6 Days Left

Ragnar studied the notes from the last few hours. The situation had devolved rapidly, from largely harmless conflicts it had broken down into violence on the streets. Just as he’d suspected, Inga’s men had seen him trying to keep them from the Serpent-Vein troops and launched their attack, easily punching through.

The problem with cities and districts, was the lack of easily recognizable and orderly lines. The organic growth of the capital caused the inevitable mix of their squads and sections. Grimar’s men were primarily guards—well trained ones, but guards none-the-less—Inga’s were in large mercenaries with individual group structure. They hadn’t blended well.

As their leadership started dissolving so did their discipline and structure. Elusrian blood was spilled, then Grimar’s men—in retaliation—wetted the streets with theirs. Soon their whole area dissolved into hit and run warfare, disappearing as best they could into the alleyways and buildings.

It hadn’t worked well against Ragnar’s regimented take over of the city and fight against Sworden who basically stood alone. Grimar could’ve killed Inga’s leaders, but that would’ve caused mutiny and betrayal on too large a scale splitting their forces even further.

Ragnar shook his head and put the notes down. There wasn’t anything to learn from them. Grimar was as decent general, but he lacked experience. Sveitha was more creative than she was effective, and Inga’s mercenaries were simply ineffective. It wasn’t even worth the distraction if he was being honest.

He looked through his new wall-sized window of frozen water. Zubair had fixed it up after they’d gone back inside. Ragnar thought he had some understanding of what was going on, but that had not settled his nerves. The midday sun shone down upon the un-melting glacier ice and he tapped his desk nervously before catching himself.

Zubair had said he’d return that morning after checking on Saleema. He’d gone to briefly scan the palace to get a sense of her and he hadn’t found her. Now, he was out looking for her, he’d claimed she could’ve hidden from him in the palace if that was what she chose to do.

However, Ragnar could not allow himself to be as hopeful as that. He couldn’t think that she’d decided to just hide within the building, or even in the city, chaotic as that might be. He shook his head, he’d have to assume she’d gone to with the Queen’s caravan. That she’d somehow found herself on a trip there and now his Queen was stuck a day and a half of travel away from civilization.

Travel for a master, Ragnar thought grumpily, it would take longer for the Queen. Warp already wasn’t great for traveling. Even the Body Discipline, while capable of explosive burst of speed often lacked control and endurance. Warp burned hot but not for long.

He looked down at the notes again, but couldn’t make himself pick them up. Instead, he pulled his cane from the other end of the room and stood up. Slowly, he walked over to the ice. Zubair had made it perfectly see through from his side. Technically, it was see-through because he was looking directly at it, if he’d been lying on the floor-or standing on the field outside looking up—it would’ve looked blue.

It still felt odd to be able to so easily stare out onto the crowds of students exercising on the fields. It was tether-class for the first-years and they were doing well. Nearly ninety percent of the year had achieved their first-stage. A ten percent increase on last year’s class.

Students were sitting in quiet concentration, most of the classes having upped their focus on entering- and meditating on tether-space. Ragnar blamed the increased success of these students on the new half an hour of mandatory meditation in the morning, which had led to even more meditation during tether class as all the teachers were seeing improvement.

Sometimes he baffled at what it took to change someone’s mind. Scholars, researchers, and administrators could shout at the top of their lungs for literal decades about proven methods of improvement, but he mentions it a few times a week for two months and it starts taking hold like frostbite in the glaciers.

He shook his head, as someone knocked on the door, “Come in,” he called sliding the greased hinges open.

“A letter, sir,” the administrator, his secretary, was holding up an envelope with a white seal of wax on it. Ragnar nodded and walked over to receive it.

“Thank you,” he muttered as the man left the room again and he cracked the seal. White wax meant it was one of his spies, likely the ones in Sworden’s barracks knowing the state of the other two armies.

He allowed himself a chuckle as he scanned the words on the page. It was just as he’d hoped. People didn’t like losing, people really didn’t like being lied to, and more than that people hated feeling guilty.

Sworden had armed themselves with a lot of well-trained army men. People who were told they were making a change, doing the right thing. Now they were seeing how Ragnar drove the other two armies before him. They were seeing the civilians that were getting caught in a conflict they’d started. They were seeing themselves branded as traitors as news of their true employer started spreading.

Men who had fought and bled for Elusria on the front lines, were not happy having that thrown in their face as Sveitha lied to them. A few, he was sure, had doubled down. Being wrong was uncomfortable after all, especially when you’re that wrong, but many had seen sense and the chance his men were offering.

He tapped the paper against his fingers as he turned to watch the students practice. Across the fields before him, pillars of smoke were starting to rise, lights were flashing in all the colors of the rainbow, sharp cracks could faintly be heard, the sound of ice snapping, obsidian breaking, and the whip crack of warp.

He turned his head to the only quiet group among the classes. Around them, the air bulged… wrongly. The shifting of the area did not fit with shifting of light or even air. It seemed to bulge obscenely, against the natural laws of the world, as nearly a dozen students worked their powers.

Space…

He’d never been sure how to feel about them. He could think of a few cases where he could’ve used a few dozen space tethered more in the field, but it was a rare occasion. Normally, they didn’t do anything a soldier with a shield couldn’t also manage. Sure a Cloak could cover more people than a single shield, but you needed to equip soldiers anyway and a dozen shields doesn’t cost as much as tethered. A Cloak might be able to create a barrier of hardened space in the air to stop of a flight of arrows, but they could also turn a tiny tent into a supply shelter. Their abilities were much more utilitarian than any of the others.

He watched them work, a fifth-year among them guiding them as they generated bubbles of excess, he could admit to himself that he didn’t particularly like them. Their powers didn’t fit in with the rest. All the others fit into the order of things, they didn’t start to break down the rules, the world, as he understood them.

Another knock on the door, this one was harder than what his administrator usually dealt out, a soldier, then, he cleared his throat, “Enter,” he did not open the door for the man as he hadn’t summoned him and didn’t intend to unnerve the man.

Turning around, Ragnar saw one of his commanders standing in the doorway. The soldier stepped in quickly and shut the door, “Big news, sir,” he said saluting him.

“Let me guess,” Ragnar said drolly. “They’re moving to pull out of the city. Their forces are consolidating near one of the gates, preparing to push out? Likely one they’ve recently seized control of?”

The commander stood with his mouth open, “You already knew, sir?” he glanced at the huge window behind Ragnar, “Can you see it from here?”

Ragnar shook his head, “It was the only reasonable move Grimar has left. He’s been getting trounced within the city. With the introduction of the mercenaries, his hierarchy started to fracture and he needs to simplify things and gather their forces. The city’s too complicated an area to fight in, and it’s losing them the people.”

“Very astute, sir. What do you want us to do?”

“For now, gather the men and get ready. We will give them their conflict, I think.”

Ranvir swayed in tether-space. A storm-rush of wind filled the space coming from the rapid spin of his tether. It whipped through the air, pulling on his hair and uniform as it whipped around.

He’d been in the space for… hours, maybe a day, intently combing the space for the flaw. His eyes burned as he blinked them, his stomach rumbled as he licked chapped lips. Something was wrong, he knew it. The flaw was present so strongly it should’ve been shaking the space apart, but instead it was holding strong, perfectly so.

Was it just his perceptions?

Ranvir shook his head and turned his attention to the wall before him. He was examining the entry point of his tether, where it merged into the space somehow. Tether-space was odd, it clearly had defined limits to its area. Latresekt couldn’t enter and he’d seen the walls of the space before he’d advanced, but… as he looked now these limits seemed vague. Stretching out his hand he was surprised when he touched the edge of the space nearly immediately.

Startling a step back, he shook his head causing everything to swim about him, Focus! He turned his attention back to the entry-point. It wasn’t so much a solid sign as it was a sensation. Like a minor voice crack when speaking, or thinking there was a step more on the stairs. It never happened in time with the flaw’s disturbance and it was coming from the emergence of his tether.

A hitch, Ranvir noted counting loudly, and on his fingers. “One, two, three, fou—“ the flaw bumbled an appearance. A few moments later, he sensed another hitch. “One, two, three, four,” the flaw vibrated throughout the space.