by AC Cobble
“It’s war! Whitehall is marching on us!”
Finally, a Captain appeared still hastily buckling his sword over his tunic. “Damnit, get a hold of yourselves! Ma’am you said Snowmar Station has fallen. Are you sure? What happened?”
“Yes, Captain. We passed through there two days ago and there is absolutely no doubt. I believe the details would be better addressed in private with Lord Foley.”
“Yes, of course,” he replied. The men of Eastside had little experience in actual combat, but the Captain had been around long enough to understand a serious situation and knew how to respond. “Come this way, Lord Foley is in the gardens. Private Bratch, run ahead and let him know we’re coming. Now man, run!”
The gardens turned out to be a tree shaded emerald green lawn surrounding a clear sandy bottomed pond. Lord Foley had recently emerged from the pond and was wrapping a thick cotton robe around himself. He didn’t have the posture of a warrior Lord like Argren but he was a large man and fit. Ben thought he would strike an imposing figure if he was dressed for battle and not wearing a bathing robe.
“Lady Amelie,” he gave a short bow that was almost a nod of the head then continued, “Bratch here was telling me you’d arrived. Pardon my attire, a swim a day keeps the heart rate up, so my physicians say at least. So sorry we haven’t given you a proper welcome. I understand this is urgent?”
It certainly must keep the heart rate up thought Ben as he spied a blonde, a red head and a brunette ducking into a door at the far end of the garden.
Lord Foley took the news of Snowmar’s fall surprisingly well. He seemed more interested in their group’s battle than he did the casualties to the guard and residents in the Pass. He did agree to immediately send carrier pigeons to Whitehall with the news and dispatched a guard Captain to take a force up to scout the area.
Before long, they were ensconced in a guest wing of Foley’s keep. At Amelie’s insistence, they were all kept close. The keep was not nearly as grand as Whitehall, but the rooms were more than sufficient for their needs. Ben thought he’d come a long way in the world when he saw a pair of silver candlesticks in the keep and wasn’t impressed. There was a time not long ago when he couldn’t have even imagined owning that much wealth.
That evening, Amelie and Towaal begged off of a feast that Lord Foley wanted to throw them and they all spent a quiet night by themselves. For Ben, it felt like the first night they were not running from what had happened at Snowmar and Meredith’s death. They’d said what they needed to on the road, now it was time to move on.
It didn’t hurt that Rhys had been away from the amenities of a town for over a week and made up for it by ordering Foley’s staff to keep bringing fresh pitchers of ale and wine.
After dinner, Saala drew his falchion and examined it for nicks. He started oiling it and sliding a small whetstone up and down the blade to smooth out any tiny imperfection he found.
Ben moved over to Saala and brought out the sword Rhys had given him. “I haven’t had a chance to look at this one yet.”
Saala nodded at it, “always wise to check your equipment following combat. A small chip can eventually lead to a blade shattering at the wrong moment.” He slid his jar of oil and a whetstone to Ben before gently running a finger along one edge of Ben’s new blade. “The Captain took good care of this.”
“More likely he didn’t ever use it,” snorted Rhys from the other side of the room.
“Do you need to check your weapon Rhys?” asked Ben.
“Nah, I’ll be fine.” Rhys was in good spirits, a pitcher or two of ale cured a lot of his ills.
“Mage wrought?” asked Saala.
Rhys sighed and picked up his sword from near his pack and tossed it to Saala. “I suppose we’ve been travelling long enough together that I can trust you.”
Ben asked, “trust us, what do you mean?”
“Mage wrought blades are very rare,” answered Saala slowly. He drew the weapon from the scabbard and admired it’s length and heft. The silver etching Ben had noticed before was faded to the point he could barely see it.
Saala continued, “in fact, I’ve only seen three of them in my time. They don’t break, they don’t need sharpening, they resist heat and it’s rumored some have other mysterious properties.” He raised an eyebrow in Rhys’ direction.
“Depends on the mage that crafted it,” Rhys responded. “At least that’s what I’ve been told. I haven’t noticed any worthwhile mystical properties so far. Of course, can’t complain about how it cuts. Does that just fine.”
Ben wondered, “a Mage crafts it? Like a blacksmith?”
“Exactly like a blacksmith” broke in Towaal. She was leaning back in a stuffed chair and Ben had thought she was asleep. “The Mages who make weapons are trained in the both arts of blacksmithing and harnessing energies. During the process of heating and folding the steel of a sword, the Mage is able to change the nature of the material into something more durable. Occasionally, like you say, the Mage is able to imbue something of a different nature into the weapon which gives it certain properties. It’s a difficult process and mistakes can be dangerous. It also takes an incredible amount of skill with one’s hands. There are few Mages in the world. Even fewer Mages take the time to learn a mundane task like blacksmithing, which is why they are so rare.” She paused, “Rhys, if you are going to keep ordering wine, can you at least pour me a glass?”
The tension in the room when Towaal spoke quickly dissipated. Magic always seemed like a touchy subject around her. The Sanctuary had it’s secrets and Ben knew she wanted to keep them. Ben looked at Meghan and could tell she saw an opportunity.
“Lady Towaal, I have never heard of Blacksmith Mages before. What other kinds of Mages are there?” she asked innocently.
“It’s all one and the same girl. It’s not a Blacksmith Mage, it’s a Mage who happens to know the arts of a blacksmith. People call it all kinds of things; magery, sorcery, wizardry, magic, witchcraft and more. But it’s all the same. At the heart of it is harnessing the energy around you and within you. When forging steel, there is an incredible amount of heat. If someone knows what they are doing and has the strength of will, they can use that heat to modify and improve the steel.”
“Is that how,” Meghan paused, “is that how you did what you did at Snowmar? Harnessed the energy around you?”
“Yes, in essence that is correct. All around us there is friction caused by tiny particles that you can’t even see. They are constantly moving and generating heat and energy. The light from the sun or the power of wind are also forms of energy. The friction, it’s the same thing that causes you a shock when you walk across a wool carpet. That is external energy.”
Towaal accepted the glass of wine Rhys handed her and continued talking, “I used that friction to create a small charge. I funneled more energy then I directed it at our attackers. There was only so much around us that I could draw on for the charge though, and I needed more than a little shock. I had to pull substantially from my own reserves - which is why I have been so sluggish the last few days. Channeling one’s internal energy externally is taxing and dangerous. But in short, yes, I harnessed the available energy and sent it at our attackers.”
“You make it sound so simple. Just take energy and direct it?”
“The concept is simple child, but the execution takes years or even decades of study. To manipulate physical matter, you must understand it. And I don’t just mean know what it is. I mean fully understand to the tiniest detail. Take a tree. Everyone knows what it is and everyone knows what it does, but understanding how sunlight, water and nutrients from the soil react in the plant to produce the energy to grow is something that very, very few people understand.”
“So, at the Sanctuary, learning to be a Mage is about understanding how things work?” asked Meghan.
“That is one part of it. A Mage must understand what they are trying to do before they do it. There is no short cut to obtaining that knowledge. The se
cond part is difficult as well. The second ingredient, so to speak, is will power. Anything in this world is possible if one has the will power to make it happen. Focusing that will in the proper direction and achieving results takes a special person and takes intense practice. Someone might be a natural, like yourself and Amelie, but you will never reach your potential without extensive training. Preparation and ability, they are useless without each other.”
Amelie who had been listening closely asked, “I’m familiar with the study involved. Lady Greenfoot has been preparing me for the Sanctuary since I was a little girl. She was never clear though about what training goes into directing one’s will. She always said that was for another time.”
“Study of the world around us is something that anyone can do with the proper instructors or resources. Many of the world’s best scholars have no interest in mage craft at all. It is also something that can be done safely from a comfortable chair in a well-appointed library. Focusing will and causing physical elements to react, that is something that cannot be done comfortably. It is strenuous and it is dangerous. Greenfoot is right, that is for another time,” Towaal glanced at the men in the room. Apparently her openness had it’s limits. “And Greenfoot is no Lady. She is as common born as they come, no offense of course.”
“None taken” murmured Meghan.
“I understand your impatience. You are embarking on a journey that will surely change your lives in ways you may have never imagined. You must know though, this path is a long one. Over the course of millennia the Sanctuary has developed ways to guide girls down that path. But it is a thing best done in the safety and security of the Sanctuary. I only say what I say now because you have witnessed the terrible potential that comes with being a Mage. It is not something entered lightly.”
Amelie replied, “you speak as if we have not already started. My journey started when I stepped out of Issen and Meghan’s when she left Farview. We are on this path, and we are not turning back.”
They spent two more days in Eastside. Partly because they needed the rest but not insignificantly because Lord Foley seemed so offended at the thought of them leaving. He threw a feast as extravagant as he had promised and spent the rest of the time entertaining them with stories of his hunts, musical performances, poetry readings, demonstrations of arms and the best his court had to offer. It slowly dawned on Ben that this was not a Lord who had been at Whitehall for the Conclave. This was a man who had significant wealth but little political power. The idea that the two could be separated was a new concept.
His loyalty to Whitehall was a given because of the geography his city occupied and the lack of military power he had at his disposal. He wasn’t part of the wrangling give and take that Argren had done with the other Lords. Foley had aspirations, but he was bound to allegiances that his ancestors and nature had made long before his rule. He was a Lord yes, but he was also a vassal of Whitehall and that was how he felt others saw him.
Once Ben realized this, the man’s behavior made perfect sense. Any favor he could gain with a Lady of Amelie’s status or a representative of The City was more than the scraps he would get from Argren’s court.
One of Foley’s suggestions that they found difficult to turn down was an escort from two of his Hunters. They would travel with them as far as Kirksbane on the Venmoor River to ensure they had “no fear of bandits”, as Foley said.
“Make sure we don’t get lost somewhere in between the cabbage and potato fields? More like ‘listen to every word we say to his neighbors’. I can’t wait to get out of this inbred valley,” grumbled Rhys. “Most of these Lords are married to each other’s cousins and none of them have anything better to do than look at what the other one is doing. You give a man a little bit of power and he’s going to try to find something to do with it. Whitehall won’t stand for them making war on each other and they can’t reach anyone else. Makes them compete over silly stuff like taxes on barley, diverting an irrigation ditch or who threw the best fall harvest party. All while ignoring things like the attack at Snowmar which took out an entire barracks.”
They were in one of Eastside’s bare, stone circled courtyards that served as a garden and working through another one of the Ohms. The calming breathing techniques Rhys had spoken about before weren’t having any effect on him today.
“You’re probably right about why he wants the Hunters with us,” smirked Saala. “Lady Amelie and Towaal went public in Whitehall and Eastside. Just because all the fancy Lords and Ladies joined Argren’s Alliance doesn’t mean they stopped playing their games. So what though, we might as well have the extra swords. Amelie is a tempting target and Lord Foley doesn’t want any incidents happening anywhere near him and I’m agreed on that.” Saala winked at Ben, “besides, some might see our small escort as scant protection for such a high born Lady.”
“Scant protection! Isn’t that your job to protect her Ladyship?”
Saala, poorly hiding his amusement at Rhys’ frustration, heaped on, “I think it will be nice having some more able bodies with us.”
Rhys stumbled out of his Ohm stance and glared at Saala. “Able bodies my ass. Any Hunter spending his days on Foley’s payroll is either unofficially retired or feeble.”
Early the next day with morning dew still clinging to the stone walls of the keep, they departed Eastside and Ben got a clear picture of why Rhys was so upset with their new companions.
“Ah, Rhys! Never thought I’d see you again looking so healthy!” boomed a large man.
“Yeah Ferg, nice to see you again too,” muttered Rhys.
“Oh ho ho, I see you are no longer wearing the sigil? Got a little uncomfortable maybe?” The man could only be described as pompous. He was wearing a flashing silver breastplate and had a massive two handed sword strapped to his back. His long swept back raven hair was accented by a silver mustache that drooped from around his mouth and down past his chin. His long hair was bound by a silver circlet that matched both the mustache and breastplate. Surely that could not be intentional thought Ben.
The man continued, “I earned my sigil a year later, no thanks to you.” He patted the hilt of his sword and turned to show a large, brightly gilded Blademaster’s sigil. “I understand of course, it’s an honor and a responsibility. Old Nemil didn’t give it up easy, mind you. It was a tough fight. I almost feel sorry for the old chap. Died a couple moons later. A lot of hungry challengers once I beat him. He wouldn’t give it up. By the by, it’s Ferguson now. I dropped Ferg once I signed Lord Foley’s contract. He was paying good gold then because he wanted a man with a proper Blademaster’s sigil. He’d pay good for a second sigil too, I suppose. It’s a shame you don’t have your’s anymore.”
Saala had tucked his own scabbard behind his travel pack where his more subtle sigil was hidden. He picked up his pace to walk beside Rhys and asked Ferguson, “you earned your Blademaster sigil by beating a man named Old Nemil? I can only assume he was, ah, old?”
“Aye, that he was. Did you know him?” Ferguson continued without waiting for a response, “he was cunning, that is for sure. Comes from the wisdom you know? He’d seen it all. Took some creative blade work to get through that guard. Wasn’t my first choice of course. Good ole Rhys here was carrying a sigil back when we were at Northport together. He disappeared the day after I challenged him. You heard me earlier right? That’s why I said I was surprised to see him. Figured a man who can’t protect his sigil is going to get nothing but trouble. Just like Old Nemil did.”
“This is going to be delightful traveling with you, Blademaster Ferguson!” Saala slapped Rhys on the back then dropped back, grinning, to walk beside Meghan and Ben.
That evening they dropped the normal routine of working through Rhys’ Ohms and just did sword practice, mostly in an effort to ignore Blademaster Ferguson. The man was an unending fountain of stories about his own bravery. Through the verbal onslaught, Ben determined that he had been in Lord Foley’s service the last half decade and before that
he had been stationed in Northport guarding some Lord’s household. That’s where he’d met Rhys.
“The Lord of Northport, is that Lord Rhymer? Why did you leave his service, I hear he is quite well off and I’m sure would pay better than these Valley Lords,” asked Ben.
“Oh, no, not Rhymer. You’re right, Rhymer is The Lord of Northport, but we guarded A Lord of Northport. You understand the difference, I am sure.” Ferguson gave Ben a knowing wink, but Ben wasn’t sure he really did know the difference.
“Lord Allimach got around, that’s not secret. He was worried about, well, you know,” as Rhymer continued, Ben really thought he didn’t know.
Amelie saved him the breath and broke in facetiously, “oh, I have not heard! What was this Lord Allimach so worried about?”
“Jealously my Lady. He was worried about jealous husbands. He hired a group of us to keep his estate safe. We did keep it safe. Many tried, but none made it past our guard. Pity him dying of a shellfish allergy. Such a strange way to go, eating shellfish in Northport and with so many willing to pay good coin to put a knife in him. Anyway, it was a couple days after when a lot of us were looking for new employment that I challenged your friend Rhys here. He skipped town that night and I haven’t seen him since.”
Rhys grinned back at Ferguson. “That’s true, I did leave right after you challenged me. I figured with Lord Allimach dead, my work there was done.”
Ben saw Renfro looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
Rhys continued while tapping his longsword, “if it’s been bothering you so much these last five years, maybe we can pick up where we left off?”
Lady Towaal butted in, “I don’t think that’s necessary. The man has his sigil now and we need to keep moving. Can’t risk someone getting hurt during the contest.”
Rhys smiled at her, “that is true, an injury is certainly possible. Oh well, maybe another time Ferg.”