IX

They weren’t far, and so it didn’t take the three of them long to get there. After walking down several streets, hiding behind a roadside corner as a small group of Schurists and their malcontented hangers on left the area, they finally made it to an area of the city that had very little negative activity.

Being so close to the Watch Headquarters, it was only expected.

But there were some Schuarists out there suspected of planning some kind of demonstration.

More like an attack, Arlian thought.

They were met at the gate by guards, who quickly let them through. Arlian was feeling like a bundle of rotted driftwood, physically and mentally. He had lost a man mere feet away, and more were probably dying now.

“Well,” Jorrissiana said, turning to regard the grounds and the high wall with guards and parapets protecting the Watch Headquarters. “We made it.”

Gracian nodded in the light of the torches, He looked worn and tired. On the left side of his face was a purple bruise the size of a man’s palm. “Perhaps a runner, to fetch our man to pick the lady up?”

“Not yet,” Arlian said. “We need written statements of what happened. Your signatures of trust are needed. This has gone too far.”

“Are you saying this way planned?” Jorrissiana asked, looking startled.

He nodded. “A large group of Schuarists break into the High City, and two mercenaries armed and armored find their way into your house? Yes, Council Woman, I have no doubts that this was planned.”

“So,” she said, “they wish to kill me to nullify my vote, since the princes are tied now, and my decision will be the deciding factor.”

Arlian nodded, saying nothing.

King Dalthyn was a good man, and he loved both of his sons, despite Balthazar’s highly questionable behavior—and even worse, his devotion to the dark magicks. In times of peace, Dalthyn would have been the perfect king.

But now he was unable to choose his successor. Rather he would not, leaving it up to the King’s Council. Select lords and ladies, harkened upon to decide the fate of the kingdom.

The dark magicks, the necromancy. Arlian felt fear—a deep seated fear in his guts. If Balthazar became king, he would give the Grand Mage everything he wanted to perform his abominable ritual.

So far, Dalthyn’s policies regarding those magicks had been one of restraint, for the most part. Allowing the king to speak to his dead wife had been the Grand Mage’s first inroad into breaking barriers of trust and acceptability.

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And now that he was dying, there seemed no end to what certain individuals would go to in their quest to achieve magical power—and dominance.

Damn that decision to allow limited necromancy into the kingdom of Aevalin.

Arlian’s personal clerk Yahan, found her way to them. “My lord,” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “Are you all right?”

“Quite fine, Yahan,” he said, walking into the Headquarters proper. His boots put stains on the blue runner. The white border stripes didn’t help conceal the blood tracks as Arlian made his way up the steep stairs toward his office. “Send a patrol to the parks north-east of the High City entrance gate.

She followed. “But Commander, we don’t have enough men.”

“Find them. Do whatever you have to. Those men are in danger.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, jotting his orders down on a piece of paper. “Have the council woman Jorrissianna and her servant Gracian processed. I’ll give you my statement soon enough.”

She hummed her acknowledgement as he sat down in his tall chair. On his desk before him was a sealed letter, the wax revealing the personal stamp of Prince Kandrion.

He picked it up, about to open it, when Jorrissiana, followed by Arlian, approached. “How long will this take?”

“Take?” Arlian said, hearing the frustration in his own voice. “As long as it must!”

She cocked her head, but kept her mouth shut.

“Did you say you wanted to go back to your residence?” Arlian continued.

“No. Well… yes. I have another residence.”

“Is it safe?’

She shrugged. “Quite, I’m sure.”

He nodded, feeling like he could close his eyes and sleep slumped over his desk right here in this chair. “After you’re processed, Yahan here will send a few men to check on your residence and the neighborhood to double check, then if everything is in the clear, go home, but I will keep guards in your home to protect you.”

She nodded agreeably. “That’s quite well, Commander.”

“If there’s nothing else, Yahan will show you were you can wait.” He signed her handwriting containing all of the orders he had given her. She took the paper and lead council woman Jorrissiana and Gracian away.

He picked up the letter—

“Oh! Commander.”

He flicked his eyes up. “Yes?”

“Thank you. For coming to my house in the High City… and… well—thank you.”

He nodded.

Arlian had only been doing his duty. He would do it ten times over if he had to. Unfortunately, he couldn’t go back out to check on Brakso and Captain Lech.

He was too tired.

From the recent exertions, he could tell he was about to collapse. He broke the seal on the letter, crossed pinions behind a lion’s head, its mane flaring aggressively while in mid roar.

He began to read the letter.

Arlian,

This has gone too far. My father knows it, but he does nothing. Can do nothing. Fortunately I’ve managed to gain enough support to demand an inquest of the Grand Mage concerning his plans should my brother win this foolish and destructive contest.

This has to end.

I know you are busy, but if you can find the time, please be there. The inquest will begin on the morn.

It seems a cruel jest, but I hope this note finds you well my friend.

Kandrion

He folded the letter and tossed it on his desk. He wanted to see Mariel, not attend yet another inquest by the council in a vain attempt to question the Grand Mage. He always denied everything, pretended not to be aware of what his followers were doing.

Pusillanimous. That was the word that came to Arlian.

The Grand Mage operated in plain sight, and yet legally he was free from blame. Arlian felt honor bound to do something.

To save Aevalin.

And the world. If the berries were broken, dark magicks and surely evil beings would poor through. And for what? So the Grand Mage Klause Schuar could have more power?

To save people with their newfound magic? To speak to the dead?

The risks were—

There he fell asleep, slumped at his desk.