Techromancy Scrolls_Westlands

by Erik Schubach

  Now we know they yet live and thrive to the west, but are in desperate need to have chanced the crossing again to plead for help.

  My chest swelled in pride with the knowledge that Sparo would answer their call, the new combined leadership of the Altii and the People were united in this cause.

  The planning for an undertaking of this magnitude has finally come to fruition as Solomon, and Highland have created airships based upon Bex's Outrider, which can make the perilous crossing in days instead of the weeks or months it would take by land in the treacherous rocky landscape of the Uninhabitable Lands.

  Truth be told, since the man has never regained consciousness again, we didn't truly know the extent of the journey. But we would have food and supplies on the airships enough for three weeks. So if it were farther than nine days out as the airships fly, we would be forced to return and come up with another plan.

  But this was the only solution to safely get knights and Gypsy fighters in sufficient numbers before food and water supplies were exhausted, to assist in any siege that may be going on. And would our weak magics be enough against the magnitude of the magic of the Great Wizards, if it truly was them?

  I pray that our delay has not cost the Cristea.

  I glanced around one last time as I strode up to the main entry. I smiled at the Outrider, the dirigible anchored beside the large barn that Bex used to harbor her over the long, cold winter. The airship was still such an awe-inspiring sight to me. We may not be able to match the Wizards magic, but our technology had to be close to matching theirs.

  With the modifications he has made as he refined the design for this rescue mission, she would be able to carry almost fifteen hundred pounds of supplies and ten men. The airships of Solomon and Highland are rumored to be larger and should be arriving within the hour as a flash came in earlier saying the dirigibles had been spotted in the skies over the North Outpost at the Toran on our side of the Gap.

  These magnificent mechanations were capable of covering distances at multiple times quicker than the fastest steed without being burdened by the terrain. This would be the advantage we would have over any of the slow-moving ground-based exploratory missions over the centuries into the Uninhabitable Lands, which were always forced to turn back after food and water supplies were exhausted.

  Bex had shared with us all that we would be able to go five times farther than any expedition had ever attempted in search of new habitable lands. And if we stocked weigh stations out in the barren wastelands, then we could piggyback upon that.

  Similar weigh stations have been set up and supplied at the four points of the compass to double the distance ground expeditions had traveled in the days of old. But even doubling their range to four weeks out, no new lands had ever been discovered beside the Lower Ten.

  The outer weigh stations have been stocked, and patrols have been sent to the unliving rock landscape, mostly to honor the explorers who had brought our two lands together for centuries. More out of historic significance than any real hope of finding more people who had survived the Impact. And to a small extent, in hope. After all, that is what Sparo means, hope.

  The guards at the main entry stared straight ahead, their pikes on their shoulders as they reached for the doors. I had to give a mischievous grin to one as we passed inside, poking Lady Brenda's belly. She tried to hide her returning smile as she stared at the point in space beyond us, attempting to stay professional.

  Bex's wife had won the lottery this quarter to be one of the Templar Hall guards and, “To hell, if I had just learned I was pregnant. I'm damn well going to take the honor!”

  I still can't believe that Bex was going to be a father, in my mind he was still that gangly and awkward squire with his head in the clouds, who I had met in what seemed like another lifetime ago. To me, he was just as much my brother as Jace was.

  I squealed in glee when they had shared the happy news with us. She'd be able to serve her entire term as Templar Guard before she got too far along in her pregnancy that the doctors would have forbidden it, she was going to, “Damn well stand for the Templars. Just try to stop me.”

  My godson or goddaughter was going to have a pretty kickass and battle-hardened mom.

  Templar Hall was bustling with activity. It was normally almost abandoned during the day, with only the families of the Templars about. At day's end that always changed as we insisted that all the workers at the Dig who did not live in Wexbury Keep, stay in the barracks-style rooms on the other side of the structure.

  It made me feel better that the hard working people were much safer from marauders behind our gates than out in the tents at the Dig. Not that any Marauders would be foolhardy enough to raid this close to Templar Hall. They all feared my Lady Celeste and the constant patrols at the dig by Wexbury Knights.

  Now though, the halls were packed with dozens of knights, scholars, nobility, and tacticians from the eleven realms as well as representatives from all of the thirteen gypsy clans. There are fifteen when counting the band who rove through the Altii villages and the now found missing band.

  All of Sparo was banding together for this, 'expeditionary' mission to the lands of the west, which everyone has already started calling the Westlands.

  We all knew what this really was, the Crown could call it whatever George wanted, but this was a rescue mission, not an information-gathering mission. I saw over and over what has happened or would be happening there, and I would not allow the slaughter of so many innocents if I could stand for them. All the other knights and gypsies chosen for the mission knew that unspoken truth, and we were all in agreement.

  I glanced over at Jace, he gave me a knowing nod and grabbed Misty by the shoulders, steered her toward the kitchens, Ingr dragged along by their joined hands. Planning for possible violence was no place for children. Jace said to them, “Come on brats, I hear Cook Cassidy has some ice cream hiding in the ice house.”

  The girls moaned in pleasure at the announcement, but Misty looked back at me with searching eyes. I sighed, she knew too many things a child should not. She had even fought marauders to save Bex and Ingr. No child should ever have to be forced to grow up prematurely like that.

  I nudged my chin at them. “Go. I'll catch up with you later little one.”

  She nodded, an understanding in her eyes that made her look older than the pre-teen she was. Then she shot me the smile that melted my heart the first time I saw her on the stairs in Castle Wexbury. I can't imagine a time when she hadn't been my daughter anymore.

  I wistfully thought about how I wanted to foster another child. Misty brought out something in Celeste, humanity, and serenity that she believes she has lost in the sea of bodies, she leaves in her wake defending Wexbury and our allies. She was the proudest and gentlest of mothers, something the other knights are still surprised by. And I think, they see hope in that, as we all feel the chains of our sins weighing down upon us, and if my Lady Celeste can find happiness in becoming a parent, then perhaps they can too.

  My mind drifted to the adorable girl in the library, Shanicia. Would her parents be open to fosterage?

  I mouthed, “Thank you,” to Jace as the girls started pulling him toward the kitchen. He winked at me. He's always had my back since we were little, and he's becoming a man I am just as proud of. And Lord Tennison has been hinting to me that he may take Jace on as squire soon, as Jace already has many of the skills needed since he practices with the knights and squires on the training grounds between runs.

  I rolled my eyes as I approached the meeting hall, two more guards were at the door, with two guards from the Prince's Own beside them. How many guards did we need?

  I started blushing at the tall redheaded knight pacing before them. Celeste's hard expression bloomed into something I treasured every day. A look of wonder as she saw me approaching. She didn't see my scars, she didn't see that I was just a commoner pretending to be this person everyone expected me to be. She saw me as the person she had chosen when she c
ould have had anyone in Sparo.

  It was the love I saw in her eyes that held me captivated. She strode to me and pulled me to her, giving me a toe-curling, spine-tingling kiss as our magic mixed freely. Then she embraced me before releasing me and chastising, “Where have you been? Everyone is waiting for you, my impossible herder.”

  I cocked an eyebrow, my cheeks burning over her display of affection in front of the other knights. I said sheepishly, “Sorry. There was a group of Outsiders who needed...”

  She chuckled, her blazing green eyes twinkling in mirth. “Of course you were helping someone.”

  I harrumphed and tried not to smile back as I whined, “I'm not that bad.”

  We stepped up to the guards, and I pulled my Templar dagger from my leg sheath, and the tiny dagger I kept in my boot. They gave me a claim check as they placed them in the weapons racks by the door.

  The Prince's guards looked nervously at the two blades on my hips, and Celeste's. They were still put out by the fact that it would be an insult to all the gypsies present for us to surrender our blades, as a Femeie de Sabie, or Woman of the Sword, to be out in public without her blade was blaspheme. They would just have to suck it up and learn, especially with the new joining of the two cultures.

  Chapter 3 – Preparation

  The guards pulled the doors open for us, and we stepped into chaos. People were everywhere, looking at maps on the walls, models of Sparo on the huge meeting table. All in animated discussions, all speaking over each other to create such a cacophony of sound that my ears almost hurt.

  I glanced up to the empty viewing gallery, to see a thoroughly amused looking Great Mother Ranelle, leader of all the Gypsies. Ranelle was second in command of all of Sparo behind Prince George, until the end of the decade, when the pendulum would swing, and she would rule Sparo for a decade in the new blended political structure that is still being developed between the Altii and the People.

  Dressed in her rogueish leathers and trousers with their distinctive green piping, she was eating slices of an apple as her legs dangled over the railing, kicking idly. I absently wondered how she got that long dagger into the room but decided maybe I didn't want to know. She winked down at me then brought her fingers to her lips, and let out a shrill whistle so loud that it had to have been magically amplified.

  Everyone stopped and turned their gazes up to her. She ate another bite of apple from her blade then pointed her dagger down at me. “My mostenitor is here. Shall we begin?” Then she leapt off the railing, flipped in the air and landed on the conference table lightly as she flung her dagger. It embedded in a map on the wall over Heaven's Gate Mountain, or Father Stone as the Mountain Gypsies called it.

  She demurely offered a hand to Prince George, who took it and helped her to the floor as if she needed it. Princess Everly was chuckling to herself over Rain's display.

  George cleared his throat, and his deep voice reverberated through the room. “Alright everyone, you heard her, let's get this show on the road. We have a lot to discuss in a short time. I hear the Falcon, and the Condor airships have crossed into Wexbury.”

  He looked over at us as Bex slid in beside us. “Templars? If you would.” He motioned us to the maps at the front of the table with him.

  That was my flame-haired wife's cue. She strode purposefully up to the maps, her stride reflecting her grace and confidence. It always reminded me of a predator on the prowl, a female cougar on the hunt. I knew I wasn't the only person who was of that opinion, as I saw all knights eyes on her, watching every movement, and the Prince's own all nervously place their hands on the pommels of their swords.

  They didn't like the fact that there were four women in the room who were allowed to keep their swords at their hips with their ruler in the room. But the nervous looks on their faces told the rest of the story. They wouldn't be able to stop three of us if they wanted.

  I felt a smile quirk as they discounted me because of my stature and the rumors of my shortcomings. In my years of intensive combat training, all knew that Laney of Wexbury had never learned to attack, only defend because of my wife's wishes. No knight of Wexbury would challenge her decision. And there was the little fact that until I finally accepted who I was when I fought Aelwen in Highland and my magic finally mixed, that I was the weakest magic user ever to be named Techno-Knight. But now, with my two magic intertwined, I am of average power.

  I quickly glanced at the three other Femeie de Sabies in the room. Great Mother Ranelle had her eye on me as I moved beside Celeste. And the petite but infinitely dangerous Sarafine tilted her head in acknowledgment of my glance from where she stood in the corner observing everything. The motion caused the long braid of chestnut hair to swing at her hips. She was the Mountain Gypsy Ambassador to Wexbury, and almost as dangerous as my Lady was.

  Celeste looked at the map that Prince George was bent over, studying intently and smiled to myself as she placed her hands on his shoulders and moved the man over a bit, saying with humor tinging her voice, “George?”

  Of all of us, I thought that Celeste would have been the last to acclimate to our status as Templars, which placed us outside of the governance of all, including George. I thought her years of deference to those of higher noble standing, and years of taking orders as the commander of Wexbury's Mobile battalion would have made her hesitant to treat the most powerful man in Sparo as a peer. But she took to it like a duck to water.

  It was our dear friend Bex, who got flustered and mixed up about how to address various people in the various roles he played in the chaos of the rapidly changing social structure of the realms.

  George grinned, “Oh, by all means, Templar.”

  She rolled her eyes and said with a smirk, “Please remind me who's harebrained idea it was to bequeath that title upon me. Who had that been?”

  Princess Everly chuckled from behind her husband.

  The silvering haired man complained like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away. “I garner no respect.”

  The crowd chuckled at the poor man. His act fooled nobody, I could taste the coiled magic he kept spooled inside him. It tasted of air and steel, and it buzzed so vehemently I believe his power rivaled that of the Prime Techromancers of the Lower Ten.

  He hid his physical prowess as well, but if you had ever witnessed him drawing Aeselin, the great longsword of Highland, with one hand like it were of no consequence, then you would be dissuaded of the notion that he was an aging ruler with no bite. Aeselin was at least twenty pounds of finely crafted folded carbon steel.

  I stepped beside the man and looped my arm in his. He looked down at me with his crooked grin, placed a hand over mine, then took on the air of nobility, raising his chin high and ignoring the teasing.

  Celeste muttered as she glanced at the maps rolled out on the table, some so old that I could taste the dozens of restorations that Techromancers over the years had done to them. Some dated back to the first days of Highland's explorations of the Uninhabited Lands. Highland looked so very small. “She's showing you pity, old man.”

  I scrunched my nose at her, and she winked at me then turned back to the maps, her voice clear, professional and determined. “Ok people, with what little we know from the Cristea scout found at the outer marker of the West Weigh Station, and what we have learned from Laney's visions of the attacks in the Westlands. We've put together this all-volunteer 'expeditionary' mission.”

  She cocked a dubious eyebrow at George and Ranelle, who both acted oblivious to the tone of her voice indicating this really wasn't an expeditionary mission, but a rescue mission if we found the Cristea family in need. They had left with over a thousand men, women, and children to each point of the compass.

  She inhaled and explained, “We have no idea how many of the Cristea band had survived the crossing, but if the condition of the man we found was any indication, then odds were great that virtually none of them survived the journey. Our doctors and the Gypsy healers estimate maybe fewer than a dozen.
If that is true, then even after all these centuries they couldn't have large numbers.”

  She looked around, met the eyes of the people gathered around as she stabbed at the edge of the map to the west. “We don't know how far the Westlands lie from Sparo, but our best chance at locating them is with the airships which can travel farther and faster than any ground units could ever hope to.”

  Then she said between her teeth, almost accusingly, like the words tasted bitter coming out, “The purpose of this mission is to locate the Westlands, assess the situation there, and return to Sparo to report so that any assistance or farther actions can be discussed.”

  My ears and I'm sure the ears of all the gathered knights heard the instructions a little differently, as we are hardwired to help those in need and defend the weak and innocent. It went something like this in my head, “If the lost fifteenth band is located and they are in need, Sparo is to defend them and make their tormentors taste the steel and fire of Sparo and make them rue the day they turned their ill intent upon the Cristea.”

  The rest was just, “Blah blah blah, assure the nobles of Sparo we were not sticking our noses into someone else's war, blah blah blah...”

  I felt George's eyes and grin upon me, and I nudged him in the ribs. “Pay attention.”

  I glurked when I found a hand grasping my face the next moment. Celeste had grabbed me without even looking back, and her voice was full of humor as she said, “You too, pipsqueak.”

  The knights chuckled, and I grinned and kissed her palm, which got the desired result of her releasing me. The tips of her ears turned a tempting shade of red, and my grin wouldn't die.

  She regained her professional demeanor though I knew she was intimately aware of my proximity as her magic always seemed to reach for mine, and the mists from my scars always drifted in her direction on some unseen current as if my magic was longing to be with hers.