Chapter 11
Vashon, Arminoff Calastia -- The Minor Court
Queen Geleeda watches the ghost images of the Minor Court move
through the large expanse of her audience room with little interest.
Servants appear from hidden doors throughout the room, allowing
them discreet access to the tables laden with trays of fruits,
cut meats, cheeses and wine. The passages behind these doors
lead back to the kitchens and cellars, keeping the servants
away from the main gathering areas, though the courtesy of this
is lost during Minor Court. To those within the Minor Court,
the Dukes and Lords currently moving through the room like ghosts,
the servants outside were also mere ghost images. Shades watching
shadows. Wine bottles are opened and set to replace empty decanters.
Ghostly figures glide by the tables, silver trays loose food
as they pass.
The Minor Court is a contraption created by Anteas, Grand Vizier
and Master of the Calastian Battle Mages. Geleeda thought the
contraption was useless, until the King her husband lost interest,
and in turn so did Anteas. Now it is part of her realm of influence.
At first she was resentful, but as time passed she found that
the King and his Vizier had once again dismissed a large reservoir
of information, on the basis that it was not martially important.
The Calastian tradition of improving status and position through
a course of murder had become counterproductive. The plotting
and schemes of individuals were taking precedence over the plots
and schemes of the country. On top of this some good men were
being lost through the serendipitous success of lesser minds.
Minds which soon went dark themselves less than a week later.
It was annoying. Tasks were assigned to able men who were murdered
before completion, leaving the unfinished venture to men who
were not aware of the project, or its status.
The King described it to her once as barbaric, even though
he rose to his position exactly the same way. She knew better,
coming from the tribes of Albainia. The barbarians fight each
other for position, but they don't kill each other. It takes
a society of educated, law minded sophisticates to come up with
a class structure based on murder.
To solve the growing number of assassinations, and hierarchy
changes, Anteas created the Minor Court. Each Lord in the realm
of Calastia was given a crystal chamber. Inside the chamber
the magic transported the Lord into this room. The gathering
allowed these men to eat, talk and plan without the worry of
assassination. It was of course tested many times by the Lords,
who have come to accept that Anteas' creation did in fact work.
Another benefit was that servants walking through the room could
not hear conversations, or create disturbances. They were ghosts,
ghosts that served and drifted off.
King Virduk praised Anteas for his ingenuity, but rarely uses
the contraption himself. He prefers the personal touch in dealing
with others. Geleeda admitted that his presence was effective,
and there was a monumental difference between knowing the King
was hundreds of miles away, or having him stand within striking
distance. Virduk has addressed the Minor Court when news or
announcements needed to be spread fast, but those times are
rare. Such is the nature of the King's rule, unexpected occurrences
were scarce.
This was not to say that the King's idea of unexpected was
the same as hers, in fact they could be very different. Unexpected
to the King, also required a level of importance, as her current
distraction reinforced. She of course heard about the girl in
Shelzar, that fool Commander Vashin at the embassy saw to that,
she doubted there was a servant in her palace who didn't know
about the girl by now. He didn't seem to understand that secrecy
was a military tactic. It was a wonder that he was still alive.
Geleeda's eyes lifted to the ghostly images moving through the
room. Thank the Minor Court for that she supposed.
A woman in her position could not play an average game however,
opportunities were a daily occurrence. She simply had to see
them when they appeared. Adapt, learn, and restrain. The only
interest that the King had in the girl was the interest that
the Penumbral Lords had an exceptional enthusiasm for any information
on the prince Edrin Northstar. On her own the girl was of little
value, but dead even with the connection to Prince Edrin, she
was far worse than valueless, she would be a catalyst to war
with the Tera Vi, a war that Calastia could not afford at the
moment. Calastia currently had war on three fronts. It was enough,
even to satisfy Chardun, the great General himself, or so the
clerics said. Kill the girl and she would have value indeed.
Virduk at first was very keen to keeping her alive and returning
her to the father she claimed. For a price of course. Commander
Vashin caused such a large rumor mill going about the girl's
presence however, that the King has now distanced himself from
the problem. The commanding word is to keep her alive and put
her in Shelzari hands. When the message arrived that the girl
had gone missing, Virduk simply said, "Then that is that."
and prompted his Page for the next order of business.
Queen Geleeda believed the girl had little value to her plans
until last night. Last night changed things. Today conditions
were still changed though she had little idea what they have
turned into, and she didn't like it.
Last night the Sisters thought the girl was important
enough to break protocol and discretion to contact Geleeda directly,
sending her a message that the girl was now their highest intention.
Ensnare her, and bring her to the forest. More important than
life, more important than secrecy, more important than throne.
What the Sisters wrote in the message was enough to
condemn her to death, but not enough to answer the questions
which plagued her sleep.
Geleeda had no doubts that a single girl could change the world.
She herself had such a story. A girl from the barbarian tribes,
not even a king's daughter, wins the hand of a king and sits
on a throne of the most powerful country in the land. She worked
hard for her position, and it took a great deal of influence
from the Sisters as well, but it was achieved. This
girl merely got captured by a slave gang.
Of course the Sisters were rarely interested in who
a person was now. They were far more passionate about who the
person would become. This girl was going to become something
great, something powerful, and the Sisters wanted to
make sure they had influence on her when that day came. Either
that or they wanted to make sure she was dead. TheSisters
did little else with their time. Influence the future, or insure
it didn't happen.
That their premonition was true Geleeda had little doubt. TheSisters saw the future very clearly. It was their gift, granted
by the Titan Mormo herself, and while the Mother of Serpents
was still sundered and scattered all over the world, her powers
still lingered in the hags. She wondered if the voice of Mormo
spoke to the Sisters about the girl, if the titan herself pulled
together her waning life force and dispatched them with this
task. It would take that kind of message to prompt them to send
the message they dispatched to her, using the methods they employed.
They worked very hard, and sacrificed a great deal to put her
on this throne. For them to look away from that now...
"From a very prominent admirer my Queen." said a
voice, interrupting her thoughts. It was Jask, her personal
servant. A very young, rather enticing young man who felt his
Queen was a Goddess. The youth was the unfortunate victim of
one of her spells. Simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,
and now he is in the state of permanent illusion. While she
harbored no guilt for his situation, she didn't believe in wasting
resources when happenstance offered them. Jask gave her a wink
as he set the glass of wine down on the small table beside her
throne. Normally such a gesture would be the last action of
a headless man, but in this case it was acceptable. Not because
of his magically enhanced infatuation with her, but because
it was his sign that the wine was poisoned and the culprit close
enough to hear.
If they were still around hoping to hear her flop on the floor
warping the great hall with agonized death screams, the poison
was probably something painful.
The ring on her right hand verified Jask's overture, the ruby
in the setting glowing perceptibly as she lifted the glass of
crystal off the silver tray, and brought it to her lips. A moment
of concentration, a gathering of magic, and she could render
the poison inert within her body. This was an option, but was
it the most effective? She could also simply lean back in her
throne, allowing her back to press the lever which would sound
the alarm and seal the room. Or she could give Guylan, her personal
bodyguard her own sign, and he would hunt them down.
Guylan Gaeth Gavriel was an interesting man for his own part.
One of those rare unexpected occurrences in her husband's realm.
That he was in the room breathing was wonder enough. However,
his dedication to her was absolute. He proved that more than
once, and at the peril of his own life.
This was her preferred mode of living. Too many options to
solve a simple problem. The game was still death or victory.
The stakes were still very high, as position always put a greater
price on death than on life. The polar opposite of her position
with the Girl, the Sisters, and her part to play.
She looked at Guylan. He was ready, already suspecting that
something was amiss. If she didn't set him to the task it would
hurt his feelings. The dark blue eyes, disheveled long blond
hair and thick lips were prone to a very attractive sulking.
Not the sulking of a child, but the sulking of caged wolves.
"Alive." She says to Guylan, and he smiles.
She sets down the crystal wine glass, and Jask retrieves it
with unabashed pleasure. Soon she is alone again, with her thoughts,
and the ghosts in the room. Time to put a fire under those in
Shelzar. She needs the girl. It wasn't an interest, it was a
command. Geleeda still knew how to follow those. This throne
was never permanent anyway. A stopping point on the way to greater
things, the Sisters once told her. So be it.
On to greater things.
*****
"Change into your riding pants and jacket." Naill
is telling her. Her tone is polite, but final. It is not a command
really, but it has a tone suggesting that Elaine is to do it
anyway and not ask any questions about the process.
Elaine watches the hand gestures the old street beggar and
Mac Anu are making. It has the look of an argument, but done
only with hands. Naill seems to understand what they are arguing
about, but doesn't want to waste time telling her, or -- doesn't
want to risk it? Is that why they are not speaking? Someone
is listening. Someone is coming.
She doesn't fully understand why, but the look of concern on
Mac Anu's face presses her fear close to panic. With the panic
comes the magic.
She feels it glow at the bottom of her spine. The hair on her
body bristles, crackling with the energy in the air around her,
like the hairs on a bee gathers pollen from flowers. The Wizard
Penbrook tried to explain it to her, but he was not a sorcerer.
He made that very clear. While he studied the power of magic,
understood the streams and knew how to manipulate those streams
of power to do his bidding, Elaine as all sorcerers were on
some level, magic itself. She was a creature of magic, it was
in her, part of her breath, part of her blood. Just as her heart
races when she runs fast, or becomes scared, the magic will
also respond in some way to her emotions and physical state.
She had to learn to control her emotions, her thoughts, or the
magic would control her.
"Did you know," Penbrook asked her during one of
her lessons, "that the heart of a man can kill him?"
Elaine stopped petting Herbert, his rabbit, for a moment and
thought. She told him of an old man in her village who died
a week after his wife's death. They told her that his heart
just couldn't live alone.
"Yes, that happens, but it is not the heart, it is the
whole soul of the man. He simply ceases to live. There comes
a time in life where the question arises over and over 'why
am I still living?', and when the day comes that there is no
answer, the person simply moves on. But that is not what I am
talking about. I'm talking about your heart, the heart of youth,
a strong heart. The heart attacks you and kills you. Why do
you suppose that could happen?"
She presses her hand to her heart, feeling it beat under her
breast. It is strong and steady. She has never given it much
thought before. It pulses, and she lives. She understood, from
helping the butcher and listening to the travelers in her mother's
tavern, that if the heart quits beating, then the body dies.
But didn't the heart want to live? Life struggles to live, why
would the heart attack the rest of the body? What Master Penbrook
was suggesting was silly.
"Oh I agree that it is silly, but it happens. However,
it is not the heart that wants to die, the heart wants nothing.
It just does its job. It beats. It pumps, it pushes blood through
your veins. It makes no decisions, has no desires. The mind
must control the body. Because the body will do what it does.
Despite the fact that if the heart beats too strong it will
burst in the chest of a running horse, it continues to beat
harder. So it is with your magic. The magic flows in you. It
does not hate you. It is not out to get you. It is simply power.
Power your body needs to live, and power your body gathers in
every day. You can not stop it any more than you can stop your
heart from beating, and still live. You can learn to control
the magic however, just as you can learn to control the beat
of your heart."
Elaine concentrates on her heart now, watching Mac Anu and
the strange beggar man argue with their hands and arms. She
looks at Naill and nods, turns and starts up the stairs. She
presses her hand to her heart, and counts, One. Two. One ..
Two ...One ... Two .... One .... Two. The pulsing of her heart
slows with her rhythm, and the glow at the bottom of her spine
pulses down. In her mind it was yellow, moving to white, but
now it settles and pulses green, then blue. The hairs of her
body lay back down on her skin.
The magic is primed now. She does not know how to dissipate
it once it is inside her like this, other than to cast it out.
It is magic primed by fear, an in her takes the shape of destruction.
Penbrook taught her that magic has a shape; a school he called
it. An elemental form. Like water, or fire, or air, once the
form was achieved, once the school decided, it could not be
changed. Magic could be anything when drawn in, outside it was
neutral. But once drawn in, it becomes something, it has to
become something. Magic must manifest once inside.
"Magic is like life itself, and many say that it is life
itself. That the two are exactly the same. Our thoughts, our
actions, our focus brings this power to us. Not just to you
and me, but to every creature. If you fear, you attract your
fears. If you love, you attract your loves. This happens to
everyone, not just young female sorcerers. You have the ability
to draw in magic and to alter that magic to your will, as long
as your will is stronger than your emotions. Be that as it may,
once inside you, for fear or for love, that magic must manifest
or like the heart of the running horse it will burst."
Elaine didn't understand these lessons, she only understood
the feel of the magic. The magic inside her now felt destructive.
Created from fear it would cause fear. Created from panic, it
would cause panic. The longer she keeps it inside, the more
destructive it becomes. Eventually it will attack her to get
out and manifest itself into the world. Because that's what
magic does. It manifests. Her heart beats, her lungs breath,
her eyes see, her magic manifests; Whether it kills her in the
process or not.
She continues to count, to control her heart and in turn the
magic pulsing in her spine. Mind blank, no thoughts, no shapes.
Just observe. Listen. Pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse. It was fear,
but had anger as well. She liked this house, the last two days
were good. She liked the children, and Helen. Now she is hunted
again. Slavers. She would not go back to slavery.
Anger brewed within her. Anger was dangerous, but it shaped
fear Penbrook taught her. Fear manifested destruction and fear.
Much of the Necromancer school is built on fear magic. Dark
arts, unpredictable results. Anger, focused into fear however
could shape the magic into another path, into the path of evocation,
or transmutation. Cause power to ignite, or what was not here,
to become here.
"On the whole of things," Penbrook told her, "your
magic isn't strong. You simply can not contain, or draw in enough
to do great damage. As you grow, so will your ability to use
larger amounts of magic. For now, if you find yourself in a
bind, simply concentrate on the least destructive thing you
can manage and let the magic out."
Least destructive. Butterflies. Rainbows. Rabbits. Waving flags.
Light in crystals. Autumn leaves. She extends her hand to the
window and lets the magic loose.
The power rushes up her spine, and explodes down every path
of her body. The glow is tremendous. The flow hits the edges
of her, and flashes back to her mind, like water slapping in
a tub. The wave hits the edge, and flashes back. It splashes
in her mind, takes shape and fires.
Colors.
An angry twisted rainbow ignites from her fingertips, and hurls
through the window glass. The glass shudders, and so does the
frame. The cyclone aurora glitters like shards of broken glass.
A typhoon of wind rushes past her ears. The floor feels as though
it will soon break apart beneath her feet. She closes her eyes
and turns away, the spray of color hurts to look at. Then suddenly
it is gone. The magic in her is spent. The room is silent.
A spray of colored light, that's all it was. The room is fine;
the curtains sway just a bit, as if a child blew on them. The
spell didn't even disturb the dust on the window pane. She can
hear Penbrook chuckling, as he did so many times when she was
with him. When she asked why he laughed, he shook his head,
and said "Tragedy often makes me cynical."
She didn't understand that, or many things he said. She knew
it had something to do with the power of her spells. At first
she was grateful her magic was weak. She knew she couldn't control
it, and didn't want to hurt anyone. Now however, after loosing
her home, kidnapped, sold into slavery, stolen, and hunted,
she wanted more than some colored lights. If it was to be the
cause of her worry, and reason for her servitude, she would
at least like to see some broken glass!
She snatches up a figurine from the dresser to hurl it at the
window, only to have her wrist caught in Mac Anu's hand, "Has
it occurred to you, at all, that we are trying to be quiet now?"
He whispers in her ear.
Nodding her head, she lets him take the figurine. "It's
what thieves do when they are in trouble, right?" she whispers,
her tone is angry, she is angry. She hasn't been angry in a
very long time.
"That's right, it's what thieves do when they can't run."
He pats her head, like she is a child, but then his hand stops.
His sudden concern cuts through her anger, sending up flags.
His hand runs down her hair to her ears, to her neck, and now
to her forehead.
"You are burning up. Are you sick?" He asks, "Why
didn't you tell Helen, or Naill. I know you don't trust me,
but you really have a fever. Here, lay down, I'll go get Helen.
We'll have to think of something else." She can't answer
fast enough. She doesn't know how but she's now on the bed,
and he's leaving the room.
He doesn't wait to listen. She's glad. She doesn't like this
power, and doesn't want to explain that when she casts her body
gets hot. She doesn't know why, it just happens. In a few minutes
her body will return to normal. She doesn't really feel the
heat, but it is there.
Glaring at the ceiling, she promises herself that some day,
very soon, people will quit manhandling her around like luggage.
She sits up, reaches over and slams the bedroom door closed,
and starts to get dressed in her travel clothes. Helen comes
in shortly. She says nothing, just helps her get ready. Elaine
catches her smiling twice. Is Helen amused by tragedy as well?
She doesn't ask.
"Its time for us to leave your house isn't it?" She
says.
"Just for a time. You will be back." Helen says.
"You know don't you. About -- me."
"That you are a sorceress? I didn't know, but I knew as
soon as I came in." she is putting Elaine's clothes in
a small bag.
"And I can still come back?"
"Of course. You have too; the children will be missing
you every day until you do. Count on it." Helen says, and
smiles. "And when you do return, I'll teach you a few things
to help you. You don't live as long as I have without learning
a thing or two along the way." she winks at her, and gives
her a hug.
Naill opens the bedroom door, "We have to go. We have
to go now." she says.
Chapter 12 -->
