I was no longer an apprentice for the final weeks I lived in Corindrian’s tower, instead, I was a guest. My time short, and Corindrian increasingly distressed that Ornookian was lacking magickal texts, we talked at length of how to subvert Yularelian’s embargo. The weathermaster’s initial suggestion was that I simply cast the spell of unnoticing upon myself, and send the packages towards Temini.
However, that would not work, for few caravans headed towards Temini, and those that did were closely watched by the regent and Yularelian for fear of spies and thieves. A large collection of magickal tomes would be detected quickly.
Immediately we realized our solution could not involve casting the spell of unnoticing upon another person, for one person alone could not survive the trek to Temini, nor let alone transport the sheer volume of tomes and vellum we intended to send. The next obvious solution was to cast the spell of unnoticing upon the magickal pages, but that would not work either for Yularelian would still inspect the letters and realize trickery was cast upon them. Perhaps then, the solution to the quandary would not lay within illusion magicks.
Our solutions became more and more subtle, but still none would quite suffice. Corindrian suggested that we could summon a messenger, but in conjuration lay the problem that whatever we could bring about within three weeks time would not last long enough to deliver the letters. If the weathermaster spent any additional time beyond the three weeks on a superfluous spell, then he would be poised for reprimand from the council. The regent and Yularelian had made it clear that the seven mages on Arimens were only to use their skills to the benefit of the city and the war effort. A delinquent mage would not avoid notice, therefore the solution could not involve conjuration either.
Soon it became clear to us that no magick was going to aid us, for it would take far too much of Corindrian’s time, or it would be obvious upon first inspection by any practiced mage. We thought of contracting smugglers, but in that lay the problem of finding a crew that could be trusted with our identities and that cargo.
I put forward the idea of sending Jaryne to Temini, but it was clear that to do such would not bode well for the young mage’s development. Jaryne needed to study under Corindrian with all of the resources of the tower if he were to inherit the weathermaster’s council seat as my master hoped he would. Corindrian asked if Ynguinian could deliver the parcels, as paladins and their squires often head eastward through and further beyond Temini. I told the mage that I would rather die than ask my betrothed, a soon-to-be paladin of saint Mentillian, who above all favors law and serves Order, to break the law and commit subterfuge. Corindrian did not take up that suggestion again.
The day came when I was to move into the barracks, and still we had not devised a plan to get our copied books and scrolls to Ornookian in Temini. I would have some time in my day to visit Corindrian and discuss those matters, but nothing similar in extent to the time I had in those last three weeks. A solution would need to come before I left the city, and I promised Corindrian that much:
“Do not overworry about the matter of the parcels.” I told the old mage, “You have given me the title Master of Subtlety, and I intend to live up to my reputation and the expectations you have set upon me. A solution will come in time, and we will just need patience.”
Fortunately, I found an answer to our quandary before leaving the city. It was not perfect, and if I had not developed the patience Kalitian had intended for me to learn, I would have given up long beforehand. However, before speak of our plan that outsmarted Yularelian and the regent, I wish to first speak of the beginning of my campaign within the Kalipaonin Regiment.
Commander Partelin and Lieutenant Jurin of the Moringian army greeted me early in the morning of my first day of service. Aided by a squad of men, my effects were moved from my small room near the top of Corindrian’s tower to Arimens’s newest barracks. My quarters there were more spacious than in the weathermaster's abode, and the doors had heavy locks upon them for my safety. Posted outside my door there was an ever-present rotating guard of twin spearmen drawn from the battalion which I had been assigned to: The River’s Third Battalion. It was fitting for a mage to be assigned to a battalion with Kalitian’s number.
Once I had been shown my quarters and my effects had been placed, the Commander dismissed himself and the rest of my introduction to the barracks and the army was overseen by Lieutenant Jurin. The Lieutenant was a tall branch of a man, and it was clear from his uncalloused hands he had never seen a day of hard labor before. Despite this, the common men of the regiment did not seem to object to Jurin’s authority, as all of the soldiers came to attention for each new area we entered. I wondered what they thought of me as I walked limp and staff-aided through the muddy training grounds. Would the soldiers of my battalion consider me a burden?
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Near the edge of the training grounds the Lieutenant introduced me to Captain Bryndin, a salty veteran with scars to show for it, and Sergeant Hahmursian the quartermaster. I gave them both a salute, before being told by the Lieutenant that I should not do that, for I already outranked the two men and it would be improper to give the two a salute. In most armies it is the norm for mages to outrank the commanding officer of their assigned unit, and the Kalipaonin Regiment was no different. The Captain and the Sergeant were both understanding of my lack of experience in the formal matters war.
“As long as you can craft spells and protect us from those damn Junumanians, I don’t give a damn what you do. Just make sure you aren’t saluting any common soldiers.” Captain Bryndin said. He was a jolly man with an infectious morale.
The real difficulty of the campaign would be to work with the soldiers. Most of them were greenhorns coming from Arimens and its surrounding communities, although a few men had started to trickle in from the Temini Barony and were no-doubt appalled to be serving in a mage battalion. If any soldier held me in contempt for my magicks or my limp I never heard, for Sergeant Hahmursian was strict in matters of discipline and Order. He had trained to become a knight of Mentillian, but the saint had never chosen him, so he became a soldier. I would not be acquainted with the full battalion until we reached the fort on the river Kalipaonin to meet with our other half.
The Lieutenant led me to one last place of import: the Commander’s tent. There, sprawled over a large and polished mahogany table, lay a detailed map of western Korstiana. Flags, figurines, and small pieces of papers with names on them littered the topography that detailed Moringia’s strategy for the war. Also present in the room were three other mages, two of whom I had met: Yularelian’s apprentice Quatimonian, and Caronian’s (whom you might recall summoned the ethereal hares) apprentice Marinon. The third mage was not one I had met before. His name was Nestyne, and he was a veteran mage of the Moringian army, and my superior.
During my last weeks in Arimens, the three of us former apprentices spent our days practicing in the matters of countermagicks and war magicks under Nestyne’s veteran eye. When we reached the fort on the river Kalipaonin we would begin drilling with our battalions. Until then, however, it was limited to us four mages as the greenhorns among us adjusted to our new reality.
As part of our duties we were expected to attend meetings of Kalipaonin Regiment's officers, as we ranked among them as well. We were not expected to speak, or contribute, but it was of strategic importance that we were informed of strategies of the army and our regiment. Knowing these things would inform the spells we prepared, and how we conducted ourselves on the battlefield. I came to despise these meetings, for their contents were often grim. Such is the strategy of wars of greed and power.
On the first night of my last week in Arimens I said goodbye to Ynguinian, my betrothed. We spent the night walking reminiscing of the past in the city, knowing we may never see it again. We passed the quarters where I used to set up my apothecary stall and stuff our rooms full of smelly herbs and plants and tinctures. We passed by the great domed temple of Urostrian, where we spent our first days in the magickal city, and walked over the gas-lit stone bridges of the river that ran through the center of Arimens. Its waters used to be clear as the mountains, but now had become filthy and polluted, just as the rest of the landscape had over the course of the war. We bought food from a street vendor, and ate slowly as we turned back for the barracks and a final goodbye, knowing it would be many years before we saw one another.
“Nayinian. I will be far to the south in the city of Starathens, in the temple of Mentillian. Please, write letters to me so I can know that you are safe, and cared for. My oath I took to protect you many years ago may have been fulfilled, but that does not mean I cannot protect you in other wars. I will pray to Mentillian for you, and write many letters to you, my betrothed.” Ynguinian said, as we stood at the door of the barracks.
I told him that I would write to him constantly, and that as soon as I had finished my service I would walk the many miles south to Starathens it would take to reach him. I told him that I would ask Sergeant Hahmursian, the quartermaster, about the matters of letters in the morning. I rightly suspected that the army would not force soldiers to go for years without contacting their families. Finally, before the evening ended, we embraced one last time, and I watched as Ynguinian walked off into the encroaching darkness of the magickal city.
The next morning I spoke with Sergeant Hahmursian who told me that all mail sent by soldiers was free, and sent to their home regions with the recruiting caravans. It was then I found the solution to Yularelian’s embargo: I would have Temini officers send letters of magickal supplies to the baron. Their communications would not be searched, unlike my own, and all I had to do was convince them to send the parcels Corindrian and I had prepared. While Ornookian might not receive everything we sent, for many things get lost over long distances, it brought a great relief to my master Corindrian.
The morning my battalion left Arimens for the river Kalipaonin, Corindrian came to give a final goodbye. The weathermaster looked in poor health, but in high spirits promised to write letters to me, and I told him I would do the same. He gave me a final thanks for my help in the matter of delivering magickal writings to Ornookian, before I left.
“Nayinian, Master of Subtlety, I knew I named you correctly. You were a good student, and it is a shame you did not study with me longer.”
That was the last time I ever saw my master. Corindrian, Archmage, Weathermaster of Arimens died several months later and his seat was filled by another of Yularelian’s apprentices. I never learned what became of Jaryne.