“Ready, Grandmaster,” he replied.
“Good, I was just explaining to the students and teachers of Sagger and Lareja’s unfortunate betrayal. I told how you helped me to set things right again, and now we go to negotiate for a portion of the Green Forest.”
“Who is coming with us?”
“Just a small entourage of staff and guards,” he waved over a group of about a dozen men and women. Some looked to be high ranking teachers in fancy robes, others appeared to be mercenaries, more traditionally trained with swords and shields. Not an overly impressive bunch, but enough to dissuade any bandits or looters from attacking.
Nandor stuck out his chest, content with his companions. “I am glad. I did not wish for this to be a large ordeal filled with high-born daughters and pompous politicians.” He looked from Nix, to Dorin, to the grandmaster. “Perhaps we will actually make some progress in our negotiation with Mikja.”
A glitter of amusement flickered from the grandmaster’s eyes. “I am afraid we will have two more joining our company, outside of the gates. It might be wise to temper your expectations, somewhat.”
“Eh?” Nandor grunted uneasily.
Just then, the gates begun to clank open. There was excitable buzzing from nearby people. A horn sounded—a royal horn, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lord Viken is dead, and he has no appointed heir.
A voice loudly boomed as the gate arose. “All hail! The new Lord and Lady of Froj!”
Nandor’s heart fell into his gut, and it felt as if time stood still. A new lord? So soon? He didn’t know why, but he had a very bad feeling about who it was. As the gate opened, a pair of shiny boots, glossy and high-heeled appeared. There was something familiar about them. The further the gate opened, the more he saw, and the worse he felt. Slick black pants, a soft-fur cloak framing a long, elegant man.
He didn’t need to see any more. He turned aside his gaze and muttered darkly under his breath, “Son of a bitch…”
“Presenting to the Crystal College,” the announcer continued, “Lord Benjfrost and Lady Fia of Froj! May they together guide us into better times!”
The royal horn sounded one last time, and the gate slid out of sight. There they stood—the new lord and lady, surrounded by two dozen royal guards. Benjfrost was smiling gleefully, waving to the onlookers with pride. His newly wedded bride was equally cheerful, grinning from ear to ear. She was a pretty woman, long and slender. The daughter of Viken, she had his strong face, but it was far more refined and feminine. Her blonde hair and green eyes were contrasted perfectly by a rich outfit, and the couple hugged each other as they stood—as any who witnessed might say, they were the perfect match.
Lordly and regal, Benjfrost took a step forward, pulling his lady along with him. He stretched out his hand, “Grandmaster Forojen, it is good to see you doing well.”
“Indeed,” the grandmaster replied, shaking his hand in turn. “I am glad that one of my own from the college has arisen to such remarkable heights. You may call me sentimental, but it warms this old man’s heart to see you so decorated by all.”
Lord Benjfrost was practically salivating with pleasure. He took more than satisfaction in his new position—he had a sort of gluttonous boastfulness that only a man fulfilling his deepest dreams could have. Such was his haughtiness that when he gazed at his old rival, he hardly even flinched. “Nandor?” he smiled, snakelike. “So the rumor is true. You still live. I am overjoyed.” Smoothly, he held out his hand.
Nandor left it hanging in the empty air before him. He turned up his eyes to lock Ben in his gaze. “Piss on your joy,” he spat, and took a step aside. Several onlookers gasped, and Lord Benjfrost’s eyes widened, as if his wonderful dream had suddenly shattered into a thousand icy pieces.
“Who is responsible for electing this fool as the Lord of Froj?” he demanded, turning from Ben to face the observers. “Have you all no dignity? No memory?” He waved over at Ben, “This overdressed dandy is the man who hid during the war. This is the man who proposed that the poor children of your city should fight while he hides behind the bleachers. This is the man who kneeled before me when we dueled—he’s not even capable of channeling flame properly, and yet you think him fit to rule? What fools are you?” he roared, his powerful speech echoing down the mountain city.
A strong hand quickly grasped his shoulder. “Nandor!” It was the grandmaster’s voice, whispering swiftly. “Now is not the time for more divisiveness. We have a job to do. Get your act together.”
He frowned, and considered dismissing Forojen’s words, but for some reason he found them oddly compelling. His heavy breathing slowed, and his blood eased as it flowed back down from his bulging muscles. He looked from the wide-eyed bystanders to the target of his insults. All hints of a smile had vanished from Lord Benjfrost’s face, and he opened his mouth as if he were about to shout to scream for the guards to bind him in chains, but the grandmaster moved quickly, holding up his hands for all to see, “Forgive Nandor’s outburst, my lord. Please,” he asked through a humble nod, but there was also the underlying hint of a threat in his tone. “For a century the Crystal College and the city of Froj have gotten along peacefully, building each other up rather than tearing each other down. Nandor is a brash man, but he is also a headmaster at my college, and his presence was requested by Lady Mikja herself. We need him for the negotiation, and I’ll not have any fighting amongst ourselves as we travel. That includes insults and threats,” he turned from Nandor to Ben. “Agreed?”
Benjfrost snarled downwards. He spoke to Forojen, but his words were aimed at Nandor. “Agreed, Grandmaster. But when the negotiations are done, your insolent headmaster will have to learn some respect. For too long has our city been tolerant of his filth. While I’m lord, I’ll not stand to endure any rants or foolish words coming from a man who was once a homeless beggar. Our city must grow strong if it is to endure these trying times, and I will have no place for the lowly doomsayers.”
“I am quite sure he will learn his place, my lord. Now please, may we put this unpleasantness behind us? We have important business to attend, and Lady Mikja and Lord Grimbone are not known for their patience.”
Begrudgingly, Ben, his lady and their guards gathered up their supplies, and led the way down through the city. Forojen pulled Nandor aside for a moment, letting the rest go on ahead—even waving aside his own guards. “I understand your frustration, Nandor, but we can’t fight this battle right now. Like it or not, Benjfrost is the Lord of Froj now, and you can’t be naysaying him anymore. Consider yourself lucky that things did not progress any worse than they could have.”
Nandor ignored the grandmaster’s grave words, a suspicion growing steadily in his mind. “You used mystic energy to calm me, didn’t you? That was why you touched my shoulder!”
“Quiet!” the grandmaster hissed, “Do you want the whole city to know?” He sighed, and met Nandor’s eyes. “Yes. Of course I used a little magic to calm you. What choice did I have? You were about to start a fight during the worst time possible. I wasn’t going to allow everything I’ve worked towards to end because of your brash pride and childish rivalry. You’ll simply have to set such petty things aside, for the moment.”
“But he’s a terrible man! Worse even than Lord Viken—and far more arrogant and foolish! It’s as if the city is determined to damn itself deeper into hell despite everything I’ve done to try to redeem it! How can I not speak out against such idiocy?”
“You’ll just have to trust me on this, Nandor,” Forojen rasped, a bit of his age showing through his normally robust façade. “Everything will be okay. I have it all under control. I planned this entire meeting out as best as I could—just leave everything to me, and stay calm. You’ll know when the time for action comes, and it isn’t just yet.” He began to walk quickly, going to catch up with the others. One last time, he whispered over his shoulder. “Trust me,” he winked, “I have a plan to set all of this right.”
Nandor grumbled unea
sily as he marched back to the convoy. During the commotion, Nix and Dorin had stayed silent at his side, but now they were chatting amongst themselves.
“I thought that all went rather well, considering,” the bot said.
Nix nodded her agreement, “When I first saw Ben, I was sure that Nandor would try to strangle him then and there.”
“That is what I should have done,” he growled.
“No, the grandmaster is right,” Dorin chided, “Whatever grudge you have will have to wait. He is the lord of Froj now. Until there is a good moment to strike, the wise man would keep his tongue silent and his sword arm ready.”
He turned to the streets as they walked, his eyes rolling upwards, “Since when did you become the wise one?”
“I’ve always been the wise one, dear Nandor!” the bot proclaimed. “I’m the brains, you’re the brawn, and little Nixie is our mystic. A fair team, if I do say so myself.”
Nandor shot the creature a grumbled look, “You’re the brains?”
“Naturally, sir! Don’t take any offence by it—comes with the age. Remember, I’m technically older than the both of you combined. Sure, it took me a little while to sort out my bad experiences from my good ones, my life of slavery from my newly found freedom, but now that I have all the pieces in a row, I find I have a lot to put right, if you take my meaning.”
He shook his head, “I’m not sure I do.”
“Me neither,” Nix added. “And you aren’t the brains. If anything, you’re the engineer.”
The bot frowned as it considered her proposal. Then it smiled and tipped its hat in her direction, “Very well. The engineer. I suppose that does sort of suit me. I am the one who orchestrates and plans behind the scenes, setting all the right gears in motion to make what I desire come to life—yes,” its smile grew, “Very well. I am the engineer and mastermind, Nandor is the brawn and decisive action coordinator, and you, Nix—you’re still the mystic. Fair?”
“Well…” she deliberated, playfully biting her lip, “I think I may have a little more to offer this party than just my talents as a mystic. Wouldn’t you say so, Nandor?” She nudged him for input.
He gave an indifferent grunt. “This conversation is pointless. Also—if we are being serious, you’ve left out my elemental abilities—so get that right first.”
“Heavens! So picky you two are! Fine!” Dorin thrust its arms upwards in defeat, “Might as well go all in! I’m the engineer/mastermind, Nandor is the elementalist, brawn, and decisive action coordinator, and Nix, you’re the mystic and naive little college girl that always gets in my way!”
“Hey!”
“That was a little harsh, Dorin,” Nandor grinned.
“Bah! What would you rather I say?” It demanded of them both through an impish leer, “Nix is the mystic, seducer, and full-bodied harlot?”
“Now that’s just cruel!” She stamped her feet, and looked to Nandor.
“Indeed,” he agreed, nodding gravely with her. “I’ve never known her to be a lady of the night.” A hint of his grin came back to life and he turned towards Dorin, “A thief, on the other hand…”
“Stop! The both of you! You’re being absurd! Clearly I’m the mystic and the voice of reason!”
Stubbornly, Dorin shook its head, “But when you were seductively posing with Nandor to get Gevor to attack—wasn’t that more of a harlot action? If I recall correctly, you were the one who proposed it, and it seemed to come quite naturally to you. Perhaps it wasn’t your first time to try to rile up two red-blooded men into a fight?”
“That was only to get revenge!” she boldly declared, “And I certainly wouldn’t have done it with anyone other than Nandor! I’m not a harlot!”
“Wait.” Nandor paused in the street, a few paces behind the main convoy. He faced Nix. “Do you mean that?”
Gingerly, she looked up, “Do I mean what?”
“That you wouldn’t have posed with anyone other than me?”
Her face turned red, as if she had suddenly realized what she had said. Reflexively, she brushed back a wayward strand of hair. “I—I—” her eyes darted around, trying to find words that were just beyond reach.
Nandor did not wait for her to answer. He smiled softly, and reached out to grab her small hand. “I know you’re no harlot, Nix. I also know you’re no thief, not anymore.” Holding her hand firmly, he pulled her closer. Their bodies were nearly pressed together, and Nandor became immensely aware of her sounds, from her soft breathing, to her rushing heart. He gazed into her purple eyes, and whispered deadpan, “Therefore, you are Nixie, the mystic extraordinaire, voice of reason, and beautiful woman who brought me back from the verge of death.”
They stared at each other, uncertain yet complete. In that moment, he was sure that what he felt was more than anything he had ever felt for anyone before. It was strange and wonderful—nearly indescribable.
But as fast as the moment had come, it was waved away by Dorin snorting out a huff of steam, “I’m afraid that’s far too long of a title.” It folded its arms up and pouted, “Besides—I’m the one who did most of the work to heal you.”
Nandor rolled his eyes, reluctantly turning from Nix, he swatted the bot on the head, “I was just trying to be nice, Dorin. I know you helped heal me too. I wouldn’t forget it.”
“Ah. Indeed. I see sir.” It squeaked as it straightened the protective plates on its chest. “Forgive me for interrupting.”
With the spell broken, they continued to catch up with the royal convoy. As they traveled the streets, Nandor noticed a group of men yelling outside a downtrodden eating establishment. There was a poor family standing nearby. They looked desperate.
“What’s going on?” Nix wondered.
“I don’t know, but I intend to stop it from progressing to blows.” Nandor walked swiftly between the two groups.
At one side, there were three men, two holding bouncer clubs, and the third with a stained chef hat on, lopsided. At his other side, one man, his son, and their family behind them—a wife and daughter, by the looks of them.
“What’s all this about?” Nandor demanded, his powerful voice silencing both sides.
The man with the chef hat spoke first, “This man refuses to pay for his breakfast! He comes to my establishment, eats and then refuses to pay! Now he expects for me to let him leave! I’ll be damned if my restaurant becomes known for tolerating thieves! Especially during these times!”
He looked to the man dressed in dirty factory clothes. “Is this true?”
He shook his head, and his family did the same. “I paid him already—and twice what I can afford! He’s overcharging! Demanding that I pay even more! I have kids to feed—a wife!” He pointed behind, “The Larnorjs Cog’s Factory I work at stopped offering discounted meals after the war—his was the only other place nearby for me to have breakfast at with my family before work. If I had known he was a fleecing swindler I’d have taken my business somewhere else!”
“I’m not a swindler!” the chef barked back. “You’re the lowlife unable to properly feed your family! You should have known that prices were high! Half the farms have stopped supplying my restaurant! Every restaurant still open is the same! I offer food as cheap as I can given the circumstances!”
Again, Nandor held up his hands. “Wait—I see what’s going on,” He turned to the family man, “Where you informed of how high the prices would be before you ordered?”
“No. Of course I expected them to be higher than normal, but I had no idea he would try to steal every coin I’ve worked for just for four loaves of old bread, butter, and a small bowl of mammoth stew for my wife. It’s outrageous. I just wanted one more breakfast with my family before the factory opened back up, and I’m forced to work overtime again to make up for all the others who have fled.”
Nandor sighed, and opened up his coin purse. He walked to the head chef, and paid the remainder of what was owed. “Make sure your customers know the new prices before they order,” he gr
owled, then he turned to the family who was thanking him. He silenced their words with a firm look. “And you lot—best stop eating out. It’s only going to get worse before it gets better. It would be wise to save up your money and only buy what you can from the market.”
“Thank you,” the factory worker replied. “But the market has too many shortages to get reliable meals. I’ll do what I must to feed my family.”
“I can’t blame you for that.” Nandor exhaled, and tossed him a coin. “Try to take care.”
“We will,” the family man said. “And thank you again!”
Nandor, Nix, and Dorin had to hurry to catch back up with their group.
“It was a nice thing you did,” Nix said.
He managed a small smile, “Well, I did fail to stop the Clockwork War. Stopping the chef and his bouncers from beating a factory worker and his family might be my only actual accomplishment.”
“Remember, we are going to negotiate for what is owed, sir. Perhaps all your efforts weren’t for naught. The city might not be doomed.”
“With Benjfrost as the new lord?” He released a dark laugh. “No, Froj is damned. Even if we get the entire third of the Green Forest that was initially promised, this city will still find some way to screw it up.”
Chapter 27: A Gathering of Green
The Crystal College has been affiliated with the city of Froj for a hundred years, although they are both clear and separate entities. The Lord of Froj has no say over the college, just as the grandmaster of the college has no say over the city. Although traditionally they cooperate with each other in order to secure better students, status, riches, and safety—the college has been known to defy the will of Froj’s Lords on one or two notable occasions. It has been speculated that the Lords of Froj would not want to risk losing the college to a rival city, and so they intentionally give the grandmaster a large amount of breathing room and freedoms that others might not enjoy.
Currently, the idea of the college seceding from the city of Froj is considered to be ludicrous. The Crystal College is presently one of the city’s best participants and proudest patriots—the high-ranking members of the college are both loved and revered by the city and its leaders.
The Crystal College Page 27