Equimancer's Realm

by A.B. Robertson

  “Nice speech, Headmaster. This being my last year, I shall miss them indeed,” Wolly raised his glass to him with a dramatic sigh.

  “No doubt, not nearly as much as all your Professors will miss you, Master Wheatfield,” Andarian replied. It was common consensus to only address students as masters and mistresses to give them a taste of equality.

  “I’m something of a legend at the Academy, dear Erna,” Wolly turned to the girl standing next to him. She was an Ermelian, on an extended visit to the Realm, thanks to Wolly’s mother, Empress Ginia’s invitation.

  “A legend that haunts nightmares, a legend that makes my colleagues wake up screaming in the middle of the night,” Andarian grinned at Wolly. He turned to Octarian, who had just arrived with Ariessa to join in on the conversation.

  “Master Sunflare, how very courageous of you to escort the enemy, and Mistress Warhorn how generous of you to let him.”

  “How could such a precious Lady be my enemy?” Octarian protested mockingly.

  “Was I on the losing team, I’d say the same,” Ariessa snorted.

  “We never even played you,” Octarian interjected.

  “Pffft, we both know how that’d ended,” the Princess rolled her eyes.

  “Alright, come down to the Shark Pools and I’ll show you.”

  “What exactly?”

  “One on one?”

  “In your dreams,” she laughed.

  “This has been lovely, but I’m afraid I’ll have to listen to more of this from another hundred students,” Andarian grabbed the first chance he could, to take his leave to join his long-suffering colleagues, who were by now pushed back to the corner of the Courtyard.

  Octarian was frustrated. As much as he didn’t want to like Ariessa, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was interested. She was pretty of course, with her dark hair, blue eyes and tanned skin, but what he liked about her most, was her directness that almost bordered on harshness. Even though she was a Royal, she lacked any of the manipulation that was almost expected from her kind.

  ‘So unlike Gloria,’ he thought. His interest grew in proportion both to the consumed drinks, and her blatant display of indifference towards him.

  “So, where’s the rest of the losing team?” Ariessa asked the others.

  “Sylvain and Trillian are showing around Liona and Nessa,” Wolly explained.

  “And Mordan is probably trying to chase down the last remaining wall-flowers to escort,” Octarian offered.

  “I wish I was one of them; at least there would be a chance of me not having to wear a bloody dress,” Ariessa fumed.

  “Aaaah, so that’s why you hate me,” Octarian stated.

  “I can relate to that. The dresses women are forced to wear in the Realm are not only constricting, thus very unhealthy, but also make it impossible for your skin to breathe properly, which makes them utterly unhygienic,” interjected Wolly’s guest.

  “Erna dear, please let me introduce you to Her Highness, Princess Ariessa Warhorn of Covax, and the disreputable Prince Octarian Sunflare of Heliodoria,” Wolly addressed the girl and then turned to the others.

  “Ari, Octy, please meet the lovely Erna Wholesome of… wait, wait, I’ll get this… of the Spring District of North-Western Crimsonshire of Ermelia,” Wolly said triumphantly, earning himself an appreciative nod from the tanned, brunette, almond-eyed girl. Octarian cocked his eyebrow at him, pretending to have burned his hand.

  “How right you are. Bloody dress. Can’t wait to get out of the damned thing,” Ariessa agreed with Erna on her garment views.

  “Just say the word,” Octarian flashed a dashing smile.

  “Eh, you’re so predictable; I knew you’d say that.”

  “How do you like the Realm so far, Lady Erna?” Octarian turned to Wolly’s guest.

  “I prefer to call your continent by its official name; the United Empires. I can accept that originally, before the Split, it was called the Realm, as it was the only known country in the World, but I don’t think it’s justified to do so any longer, for it suggests that it’s superior to the other parts of the World.

  On the other hand, I take no offence that you still call it the Realm. I’m aware that most people like to simplify matters.

  To answer your question; it’s just like we’ve learnt about it. Very inspiring, vibrant and full of exciting places. Unfortunately, it’s also rather unhygienic and the eating habits are somewhat unhealthy.

  Could I please ask you not to call me ‘Lady,’ my Prince? We don’t believe in titles in Ermelia,” she smiled at him.

  “I’m so sorry, my… ummm. What do people call you on your lovely continent?”

  “They call me Erna or Erna Wholesome, my Prince.”

  “Let’s just drop the bloody titles,” Ariessa suggested and turned to the Ermelian girl.

  “So, what kind of dresses do you wear in Ermelia?” she asked.

  “Unconstricting, light coloured garments, made of natural fibres,” Erna responded.

  “You forgot to mention ‘semi-transparent,’ which makes it hard for any red-blooded foreigner to stay sane,” Wolly rolled his eyes.

  “Ah, innuendo; such a charming outlandish trait. We haven’t as yet managed to come to a countrywide consensus about it. While it’s undeniably witty, it also involves the notion of carnal activities that can be both potentially unhealthy, and are undeniably unhygienic due to the exchange of bodily fluids involved in the process,” Erna stated matter-of-factly.

  Octarian was momentarily rendered speechless, as he couldn’t manage to get semi-transparent, natural garments and exchanges of bodily fluids out of his mind.

  “What unfortunate twist of fate made you end up with Prince Sparrowbones here?” Ariessa nodded her head towards Wolly. He was about to reply, but Erna was quicker.

  “Wolly’s step-father had signed him up for a wedding market in Sage’s Seat, the Capital of Ermelia. I’m aware that you don’t have those in the Realm, so let me explain. Wedding markets are for the unweds who wish to procreate, thus feel the need to enter a legal bond. As it would be foolish to limit the search for a partner from your immediate environment…,” she began.

  “Why?” asked Octarian.

  “Because it would lead to horrible inbreeding, which is very unhealthy of course. Oh, pardon me, I forgot that it’s quite customary in the Realm to marry your own cousin. Which is fine, we don’t judge, but it’s just not for us.

  So, to cut a long story short, Wolly had taken part in the wedding market. Any available and willing girls had given him a photograph of themselves. He chose his twenty favourites, who then had formed a discussion group to decide who would be the best mate for him,” Erna said.

  “Are you the winner or the loser?” Ariessa grinned.

  “Isn’t that somewhat demeaning? To the girls I mean,” frowned Octarian.

  “No, why would it? It’s the same for men and women. Equal opportunities for everybody,” Erna concluded.

  Octarian’s head was buzzing from all the information that had been poured over him.

  “May I get you a beverage, Erna?” he asked, ignoring Wolly’s flailing arms behind the girl.

  “We don’t usually drink alcohol in Ermelia, but if in the Realm, do as the Realmers do, so yes, please. I must warn you though, it might make me somewhat chatty,” she stated with a smile.

  “Out with it, man. She’s not just a guest of your mother,” Octarian elbowed Wolly while they went to get drinks.

  “Well, I planned to fill you all in once everybody had arrived, but what the Hell. She decided that I’m marriage material, and I can hardly say no to her.”

  “Oh man, you really can’t. She’s stunning. Although I’m a bit surprised that your mother lets you marry a girl without a title.”

  “My step-father keeps saying; ‘In a society of equals, everybody counts as nobility’. My mother has accepted it.”

  “Unhygienic exchange, eh? Never mind, I’m sure you will corrupt her in d
ue time,” Octarian grinned.

  “I will have to. If for nothing else, just for the sake of shutting her up for a little while,” Prince Wheatfield moaned.

 

  Mordan helped Noerelle out of the barge at the Academy Dock. He tried to stall her as long as he could, but here there were. He had never liked her, but by now his feelings towards her took an even deeper plunge. He didn’t know how to avoid a meeting between her and Sylvain. He was sure he could kiss his friendship with Octarian goodbye, as showing up with Noerelle seemed like a declaration of war to both the Sunflares, and the Winterskys.

  He knew he could have stopped it, he knew he could have said no, but the promises and the future prospects were just too tempting.

  He couldn’t understand the importance of Noerelle coming here. He rubbed his forehead, wishing for this day to be over.

  Noerelle was excited. She knew she had to be careful. She knew she took a great risk, but she had to know. All the members of the Greater Council had the same information about the Academy, but one hypothesis none of them had been able to prove. With the possible exception of Tolzan, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction to ask or read his mind.

  They stepped into the Entrance Hall. Noerelle had been studying the layout of the Academy so thoroughly that she was sure she would be able to perform a quick exit, if necessary.

  “Thank you. I see you were only able to find me a girly drink,” Ariessa looked at the glass of pink sparkling wine with distaste, but took it anyway from Octarian.

  He was about to come back with a snide, yet flirtatious remark when he noticed the newly arrived couple.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Red mist descended on him.

  “Hold this and entertain the Ladies,” he pushed his glass in Wolly’s hand, storming towards the entrance of the Ball Room.

  Mordan only had a second between noticing Octarian, and being dragged back into the Entrance Hall and pushed into an alcove.

  Octarian slammed him against the wall.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Octarian roared, landing a punch in Mordan’s stomach with as much force as he could muster.

  “What the Hell are you playing at?” he grabbed Mordan’s collar, lifted him up and repeatedly slammed his head against the wall.

  “I’m sorry, I…” Mordan stammered after Octarian let go of him only to receive a fist in his jaw.

  “What has Liona ever done to you? What have I ever done to you?”

  Mordan wiped the blood off his mouth. He didn’t have any answers.

  “Who do you want to ruin? Sylvain? Or me? Why?” Octarian rubbed his aching fist.

  “You don’t understand…” Mordan said silently.

  “No. You’re right, I don’t,” Octarian hit him in the stomach again, but this time Mordan sank to the floor.

  Octarian would have very much liked to kick him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  “Get out of my sight and take that whore with you. I never want to talk to you or see you ever again. Keep away from Sylvain as well.”

  Octarian turned around and noticed Ariessa standing in the doorway.

  “Impressive,” she said to Octarian in a mocking voice that was betrayed by the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Let’s get you a real drink,” she said, pulling him away.

  Mordan stayed on the floor. He didn’t expect anything less. He had no idea how to get through a full year at the Academy after this.

  Noerelle hid in the shadow of one of the massive statues of the Entrance Hall. She saw a Professor hastily approaching a door. She had a pure blue Crown.

  ‘Double-Water,’ Noerelle thought. Just like Tolzan’s.

  The Equimancer had her hand on the handle of the door of the Professor’s Room, when an Academy servant approached her.

  “Sister Undine, could you please come? We have an injured student.”

  Undine Seafoam sighed, but then followed the servant to look after Mordan.

  “Master Grimdor, would you like to report someone?” she asked, even though one glance into Mordan’s mind told her who the culprit had been.

  “No, thank you, Sister Undine. It was my own fault,” Mordan shook his head.

  “Fine. Let’s get you to the infirmary,” the Professor said miserably. So much about escaping back to the Hidden City.

  Sister Undine disappeared with Mordan and the Academy servant into the infirmary.

  The way was free.

  Noerelle knew that it was now or never.

  She hurried to the door and stepped into the Professor’s Room.

  She didn’t need to look for long.

  Alongside the wall that seemed to be made of glass, yet was not transparent, she spotted the trace of an Archway that – by now she was certain, - only her kind could see.

  The longer she was looking at it, the stronger she felt an unfamiliar sense of longing that pulled her closer and closer.

  She found herself standing one step away from the Archway; she wanted nothing more than go through it.

  ‘No!’ she commanded herself and ran out of the room.

  She slid back into the shadow of the statue to collect herself.

  She channelled Water on herself to get rid of the ache she had felt and sapped Fire to stop her heart racing.

  Once she had calmed down, she headed towards the stairways. Based on the descriptions of the Greater Council members, she knew she would be much safer once she had left the ground floor of the Academy. Especially on a night like tonight.

  As expected, the stairways were occupied by groups of students in drunken discussion or couples in various stages of flirtation. She could ascend undisturbed. She ignored the whistles and invitations.

  “Gissa kiss, beautiful!”

  “Have a drink with us, Lady.”

  She stepped past them and kept going upwards.

  First floor; Royals and nobles. The suites of Sylvain, Octarian and Wolly.

  Second floor; private rooms of the offspring of merchants, bankers, lawyers and land-barons. Noerelle didn’t know any of those.

  Third floor; Commons’ Dormitories. Mordan lived up here.

  Fourth floor; smaller class-rooms, laboratories and storage.

  Fifth floor; Professors’ quarters.

  Unlike on the lower floors, she found herself at a door once she got onto the top of the stairs on the upper level. It had a keyhole, but no handle.

  Noerelle ran her hand along the door. She was trying to figure out how to get hold of the keys, when the door slowly opened.

  “Hmm,” Noerelle hesitated.

  Unlike the wall of the Archway in the Professor’s Room, this section of the Academy wasn’t a part of the Structure.

  The keyhole also indicated that staff could enter.

  ‘Eh, what the Hell,’ she thought and stepped through the door.

  The circular corridor led to doors with the names of Academy Professors.

  She peeked into a few of them.

  The same picture greeted her in every single room.

  A bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe with one or two robes in them and a desk, devoid of any documents of importance.

  “You might lead an ascetic life, but nobody lives as simply as this,” she said to the Chief Prosecutor’s room.

  She was satisfied. She got proof that her hypothesis was right.

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  While his former friends Octarian, Sylvain and Wolly enjoyed scenic picnics and candlelight dinners with their Ladies – Ariessa, Liona and Erna, - Mordan’s life became utter misery.

  He pulled the covers over his head. He was determined to stay there until his roommates vacated the dormitory. Not that any of them had the faintest intention of talking to him, let alone asking him to join them to do whatever they had planned.

  He felt like an outcast; no, he was an outcast.

  He couldn’t decide which was worse; Octarian and Sylvain
completely ignoring his existence, or the looks and mutterings behind his back from the rest of the students. Unfounded rumours and wild speculations had spread through the Academy like wildfire.

  Common consensus was that he tried to sabotage a Royal Wedding and for that he had to be shunned.

  The nobles were being reinforced in their belief that classes shouldn’t mix, the students of lower birth stated with glee that Mordan got what he deserved for not sticking to his own, and attempting to climb the social ladder. One thing they all had agreed on; nobody wanted to be associated with him.

  Mordan had never thought of himself as a people person, so he was genuinely surprised about being deeply hurt by his isolation.

  Finally, the last of his roommates had left the dormitory. He scrambled out of bed. The glorious sunshine darkened his mood even further.

  He stared into space for a while, then he nodded to himself; he made up his mind.

  Noerelle and Scypian were a dead-end. They were stirring up matters just to play their petty power-games. If they had any power at all. Mordan doubted it. He decided that whatever they could offer him, it wasn’t worth this.

  He hastily washed and got dressed. He was determined to tell them that he didn’t wish to be in the King’s employ any longer.

  Afterwards, he would camp out in front of Octarian’s room, throw himself at his feet and beg for forgiveness. If he forgave him, others would too after a while.

  After the Academy, he would apply for a Master of House position or become the apprentice of some lawyer.

  He would marry a nice girl and live happily ever after.

  No more dreams of power, influence and fame; a nice little steady life he would be content with.

  End of story.

  Mordan built up so much furious momentum that he almost knocked an Academy servant off his feet, when he tore the door open to leave. The servant gave him a nasty look and pushed an envelope in his hand without a word. Even the staff hated him. He would put an end to it.