by Pirateaba
And that was why she was here. Trey felt a huge burden on his shoulders, realizing what Gazi was suggesting. But he felt lighter, too. Because he wasn’t alone.
For a while the half-Gazer and the young man stood on the balcony, staring down at the last of the procession as it entered the city. It had been a long parade; Trey guessed there were at least several hundred Stitch-warriors and a good two dozen or more of those [Mages].
Gazi eyed Trey. She opened her mouth speculatively, closed it, then asked her question two minutes later.
“You have a [Mage]’s staff in your room. Do you know how to use it?”
“How do you—no, I don’t. No one’s taught us magic. Orthenon said he’d start, but I haven’t spoken to him for a long time.”
Trey felt bad about that. He wondered if he would sit with Gazi tonight. If only to speak with Teres. He didn’t have to say he was wrong. And he wanted to speak with her again. Gazi studied Trey and nodded.
“Perhaps I could teach you some spells?”
He blinked. Trey turned to Gazi.
“You know how to use magic?”
She grinned and one eye winked at Trey. It was a very Human gesture and it made him smile.
“Of course. My people—Gazers—are highly magical beings. They’re what you could call a race naturally inclined towards magic, like half-Elves and to an extent, Lizardfolk. But they send very few representatives to Wistram. Their magic is more…chaotic than typical [Mages].”
“So you could teach—”
“Perhaps. We shall see.”
They waited a bit longer, as the streets cleared below, and the sun set quickly in a winter sky. It was a pretty world, for all that it was harsh. Trey exhaled and watched his breath spiral up into the sky. Then he asked the question he’d feared the answer to.
“Gazi? What is Flos going to do now?”
She was silent for a very long time, as shadows lengthened on the balcony.
“He will go to war, of course. It is time. The army is ready. With the Serpent Hunters and Parasol Stroll—”
“Who?”
Gazi smiled.
“The [Mages] and the [Warriors] you just saw entering the city. I recognized their companies. They are mercenaries now, but they served my King before.”
“I get that, but why Parasol Stroll? That’s their name? Why?”
The half-Gazer shrugged.
“Mages and names seldom make sense. However, in this case each mage in the band has a parasol—a thing to keep the sun away.”
“I know what that is. But why do they have one?”
“Fashion. And each one is enchanted in some way. They were powerful mages; each one above Level 20 at the very least. With their companies, my King will no doubt begin waging war.”
Trey’s heart skipped a beat. He paused.
“On who?”
“Those who made war against him.”
Six nations, then. Trey gulped. He remembered the smell of battle, the visions of death. He never wanted to see that again. But he felt he would. Over and over.
“Who’ll be first?”
“His fury is directed foremost towards the kingdom of Hellios and the people of Germina—especially at their leader, the Quarass. When we ride to war, and it will be in days, it will be against her, I think.”
Trey shuddered. His voice was very small and quiet. He felt something squeezing the words out of his chest. He wanted to cry, but it wouldn’t help.
“I don’t want to be here, Gazi.”
She looked at him with a bit of sympathy.
“I know. But you are here. And so you must follow my King. But remember this. You are not alone.”
And she held out a hand, and Trey took it. And the next day Flos did declare war, and Trey found himself marching with the King of Destruction. To the first war on Chandrar. And the news woke up a continent, and the world.
That was six weeks ago.
—-
Now.
The coach that drove quickly towards the estate of the Melissar house was noted from a distance, and the gates were already open and servants were rushing out by the time it pulled up in front of the large manor where other coaches, carriages, and other modes of transportation were parked.
Perhaps a lesser [Lord] or [Lady] or some of the more well-respected and higher-level [Knights] and [Guildmasters] and so on would have had to identify themselves to the guards at the gates. But not so for the occupants of this carriage. The owner was identifiable at a glance, mainly because of the striking appearance of the magical carriage, not to mention the carriage itself.
It was pink. The horseless carriage, or rather, the carriage pulled by ghostly horses that used mana to travel at extreme speed, was painted painfully, eye-searingly, frightfully pink. It was said that [Bandits] and other criminals couldn’t bear to attack the carriage because of the color.
Which was a shame, because Magnolia Reinhart had standing orders with all of her carriage drivers to run over any [Bandits] they encountered on the road. Several hundred pounds of enchanted wood and metal approaching at speed tended to reduce crime in a drastic and often spectacular fashion.
Still, it was probably a good thing the carriage wasn’t covered in blood and bits as the door opened and a tall, stern [Maid] stepped out. After all, this was a social event, and Lady Magnolia knew impressions were important.
Not that she particularly cared. The [Servants] rushing to open the doors themselves backed off as Ressa held the door open for Magnolia. They knew the pecking order, and in that sense Ressa wasn’t a bird but a [Hunter] with a bow and arrow.
Magnolia Reinhart stepped out of her carriage, wearing a pink and green dress. Pink and green being colors to describe a dress that looked more like a work of art than actual clothing.
It was a long and flowing ball gown in truth, although it avoided the poofy, ruffled look that Magnolia so detested. One could fit down a narrow corridor without getting stuck, and the dress included actual sleeves and a neckline that didn’t swoop or dive, or even hover. Magnolia had no desire to flaunt anything, except for the dress itself.
It was pink and green. It started green from the bottom, the dark green of a forest mulch, or cavern moss, and spread upwards, lightening in color and texture, so that when the pink started, and it was a bright pink, a pink that practically shone in itself, you had the impression of a flower. A flower worn by a woman considered by many to be the most powerful Human female on the continent. And she was certainly a contender for a high rank in any world listing as well.
Magnolia Reinhart.
“Ressa, please tell these servants to go away and hurry up and open these doors, would you? I’m in a hurry and if I see a bowed buttocks, I shall kick it. Or order you to.”
“Yes, milady.”
The servants parted as Magnolia and Ressa strode up the stairs towards the manor quickly, ignoring their greetings and the head servant hurrying after them. Both [Maid] and Mistress walked as if nothing would stop them, and nothing did. Doors opened for them, and they strode into the estate of the Melissar family.
Magnolia was in no mood for formalities. She never was. She strode down the hallway, not needing a guide to head towards her destination. A [Lady] shouldn’t stride of course, but Magnolia was a high-level [Lady] and a good one at that, so she managed to stride with grace. One could call it gliding, or some other suitable appellation that might make it more acceptable, but Magnolia knew when she was striding.
She was in a hurry. She let Ressa field the harried [Head Butler] and crooked her fingers at the pair of servants standing at attention at the double doors at the end of the hallway. They opened the doors instantly, and she walked into a huge ballroom filled with the aristocracy of Izril.
“Lady Magnolia Reinhart!”
The [Herald] announced Magnolia without including any of her many titles, nicknames, or ranks. That was at her insistent request as well. The biggest fish didn’t need to announce itself. And when her voice
was called, the room went silent.
This was the room. It was a marble floored room filled with low-hung chandeliers, magnificent inlays on the walls and pillars supporting the room, and in Magnolia’s opinion, decorated with some rather fine silk curtains that complimented the expensive glass windows that looked out onto the rest of the world.
It was a large ballroom—one of the largest around, and no doubt why the Melissar family had been chosen to host this gathering of the nobility. It was a sign of their influence and wealth.
For anyone who could claim to have hosted over a third of the [Lords] and [Ladies] of the north was powerful indeed. And that was who was present.
A sea of heads turned towards Magnolia as she calmly descended the steps into the ballroom. Ressa appeared by her side. The [Head Maid] had not changed her austere black and white dress, but she still attracted her share of glances as well.
No one knelt as Magnolia entered the room. She wasn’t royalty, after all. But heads bobbed and some people curtsied. [Lords] dressed in fashionable suits of armor or wearing cloth suits that were enchanted to be just as protective, bowed to Magnolia as she passed by. [Ladies] dressed in every fashion from the voluminous and wide gowns Magnolia hated so much to sleek dresses that left little to the imagination—not that Magnolia bothered imagining—made their own greetings.
At another dance, or gathering perhaps the style of the season would be in and everyone would dress alike. But this was a different sort of meeting, and personal uniqueness and flair trumped all. Magnolia’s rapid pace slowed to a gentle crawl as she scanned the room.
At first, the room would appear to be a jumble of bodies to the casual outsider, or someone not used to such gatherings. But Magnolia saw the currents in the room. In this room, there were tables set up with tasteful and exotic appetizers, an open central area to dance in, and many places where groups of people stood and mingled.
But it was the groups that mattered. There was an unwritten code here, and a hierarchy. In every circle, there was the most influential, the most powerful, the most high-level or simply the most politically powerful individual who commanded the attention of others, at least for the moment. Politics in Izril was a game of connections and intrigue, of strategy and alliances.
Magnolia had no time for any of it.
“Ressa, find me one of the speaking gems if they haven’t started debating already. I’ll say my greetings to our hostess, but I don’t have time for other nonsense.”
“At once.”
Ressa turned. There was already a servant hurrying towards Magnolia and Ressa with a pair of sparkling amethysts cut into circles and lined with silver. Ressa plucked the two coin gemstones off of the pillow and handed one to Magnolia. The [Lady] sighed as she gently placed it on the front of her dress where it began to glow with a soft inner light. All of the people around her had a similar gemstone on some part of their garments.
“No one’s talking. Well, good. Now, where is Lady Patricia Melissar?”
She looked around. So did Ressa.
“She’s not dancing.”
“No, and I would expect her to be finding the most handsome men right now. Odd. I wonder if she’s indisposed?”
Magnolia kept looking, and she frowned as her eyes alighted on a man standing alone, drinking from a cup. She sighed as she nudged Ressa with an elbow.
“Ah, there’s Lord Tyrion. How unexpected to see him here…or perhaps not. He’s not dancing either, I see.”
Ressa’s expression didn’t noticeably change, but her mouth tightened in a way only her long-time friend, Magnolia, would notice. Magnolia felt the same way.
“I believe there are few women of sufficient status present he would consent to dancing with. If milady wished, I have no doubt you could invite him to a dance.”
Magnolia shuddered.
“You do have the most dreadful ideas, Ressa.”
The maid smiled ever so slightly.
“I could obtain some suitably heavy boots if you wish.”
Magnolia laughed lightly, and the people hovering close to her but not so close as to be assumed to be eavesdropping chuckled as well, just in case she’d said something worth laughing about.
“You know, I heard of these wonderful shoes from our guests a while back. Stilettos. I’d love to wear a pair, although I wonder if the points can be sharpened further?”
“I shall inquire at the first opportunity.”
Magnolia sipped her drink, eyeing Tyrion Veltras, scion of one of the Five Families of Izril, and technically, as powerful as she was. Perhaps more or perhaps less. For all those in the room, that was a question whose answer would be worth its weight in diamonds.
“Why don’t you dance with him, Ressa?”
“No.”
“Even if I ordered you to?”
“Even then.”
The pair’s casual banter might have attracted Tyrion’s attention, or he had simply heard the announcement. Magnolia sighed as she saw him glance around and felt his piercing gaze settle on her face with very little love. She returned the glance, with no love at all.
“He’s coming over. Duty bound to offer greetings, no doubt.”
“Shall I attempt to stop him?”
“Best not to risk an altercation, Ressa. Besides, he’s not as weak as he used to be. You can’t push him around and I rather fear he could lay waste to this entire room with all the artifacts he has on him. Allow me to employ a gentler touch.”
She walked over towards Tyrion. A group of [Lords] and [Ladies], noticing Magnolia Reinhart and Tyrion Veltras approaching each other and realizing they were in the way, immediately shuffled at speed to one side. There was little love lost between the two, and so it was with stiff formality that Tyrion bowed to Magnolia and she gave him the slightest nod.
“Lady Magnolia. I am honored to greet you on this day.”
“Lord Tyrion. I’d rather hoped you would have eaten something ghastly and exploded by now, but fortune hasn’t been kind to either of us, has it?”
The man’s eye twitched a bit, but he covered the motion by passing a gloved hand over his mouth. He was dressed much like Ressa, which was to say, all in black. He was also a head taller than Magnolia, which annoyed her because it left a crimp in her neck every time she talked to him.
“You are as thorny as ever, Reinhart.”
“Only to you, Tyrion. Don’t tell me this was the crisis that pulled you away from your estates?”
The man glanced impassively around the room.
“I considered it an important matter. I should have expected you would be present, however. You seldom missed such events as I recall.”
“I never do.”
Magnolia retorted, noting the people watching and listening to their conversation on the peripherals of her vision. She knew many people here had Skills or an artifact that allowed them to eavesdrop. Not that she feared saying anything important—but it would be just like Tyrion to say something devastating without a second thought. Information was currency here, and someone might make their fortunes based on a sentence carelessly let slip.
Tyrion Veltras studied Magnolia, not looking too pleased to see her. He really did think it was a [Lord]’s duty to greet her as a peer. How tiresome.
“How long has it been since we’ve met?”
“Four years, I believe. I was deeply saddened to hear of the passing of your wife. I hope your two young sons are in good hands.”
He stiffened at that, and the metal cup in his hand bent. Magnolia saw fury in his eyes and saw Ressa moving towards her quickly, a hand in her dress. Magnolia stopped her maid with a flick of a finger.
“What do you mean by that?”
Magnolia remained cool as she stared up at Tyrion.
“Exactly what I said. That was a sincere comment from the heart.”
He paused, and she could see him visibly readjust, grow calmer. He bowed his head slightly.
“Then I shall take it as such. My apologies.”
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A [Lord] does not question a [Lady]’s word. Magnolia sighed out loud.
“You really haven’t changed. As pleasant as this is Tyrion, I think I shall go walk barefoot on glass shards for a more delightful change of pace.”
“Until we next meet, Reinhart.”
They left it at that. Magnolia walked back and Ressa met her in moments.
“That was fun.”
“It will become even more enjoyable in a second.”
“Oh, what now?”
“Left.”
Ressa’s warning came a moment before another person swept towards Magnolia. A lady and a man, both dressed in bright clothing, came striding towards Magnolia. Both she recognized, and it was with a smile that Magnolia greeted them. A smile the lady did not return.
“Bethal! How wonderful it is to see you!”
“Magnolia.”
The [Lady] gave her the most perfunctory of curtsies and the man bowed to her slightly. Magnolia kept smiling, but she noticed the expression on the other woman’s face. It was not happy.
“You seem upset, Lady Bethal. May I ask why?”
The woman replied curtly.
“I do not know. Perhaps you could explain the hooded figure that my guards found in my gardens two days ago. They gave chase and slew the intruder when they fought back. An [Assassin], as it turned out. Did you have anything to do with this, Magnolia?”
There was a feeling in the air that grew strong as Bethal spoke. Not just a feeling. An aura that surrounded the woman. The word for it was spiky. It was as if invisible edged blades filled the air—it wasn’t just a feeling either. People around the two ladies began moving away at speed, but Magnolia simply smiled.
“Lady Bethal, if I sent an [Assassin] after you, would I be so foolish as to send one? You and I have not quarreled and I do believe we are friends. That [Assassin] was not mine, believe me. In fact, I am quite grateful you killed him. Or her. Or it?”
The [Lady] studied Magnolia’s face.