by Daniel Casey
He felt like vomiting now, the room was terrifying him. Every time he looked up it felt like the walls were pushing in on him, he tried to focus on one point—the torch, a rack of leather armor, even a point on the wall—but it didn’t work. He felt a rush of heat to his face, his vision blurred, and he swore he saw everything move in on him. The only thing that seemed to help was focusing in the armor, on girding himself for the upcoming fight.
He worked quickly to keep his mind occupied. It had taken him longer than he would have liked to find suitable armor. Most of what Roth had presented him with was old, not poorly kept but certainly having seen better days. All of it was mix and match, Goshen was certain he was seeing pieces from at least three distinct armies and several eras. Sitting he had just finished tying on some padded cuisses and was now covering his boots with sabatons. As he stood up to lash on the thigh and tasset he had found, Roth entered.
“Finding everything alright?”
“Well enough, I suppose,” Goshen didn’t look at him and tried to seem calm, “Would rather have my own armor of course.”
Roth nodded, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I guess I owe you some plate.”
“Hardly.” Goshen smiled. Roth gestured him to come closer and hold up his arms. Roth drew the strings of Goshen’s greaves padding tighter, then picked up the plate greaves and lashed them onto him.
Roth looked at Goshen’s chest, “That gambeson fit?”
Goshen tapped it with his free hand, “Actually quite well. I usually don’t go in for all this padding but have all the poisons I’ve had lately…”
Roth smirked, “I hear ya. Got a bit of that bandit venom myself.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, they stabbed me in the chest with it before they threw me into the sea.”
“Damn. How did you survive that?”
“Washed up like driftwood.”
“Lucky.”
“That’s all it ever is.”
“Well, I think I’d disagree with that.” Goshen turned around and slipped a gorget around his neck, then pulled the straps tight.
“Give me a hand with this breast place and pauldron?”
“Why I’m here.” It took a few minutes but finally they finished. Goshen stood and looked at himself in the dirty mirror.
“This torchlight makes me look a little less ridiculous.” Goshen said. His reflection showed a mishmash armor set—black padding, a dull and dented breastplate, pauldrons and greaves that had a queer rust color to them, his thighs and boots oddly well-polished.
“I’m sure in the light of day,” Roth said deadpan, “that your opponents will only concern themselves with the weapon in your hand.”
“Surely. And speaking of?” Roth held up a long seven-flanged mace.
“I remember watching you fight off three men with this kind of weapon.”
Goshen took the mace testing its weight, it felt good and he felt a bit like his old self. “It was more than that actually. You just saw the last three.”
“Good to know.” Roth smirked. “You’re going to be in the thick of it.”
“I realize.”
“You’ll be facing Spire soldiers.”
“Is that what Jena spied?”
“They’ll be disciplined.”
“I know what they’ll be.”
“But they won’t be prepared to face a paladin—use that.”
“How exactly?”
“Let them know you’re a Cathedral crusader. It’ll put a hard thought in their heads.”
“You see what I look like in this patchwork, I doubt they’re going to believe me if I tell them I’m a warrior for the Light.”
“Fery has a tabard for you”
Goshen paused, “A tabard?”
“Yeah, it’s that white thing with the golden sun rising…or setting, now that I think about it.”
“Where did you get that?”
“It’s been here since they killed the people who built this place.”
The two men stared at each other, then Roth turned, “I’ll show you the stairway down, Fery and Declan are at the bottom waiting for you.”
“The girl?” Goshen asked as Roth stopped before a narrow and steep set of stairs.
“She and her father are adamant that she’ll acquit herself just fine.” Roth shrugged but tried to sound confident.
“What do you think though?” Goshen pressed.
“I’ve only ever actually seen you and Jena fight. So I’m taking a lot on faith.”
Goshen began slowly descending the stairs, the clink of the armor echoing off the stone walls, “I’m sure it’ll be rewarded.”
“It would be the first time.” Roth muttered as he watch Goshen disappear in to the darkness. He tapped the wall a couple of time, then turn and left.
Kira held her bow up arrowless staring out the center window of the white hall. She took three quick steps to the opposite side and aimed; she dipped under the window behind her, stood and aimed, and then reversed the motion to be standing back where she started.
“You’ll need to move faster.” Wynne said standing behind her.
“How fast can I go when you’ll be doing the same thing? We’ll be lucky if we don’t fall over each other.” Kira replied still gazing out the window.
“She has a point.” Roth emerged from the map room.
Kira turned, “How did you? There’s no passage in there.”
“Yes, there is.” Roth said dismissively.
“I don’t think it’ll be a problem. But I’m worried we won’t able to be too accurate.” Wynne moved to Kira’s window, “The closer the fight gets the tougher this will be.”
“You don’t need to worry about picking off soldiers once they engage Goshen. Your job is to lay into them once they pass the point of no return.” Roth knelt looking over the quarrels.
“What’s that now?” Kira asked.
“When going back is farther than going forward.” Wynne clarified.
“You’re going to herd them towards Goshen, Declan, and Fery.”
“What if they need us down there?” Kira asked.
Roth shook his head and stood up, “Our only advantage is our position. You two need to keep this position. They won’t overrun us below but you need to be here to make sure that any reinforcements are thinned.”
“I just don’t like the idea of losing Goshen again after just getting him back.”
“Trust me, neither does he.” Roth pointed to Wynne but was staring out the window intent on something in the distance.
“And you and Jena?”
“You’ll see us soon enough.” Roth crossed the corridor and left.
Wynne looked at Kira, “He’s right, I didn’t come all this way to lose Fery again.” Kira nodded as Wynne held up is own bow to the window, “Now try it one more time only together.” Kira gave a faint smile and raised her bow.
“This is fucking stupid.” Declan watched as Fery tied the tabard around Goshen as snug as she could.
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” Goshen conceded.
“Where did he even get tha?” Declan stood with his arms crossed and a clear look of skepticism, “We ‘pect them to turn tail and run jus cuz they think they see a paladin?”
“He is a paladin.” Fery said sending a fierce glare Declan’s way.
“Was a paladin.” Goshen corrected.
Fery came around and poked him in the chest, “Are.” She turned to Declan, “When they see him, they’ll realize that they’re facing the Cathedral. That’s enough to make any mercenary hesitate.”
“Is it now?” Declan gave a wicked grin.
“Isn’t it?” Goshen piped in.
“It is.” Fery ended the conversation and walked toward the fire pit.
“She’s an interesting one.” Declan murmured.
Goshen lifted his mace and followed after her, “I wouldn’t let her father hear you say that.”
“Yeah, maybe. You know, I’ve never been to Rikonen
. Never been to Essia actually. Guess this is the closest I’ve ever come.”
“You seem quite lighthearted for what’s about to happen.”
“What? Trying not to die?”
“Suppose that’s one way to put it.” Goshen gave weak smile.
“Look,” Declan let his levity lapse, “You’re a soldier. That means more than you think. I fight dirty like a sad grouser.” He pointed to Fery, who was standing astride the fire pit staring out over the glen, “Something tells me she’s going to show us something. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t the weakest of us.”
“We have to fight to protect each other,” Goshen took hold of Declan’s wrist, “Assume you’ll die; assume you’ll die so one of us will live. That’s how I’ll be fighting.”
“I’ll not let you die.” Declan asserted then gave a wink, “Nor her. It’ll be my way in with her da.” Goshen couldn’t help but laugh. When they joined Fery, Goshen turned to look up the cliff face. He found the windows of the white hall and waved, a few moments passed and then he saw Kira’s hand wave down to him.
Ardavass, The City of The Seven Spires
The view from the Jacobean spire was of Lake Heltast. Carlisle Jakobs when he had built the first spire had made sure all the windows faced south and took in the whole of the lake land vista. The only way Tamas could see the other spires was from the balcony at the base of his family’s tower and although it had a commanding view of the inner city, he never much liked looking up at the others. Out on the lake were the countless thin barges the wealthy whittled away their time upon and still further out were a peppering of tiny dark sailed fishing boats. Unlike Elixem to the north, Lake Heltast was shared between the wealthy and the working and there was no lacking of Kyrios who would make this point repeatedly to foreign envoys and even those visiting from elsewhere in Silvincia.
Tamas was standing before the huge window lost in thought when Neve entered. She made her way across the room at an even pace saying nothing to him to sit at a high-backed chair at the thick black wood table on the dais. At each of the seats flanking the table and facing the window where Tamas stood had several scrolls and pages of vellum set before them. Once she sat, Neve realized that the plate of cheese and bread at the center of the table was just out of reach. It seemed that Tamas was insistent upon no one being distracted from the task before them. She rose, pushed the papers out of her way and dragged the platter closer to her.
“Will I have to get my own drink as well?”
Tamas didn’t turn around, “Most likely, but there’s some raki and there will be some lassis brought in once the others arrive.”
Neve burned a hole in the back of Tamas’s head and let out an audible sigh. She stood again and walked to a far island where a crystal pitch of the milky looking raki sat amongst several other carafes. She filled a stout, fat glass and stomped back to the table. As she sat, Tobin and Sondra entered.
“Apparently, Tamas is in one of his work only moods.” She announced to the newcomers.
“When isn’t he?” Sondra leaned in and gave Neve a friendly hug by way of a greeting, whereas Tobin lingered at the liquor island.
“What work is there to finish,” Tobin said as he prepared himself a drink, “He pretty much accomplished all we needed to at the last assembly. Excellent job by the way, I think Matias actually choked on his own rage.”
“As though that were difficult to prompt.” Neve said.
“He can hardly complain, he’ll certain be given the medal as Praetor and that should be more than enough to placate him.” Sondra sat next to Neve and began to look through the papers before her.
“For now, I suppose we’re going to have to plot to figure out how to keep him from getting any actual power.” Tobin sat.
Tamas turned slowly and moved towards the dais, “He will die in service to the nation.”
The others blinked and stared at him. Neve spoke, “You hope.”
Tamas sat with the rest but further away from the table than the others, “I know.”
“You can’t know.” Tobin scoffed.
Ignoring him, Tamas continued, “Matias will use this as an opportunity to become the arm of The Cathedral, it will find him wanting.”
“You hope.” Tobin took a long drink.
“I know,” Tamas pulled a piece of vellum off the table and held it up for the rest to see, “This is a map of Cassubia, the territory of The Cathedral. It spans from the western bank of the Falkstone to the northern bank of the Elmander. What we refer to as the Lake District.”
“We know.” Tobin said.
“The Cathedral can’t consume the Novosar even though it’s a tiny mark state because it would be seen as a threat to our nation. The north is too sparsely populated to be of any concern. However, it has already orchestrated the elimination of the Athingani…”
“Nearly a hundred years ago.” Sondra stared at the vellum map, “What does it matter? This geography lesson?”
“The Siracene Highlands were purged of the Athingani with the blessing, if not on the directive, of The Cathedral. The division of those lands made the world we know today. Now The Cathedral wants to remake the world.”
“You think they want to dissolve Essia in the same manner?” Neve asked.
“I think they want Essia as their territory because it’s too difficult to move east on their own.” Tamas eyed his map not taking notice of the others.
“But why get us to do it?”
“Because we have profited most by having Rikonen closed off. The Blockade has done exactly what we hoped it would—made our nation the center of trade and the destination for Lappala’s bithumin.”
“That resource has made our farmlands more than triple their yields.” Sondra said.
“We’re the breadbasket of the world.” Tobin got up to get another drink.
“But why would The Cathedral challenge us now?” Neve asked.
“Because The Cathedral has no interest in bithumin. They know it’s a poison.” Tamas asserted.
Tobin spun around guffawing, “The Aral is poisoning our farmland with a resource that triples yield, is what you’re saying—just so I’m clear.”
“The Aral is barren.” Tamas said calmly.
“Because it’s a desert.” Tobin retorted.
“Why not use the resource themselves? There are rivers; we’ve seen dry climes use irrigation.” Tamas asked.
“Their water table is too deep. And using the resource requires soil; last I knew the Aral is still a desert. Water sand all you want and pour resource all over it, nothing happens.” Neve explained.
“It wasn’t always.”
“A thousand years ago it was a verdant paradise,” Tobin mocked, “We’ve all read the histories; we’ve all read the illuminated manuscripts; we know the myths.”
“Yes, well, obviously you haven’t thought about them.”
“And what would you have me think?”
“I believe that the Lappalans used bithumin to make the Aral the bliss of the annals. Then the resource caused the death of the land. With only bithumin available to them, they began to trade it, to ship it out to the rest of the world.”
Sondra shook her head, “The Essians weren’t the first to import the resource. If we follow your line of reasoning, wouldn’t that suggest that the first city to buy the resource from the Lappalans should be experiencing the same kind of poisoning?”
“The Adrenines used it. But theirs was a limited venture, they relied more on the sea. Other cities had other means.”
Neve nodded, “Paraonen is still a whaling center, all oil comes through it.”
“Yes it is and yes it does. But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t need more. Essia wasn’t always the bread basket, it became such.”
“Once it began importing from Lappala?”
“Once it discovered how to refine bithumin.”
Tobin flopped back down in his seat, “So what then?”
“So the refined bithumin incre
ased the yield to what we know today and increased the toxicity of it.” Neve ventured.
Tamas nodded, “I believe so. I believe our blockade, through no intention of our own, forced the Essians to discover the end effect of the resource sooner than would have happened on their own.”
“It’s still makes little sense.” Tobin wasn’t convinced.
“I don’t understand the process but I am certain it is the case.” Tamas replied.
“I don’t know.”
“I know.”
“You need to let us know.” Tobin threw his glass on the floor; its shattering turned all eyes toward him, “I am sick of this pedantic teasing. You weren’t the only one that has worked to make this decree happen. You didn’t sway the majority all on your own no matter how fine a speech you made. We!” Tobin gestured around the table, “We made it happen, the four of us together.”
“I didn’t know credit meant so much to you.” Tamas tried to sound above reproach.
“Acclaim be damned, I don’t consider any praise from any of you to be worthwhile.”
“Good to know.” Neve said coldly.
“He’s not wrong. Although, he is drunk.” Sondra spoke up, and then pointed at Tamas “You need to be less elliptical.”
“I’m sorry.” Tamas turned to Tobin, “I am sincerely mistaken. I’ve been in…so embroiled with the assembly I’ve forgotten that you all are actually my peers.” Tobin looked slightly satisfied.
“Peers, we’re more than a cohort,” Tobin said more calmly now and with less venom than before, “We could change the balance of power in this city for generations. We all have the long view,” he turned and winked at Sondra, “Even if some of us have a blurry vision of the future.”
Tobin rose, but Tamas made a gesture for him to stay seated. He turned around, “Let me get you something.”
“Thank you.” Tobin sat.
“So Essia is in the midst of a drought but you believe that drought is because of the bithumin. That somehow the refinement of it not only makes it a more potent fertilizer but also destroys the soil faster than it typically would. Is that about it?” Sondra said.