“Absolutely not.” Nathan let out a bark of laughter. “Tenth rank spells are the domain of the goddess. The only time in recorded history that one has been cast was with her aid.”
The highest rank of spell that Nathan knew was possible by mortals was ninth rank. And casting it had consumed the life of the Bastion who had used it, along with exhausting the reserves of several binding stones.
It had been the most destructive spell Nathan had ever witnessed, and he hadn’t been anywhere near it. Everything in the center of Trafaumh had been reduced to a wasteland of ash and barren dirt.
“That’s not a happy look on your face,” Vera said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Nathan said, dismissing his dark thoughts. “This spell frame is what sorcerers use to cast spells efficiently. You fill each part of the frame with part of the spell, and the frame reflects it onto every other piece. That’s why spells double in strength every time they go up in rank, because adding a new side to the frame double the number of reflections.”
“So why not use the biggest frame?” Sen asked.
“Because you need to fill each part of the frame. And you can’t just do that at random. Spell frames must be tailored to the spell you’re casting. They also act as amplifiers. If you cast a weak spell in a sixth rank frame, you’ll get a much more powerful spell.”
“Then use less magic?” Sen suggested.
“The frame will fail,” Vera said, arms crossed. “You already know that part. If you don’t feed a spell enough magic, it fizzles out. That’s because the frame has overheads. Bigger frames have bigger overheads, and a tenth rank frame has an overhead larger than any spell you’ve ever cast. That’s before you’ve even begun casting the spell itself. There’s a break-even point where it’s smarter to use a lower rank frame. So, we use the right frame for the right job, and use tricks like multicasting and supercharging to cheat if necessary.”
Sen scowled. “So, I can’t just invent a seventh rank Inferno Tornado, supercharge it, and become the greatest sorceress in Doumahr?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
A deep chuckle broke up their discussion. An old man approached them, wearing the Bastion uniform of the Empire and no regalia. As always, Leopold’s gray hair was trim and his sideburns thick but well-groomed. Nathan noted that his face appeared craggier than the last time they had met. The recent time in the Diet had not been good for Leopold’s health, although Nathan doubted the old man would retire any time soon.
Leopold had proven strong enough to fight toe-to-toe with Seraph, even if he was nowhere near strong enough to defeat her. His advanced age had yet to weaken him.
“The three of you are tucked away in the back of the fortress like conspirators planning a heist,” Leopold said, a glint in his eyes. “I assumed you would be talking about something more secretive, such as binding stones or Bastions. But I suppose learning about sorcery is important.”
He almost sounded disappointed.
Vera’s shoulders hunched, but she kept her face impassive. Her eyes flickered between Nathan and Leopold, and she waited for him to take the lead. Next to her, Sen crossed her arms and huffed.
“It’s very important,” Sen said. “Unlike you, I can’t cheat, wave my hands, and make things appear from thin air.”
“I don’t believe I did that at all at Fort Taubrum,” Leopold said. “And as somebody with the power of an ifrit within them, I don’t think you’re in any position to accuse others of cheating.”
Sen clammed up. Leopold’s lips quirked upward.
With a sigh, Nathan said, “We’re not here to conspire. We’re here to avoid anything important burning down. It’s too damn cold to head out into the nearby forest or clearings if we’re not casting anything big.”
“Cold is right,” Vera muttered. Then she said, “The two of you are about to go off and bully some maids for lunch, but I believe I am owed a particular piece of knowledge. You still haven’t told me why the magic you use as a Bastion doesn’t use spell frames or ranks.”
Leopold raised an eyebrow but gestured for Nathan to continue. He took that as a sign that Leopold wouldn’t execute him for heresy if he told Vera a few things.
But Nathan was going to be careful about what he did say. Some of what he knew were things that had been learned due to a decade of conflict with Messengers, from a timeline where Bastions had been forced to learn fast or die faster.
Nathan rubbed his chin, trying to work out where to start. “We do use spell frames sometimes.”
“And that’s what confuses me. Sorcerers use spell frames to be more efficient, but you don’t bother half the time. And you’ve said before that your binding stone magic is very inefficient.”
“That’s because it is,” Nathan said. “I’m a sorcerer, so I still cast spells normally with spell frames. But while you can only rely on your internal magical reserves and the magic around you, such as a leyline—”
“Or Ifrit,” Sen chirped.
“Yes, and you can use Ifrit’s magical reserves,” Nathan added. “I can add power from the binding stone to my spells. But it’s like pouring a bag of flour directly into a funnel the size of my fist. A lot of that power is lost, because it’s different to the magic in our bodies and the world around us.”
Vera’s frown deepened. “That sounds like you’re not really using the binding stone for sorcery.”
“He’s not,” Leopold said. “In case you forgot, I’m not a sorcerer.”
Nathan nodded. “I can use the binding stone to empower my sorcery. But it’s one part of what it can do. What you’re asking about is what is usually called ‘binding stone magic,’ and it’s a poorly understood art. It doesn’t use spell frames, because the power from the binding stone doesn’t work with them. And nobody has devised a spell frame for one. Everything we do with a binding stone is the equivalent of a rank one spell, which means everything costs orders of magnitude more magic.”
“And what if a Bastion learns how to use spell frames? If you can already build a castle in a few days now, what couldn’t you do with that power once you know how to use it efficiently?” Vera pressed.
Leopold coughed. A sure sign that he disliked where this conversation was going.
But Nathan was unconcerned.
“Given Bastions never developed spell frames for binding stone magic during the time that the goddess herself was with us, it’s probably impossible,” Nathan said. “She helped a Bastion cast a tenth rank spell. It’s not as though the Watcher Omria had issues with teaching us great things.”
“That’s something I hadn’t considered before,” Leopold muttered. “Most of the magical scientists have a rather negative opinion of those from the past. But you make a good point that they did things with the goddess’s aid that we have never repeated.”
Nathan also knew two more things, giving him more than a blind belief in the Watcher Omria’s greatness.
No Bastion had ever devised such a spell frame, even in the face of the end of Doumahr and some of the greatest magical advancements ever made.
And Nathan now strongly suspected that Messengers used the same magic that Bastions did. Kadria kept pushing Nathan to replicate her techniques and appeared to be using binding stone magic. If that was the case, she didn’t use spell frames but was capable of feats of magic he had thought impossible before meeting her.
“In any case, I believe we have a fox that needs discussing,” Leopold said, clapping a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “It’s always curious to see these discussions, but duty calls.”
Chapter 9
Leopold led Nathan through the courtyard, toward the many tables set out on the upper level. Months ago, there had only been a few tables here for when Nathan or a few guards felt like snacking outside. Now, the upper level was full of long wooden tables and benches for soldiers to rest at.
Once their training was finished, the cooks would bring out food and drink for the tired soldiers. It was important
to eat after training, and the keep was off-limits to many of the soldiers stationed here. For security reasons, Nathan had separated the guards who were permanently stationed at Gharrick Pass from the soldiers that merely trained here.
Allowing new recruits free rein in the keep could end poorly, given the current situation with the Federation.
As such, the soldiers ate outside. Braziers for heating were spaced out between the tables, and these operated using magic from the binding stone. Nathan wasn’t going to punish the soldiers by making them eat in the cold.
A cheer went up from one of the sparring rings. Fei pumped a fist in the air, before helping a wolfgirl knight to her feet.
It would be a little longer before Nathan would win his bet, he noted.
The two men took a seat at one of the tables. Within moments, one of the servants brought out steaming hot mugs of coffee for them.
Leopold wasted no time before adding a glug of something from a silver flask to his coffee. Brandy, probably.
“You said we’re talking about Narime. What about negotiations with the Federation?” Nathan asked.
“We’ll talk about both things. But a duogem Champion from an enemy nation takes priority,” Leopold said.
The coffee was too bitter, but the heat was appreciated.
Not long after, two heaping plates of food were dropped off. Smoked pork sausages as thick as Nathan’s wrist sat atop a bed of pickled cabbage and onions. A thick brown sauce formed from fat, cooking juices, and spices oozed along the food. Two tankards of pale beer were served shortly afterward.
Being winter, the food was simpler. Almost everything was preserved. Pickling, smoking, curing. Fortunately, the Empire had centuries of experience, and the chefs and cooks had learned how to make the food flavorsome despite the need to preserve the food. The one advantage of winter was that it meant there was a lot more lager to go around, as it was the easiest time to brew it.
Nathan still looked forward to the end of winter, even though it would bring war. He was no fan of the cold.
“Let’s start with the obvious,” Leopold said, as he cut into a massive sausage. “Has she done anything?”
“Other than poking around, no. I mentioned the original encounter, but she’s been well-behaved since.”
Leopold grunted. “But I’m betting she’s constantly pressing you for information on the Empire. Kuda mentioned she spends a lot of time asking you questions, and you’re noticeably evasive.”
So that’s how it appeared to others. Everybody kept their distance, and only the guards got close to her for security reasons.
“She’s interested in my abilities as a Bastion,” Nathan admitted.
“That’s not something I like hearing. Whatever her primary intentions, she is hunting for a weakness at the same time.” Leopold grimaced as he finished his coffee, pushing the mug aside and pulling up his tankard. “Either she finds something to use against you in battle, or blackmail material.”
“What would she blackmail me with?” Nathan asked. It was a stupid question, given he could imagine a dozen things off the top of his head.
Leopold chuckled darkly. “For one thing, there are a lot of rumors about how you became such a competent Bastion so quickly. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, particularly one that’s trampling all over my opponents. But your father is in open disbelief that you are apparently a highly capable Bastion.”
“Given his personal beliefs, doesn’t he hold that opinion about a lot of people?” Nathan said. He didn’t know his father well, but he knew of him.
Tharban von Straub, otherwise known as the Crimson Warhound, wasn’t the most famous of Bastions. Nobody sung about him, and he didn’t have a place in the history books in Nathan’s timeline. The rapid fall of the Empire had left Tharban in the lurch, and he had died in a battle that nobody remembered.
But everybody who met the man remembered him. Tharban was the sort of person who generated strong opinions. If Nathan asked somebody about him, they typically reacted one of two ways.
The first was that they respected the man but thought of him as an awful person and all-around jackass.
The second was that they immediately spewed vitriol about how Tharban was a blight on humanity and his death made the world a nicer place.
Nobody ever said good things about Tharban. He was that sort of person. A competent asshole at best, and everybody moved on once he was dead. Even his former Champions had hated him.
“Your father’s a powerful man, right now,” Leopold warned. “As much as you may dislike him, and feel you’re out of his reach, he’s going to do everything he can to bring you down. I recommend not giving him an opening. The Federation will spread false rumors about you if it gets even an inkling that something is off.”
“It would be nice if the Empire could focus on its external enemies,” Nathan said.
“And I would like to be able to retire to a nice manor by the coast with a dozen beastkin maids who love me dearly,” Leopold retorted. “For now, I make do with my Champions in between all the politics and battles. I recommend you do the same.”
That was the closest thing to a rebuke that Nathan had received from the old man. He was evidently worrying Leopold.
“I get it. I’m not flirting with her or giving her intel,” Nathan said. “But this is an opportunity we shouldn’t abandon. If she fulfills her end of the bargain, we could avoid a lot of trouble. Anna told me that we didn’t get any resources to support a war against the Federation.”
“It’s more accurate to say that nothing was decided on,” Leopold said.
“Which is the same thing. If all the nobles are still committed to our war against Trafaumh, then we’ll be going it alone.”
Leopold grunted. Most of his food had disappeared by now, save for some of his cabbage. He picked at it in between swigs of lager.
“Are you going to eat, or simply stare at the sausages?” Leopold asked, pointing his fork at Nathan’s half-finished plate. “They’re good, and I want to walk and talk.”
Nobody was around to hear Leopold’s grumbling, which Nathan considered a good thing. If Nathan found it odd to be on the receiving end of Leopold’s concern, then he found it stranger that Leopold was voicing it openly.
“I don’t remember you being so grumpy,” Nathan said. “I’d offer you some of my food, but I feel that your problem isn’t food-related.”
Leopold paused, his tankard halfway to his mouth. His lips curled for a moment, then turned into a thin line before the scowl formed. “Sorry,” he grumbled.
“Anna gave me the impression that things were rough in the Capital. You’re giving me the impression that things are much tenser than even she saw.”
Dropping his tankard on the table with a thunk, Leopold signaled to one of the servants nearby. She whisked away the glass and replaced it with another lager.
“It’s been a long winter,” Leopold said. “Long enough that I’ve somehow missed you recruiting your own army and hiring half the beastkin in the valley. You’ll spook people once they notice this sort of thing.”
“The beastkin approach me,” Nathan said drily. “I’m limiting how many I allow into the military, because I’m only training the soldiers on behalf of Anna, but that hasn’t stopped dozens of them swarming every servant position in the castle.”
“I’d say you’re paying them too much, but I doubt it’s any more than I pay my servants,” Leopold said. “Reputation is a funny thing. His Majesty banned the last remnants of slavery, but its legacy lives on. The beastkin remain skittish, but somehow you’ve won them over quickly.”
“And, once again, my father dislikes that.”
“Yes.” Leopold smirked. “He’s made life difficult recently, but I can at least enjoy his discomfort regarding you.”
Silence fell over them, broken only by the clinking of Nathan’s cutlery as he polished off his meal. The moment Nathan pushed his plate away, Leopold stood up. He gestured using his
tankard. Nathan got the message.
The pair of them began to walk a circuit around the keep, taking swigs of beer as they went. The bustle of the training vanished behind them. The pathways around the side of the keep were almost empty, beside a few wandering guards. They saluted, but otherwise kept their distance.
“I’ve had more than a few late nights with His Majesty,” Leopold said. “We play chess, discuss plans and strategies, and polish off most of a bottle of brandy.”
“I didn’t take the Emperor as much of a drinker.”
“He isn’t.” Leopold frowned. “Or hasn’t been since he was young.”
Nathan didn’t respond.
“Anna’s summary is largely correct. The Diet was a disaster. It was a reminder that no matter how many mistakes the Nationalists make, they remain powerful. Nobles aren’t elected, after all.” The old man chuckled darkly. “The public mood has turned against them. Nobody likes being dragged off to war time and time again, especially when they think that war is pointless.”
“If the Emperor has the support of most of the people, can’t he push aside the nobles opposing him? He has at least one archduke on his side, and most of the soldiers will side with him given he is, well, the Emperor,” Nathan suggested.
“And risk civil war?” Leopold shook his head. “We need to find a way through this mess that doesn’t end with the capital ablaze and the Empire’s Bastions fighting one another. I dislike your father, but I don’t intend to kill him in battle.”
“Does he feel the same?” Nathan said, and immediately regretted it.
Leopold grimaced and held his tankard against his lips for several seconds. When he lowered it, he changed the subject. “For the time being, I’m in charge of negotiations with the Federation. Until you contacted me, I assumed that was a meaningless gesture. His Majesty can’t provide me with his public support while the issue with Falmir remains unresolved, and he lacks enough people that he trusts to spread himself thin.”
“What about the Imperial family?”
“As I said, His Majesty lacks enough people that he trusts.”
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