by Ember Lane
“Got enough for one more?” I asked.
Charlotte was first to break off her conversation. She had her hair tightly drawn back into a tail, and it exposed her porcelain forehead, which creased in intrigue.
“It looks like you’ve been exercising, not meditating. You’ve filled out a little—got the glow of someone who’s achieved some form of peak. Are you feeling okay? Has the darkness finally consumed you?”
“Consumed me?” I spied the open bottle of wine and determined I’d consume that.
“You play with dubious magic,” she informed me.
I slumped down on the opposite couch. “On the contrary, I understand it now.” I grabbed the bottle’s neck, not bothering with a glass, just slugging from it. “It’s not dubious. Hell, it’s not even that different. Just a variation on the other.”
She scoffed, “There has always been magic and black magic; the two are different. One is of forests and glades, the other of demon and fire.”
“Perhaps one is of hard toil and brute force where the other is of subtle manipulation and gentle coaxing.”
“Pah!” Faulk spat without even turning from his cooking. “Then I would choose the honest one. You can’t beat honest work.”
I polished off the bottle. “What about you, Pog?”
“I’m a thief, a rogue. I’d have manipulation over effort every time.”
“One each,” I told Charlotte, a challenging grin on my face.
She tossed me another bottle. “Two to one, actually. I choose the forest and glade. Mezzerain?”
The big man stirred. He’d folded himself into the couch like he was unused to comfort and now pulled himself to at least a modicum of attention. Before he answered, a long and deep yawn erupted. “Brute force,” he replied, in a complete contradiction to his current, relaxed stat. “Two to two,” he added, before slumping back. “But I’d like to hear Sutech’s answer. His will be more informed than mine. His rapier will always think harder than my broadsword.”
Where Mezzerain was ensconced in the couch for the night, Sutech sat perched at one of its ends. On further inspection, perched was not quite the right description; it just looked that way in contrast to Mezzerain. Perhaps quietly comfortable would have been a more apt choice. Before he answered he assessed everyone in turn, as was his way, and then delivered his deliberation.
“Both have advantages.” It was the answer we all expected from him. He continued after a short pause. “I think your answers are limited by the inadequacies of your descriptions. You say, or infer, that shadowmana is brute force and toil, yet I have seen Alexa use it with deviousness. A punch? An explosion? Sure, but also a slice and a stab. Perhaps it is harder, blunter in its approach, devastating in its effect, and perhaps you can invariably read its intent a moment before it decapitates you, but it doesn’t mean it is just thump of a blacksmith’s hammer where light mana is the scribble of a scribe’s quill.”
Mezzerain chuckled, pushing out his empty glass. I reluctantly filled it. He took a sip, clearly enjoying the silence his laughter had created. “I told you,” he finally said. “Told you the warlord would spin a simple poll into its own oblivion.”
Sutech scoffed, “I envy you your focus. I’m surprised you need so much sleep. Your narrow thoughts must hardly tax your brain.”
Mezzerain grunted. “I sleep fine. My thoughts get closed quickly and allow it. You must toss and turn while yours dither and remain unanswered.”
“Do you need me to explain the meaning of the word consider again?” Sutech snapped, but the curt question was clearly for effect. I wondered if Sutech’s patience was endless.
“Just answer the damn question.” Mezzerain shrank back into the couch.
It was clear to me that these two had become the best of friends.
Sutech smiled at Mezzerain’s retreat. “The point I was beginning to make was simple. Each magic is subtly different, not overly so, and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll bet there isn’t a person present that hasn’t witnessed the devastating force of light mana. Who here has seen power spew from Shylan’s hand? Who has witnessed Cronis’s temper, Marista Fenwalker’s fragile ire?”
“Grandma Lumin outstrips all of them,” Pog added as the rattle of plates indicated the imminent arrival of food.
“Grandma Lumin,” Sutech repeated. “I’ve not heard of her, but I’ll take your word as good. So are we all agreed that light mana has its brute force too? That it’s not all grassy glades and leafy forests, but is craggy cliffs, earthquakes, thunderous storms, and blustering winds too.”
Mezzerain grunted. Charlotte made to say something but swallowed her words and hid her mouth behind her glass.
“Agreed,” I said to fill the void left by the absence of Charlotte’s reply.
“Get on with it,” Mezzerain finally said. “What would you choose? Two to two, remember.”
Sutech shifted slightly. “I have no magic, like you, Mezzerain. The experience is closed to me, and so I can only go by what I observe. But surely if I had access to both tools I would use them to each one's maximum advantage? Take Alexa, who has that luxury. Did she use just one to demolish the combinium's tower? Or did she deploy both?”
Mezzerain straightened as if the conversation now bored him. “You have two types available to you, oh, mighty warlord. You have to pick one and one only and then have your armies march forward to battle. There, is that plain enough for you? Which is it?”
“That’s easy. The light magic.”
“What?” Mezzerain barked. “After all that you just choose the light so easily? Why?”
Sutech laughed. “Ah, but for reasons your empty head would not even have contemplated. For starters, nothing to do with the magic.”
“Then what?” Mezzerain repeated, exasperated.
“Shylan, Cronis, Marista Fenwalker, this Grandma Lumin, Sakina—these are your practitioners of light magic. These are the ones that deploy it. These, Mezzerain, are giants—whatever their faults. And I should know; they are still my enemies, always have been. If I had to choose a magic, then I would choose one that would come with such colossi.”
“Then why didn’t you?” I asked.
Sutech held my eye. “Because, Alexa, that choice wasn’t open to me. I was already the outcast. The Lowlands were already shunned when I came to power. Lines had been drawn. We were shadowmana, or perceived so, and still are, actually. We are the brutes, the savages that dare challenge Irydia, Shyantium, Kobane. Zybandian has his fantastical castle. I have my dark lairs. Shylan has his magical glade. I have the Forbane. They have light. My lands taper to shadows.” He grinned, but it was a grin full of regret and frustration. “It wasn’t that I didn’t choose them, it was that they shunned us. In short—”
“Short!” Mezzerain interrupted. “Nothing you say is short!”
Sutech snorted, tapping his temple. “Always thinking. In short, Alexa, when Shylan thinks of Mandrake, he has never thought of the Lowlands. If anything, the Hand of Poleyna, her second, the one charged with uniting her lands actually caused the divisions and split Mandrake through his snobbery. Three to two. Alexa?”
All focused on me, but I was still processing Sutech’s appraisal of Mandrake’s political landscape. What shocked me was my immediate agreement. When I’d come to the land, Shylan had awed me, Cronis too, but Shylan especially. He was dismissive, curt, cutting, and I assumed that it was a perk of his power. But now I saw it clearly. From afar it was easy.
To him, Mandrake was Irydia, Apachalant, and nothing else. The so-called savior of Mandrake had abandoned Petreyer, made the three countries of the Lowlands enemies, left Kobane to fend for itself, ignored Atremeny, and oversaw the destruction of Beggle.
It was a mess, and Sutech had laid it out plainly for me. Seeing a new perspective was like a revelation. The beast had, in some way, become a beauty. The question now was had the beauty morphed into the beast?
But I had a question to answer, and all eyes were on me.
; “Three to two. How can I choose? If I choose, I have division where I spent the last two days forging a true partnership.”
Sutech pointed a finger at me as if I’d fallen straight into his trap. “Those are the words of a unifier. Perhaps you are what Mandrake needs. Don’t choose if you don’t have to. You, Alexa, are the only one that can understand. Don’t you see that?”
“Food break,” Pog interrupted, swiveling and serving a combination of fish, potatoes, some mushrooms, and beans.
My earlier hunger returned with vengeance, and I tucked in while my brain mulled my answer. I said nothing, delaying my reply and hoping it would get lost to the sound of eager cutlery. Mezzerain, as usual, was quicker on the draw, scoffing his first mouthful before stabbing his fork out at me. “You make a good figurehead. Armies would gather behind you. Men would fight.”
What was it with this figurehead?
I shied away from his intense stare, forking more of the delicious food into my yearning gut. But then a seed of anger grew, not at Mezzerain, but at myself for not coming to the defense of one of my true friends.
“But that is not my destiny,” I replied. “Surely the bearer of the Unity Stone is the unifier. Lincoln is the figurehead. It is his destiny.”
Mezzerain packed another great forkful into his mouth, chewing, finally thinking over his response. “You’re wrong. Answer me this. Does war sit well with Lincoln?”
“Does it sit well with any?” I retorted.
Mezzerain glanced at Sutech. “Ask the warlord.”
“War?” Sutech took the mantle. “Yes, it sits well with some—those that can live with the slaughter of others. From my scouts, my spies, my intel, Lincoln will fail in war. He is the builder—look at what he’s achieved. Sure, he may have some success in battle, but ultimately it will erase his soul. It will push him to madness. Lincoln should be your steward. It should be his job to build in your wake.”
“Yes!” Pog cried. “Someone finally gets it.”
We all turned to him.
“What?” he said. “You all know it. Lincoln’s the builder, but no one gave him any help. They all assumed he could do the rest.”
“Broad shoulders can be broken,” Mezzerain added.
And I remembered his fragility in Beggle—the state of the man: bent and broken by meeting Joan, and I realized how alone Lincoln must have been while I gallivanted around the land. Perhaps we’d gotten the plan wrong from the start.
“Of course,” Sutech said. “There is another, though. I don’t know a lot about him, but we do have a new contender for a figurehead. He doesn’t have your presence. He has something but not all.”
“Who?” I asked but knew.
“The one called Random—the one currently being held in Forbane.”
I set my empty plate down. “You know him better than me. Perhaps you can tell me a little about him.”
Sutech lofted his eyebrow. “Really, I thought—”
“No,” I interrupted. “We don’t know each other.” In saying those words, I scrubbed our brief slate clean. I’d met Random for mere moments, hated him, and discounted him. I’d judged. I’d chosen. No more. I elected there and then to start over, to clear my thoughts about him.
Sutech’s body language reflected his shock. “I thought you’d all… Never mind. Okay... Random; where do I start, though I’d caution about getting your hopes up. I only have scant information—well, scant-ish. He revitalized Kobane but did it from within. Patience is his ally. He worked his way up from the arena to—”
“Arena?” I asked.
“He was an outlaw, an alien. His destiny was simple—to fight to the death every day of his life for the entertainment of the queen's court. Except he didn’t die. Well, he did but revived. Queen Salamanga’s court is quite brutal. It took him a lot of pain to be her confidant, and perhaps a little bit more. Took a lot of pain, and made him some brooding enemies. Politics in Kobane is, perhaps, more feudal than even how I gather Valkyrie to be. Make no mistake as to the level of his suffering.”
I covered my mouth. “How bad?”
“From what I gather, he felt steel in his gut every day rather than murder some unfortunate. That is the rumor. The truth? What does it matter? If he did it once then that’s the measure of the man. If he did it a thousand times, then he is beyond a god.”
“But he rose from the arena?”
Sutech nodded. “I’m not sure of the exact circumstance, but yes. The next reports tell a different story. As I said, he became the queen's confidant, and upon petition from Lincoln, he commanded her forces to invade my lands and did a very good job. He’s tactically superior to most I’ve observed.”
“But he died every day?” I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Sutech shrugged. “In the beginning, yes; at least once.”
“So what happened?” I asked, remembering the Forbane had captured him.
“What can always befall a great general that fails to shed a little naïveté. He was usurped, outmaneuvered from behind and asked to perform the impossible. They stripped him of his magic divisions. They took most of his army, and they sent him to invade the unconquerable with both hands tied behind his back. In short, they dispatched him to his death, and that death welcomed him with open arms.”
“The Forbane,” I whispered.
“Indeed. He did remarkably well, penetrating ever farther south than any of us thought possible. So much so that the Forbane had to come out—a feat in itself. You see, Forbane lands are inaccessible, but he came uncomfortably close. End result—they roused, they came, and they slaughtered his army, leaving just two alive.”
“Two,” I asked.
“Two is leverage. The Forbane don’t like to be disturbed.”
My stomach knotted as I squirmed. “Just what are they? What is their function? Are they an army? Are they yours?”
Sutech laughed crudely. “Mine? No? They tried to end me, but I survived. That’s when they decided I could lead. It was their test. In short, they are power, but they hardly concern themselves with anything but their own agenda.”
“And what is that?”
“Survival.”
I thought on it. As usual, where the Forbane was concerned, any answers were incomplete. The first time I’d set eyes on them, I’d known they’d have a part to play. But just how important were they? What I couldn’t fathom was how no one, not even their warlord could understand them. Did everyone just ignore a problem?
And Random, what about him? Was his fate now sealed merely because he was in their grasp? I ran my fingers through my hair, taking a moment, trying to get my thoughts straight, but only coming to one conclusion that pounded at the doors of my mind, demanding to be let in.
“You want me to take the mantle from Lincoln? You want me to unite Mandrake?” I asked.
Mezzerain inched forward. Pog closed in. Sutech’s expression remained impassive. “Go on.”
“If, as you proclaim, and I’m tending to agree, you think the fault for Mandrake’s unity is Shylan, then I have a proposal for you, but it has a condition.”
“What is the proposal?”
I laid it out for him.
Pog dropped his plate. Mezzerain gasped. Sutech merely nodded and asked, “What is the condition?”
“That it starts in Forbane.”
Name: Alexa Drey. Race: Human. Type: Chancer.
Age: 24. Alignment: The House of Mandrake. XP: 136,334.
Level: 32. Profession: Chooser. Un/Al pts: 0. Reputation: Known.
Health Points: 30/550 Energy: 46/510 Mana: 62,898 Shadow Mana: 73,565
HP Regen: 55/Min EN Regen: 51/Min MA Regen: N/A SMA Regen: NA
Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)
Vitality: (12, 38), Stamina: (12, 5)*3, Intelligence: (98, 0)*4
Charisma: (6, 6), Wisdom: (23, 8)*3, Luck: (7, 5)
Humility: (2, 0), Compassion: (3, 0), Strength: (3, 20), Agility: (79, 0)
XXXXXXXXXXX
Talents:
Quests:
Seek out the Legend of Billy Long Thumb. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Unknown.
The Veils of Lamerell. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Death.
Sub Quest: The master is now the slave, his command now his prisoner. Free the gambler; end his torment, and confront one of five. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Catch a thief. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Seek the Prince of a Cheated House. Canelo James lives and holds the answers. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Seek Sutech Charm, and tell him his daughter’s wish. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Release the Witches of Speaker’s Isle that they might spread the word. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Destroy the first, kill the immortal, and you will bring hope to the world. Status: Incomplete.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ruse…Finally
Darkness swallowed, yet I could see. The gray between the blackness of the ever-permanent clouds and the slick sheen of the land had promised me some amount of sight, and now as we finally entered Ruse’s thick influence, I had the measure of it. Imagine fog, and it would be close but not a mist of thick water particles. It was more like existing in dulled glass, impure, like the bottle-green panes so often seen in taverns and run-down cottages, except this was dirty rather than tinted, gray rather than green. It spread out from Ruse, squeezed until it sat, waiting, ready to encompass its invaders. The embrace it promised wasn’t one of love. That, at least, was clear.
It was the frosty welcome given to the unwanted visitors I sailed with.
Billy tacked toward the place. My stomach was in tatters, but my chin held firm. If we survived this, my deal was done with Sutech Charm, and now I felt like I’d truly discharged Star’s veil. She’d wanted Mandrake united. I’d united Sutech and myself. Whether the others joined us, well, that was my gambit.