered how often Tenzin kept watch on her.

“Know it is not me to whom you should apologise, but I’m sure Master Tenzin will extract her own apology. Know that is not why I’m here this morning. Novice Amdirlain, would you be willing to assist anyone wishing to gain an Affinity after dinner over the next few days? Know you would have the right of refusal or compensation given the rudeness some have displayed.”

“If they ask, Master Jarithä, then I’d still help them,” replied Amdirlain.

“Know there will be Novices organised from the other enrolments as well. Know it will make sense after the announcements,” Jarithä said and motioned precisely to her usual seat.

It startled the others to see Master Jarithä there, but he simply waved each hesitant Novice to their seat. Once they were all present, he addressed them with Master Tenzin waiting off to one side.

“Know that recent events require us to re-plan your training. Know in the short term, there will be an additional lesson on Mana theory every day, after dinner for those who’ve gained an Affinity,” said Jarithä. A murmur started among the Novice but stilled even as he raised a hand for calm. “Know that after we complete our planning, we will implement a restructuring of all the recent enrolments of Novices. Know our intention is to have three training paths: the one you are currently on, the Anarch training, and a combined course for three classes.”

Zenya’s raised her hand to her shoulder, and Jarithä nodded. “Will the combined training cover all the same lessons? Can we switch to the Anarch training if we now have an affinity?”

“Know it will include the subjects expected of a monastery Master in each field, along with extras. Know that I expect the dedication required will be considerable,” cautioned Jarithä.

“But why, if it’s just the same lessons over a longer time?”

“Know that it will tempt those on the combined course to compare themselves unfavourably to those completing the Zerth, or Anarch, course. Know they will earn their Master title years earlier than those undertaking the combined training,” warned Jarithä. Despite his tone, none of the Novices that Amdirlain could see seemed to take the warning to heart.

“Why all the enrolments, Master Jarithä?”

“Know Novice Amdirlain has agreed to help more learn an Affinity though I insist she may refuse any request. Know also that Novices from the other three recent enrolments have yet taken part; they’ll do so over the next two evenings,” replied Jarithä.

“Will we still be in the same dormitory?” asked Sarith, her voice tight with frustration

“Are there any Anarch trainees in this dormitory, Novice Sarith?”

Amdirlain hadn’t known the exact division of Novices, but Sarith’s rigid expression made the situation clear.

“Know that you may raise any further question with Master Tenzin when she allows time for them,” stated Jarithä, and left the refectory.

Isa’s PoV - Eyrarháls

It was fortunate that Ilya insisted we stick to the soak we’d already arranged. By the time she decided I’d gained all the benefit I could from it, news of the incident had spread far and wide. Dozens of Elven songs were humming their distress in the Jarl’s Hall, and the upsetting notes had tempted me to tell them their worry was for a Demon summoning arsehole. Instead, I’d lain curled up on the bed with Ilya stroking my hair and talking me out of sharing the same song with the arrogant snot in charge.

The hornets’ nest of the day had died down by late evening, and Ilya’s scrying showed Steward Hinrik still tending to paperwork in his office. Ilya deliberately lets the door click shut, but Hinrik doesn’t look up from the scrolls in front of him. “I’ll be awhile yet.”

“You could always burn it all and pretend you never got the messages,” I suggest and Hinrik snaps upright in his seat. “I’d suggest getting a better desk setup; being hunched over can cause back problems.

Hinrik’s expression composes quickly enough but seems far too slow to me. “My apologies, no one informed me there were still Elven delegates about. What might I assist you with?”

Despite the lateness of the hour, he stands and politely motions us to the seats by his desk. Ilya plays the part of the guard standing to one side of the chair I take. When he stops fussing about offering declined drinks, and finally sits, I almost sigh in relief.

“Yes, it’s been a busy and distressing day for all concerned. We wanted to speak to you about a matter we’d been intending to investigate for a while.”

“What can I assist you with?”

“We’d like to know why you’re targeting the followers of Amdirlain,” I state, and watch his gaze widen.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean-”

Before he can gather steam, I cut in. “Please Steward Hinrik, it’s been a distressing day.”

“Yes, so much so I’d forgotten to even get your names, yet you know mine,” interjects Hinrik, the quickening notes of his song showing his mind recovering from his surprise. The reflex request a social gambit to buy time.

“Rúsea. It’s hopefully easy enough. Aren’t some Elven names utter tongue twisters for those, not native speakers?” I reply and fix him in place with a smile. “I’d prefer a straightforward and civil conversation. It’s not an accusation, we know that the town, indeed the kingdom, has levied and set up additional tax conditions to apply against them. I’d like to hear your reason and what we can do to ensure they’re only paying the regular rate.”

“They can be quite the mouthful, especially when no shortened or alternative version is offered,” replies Hinrik, grasping for the easy topic.

The smile I’ve been wearing gains an edge that freezes his next words on his lips. “I’d imagine Himelchon wasn’t one inclined to offer either, but it is late, and this topic could take us far off course. To the topic I want to address—taxes—could you please explain? Surely together we can address whatever issue you have to ease tensions here and in other places. With today’s matter now pressing for attention among the Sunset Elven court, let’s address the core of this matter so we can focus attention elsewhere.”

The Steward rolled up the scroll he’d been reading and set it aside with an exasperated sigh. “Do you know the amount of disruption their presence has caused to the town’s economy?”

“I would have thought they’d have improved the economy,” I protest, thinking about the efforts in Amdirlain’s account.

“How, by making crops more plentiful and thus cheaper and increasing demand for finished goods thus increasing their cost?” asks Hinrik, and quickly continues. “The Jarl collects tax revenue mostly in grain and produce. In good years, we’d have excess to sell off after keeping those in his direct service fed. Now that excess is greater, but some years we haven’t nearly the coin required. Why, I’m sure you’ll ask, simply because the areas we can easily sell to are oversupplied by the region’s farmers. That doesn’t even cover the fact that the extra district meant we had to expand the town guard permanently.”

The logic in his argument matches his song but doesn’t match the belief Amdirlain’s folks have, and I wonder if they’ve ever been told.

“I suggest you’re looking at this from the wrong side of the equation,” states Ilya, before I can ask more questions.

“I’m the Jarl’s Steward. My role is to ensure the maintenance of his household within the bounds of the law. Your Lady didn’t even see fit to provide me with your name.”

“This suggestion might be within the bounds of your laws. You’re looking at them purely from how you’re used to earning coin: via taxes, levies, and the sale of goods. New revenue options are what I’d suggest. Even the little I know of your situation I’d suggest considering a Wizard school and a mercenary force.”

Hinrik looks about to dismiss Ilya out of hand, but his expression shifts slightly, and he relaxes back into his seat. “I’m listening.”

“The Priests of Amdirlain can teach Affinities. Be upfront with them and point out the financial difficulties to avoid further misunderstandings. Some even believe you’re targeting them because of your family history. Continued misunderstandings are just going to prolong the trouble for you and the Jarl.”

A frustrated expression flicked across Hinrik before he nodded sharply. “My father faded after the old Jarl made him retire, but he still has contacts that make problems for them that I can do nothing about. He believed her, to quote him, ‘a jumped up entitled Elf tricking people and Powers into expending resources on her behalf’.”

He motions for patience when I interrupt. “I’ve seen enough to know that isn’t the case. I will admit I don’t like their disruption of traditions but I’m not looking to ruin them—they’ve proved too useful a group, and their elder members endured enough. However, I have a duty to my Jarl and this town; if I don’t raise more revenue this trend will pauper his family. The Jarl’s father isn’t the same man since his wife’s death so he’s not about to go adventuring to supplement the holdings finances.”

His song is honest in both his admission of his dislike, but also in his begrudging acceptance of them. Ilya continues the moment I tilt my head at her. “Hence my two suggestions and you could likely come up with more working together. Ask them to co-operate with the Jarl to establish a school to train various kingdoms’ aspiring wizards for a suitable shared fee. You’ll attract craftsmen looking to profit from the richer students and bring in revenue from taxing them, plus craft goods from the apprentices they train will push down the price in town.”

When the Steward immediately looks ready to object to Ilya’s suggestions, I chip in to cut off his calculating song. “I can assist with the upfront costs, but I’d suggest starting small to work out any issues. At a minimum, you need to stop hitting the freed Thralls with extra taxes.”

He doesn’t wince, but a guilty tone shivers through his song. “What was the other suggestion?”

“Establish a mercenary band around the cadre wizards that the Jarl could hire out. They’d be able to take on sizeable forces like the Manes that hit the northern kingdoms. While there won’t be wars every year, in quiet years they could hire out to patrol roads, garrison areas, or conduct pre-emptive raids on Gnarls and other humanoids. Established correctly, they’d bring in regular coin to the Jarl. If you rotate your soldiers through the band, you’d gain a stronger defensive force in time.”

“How would that even work?”

“I’ve seen it work on other worlds,” Ilya replied and smiled at his baffled expression. “Look into other revenue options; if you don’t believe you can make these work. Stop counting on taxes.”

“About the school’s upfront costs-” started Hinrik.

“I’m in town for two more days staying at The Silver Chalice. I’d suggest you meet with them and work out the framework of an agreement. Put a proposal together between yourselves, and then I’ll provide the funds and materials you can sell—if I’m happy with it. You will arrange for the freed Thralls you’ve overtaxed to be reimbursed.”

“I can at least waive their tax each year until they’re repaid—if this works,” offered Hinrik, the guilty tones still present.

“If you didn’t like overtaxing them, why do it?”

“They were stirring up troubles that the guard couldn’t step on, so I gave them a legal lesson in causing problems,” admitted Hinrik.

“Good night Steward. I guess it’s your lucky day,” I say brightly and almost forget not to teleport away. The door closes behind us and Ilya’s look-away Spell enfolds us again.