To Be Victorious: The Maestro Chronicles Book 6

by John Buttrick

  While Daniel had not known the exact number of people in need of his healing until she informed him, he did know a lot of people had lost body parts in the past two days, and so was not surprised the actual amount was so high. He had taken Tarin Conn’s Melody, Condemnation, added a small orchestra of harmony, making it into a Symphonic, and titled the new arrangement, Restoration. Both spells forced the reshaping of the body and made a mind slave of the victim. Daniel needed the reshaping aspect in order to replace body parts that were gone, so had emphasized that in the harmony notes, but could not remove the mental domination in the melody line that made the person a passenger in a body that responded only to the will of the spell-caster. In short, he gave them back their free will by commanding them to have one.

  He detested having the power to enslave minds and was very careful when using the spell to ensure the person restored could exercise freewill, considering it an awesome responsibility and not a thing to be taken lightly. In his judgement, the responsibility of growing limbs and restoring people from condemnation should be that of the Maestro.

  But what if he stopped trying to modify Tarin Conn’s Melody? Daniel thought about it. He had gone with the quickest way when the lives of Sherree and the Queen were in the balance, and still believed he had made the right choice then, but what about now? He still needed Restoration in order to give back the freewill of those who suffered from the Dark Maestro’s heinous spell, yet the same would not be necessary for simply replacing body-parts.

  At the moment no new Melody stirred in Daniel’s soul, but he could take the time to work on one. “Conductor, Restoration is a spell that must remain one of those that are exclusive to my repertoire, but I will work on composing a Symphonic that will allow the caster to grow new limbs and other lost extremities.”

  Jennel gave one of her rare smiles. “That is an acceptable solution, Maestro, and I look forward to adding the composition to my repertoire.”

  As she walked away Daniel thought of the many chores he had yet to do. I just added another. When will I find the time? The answer came and he smiled. I will make my Chief Aid find me the time.

  “Carlos, will you do the honor of conveying us to the naval facility?” He asked.

  “I will, Maestro,” the bodyguard replied.

  Three heart beats later Daniel was in the bungalow with his mother, father, wife, Sero, Carlos, David and Silvia. “This is going to be a long day and another long night,” he told everyone. “It’s time to roll up our sleeves and start hacking at the chores.”

  -----

  Keljun Soon, King of Serinia, hated the fact his navy could not leave its seven ports, but he liked the idea of the ships running afoul of the Northern Alliance even less. So far the damage to his fleet had been minimal, a few frigates, and a destroyer. It was the Lords of Commerce who were hurt the most. They had lost hundreds of freighters, first, presumably, to that rascal on the throne of Taracopa, Van Efery, and then to the allies of the Serpent Guild. Only the boldest lord could transport wares to the mainland and foreign imports were rare. The economy was in big trouble and everyone expected him to do something about it. Even fishing boats feared to put out into the Channel. The waters of the Western Ocean were safer than those of the Channel, but most of that side of the island was undeveloped, home to small communities, mostly villages, and only had one major port, Skarta, which hosted the Royal Navy on the west coast. Ships could theoretically sail from there as long as they did not come around the island, although he had ordered them to stay in the harbor. So far none of the combatants were attacking his island kingdom and Kel wanted to keep it that way, but was regretting his decision to cease naval patrols in order to keep from provoking an attack.

  He was in his study and sitting at his desk. The walls behind and in front of him had shelves full of books. To his right was a window looking out from high up in his palace, giving him a view of Polen Tare and the various fleets at anchor and or docked in the port which spread seven spans along the east coast. Until recently the view showed him vessels of all sorts sailing into and out of the harbor, a busy port involved with commerce and all the hustle and bustle of a healthy business environment that generated wealth. The current view depressed him. The idleness of the port reflected the seriousness of the crisis.

  An express freighter flying the colors of house DeSuan was sailing south out of the harbor and even it would hug the coast, staying within a half span of the island until boldly heading for the mainland, according to Kel’s sources. Some hidden arrangement had been made, the details of which would hopefully soon be brought to light.

  To his left was the door and guarding it from the inside was Sergeant LaGune, a beefy man wearing the maroon uniform with black trim unique to the Serinian Royal Guardsmen. His jacket had the golden eagle with a serpent in its clutches representing the monarchy of Serinia embroidered over his heart. His skin was the same light brown as Kel’s and like his king, the man always shaved off his whiskers. They also equaled each other in height, six and a quarter cubits.

  Kel knew the men of the kingdom often styled their appearance to reflect that of the reigning monarch. Since the time he was crowned six years ago, about a third of the men began shaving their faces. His father had a mustache and a beard that was limited to his chin, leaving his neck and cheeks shaved clean. Many of the older lords and other members of the nobility continued to wear that style even after his death. Kel did not know what to make of that, yet considered the matter small in comparison to the greater concerns he had to deal with.

  A chime to the tune of Creator Save the King sounded and LaGune opened the door. One hand was on his sword as he did so. The tall man who entered was dressed in a purple and violet silk suit with a shirt the color of fuchsia. The coat had gold scrollwork up and down the arms and his black boots, with a matching short-brimmed hat, were polished to a mirror finish. His full beard and mustache were black mixed with gray and neatly trimmed. The man had a style of his own and clearly was not affected by what was currently fashionable. “Prompt as ever, Lord DeSuan,” Kel greeted the middle-aged noble whose fleet of ships was nearly the size of the Royal Navy, even after losing a score of them to hostile encounters.

  Lord DeSuan bowed his head and stepped forward while LaGune closed the door. The Sergeant did not take his hand away from his sword even though the wealthy lord was on the list of Trusted Individuals. “I detest being late to any meeting and would not think of keeping Your Majesty waiting,” came the baritone voice of the man who had been the friend of Kel’s father.

  The man moved with an economy of motion, efficient in all of his doings, and wasted little time. The attributes were no doubt why his shipping firm was still profitable even after losing the Arabella, his largest and most advanced freighter, to the pirate Van Efery, who had the audacity to demand payment for the lost gold that had been in the hold, pirated the reimbursement, and then claimed he never received any of the gold, and demanded more. There was no proof the King of Taracopa was behind the sinking of any freighters that did not fly the flag of his country, but the circumstances were highly suspicious. Trade between Serinia and Taracopa had been cut off well before the war and might not resume for another generation, no matter which side won the conflict.

  “Lord DeSuan, have a seat,” Kel invited the noble.

  DeSuan sat down. The man never smiled, if he did it would have to be somewhere in private because he always came across as deadly serious in public. Kel leaned forward while resting his hands on the desk, palms down. “Yours are the only vessels sailing from Serinia to Lobenia. No other shipping firms seem to be willing to take the chance of losing their ships to the Northern Alliance. The risk taking on your part began shortly after the diplomatic mission I sent you on a few months back. Did you strike a deal with what was considered to be at the time an illegitimate guild of Aakacarns?”

  DeSuan sat up straight, placed one fist on his right leg, and struck a dignified pose. “The Atlantan Guild is no longer co
nsidered illegitimate by the rulers of Aakadon. Even so, I have had no dealings with that guild. I delivered your message to Queen Clarees. I reported to you what happened, how she did not take the news about our navy staying in port, and being therefore unavailable to assist her navy, as a positive response to her request. However, that did not stop me from negotiating a contract of my own.”

  Kel figured such had been the case. “Does your eldest son, Jerremy, have anything to do with the reason your vessels are being granted safe passage? Are your ships being escorted by Atlantan patrol-boats or those giant sea-bats? You reported it was one those creatures that destroyed the Demfilian freighters that would have otherwise wrecked your ship”

  At the mention of the lord’s disgraced son, Kel noted how DeSuan’s right eye twitched “I assure you, Your Majesty, I have had no contact with my eldest since his defection to the Atlantan Guild. I will state, however, that Atlantan patrol-boats do appear on the horizon whenever my vessels sail south from Polen Tare and also when they cross from the southern tip of Serinia and on to New Oben. I will also state that the giant sea creatures have occasionally been spotted in the water at those times.”

  “If your son is not the reason for the safe passage of your vessels, to what do you credit the protection that has been extended to your fleet?” Kel wanted to know.

  “Observation and courage,” DeSuan replied without hesitation. “I have observed how the Atlantan Guild patrols the Channel. They seek out and destroy any Demfilian, Fon Kayan, and Battencayan vessels afloat in the Channel. The waters north of Polen Tare are the most dangerous for any of our fleets to sail. Any ship heading north has a fifty-fifty chance of being attacked by a vessel of the Northern Alliance, but then again, the odds are just as bad for them because the Atlantan patrols are just as likely to sink their ships. South of Polen Tare is a different story. Northern Alliance vessels that sail in the southern part of the Channel never return, even the ones along the Battencayan coast. My ships sail south and go no farther into the channel than half a span and then cross at the southern-most point of Serinia. This is because the Atlantan Guild has based their patrol boats at Starling Cove and my freighters sail right past it on the way to New Oben,” he stated boldly and then drew a deep breath. “The other reason is courage. I am not afraid to send my ships out to sea. My competitors could do exactly as I have, yet they allow fear to keep them from doing so. If they were to follow my example, they would again be making profit, but such is not the case. If the royal navy ever dares again to leave port, perhaps those shipping firms might find the courage to set sail.”

  It was a rare individual who would suggest the Serinian Royal Navy was lacking in daring, but Kel knew it was not the brave men serving in the navy that were afraid, it was him. “Lord DeSuan, are you suggesting the Royal Navy should resume its patrolling of the Channel?”

  “The chaos of the last few months has left everyone confused as to what to do. The Serpent Guild and the Northern Alliance are racking up many victories, Aakadon keeps changing it policies, and none of us knows what their next proclamation will be.” DeSuan replied with an accurate statement that failed to answer the question.

  Kel understood what the lord meant. “Daniel Benhannon was first lauded as a gifted Talented, one your son had a hand in recruiting, and less than a month later Benhannon was a hero who defeated Maestro Balen Tamm, and then, Silenced by the Grand Maestro of Aakadon. Time passed, Cleona dubbed him a Royal Knight of the Realm of Ducaun, and all was fine until he was declared a rogue Accomplished. Not long after that he was to be considered a dark Maestro as wicked as Tarin Conn. Grand Maestro Efferin Tames asked me to cut off diplomatic relations with Cleona of Ducaun to stop her from preparing for the very war that is currently taking place. After that we hear news that Benhannon and Maestro Reese joined forces to evict the Serpent Guild from Mount Shantear. We all felt the results of that battle. Then we are once again reminded by Aakadon of the illegitimacy of the Atlantan Guild while war breaks out across the entire continent, and shortly thereafter the Maestros of Aakadon declared Daniel Benhannon to be the Chosen Vessel of the Creator. The current political climate is chaotic, confusing, and dangerous.”

  Lord DeSuan nodded his head. “Add to that the most recent development, Grand Maestro Efferin Tames confronts Daniel Benhannon, loses the encounter, and is replaced by Terroll Barnes. Now the Atlantan Guild is considered legitimate. I understand why you have not normalized relations with the Atlantan Guild and why you hesitate to send out the Royal Navy, yet that hesitation breeds uncertainty and has resulted in freighters and fishing boats refusing to sail out of their harbors.”

  He understood alright, Kel noted, but it was clear in the older man’s tone he did not approve. “You understand how murky the political situation has become and yet you feel Serinia is showing weakness by failing to send the Royal Navy to patrol our territorial waters.”

  “Serinia’s navy should sail and show the merchants and fishermen that they can again sail up and down the Channel and to our west coast. Our economy will only worsen if decisive action is not taken. There may be battles as a result of such action but we should show the Northern Alliance this kingdom will protect its sovereign waters, keep the shipping lanes open, and confront any vessels that seek to interfere with our fair trade.” DeSuan was not shy in his response, spoken as a true Lord of Commerce, and correct in his opinion.

  Kel nodded his head. “We will not be taking a side in the current conflict, but we will protect our territorial waters. I agree with your stand on the issue and will order regular patrols to resume within the mark.”

  -----

  Royan Sylin decided it might have been better to have a Nephilim use a ring of power to inflict pain for a few moments rather than endure what Captain Lo Marzon had done. Deep in the bowels of the Lucia, Roy sat in front of a palm-sized topaz that was part of the drive system. He had one hand flat on the gem and the other under his chin while he rested his elbow on the console. The entire compartment was pristine white and illumined by a globe of light floating near the center of the ceiling, making it impossible to determine if it was day or night outside, although he knew it had to be close to dawn or maybe a little after. Beside him was a cup and a tank of fresh water to keep him from dehydrating, but he had partaken minutes earlier and was not in need at the moment.

  He had been an hour late for his six hour shift. Ernest Flagger had been on duty and had worked the extra hour and was not in a good mood when Roy finally took up the duty. Sven Lieffen had been at the other gem. The punishment set by the Captain was to work an additional shift and that was nearly eleven hours ago. Those men were long gone and Aqua-tube Operator Fell Gerinum of the Dukedom of Posedon sat at the other console, powering the other wheel. Standing, he would be nine feet tall and sitting, he had the posture of a noble, even though he was a Nephilim of common stock. He had blue eyes and hair the color of wheat and his trident was amber, one level higher than the one on Roy’s forehead.

  Aqua-tube Operator Beryl Griffin entered the compartment along with Chief Brutus Gunferd. The Operator’s hair was silky black and his eyes were brown. He equaled the red-headed Chief in height and his trident was bronze, which made him a Nephilim not to be toyed with. If Roy attempted to use half the rings on those long fingers, the amount of life-force energy required to power the spells would mummify him in minutes, not that he felt the least bit intimidated by the man. Beryl could put a chair in the middle, place a hand on each gem and power both waterwheels without being overly taxed.

  Finally, the shift is going to end, Roy thought, but then Fell stood up and Beryl took his place.

  “Who is coming to relieve me?” the leviathan wrangler asked while watching Operator Gerinum exit through the hatchway.

  The Chief smiled, showing no teeth. “The Captain has left it up to me to decide if you have learned to follow orders. Since last night was far from the first time you failed to heed my instructions, I have decided a third shift will drive h
ome the point more keenly.”

  Roy knew better than to talk back, even though he had plenty to say about the unfair treatment. Complaining might earn him a fourth shift.

  Gunferd nodded his head, evidently satisfied with the acceptance of the additional punishment. “While you are here contemplating the virtues of obeying orders promptly, think about Scout Shareen. She is two hours over due and the sun is well above the horizon. I will let you know when we learn more,” he said and then exited the compartment.

  Sarah was two hours over due. It took Roy a few moments to register the words and by then the Chief was gone.

  “She is the hardest working and most dedicated scout we have aboard,” Beryl commented. “Something serious must have happened. You mess up every other day, but she has always behaved strictly by the book. I hope all is well.”

  Roy shared the concern but did not appreciate the comparison. He was about to argue the point but then looked into the Operator’s eyes, which seemed ready to meet any disagreement with what had been said, then focused briefly on the bronze trident, and changed his mind. “You are right, Sarah would be here, and only something out of the ordinary would keep her from returning by this time.”

  Beryl nodded and focused forward while Roy continued to worry about his overdue friend. He cursed his creative imagination that kept giving him one bad scenario after another. Two hours and seven cups of water later, Gunferd returned to the Drive-room and announced, “Rosebud has returned without her rider. The Quetzal has lacerations in her wings, neck, and tail, which are consistent with wounds made with razor-sharp blades. There is no question she was attacked from below. Scout Shareen is missing and some of the blood on the air-steed was hers.”