Lang
He watched the young Sprout look around questioningly. Lang could almost see the gears turning in his head. But understanding quickly dawned on him. “No, that was an Elite Messenger. Some Judges are capable of granting their Messengers a fraction of their powers. They’re not as strong as Judges if that’s what you think. And there’s only one of them so far.”
“That’s good,” Lang said, releasing a breath he had unconsciously been holding in.
“How’s everyone?” Jerome asked, looking around. “Oh, the fire hasn’t gone out yet. Guess I overdid it.”
It took a while, but the awkwardness of the moment passed and Lang clapped his hands loudly.
“Alright everyone, let’s get back to our positions.” He lowered his voice, facing the Sprout who opposed him before. “If you still wish to leave, you’re free to do so.” He turned around and walked away.
“So, was that what I think it was?” Jerome caught up to him.
Lang looked him up and down in shock. There was a big hole in his chest and he could see the Sprout’s ribcage and innards as his body repaired itself.
“You should be dead by now, you know?” Lang said, cautiously so as not to anger the Sprout. “Any other Sprout would be dead twice over from an injury like that. Forget that, even I would have been vaporized by that attack! A beam of divine energy is nothing to scoff at.”
Jerome shrugged nonchalantly, saying, “There’s nothing divine about it.”
Lang sighed. “Why do I even bother? Yes, they were attempting to desert us. And desertion is punishable by death, just so you know.”
“They’re not conscripts, Lang.”
He snorted. “So you’re an expert in military affairs now.” Lang gave him a look. He had to raise his head to look Jerome in the eyes.
He hated it. He hated looking up at someone who was supposed to be his lesser; he hated the fact he wasn’t able to convince the Sprouts that tried to desert. He couldn’t penalize them with death and he knew that — they were nobles after all. But his displeasure about the whole situation stood stronger in his mind than logic. Identifying what he was feeling and why helped him calm down a bit though.
“You should get back out there. We’ll finish up our siege engines and begin launching boulders at them.”
Jerome gave him a look that said, ‘Are you ordering me around?’
“Suit yourself then.” Lang walked away. He wouldn’t dare to challenge Jerome to a staring contest. He had a feeling he’d lose. If he ever had any illusions about how Jerome saw him, even after he had advanced to the Spirit Realm no less, that illusion was broken. And it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
~~~
The Assembly of the Curia Regis. Farryn. Vorthe.
Aeldra Vorthe
“It has begun,” her father said as he appeared before them. Everyone stood up and bowed deeply. As they took their seats, the Sovereign continued. “For now, we deploy more troops to both battle fronts. General?”
General Keno stood and saluted. “Thank you for the opportunity to serve, my Sovereign. We have dispatched two legions of a hundred thousand men, about forty thousand Sprouts and seventy thousand Blanks each to both battle fronts, my liege. A special force of two dozen aerial battalions of a thousand Sprout each would also join the troops in the Deadlands. And our most powerful team, the rapid-response team of Dragonriders, are already engaged with Judges a few miles deep into the Deadlands. We’re contemplating sending aerial battalions south as well but we await your orders, my liege.” He saluted again and remained standing.
Aeldra smiled. The clean-shaven general reminded her of herself when she first joined the Curia Regis — extremely nervous but ready to serve in any capacity whatsoever. And he was just as young as she was then.
“You may be seated, General,” the Sovereign said with a smile. “Can I call you Keno?”
He stood up hastily again. “Of course, my liege!”
The rest of the Sages smiled at his enthusiasm.
“Calm down,” the Sovereign said. “We are family here, hmm? You may be seated.”
He sat down again, just as abruptly as he stood before.
“Damien, how fares the southern front, and the Sprouts we dropped in the middle of nowhere?”
The brooding master of shadows sat straighter in his seat. “Our Sprouts are doing quite well, my Sovereign. Terra Praeta has prepared them for this. The Sprouts from the Great Clans are also performing beyond expectations. The same cannot be said for the rest however. Although, a certain team is doing well beyond expectation. We have but one concern right now, though; the portal from which troops of Messengers are pouring out of. If we do nothing about it, the Sprouts will be overwhelmed. And if they send Judges through, we may not be able to reach them on time.”
A murmur of unease rose around the long table. This was disturbing news. Although, not being able to reach the southern jungle on time was a bit of a stretch. Vorthe had teleportation circles covering the whole of the eastern region of the continent.
“It was disturbing enough to find out the Church was sending clones to fight their war but now a portal?” Elder Duten Vorthe, the Royal Alchemist, scoffed. He sounded like he wanted to go fight the war himself, and slay all of Vorthe’s enemies with his bare hands. He sure looked the part. “I propose we get the Sprouts out of there as quickly as possible and send experienced military officers in their place.”
“We don’t have enough Sprouts with the strengths of noble and Royal Sprouts to fight Messengers, Elder Duten,” General Keno said. “We could split our forces, send some of our aerial battalions to take over in the southern jungles but there is the matter of the portal. It would take at least five Sages to close it. Our challenge is our numerical disadvantage. The Church has never had this many Messengers before. And I beg to differ on the fact that they can send Judges through the portals; Elite Messengers, sure, but most of their Judges are engaged with our Dragonriders in the Deadlands.”
The Sovereign raised a hand to stop them from arguing. “Trust that the portal would be taken care of. In the meantime, what developments have we had with Mur? Thorlin?”
The white-haired, First Elder cleared his throat. “As we all know, the Alliance of Mur occupies a region between the Church’s territory and the Empire of Vorthe. Our support has been able to keep them afloat in the tide of this war. Alekzandr is advancing his operations however.” He stopped to look at the faces of everyone seated. “The Church has developed a contraption that can help Judges and Messengers alike fly.”
A cacophony of murmurs spread throughout the council chamber.
“First, gravisars to keep our Sprouts grounded and now this?” Elder Duten grumbled.
Elder Thorlin waited for it to calm down before continuing. “There were sightings just two days ago. Our scouts reported back with a detailed description of the contraption — a horse-shaped metal contraption that carries its rider into the air. The average altitude they were able to reach from our observations was five thousand feet.”
More murmurings. This was bad. Vorthe’s Sprouts were only able to reach a thousand feet in the air at least. Some very powerful Sprouts could push higher but no more than two thousand feet. And Sprouts were the life and blood of the war.
“That had to be confirmed by Spirit Realm artists as Sprouts couldn’t fly that high,” General Keno continued for the First Elder, uncaring whether the rest of the council stopped their murmurings or not. “You can imagine the result of such an action. The Church immediately sent Judges to Mur claiming we attempted colonialism. A scuffle broke out between their Judges and our Pillars. They lost a Judge.”
“Hmph! Serves them right!” Elder Duten said with a scoff.
Huh. Aeldra rarely heard anyone use the term, ‘Pillar’ these days. It wasn’t a favored term, even among Pillars. Spirit Realm artists choose to be called Spirit Realm artists and not Pillars for some reason. Probably because it didn’t roll off the tongue like Sprout or Blank. She shrugged inwardly.
“At this stage, no one in the intercontinental community would support that claim,” Aeldra said. “Velmon and Yord are already gathering their forces along their western borders. Their naval fleets are also in full operation to stop invaders from the Archipelago who sympathize with Alvric.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“But the Church has an inexhaustible army, Princess,” Elder Oken Vorthe, the Royal Grandmaster of Wards, butted in. “We need a solution to that particular problem before they destroy our forces completely.”
“If I may, my Sovereign,” Elder Damien said, stopping the murmurings. “Our Watchers have noticed something strange happening in the southern jungles—”
“Does it have anything to do with Jerome?” the Sovereign asked.
“Huh? Yes, my Sovereign,” Elder Damien answered. His face was a mask of calm but his voice betrayed his uncertainty.
“Then it should wait. I see what the Watchers see, Damien. We must maintain the pace of the war as much as possible. Any attempt to speed it up with new arms could backfire against us. Remember, the powers that be are watching.” The Sovereign looked around the long table before continuing. “I know you all think fighting an uphill battle is a disadvantage, you would be right to think so. But there are forces beyond the natural at work in this war. Causality for one.” He gave them all a look again.
Aeldra was more confused than ever at those words, even though the older Sages were nodding in understanding. She knew what the Law of Causality represented but not why it would hinder them in a war they were clearly losing. The Sovereign wasn’t one to dally so his words about other forces at work made sense. She looked to Theon to see if he understood. Thankfully, the First Elder’s son was as clueless as she was. That gave her a little comfort.
“If I may, Sovereign,” Theon said. “Might I suggest we send some Dragonriders south?”
“Your youth is showing, son,” Elder Thorlin said with a smile. “There are agreements in place between the Great Clans that prevent the deployment of such military arms inside Vorthe.” He held his hand up to stop his son from speaking. “Yes, Alvric seceded from Vorthe but the agreements clearly state that without all out war between our empire’s armies and the ‘secessor’s’ armies, we cannot take such actions.
“So they are exploiting a loophole,” Theon said in understanding. He must not have gone through the whole Accords. To be sincere no one reads the whole Accords.
“Every hegemon you see today has been exploited at one point in their history, Theon,” Aeldra said as a consolation of sorts. “This isn’t a situation that’s unique to Vorthe in any way.”
General Keno cleared his throat. “We’ve had scuffles on the border with them but that doesn’t count, as those were between rogue parties or militias. Now that our armed forces occupy the border between their land and ours, we need only wait for Alvric to personally move against us.”
“But will they?” the master of shadows asked.
“With a little… nudge, they will,” Keno replied, eyes gleaming with mischief. Aeldra guessed he had things under control then.
“The Nediti would like to be involved when this happens,” Elder Damien said and the General acknowledged him with a slight bow of his head.
“The war council will be meeting again to strategize on a tactical assault through the Tripoint,” the Sovereign said.
Huh. Aeldra didn’t expect that. The Tripoint was the bay where the boundaries of the Church, the Alliance of Mur, and Protectorate of Pathuma converged. The fact that it was a bay created a unique and complex geopolitical situation.
“That’s an amazing idea, my Sovereign,” Elder Damien said. “But I don’t see why we should go around Pathuma, through the sea, just to attack.”
“It is still being contemplated. We want to make sure we leave no stone unturned. In the meantime, what can be done concerning our Sprout’s Sky Sails? Fesir?”
The Royal Artificer, Elder Fesir Vorthe, cleared his throat. “Gratitudes, my Sovereign, for the opportunity to address this concern. The capacity for essence of the average Sprout is less than a tenth of a Spirit Realm artist’s, but certain Sprouts can push that limit. That, and the ability to output more essence has been an advantage only certain Sprouts hold. An advantage that comes with early access to resources.
“The Sails were created to depend on how much essence a Sprout can output. They can be fine tuned to function seamlessly but making them function more powerfully, regardless of the amount of essence a Sprout can output is practically impossible. However, I’m working on creating… a new artifact—”
“You mean wings,” Elder Oken butted in. He sounded slightly amused. “Like the one the fated Dark One uses?”
Elder Fesir glared at him for interrupting. “Yes. In theory, it should help a Sprout fly higher and perhaps, faster.”
“That would not work,” Elder Oken argued. “Living steel has a reputation for turning on its wielder. And we all know the fated Dark One is an anomaly.”
Everyone murmured their accent to that. Aeldra thought it was a crazy project as well. Who would be crazy enough to strap living steel to their backs and hope to fly with it? Only a mad man would.
“If I may be so bold to make a request, my Sovereign,” Elder Fesir continued. “These strange arms from the southern jungles are an interesting mystery. I once had someone who had an idea of such, but alas, he did not last long. I would like to examine it, if you will, my Sovereign.”
“Plans would be made for that. But I implore you to find a way to make our Sprouts gain more altitude.”
The Sovereign dismissed the council and Aeldra accompanied him to his quarters deep inside a mountain at the far ends of the Royal Estate.
“Father, what do you mean about causality being at work in this war?” she asked when they had settled down in a plush red two-seater sofa in the Sovereign’s private grotto. A circular curtain of water poured down the roof of the grotto into an ornate looking copper bowl in the center of the chamber, bringing a calm to atmosphere.
She didn’t always get to come here as much as she wanted. In fact, the last time she had been here was when she was a hundred years old to welcome her father home after a particularly long meditative session in the stars. The high marble walls of the underground palace were a sight to beyond, smooth and polished to a shine. There was a dedicated staff here to keep the place tidy, but the chambers were mostly bare of furniture.
Her father pulled her into his arms and she snuggled her head into the crook of his neck.
“It means exactly what I said, Aeldra. Jerome has created a weapon that can kill Messengers effectively. With a little more work on this weapon of his, he could kill Judges with one shot. That kind of weapon in the hands of thousands would quickly turn us from defenders into an intercontinental threat. We could unknowingly start a world war, Aeldra, or turn the whole world against us.”
Aeldra searched her father’s eyes as he raked his fingers through her hair, something he had said he enjoyed doing a lot. She could see him in moments like these — the real him, not the Sovereign of an empire but the man who she called father. The man who would tell her the truths he may hide from the rest of the world.
“The Church is going to such great lengths to display the sharpness of its blade, not realizing the terror they inspire in others,” her father continued. “Of course, everyone wants peace. So to achieve it, they take up arms and thrust themselves into war, forgetting that the blade which cuts down the enemy can be turned against them.
“I am no warmonger, daughter, and I do not plan to be seen as one. Hence, why I want us to remain on the defense in this war.”
Aeldra took some time to process her father's words, enjoying the silence and calm his presence brought.
“Can we even recreate the weapon?” she asked. “I take it we would need to get our hands on it and take it apart for that to happen.”
“I don’t think Jerome would give it up so easily. Something tells me this weapon is from his previous world; a world where essence was nonexistent. It makes sense that they would create weapons that function without essence.”
“That’s incredible!” Aeldra said. “I can see the allure such a weapon will have in war times.”
Her father nodded. His hand in her hair felt so good she would have started to doze off if they weren’t having a conversation. “We need only tarry a little longer. When Jerome reaches Alvion, I will make him a deal.”
“He wants to find his family, father. Are you going to help him find them? I’m pretty sure you know where they all are, don’t you?”
“I will provide him with clues is all. I owe him that much. But finding them will be up to him.”
“Really, father, that’s all you’d do?” She gave him a look to which he smiled.
“He will gain much more than that from an audience with me, daughter. No one who comes into my presence leaves empty.”
Ah! Of course. The Sovereign of Vorthe is the Lord of Light after all. Except, the Church had their own Lord of Light. Many knew little of why the Church was helping the Alvrics but the Curia Regis knew much more.
“What if the Pontiff’s flying horses are too much for our aerial battalions? Aerial warfare is an advantage we’ve had for a long time on this continent but now…”
“Our sacred artists have been flying for thousands of years, Aeldra, don’t underestimate them. The Church is new to flight. They would not be as adept at it as our sacred artists. Yes, the ability to ascend to five thousand feet is extraordinary in itself but they would not have the same ability in maneuverability our sacred artists do.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that.”
Her father smirked. “Those things are rigid and lack the flexibility and dexterity that a flying sacred artist does. Let them think they now have the upper hand, until they face our aerial battalions.”
Aeldra shook her head, smiling. It wasn’t an exaggeration when they said picking a fight with Vorthe was a losing battle. Her father was holding his cards to his chest and waiting patiently like a predator for the right time to strike. She just hoped Vorthe didn’t lose too much to win this war because it was still a war and people were dying on both sides every day. Then she remembered something else.
“You know, father, I’m not convinced by your…” — she cleared her throat and raised a hand to mimic her father — “‘Trust that the portal will be dealt with’. By whom? They’re all Sprouts, father. You should have sent a few Sages to at least close the portal.”
Her father’s grin grew wider at her antics and she couldn’t help but smile back at him. Even though what they were discussing was very serious. The Sovereign had a way of bringing out the little girl in her.
“The Sprouts will work together to destroy it. They must,” he said in a more serious tone. “Forester has to take the hand that is offered.”
Aeldra reared back at those words. “Father, you looked!” The Sovereign looked away. “You said you wouldn’t look!”
“I had to, daughter. The future is constantly in flux. I cannot wait for a favorable event or leave it up to fate.”
Aeldra sighed and hugged him tightly. So much for keeping him on track. “But fate is also vengeful and tends to mess up the plans of those who catch a glimpse of its arse. Mother would be disappointed.”