“No, not just spells. The path you’ve set your feet upon has the most noble of goals, the mastery of magic, all magic. Spells are shortcuts we use for things we just can’t seem to master. Use a spell long enough and often enough and it becomes ingrained in your soul. At that point you no longer construct it, you simply will it to happen. It becomes more natural, like wild magic.”
“You seriously expect me to try to master all magic?”
“I do. You won’t succeed, but until you die you should continue to improve and expand your abilities. Don’t accept any limitations. That’s the first purpose of a wizard’s life.”
Will felt his forehead wrinkling as he thought about it. Worriedly, he asked, “What’s the second purpose?”
“Whatever you make it. Magic is a tool. Your talents will grow to follow your interests. Say you want to feed the world; you’ll find ways to help farmers. Maybe you want to rule the world; you’ll find ways to put yourself ahead politically. Your other purposes will change with time, but you’ll always find yourself coming back to the magic at the heart of it all, for that’s the tool that will make whatever purpose you are chasing possible.”
He gave his head a quick shake to remind himself of his original goal. “Back to the topic at hand. What do you think I should do next to figure out this spell?”
“Find someone who can do it with wild magic. If you have the right knack, maybe you can pick it up from their example, and if not, you may learn enough to create a spell.”
“So, ask Tailtiu then.” She had told him in the past that she didn’t have the ability to manipulate earth, but that she knew other fae that did.
“Just remember all the usual precautions,” said Arrogan. “But, I should ask, is there a reason you can’t use an ethereal spell to accomplish what you want? Usually that’s easier.”
Will took a minute to refresh his memory, which fortunately seemed to be improving. Arrogan had first told him about the ethereal plane when Will had begun inadvertently projecting his spirit into the astral plane. Unlike Muskeglun, Faerie, or the other more traditional planes of existence, the astral and ethereal planes were intrinsically a part of their world. There were no congruence points or places to cross. The astral plane was a purely mental plane that didn’t possess physical attributes. It touched every part of every other plane of existence. The closest thing it contained to places were areas that were being experienced by sentient minds. Hence, only the spirit could travel in the astral plane, and it could only go somewhere where the mind of someone you already knew was located.
The ethereal plane was the opposite. It was entirely physical, a plane that overlay the regular world like a poor copy. Supposedly one could travel to it and bypass obstacles in the normal world, such as a wall, and then travel back. Such was the way the traditional pass-wall spell worked, not that Will had learned it yet.
After a long silence, Will finished mulling it over and asked, “I haven’t worked with any ethereal spells yet, but if I used it to hide, wouldn’t it also be impossible for me to observe my enemies in the real world?”
“Yes and no,” said Arrogan.
“Which is it?”
“Ordinarily, no, but there are certain types of light that cross between the two planes. Most of the better ethereal spells include visual modifications to allow you to watch our world as though it was a ghostly, semi-transparent vision. Then again, since you already are able to monkey around with your sight, you might be able to manage it on your own with some experimentation. It’s still not very clear, but at least you could make out your surroundings on this plane.”
That brought another question to mind. “What about seeing the ethereal from here? I’ve already done a lot with my eyes, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the ethereal plane.”
“Nothing to see really,” said Arrogan blandly. “I doubt you’d notice it ordinarily. It’s a barren, empty, almost lifeless place, and it tends to exactly match the major features of our world. You should be glad it’s so empty, otherwise you’d risk death anytime you crossed over.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you phase into the ethereal and there’s something in the place you’re standing, or vice versa, you wind up with two pieces of solid matter occupying the same space. That simply can’t happen. We don’t really understand why, but the result is a powerful explosion.”
“How big?”
“Depends on the things that are superimposed. As far as I know it’s only been observed a few times, and only when something was passing back into our world, since it wouldn’t be seen if it happened on the ethereal. Anyway, the stronger and denser the material involved, the more powerful the explosion.”
“If the ethereal plane is a close copy of this plane, how can it be used to pass through walls?”
“When I say it matches major features, I mean things that are very old. You won’t find trees there, or buildings. A building would probably have to be thousands of years old before it would be matched in the ethereal realm. Primarily it’s just the landscape—mountains, valleys, oceans, that sort of thing; almost everything else is too short lived to make an impression on the ethereal realm.”
“Did you say ‘almost lifeless’ a minute ago? What lives there?”
“Nothing in most places, but there are predators who can move themselves back and forth to seize prey from this world and drag it into the ethereal. The only ones I’ve heard of are giant, spider-like creatures, and they mostly live in areas near forests in our world,” explained the ring.
Will shuddered. Maybe talking to Tailtiu would be better, he told himself. He needed to see her anyway. It had been too long, and he was beginning to worry about whether she had truly recovered. He ended his conversation with the ring and leaned back in his chair. “Tailtiu, Tailtiu, Tailtiu…” As before, after the third repetition of his aunt’s name, he felt a connection followed by something completely new, a surge of emotion. Always before there had been nothing, except at certain times when he had felt a particular predatory interest. This time he was inundated by a crashing wave of emotions that swept over him, joy, sorrow, and then—nothing.
He had no idea if that meant she was coming or not, so he waited.
After a time, he resumed his studies, and later he went to bed as usual. It appeared she wouldn’t be coming. He fell asleep wondering what it all meant.
Chapter 16
Nothing happened over the next few days, other than the expected. Selene continued to suffer from crippling fatigue, though it appeared she might be close to being able to sleep through the night without losing control of her source and waking up. Then, one morning, a letter arrived addressed to him, a summons to the palace. Blake brought it in, and Will opened it after they had finished breakfast. He read over the contents then glanced at Selene. “Aren’t you curious?”
She looked up, dark circles framing her eyes. “Not particularly. It’s obvious anyway.”
“Really?”
“You have to go to the palace.”
“For what cause?” he asked.
She sighed. “Given the upcoming war and your role in it, I’d presume you have to meet the other notables who will be assisting you.”
Will cleared his throat indignantly. “Well, that’s a reasonable assumption, and ordinarily you’d be right, except that in this case…” He paused, then after a few seconds deflated. “Fine, you guessed it.” Inwardly, he was nervous. He had little experience with the nobles that would be present. “Will you come with me?”
Her eyes perked up for a second, then faded as her weariness returned. “I would, but you don’t really want me there.”
Nothing could be further from the truth. “Why not? You don’t feel well enough?”
Selene shook her head. “If I’m there, they won’t respect you. They’ll see you as a pretender hiding behind your royal wife’s skirts. They’ll defer to you in the moment but turn against you when I’m not there.”
He hadn’t consid
ered it quite that way. “You think so?”
She nodded. “I’ve been through it myself, living in the shadow of my father. Over and over again I’ve been forced to prove myself when he wasn’t there before they treated me as anything other than window dressing. I don’t know if it will be as bad for you, but the same principle applies.”
Will puckered his lips in a sour expression. “You’re right, but I still wish it was otherwise. What do you advise then?”
“You should find out who else will be there and consult an expert to learn about them before you go.”
He smiled. “I happen to know such an expert.”
She gave him a sly look. “Is she pretty?”
“As beautiful as you,” he answered playfully.
“Should I be jealous?”
Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss. “Probably not. So, who will be there?”
She began explaining, and he listened carefully. She was the one suffering from extreme fatigue, so he could do no less than give her his full attention. As expected, she had a breathtaking knowledge of the nobility of the realm and was able to make confident guesses about who would be present and what he should expect from them.
He stopped her at one point, confusion written on his face. “Did you say Count Spry?”
She nodded. “Bartholomew, a distant cousin of the one I nearly married. He inherited the estate and title since between us we killed both the father and the son. Not to worry, though, from what I’ve learned he disliked Reginald Spry almost as much as you did. In any case, he wouldn’t dare let any familial feelings interfere with his duty.”
Will couldn’t help but worry about that, but he trusted her judgment.
Two days later, he stepped out of his carriage at the palace. He was an hour early for the meeting, but he had taken Selene’s advice to heart. “Being fashionably late is only for parties; for political meetings, arriving early is key. Nobles gather and talk beforehand—alliances form and are broken before a meeting occurs,” she had told him.
Not that he really knew many of them. He was an outsider. It was unlikely he’d find friends before the meeting commenced. A footman directed him to a salon where a few others who had arrived early were relaxing while they waited. Will stepped into the wide, spacious room and scanned it quickly, wondering if he would recognize anyone there.
Along one eastern-facing wall were tall, eight-foot windows that allowed the morning sun to stream in, bathing the cushioned furniture and low tables in golden light. Two men were standing beside one of them, one fit and trim, the other large and rotund. The slimmer of the two spotted Will and immediately headed in his direction, a friendly smile on his face. “Your Grace! I see you’re early!”
It was the one face he expected to recognize, that of his father, Mark Nerrow. Hearing the man address him as a duke felt strange, but he had been forewarned to expect it. Will dipped his head slightly in recognition, then responded, “Baron Nerrow, I am glad to see a familiar face.”
Mark Nerrow’s gaze registered unspoken approval. “Of course. If you will allow, I’d like to introduce you to another of the king’s loyal servants, a man of indispensable talents.” He led Will to the window, where the other man had been quietly observing their greeting.
Before Mark could introduce them, Will smiled and said, “I’ve looked forward to meeting you. Lord Bradshaw, I presume?”
Viscount Bradshaw smiled genially in return, then extended his hand. “Your Grace does me too much honor. What gave away my identity?” The baron’s warm, brown eyes drifted down toward his large belly, then he winked. “Never mind. I suspect I know already.”
Selene had in fact mentioned the man’s proportions when describing him, but she had also noted that once Will got to know him, he would likely find that Martin Bradshaw’s belly was the least of his attributes.
Mark spoke up before Will could reply. “Martin is an absolute wonder when it comes to logistics. One wonders if our monarch would even consider this war without his able hand guiding the supply lines of Terabinia.”
“My wife spoke highly of His Excellency as well,” agreed Will.
“Please. Call me Martin if you would, Your Grace. At least until we are confined within the formality of the meeting to come.”
“Then you must call me Will,” he returned.
“You are too kind,” said Martin.
Will shook his head. “An army can’t fight on an empty stomach, so it behooves me to make friends with the man that’s filling my belly.”
The look on Mark Nerrow’s face was one of surprise, as though he wasn’t certain if Will had made a faux pas or not, but Martin’s eyes took on a look of interest. The rotund baron leaned in “You think of yourself as the army, William?”
“Well, part of it, at the very least.”
“That explains your attire, then. I was curious as to its meaning.”
Will had been unsure what to wear, and he wasn’t keen on the overly ornamented clothing that Selene had assured him that the other noblemen would be wearing. Instead he had chosen to wear something he had seen but never worn, the dress uniform of the Terabinian Army. As a private contract soldier, it was unlikely that he would have ever needed to own such a uniform, as they were meant for formal occasions that most soldiers never attended. Usually the uniform was worn by high-ranking army officers (who were generally also noblemen) when they were involved in military functions. In fact, most of the men present today would be wearing the same attire when the war began in earnest, when they weren’t armored for the field, that is.
What made his attire strange was that it was entirely bereft of brevets, braids, stripes, or insignia. He still officially only held the rank of a private contract soldier, even though he would be appointed as the Royal Marshal for the upcoming campaign. Will had donned the uniform in its simplest and lowest form, without embarrassment or self-doubt. “I’m still a soldier in the Terabinian army, Your Excellency,” he answered, meeting Martin’s gaze evenly. “Even at a gathering such as this, I am not embarrassed to be such. Indeed, my service until now is one of the few things I take great pride in.” After a moment, he twisted at the waist and stretched his arms out, then added, “Also, it's much more comfortable than the doublet my wife wanted to stuff me into.”
“There are some who might feel differently, William,” said Martin. “You’re aware of the message you may be sending?”
“I’m here to do a job, not to preen in front of others,” replied Will. “That’s also the reason I’m glad to make your acquaintance early, Martin.”
Mark leaned in. “The meeting hasn’t even started yet, William. We should keep the conversation light until then.”
Martin Bradshaw waved a hand dismissively in the direction of the baron. “Don’t fuss, Mark. I know you’re trying to help our young duke, but you needn’t worry. I like him already.” Then he stretched out his hand once more to Will, who quickly took it. The two men shook hands again. “I trusted Mark’s judgment before we met, but now I’m reassured. Just remember, for every friend you gain, you make another enemy as well. Once they know I support you, those who dislike me will likely find fault with you.”
Will shrugged. “I’d rather have capable friends and foolish foes than the reverse.”
Before Martin could reply, someone approached from behind and quietly cleared his throat. “Pardon the interruption, Your Grace.” Will turned and found a middle-aged man with a short, salt-and-pepper beard.
Mark Nerrow stepped in, putting a hand on the newcomer’s shoulder and addressing Will. “Allow me to introduce you, William. This is Baron Hargast, one of your…”
“…one of my vassals,” Will finished for him. “Raise your head, Lord Hargast. It is good to meet you.”
The lord kept his head down and then took a knee. “Please, Your Grace. Before the meeting, or other pleasantries, allow me to give you my oath.”
He’d been prepared for this, but it still caused Will’s cheeks to flush.
He gave his permission, and Baron Hargast quickly ran through the oath of fealty. Mark Nerrow started to lean over and prompt him, but Will had already been coached on the subject. He gave his response, the reciprocal oath of protection and succor that outlined his duty as the baron’s liege lord. That done, he took Baron Hargast’s arm and urged the man to his feet, grateful it was over.
“I have been wanting to meet you for some time, Lord Hargast,” Will lied graciously. “As I’m sure you know, I’m rather new to all of this and I’ve had my hands full.”
“It seems we are all destined to a surplus of labor for the foreseeable future, Your Grace,” returned Hargast. “This war will take us far from home and keep us busy.” The four men chatted for the next half hour. Some of the others arrived, but they merely nodded as they were caught up in their own conversation. Last to arrive was Baron Lambel, a tall, lanky man on the younger side with thin, wispy blond hair that made for a rather sad beard. He hurried over and offered fealty as Hargast had.
And then a bell chimed, and a servant came and ushered them into the conference room for their meeting. A solidly built table with six chairs sat in the center of the room. A nobleman that Will hadn’t met yet stood at the opposite end of the room, beside the chair that sat at the head of the table, or the foot of it, depending on your perspective. Will was fairly certain which end Duke Lustral wanted it to be perceived as while he watched them enter.
“Gentlemen,” said Lustral, “Thank you all for coming.” He looked over the others with calm confidence as he motioned for everyone to take their seats, and his eyes lingered on Will for a moment, examining his plain uniform. “Duke Arenata, it is good to make your acquaintance.” A faint smile played over the man’s lips.
Lustral had carefully engineered the room and their entry to take control of the meeting, and if Will hadn’t been forewarned, he would have been completely at a loss for how to react. “It’s all right to get a little angry, if it keeps you from losing your confidence, but don’t let it show. If your emotions show, they’ll lose respect, and it will be difficult to take control,” Selene had warned him. She’d also given him specific pointers, one of which applied to the current situation.
Disciple of War (Art of the Adept Book 4) Page 14