by Mark B Frost
“Can I join one?”
His eyes went wide. “Join one? A House?”
“Yes! It sounds neat.”
“I don’t see why not, if you intend to remain in the country. To get a House appointment, you’ll need to get an official rank somewhere. Do you like politics?”
“Ew, no.”
“Yeah, me neither. Do you know much about medicine?”
“A little, but it doesn’t sound like a very fun thing to do. I mean, you’d have to see a lot of people who are hurt, all of the time. That’d be hard to deal with.”
Atheme smiled and nodded. “I suppose that rules out the Military as well. Fortunately, that leaves us the Arcanum. If I recall, Cildar said you have some degree of heraldry skill already.”
“Heraldry? What’s that?”
“The study of writing and drawing, particularly of rune structures. It’s the craft our Arcanum specializes in.”
“Oh! You mean those symbols that make magic happen. They just come to me sometimes. I don’t understand them very well, it feels like, but I remember them when I need them.”
“If only we could all be so fortunate.”
“That’s a good way to look at it! It’s like a gift!”
“A gift,” Atheme said as he stood, “that we can nurture. I’ll look into getting you an apprenticeship with the Arcanum. Every Lord Councilor requires a personal Herald, and I have not selected mine. If you like, you can give the position a try. It will give us time to get to know one another.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said as she stood. “Thank you for your time, and your kindness. I know it takes some patience to understand my situation.”
Atheme shook his head. “Please, don’t think of it that way. You bear your burden well, but I can imagine how hard it must be for you. Anything I can do to help, I am here for you. As long as you are in my city, I shall merrily be your Lord Councilor.”
She gave a bow and turned to leave. Atheme’s mind raced, and just before she closed the door he shouted, “Miss Sarin!”
She peeked back inside, “Yes?”
“There is a play that I’ve been meaning to see on the south side of town, but it’s difficult to find the time to get away. I don’t suppose you’d mind accompanying me, do you? That way I could pass it off as an official duty.”
“I’ve never seen a play!” she said excitedly. “At least, I don’t think I have. But yes! I’d love to!”
“Speak with my assistant on your way out and have him make the arrangements. Tell him to clear whatever he has to.”
She shut the door, and he fell back into his seat and stared at the ceiling. He allowed himself to take a brief nap, and for the first time in a long time, Atheme Tethen did not dream of politics.
Chapter 10.
The Church and the Cardinal
The Grand Council sat waiting in silence as Leprue finished administrative documents for the upcoming meeting. Atheme stared at the Council’s ancient meeting table, admiring the craftsmanship that had lasted throughout the ages. The table dated back to the time of Vesovius VI, when it had been carved out of a dark wood now unrecognizable and sealed with archaic runes. Kinguin had once examined these runes extensively during a Council meeting, bragging that they were among the oldest still intact in the country.
Atheme looked around the expansive room, admiring the vaulted ceilings and the sunlight streaming through windows above the balconies. The Chamber Vesovia was especially beautiful in the mornings or evenings, when the sun entered the room at just the right angles. He took a moment to breathe it in. The Chamber belonged to him now. Laws stated that only the Lord Councilor was permitted to use the Chamber Vesovia, for whatever reason he desired. Atheme smiled at the thought, grateful for the opportunity to serve his country from this vaunted seat.
Leprue completed the paperwork and handed it to Atheme for his final signature. He set it aside, content that it could wait until the meeting’s end.
“I thank each of you for coming,” he opened, standing slowly and placing his right hand on the table. Each of the councilors followed in turn, symbolically acknowledging the beginning of the meeting. “I call this meeting of the Grand Council of Felthespar to order. All hail Pecoros, who guides us, and Vesovius, in whom we place our trust.”
“All hail,” the councilors echoed in unison.
“My friends, I will not keep you long. I know we are all busy in the wake of Leprue’s retirement and the changes that entails. However, as the state of our nation’s wars has changed, it is time to reassess our Military’s priorities. I have asked General Kulara Karfa to sit in with us, as before.”
The General was indeed present, a rare guest for the Chamber. Kulara’s uniform was entirely in greyscale, and consisted of a variety of protective gear and armors. Even his cape was thick cloth with iron fibers running through it to provide maximum protection. Kulara always wore this uniform, never using the traditional armors and regalia allotted to the General, even among such prestigious company.
To Kulara’s left sat Kinguin, and then Leprue. To Atheme’s left, Jora, Terledor, and then Gaspar. Aveni Landes was absent, as the return of wounded soldiers caused a tremendous workload for the Church. It had become somewhat typical for the General to sit in for the Lord Cardinal under these conditions, and at the Lord Councilor’s discretion could even be permitted a vote on Military affairs. Kulara nodded to everyone in attendance, then Atheme continued.
“The War with Vantrisk has been closed out thanks to Kulara, Cildar Emle, and our temporary Field Marshal appointee. I am making recommendations for each of them to be awarded accordingly. Kulara, you’ll certainly receive another medal, as is customary. I’m afraid there’s not a lot of room for promotion once you’re General.”
The stern man grunted his approval, but said nothing. Atheme knew what he was thinking. Kulara hated the medals, especially in wars where he had no control. The Dictus had kept his hands tied on the Vantrisk war, forcing him to focus on the border dispute with Revian. As a battle that ranged over a larger area, Kulara’s tactical genius was far more valuable there. Were the General able to choose his own reward, it would be for the government to allow him to do his job.
That was not a battle Atheme was yet willing to fight. “Abaddon has sustained some injuries,” he added, “and I have been told his recovery may take some time. Upon his convalescence I am recommending him for admission into the Military as a Gold Knight, an automatic review for Platinum, and a rank of Major. Like Kulara, although not Felthespari by birth he has proven himself a worthy leader to add to our Military.” He paused, uncertain how his assessment of Abaddon’s accomplishment might go over. He had been careful not to use the man’s last name, but there was the possibility the councilors had researched him beforehand. As no one offered any immediate objections, he moved on. “As to our Cildar Emle, Lord of the House Lurin, Lord of the Phoenix, I ask the opinion of the room.”
“Cildar’s a fine soldier,” Kulara said. A long scar ran from his forehead to the bottom of his cheek, and he ran his forefinger along it while choosing his words. The blow that had caused it was now long forgotten, though it had almost cost Kulara the sight of his right eye at the time. “One of our finest, as anyone who has worked with him will attest. Whatever is the highest honor you can offer a man who is already a Holy Paladin, Dragoon, and Platinum Knight, he should be given it.”
“I concur,” Leprue added to a murmur of agreements. “It may be time to add him to our lunar legends. As all three of us are in this room, I think we agree that if there is anyone in Felthespar who deserves the title, it is our Emle.”
“There is the matter of the Cainites,” Gaspar interrupted timidly. One of the oldest soldiers to ever gain the title of Champion, his outfit consisted of dull brown clothes with bright, polished silver accents. It was a strange mix of bland and fancy attire, but most everyone agreed it accurately reflected the man’s own personality. He could tell the tone of the room was alread
y against him, and was not eager to stand against the entire Council. “They are our oldest enemy, and Cildar allied himself with them and brought them into our city.”
A murmur of concern began to build, so Atheme spoke up. “I have verified that these people are not Cainites. They are a different faction called the Children of Cain. Their race was confused with the Cainites during the genocides of that era due to their similar religions, and they were forced to go into hiding to survive. If anything, our country owes them a debt of reparation, and now our gratitude.”
He was lying, but hoped no one present had the information to call him on it. Upon the arrival of the army from Vantrisk, Atheme had met with Shasta and Galbion. The two men spoke highly of the Cainites and their leader, Myris Phare. The freshly appointed Lord Councilor had agreed to work with them to try to find an opportunity for the small group, but insisted he could not have Cainites in his city, even if it was in name alone. As this meeting was happening the two commanders were out establishing the Children of Cain cover story. Conflicting reports would undoubtedly arise, and Atheme would be chasing his tail for weeks on this issue. He wanted time to gain a personal understanding of situation without the red tape that would be involved if the Council took the matter over officially.
The room grew quiet for a moment, then Kinguin jumped in to bail Atheme out. “Excellent news! I was concerned by the rumors of Cildar’s betrayal of national security. I’m glad to hear it was merely a misunderstanding.”
“Leprue,” Atheme continued, anxious to move on, “I’ll leave it to you as Eldram Councilor to begin investigations into whether or not Cildar can be appointed Knight of the Moon. As to the rest of this meeting, we must still assess our military priorities. General, could you give us your usual summation?”
Kulara leaned forward. “Lenghe, to the east, continues their assaults on our lands. As a reminder, Lenghe is about half of the size of Vantrisk, and has nothing to note in terms of heraldry. Their raids amount to little more than bandits burning farmlands. They’re doing it to establish themselves as a power on the continent. We could snuff them out in about a week, but they’re a major trade partner with several of our allied states, and they bring in many goods specific to the eastern seas. Their relationship with Jegan is particularly good, and if we make too strong of a move over what amounts to a pittance of economic damage it could be a diplomatic disaster. Also, over the past two months there’s been a higher occurrence of roving militias from the north, primarily associated with Pardol, trying to take over our principalities there. We’ve been unable to make any links to the Pardolen government, but our relationship with them has always been strained. On both of these fronts, a soft touch must be used on any countermeasures.
“The main threat continues to be in the west, from Revian. The Revians have always been a match for our heraldric prowess—on the Military side, no offense meant to the Arcanum—and our battles are closely drawn. They keep their forces scattered evenly across our western border, and when they send new troops they allocate them to seemingly random locations to make a new push. The citizens of these border towns have lived under grueling conditions and constantly changing ownership. The one mitigating factor here is that the Revians are not as barbaric as some of our enemies. They are legitimately interested in owning these communities for their farming and jewelry trades, and as such have kept collateral damage at a minimum. Most of the local economies remain intact, although trade has all but collapsed due to the ever-shifting allegiances. And there’s more. Lord Kinguin, if you would.”
Kinguin nodded, and touched his fingers together lightly. “As some of you may know, the one advantage we have previously held over Revian has been our grey magic, a craft they have been unable to assimilate. That has recently changed. Though it pains me to admit, the Revians recently made an advancement which we have been unable to match. They have been taking tiny, craftily constructed artifacts and sewing them into the bodies of their own soldiers. These artifacts work much like our grey magic, granting the soldier enhanced strength and durability. At first this seemed like them playing catch up, and was widely noted and ignored. It was not long before their craft exceeded ours. Presently the average Revian soldier is estimated to be three times as strong as the average Felthespari soldier. They have recently begun to take it to new levels. Soldiers with enough artifacts have been able to develop immunization from specific elements or white magic. In some cases it allows them to escape magical detection, making them ideal for ambushes.”
Kulara thanked Kinguin, then continued. “Additionally, we have reports that indicate Revian may be developing a new sort of weapon, one that poisons the currents. Details are sketchy, but near as we can tell the idea is that it will cause any soldier who is using grey magic to become paralyzed. At this time we’re uncertain of the legitimacy of this threat. It could be a crude dream of theirs, or it could be something they have already completed. With the war at Vantrisk at an end, my recommendation is that we route all remaining resources against Revian. While the other battles can mostly be ignored at this time, Revian’s threat continues to grow.”
The Council discussed the subject a while longer, eventually coming to a vote and deciding unanimously in favor of Kulara’s proposal. After the meeting was adjourned, a few of the councilors took their leave as others stayed behind to chat. Atheme motioned Kulara aside and asked the General where he might find Cildar Emle, as he had still not had an opportunity to thank the man for his achievements in Vantrisk.
* * * * *
Abaddon Daemon awoke in a soft bed in a white, comforting room. Several people were moving through the room performing tasks. His first instinct was to leap to his feet and prepare for possible battle. His body only limply responded, lurching forward slightly and then falling back as he began to black out and cough up blood.
A man moved to his side quickly and placed hands on his chest. A warm sensation washed over him, and soon his vision began to return. The man was not tall, standing only at five and a half feet. He was adorned in long white robes, with a blue ceremonial sash draping down and a matching Cardinal’s hat emblazoned in blue with the symbol of the Church—an angular five-lobed leaf, with each lower lobe coming up to a hooked point and wrapping slightly over the lobe above it.
“Not so quickly, my son,” the man said in a soothing tone. “I am glad to see you awake, but your body is not healing as quickly as your mind. You must give it time.”
“Who?” Abaddon muttered through a throat that would only barely open. “Where?”
“I am Lord Cardinal Aveni Leman Fresar Landes. Please feel free to call me Aveni. You are in the intensive care infirmary of the Church of Felthespar. I’d thank you to not try to speak anymore, so I will assume you would also like the when and the why. You reached the Church a week ago. Before that, I am told you were in a coma for a little more than a month. I hope that adequately answers any questions you might have. Now please, rest. I am sure you’re stubborn, as most soldiers are, but your injuries are among the worst I have ever seen. In this situation, rest is your greatest friend.”
“Atheme,” the man whispered.
“You wish to speak with the Lord Councilor? Very well, I will fetch him for you. Now please, rest.”
* * * * *
The Lord Councilor, for his part, had just stepped into The Camarilla. It was the most popular tavern in town, and always busy. Part of its popularity was due to the quality of the food served, part to the friendly and relaxed atmosphere, and part to the fact that the most prestigious members of the Knighthood’s ruling body frequented the venue.
Atheme, like so many other of the patrons, was on a celebrity hunt. Unlike them, he had someone specific in mind. Cildar Emle, with whom he had been trying to meet up for days, sat at a small table near one corner. Atheme moved to it quickly, waving to a waiter as he went.
The Dragoon had removed his mask and helmet, and his blond hair fell freely about his shoulders, enjoying a rare moment of b
eing both clean and dry. Cildar’s face was covered in the slim lines of faded scars. Over the years he had sustained many dangerous wounds, but his own skill in white magic had allowed him clean recoveries. In the dim light of the tavern, his face appeared young and unmarred. He stared at his visitor with piercing green eyes, the signature look of descendants of the Emle bloodline.
“The Lord Councilor himself,” he grumbled, polishing off the last drink of his ale. “How may your loyal citizen serve you?” The waiter came by, and Atheme ordered two drinks. When the waiter was gone, Cildar added, “Buying me a drink isn’t going to impress me, Lord Councilor. I’m much richer than the government.”
Atheme smiled. “No offense intended. I’m still trying to learn the diplomacy thing. A lot of shifting rules, aren’t there? Thankfully, Leprue is an excellent teacher.”
“Yes. You did a fine job driving him out of office.”
“Leprue’s retirement was inevitable,” Atheme responded with an even tone.
“Don’t play coy. This is my city as much mine as it is yours. Do you really think a man in Felthespar expends as much energy as you did without it coming to the attention of the Emles?”
Atheme tilted his head. “You could have stopped me.”
“Why would I have done that? Leprue was out of his depth. The fact that he isn’t aware of your dealings is evidence of how out of touch he is. The resources of the Messe family are second only to my own. If he was paying attention to what was happening in the city, he would know. The question is, are you any more capable than he?”
“As a mere peasant, you mean?”
“I place no stock in your birth. I have known of virtuous men from meager beginnings, and I have read of the disgraces of the Emle line. Birth is a small thing, overrated in our society. Similarly, you are afforded a great deal of credit not for your birth father, but your adoptive one. People assume that you are going to be the leader Calvin was. I stand waiting to be convinced.”