The mage’s brows furrowed as he stared at the princess, and Lunar took a moment to speak as the plumes of magic died from his palms.
“I lost someone close to me,” she breathed, anger flicking through her gaze. “My so-called family sent assassins after me and my friends and killed one of them. And if I do nothing, they’ll kill him too.”
She gestured to Michael, her heart racing as she saw him prone against the cavern floor. But she could only hope he was still alive as she desperately turned to the mage, needing to plead with his sensibilities to gather his allegiance. But the mage spoke first.
“The civil war has already begun. The King has already launched his invasion of the North, and Earl Regmend has begun his counterattacks. What do you hope to achieve? Peace?”
His voice was thick with disdain and mocking, and Lunar grimaced before setting her jaw and staring into his eyes. Even as his stare sent a chill down her spine, the blood draining from her hands as she saw the relentless demand for mayhem within, she dared to reply.
“Earl Regmend has no legitimate claim to the throne,” she snapped. “If he somehow manages to overhaul the King-”
“An unlikely result,” the mage interrupted, and Lunar’s eyes narrowed as she brushed him off.
“He will,” she assured him, hoping he would not see through her bluff. “Most of the districts are on the fence, watching to see what results. No matter what, the winner will be crippled, and the rest of the districts will try their hand.”
“The King will gather his forces,” the mage reminded her. “His authority is extensive, and his military grand. Districts will be forced to side with him or face his wrath, and the effect will snowball.”
“Which is why I’m going to Earl Regmend,” she said. “I’m going to go lend my banner to his cause. He can have the throne, and I will be his vassal when the war ends.”
“A vassal? You are the princess, Lunarvian Eveningstar,” he scolded, and another chill ran through her spine. It was natural that someone such as the mage, who was doubtlessly informed on the Kingdom’s activities, would know her name, but the ease with which it arose frightened her. He was, she realised, a dangerous person, and she only now began to understand just how dangerous he was. “He will be your second, not vice versa.”
“I’m not a leader,” she retorted, ignoring his arched brow. “I don’t have any place being a Queen. I don’t have any business trying to rule the nation. At least Regmend has a good reputation, and I trust him more than any other earl to take power. I would rather pray to Konda than allow Earl Patrick Gavleni of Gavleni District or Earl Owen Ferrel of Julian District to succeed my father.”
“If you intend to aid him rather than enlist him, what use am I?” he wondered. “You have not drawn aid to your side. Not even the petty mercenary groups or the lesser fiefs have sided with your cause. You have not made it public, so what faith should I muster to declare my hatred and side with you publicly?”
“Your reputation is enough,” she remarked, stroking the rebel’s ego slightly. As she looked at him better, she realised he was much younger than she expected, having thought of the mage as a middle-aged veteran. But he looked barely older than Amelia, and she questioned how this could be before continuing to speak. “You are a stoic force. You are one of the most feared men in Gratsinmorn, and you have been for multiple years. I’ve been out of the public eye for a while now, but you’ve been regularly thrashing the Kingdom’s patrols for half a decade.”
“You have my interest,” the mage decided after a moment of silence, and Lunar hid a smile. She knew she should not be so casual, but she dared to say the mage amused her. She wondered if he was casting a sense of calm across her before remembering a prominent issue.
“Can I at least have your spellbook, too?” she wondered, her heart dropping as she saw a light of irritation flicker across his gaze. She hurried to explain. “To help my friend. He doesn’t look to be in good shape…”
“He’ll live,” the mage grumbled dismissively, waving his hand. Lunar glanced back, grimacing as she saw the bruising and blood across the knight’s damaged face. But as she watched, his face healed before her eyes, the broken bones and fractured structures repaired, and the stones cleared from his figure. He remained prone against the ground, but it was clear he would be alright.
“Thank you,” she breathed, glancing at the knight one more time before staring at the mage. “But you are the best chance we have of a better future. In the same breath, I can give you a better future than just hassling Gratsinmornian patrols.”
The mage continued to stare at her, his blank stare unreadable, so she just pressed on.
“You’re not as crazy as people think you are,” she reflected, watching his expression shift. “You put on a front to scare people, but you’re intelligent. You’re reasonable, and I doubt you do this because you like killing people.”
“Who are you to determine my motives?” he wondered, but Lunar noted the softness entering his tone. She wasn’t sure what he was or where he hailed from, but she knew he had a moral code—even if that moral code was a little contradictory.
“Just a guess,” she conceded. “But you’re honourable. Headman Laurence of Covenhaven told me as much. I don’t know what you want, but I know what I can offer you: a position of power in the new Gratsinmornian rule I will create when my father is unseated.”
“You are presumptuous and assume I am willing to trust that,” he remarked idly, though Lunar offered him her best humoured grin.
“I doubt anyone in the Kingdom can readily beat you in a fight,” she reminded him. “You only had trouble with Michael and I because he’s got magic too, and you figured out your counters quickly. I need that kind of intelligence and capability, but it also keeps you safe.”
The mage blinked before his narrowed eyes began to search hers. She saw as the erratic emerald and dead black queried her crystal blue, and she squared her shoulders to meet his gaze. Unwavering, despite every nerve in her body telling her to look away from the sight before her. For while he was not an unpleasant sight, he was an unsettling one, and she struggled with all her might to maintain eye contact with the pale man. He neither helped nor sabotaged her, as he just searched her for several agonising seconds until he took a breath, apparently satisfied with what he saw.
“Fine,” he muttered, exhaling as he fixed a baleful stare upon her. “I presume I am not the only notable individual you plan to recruit.”
“You were the first, but not the last,” she admitted. “We were planning on trying to find the Draconic of Mount Vreskie next.”
“The draconic?” he wondered, interest tinging his gaze. “I know of him.”
“I mean, most people do,” she reminded him, and he shook her off as he explained.
“Most people know of him, but few know him,” he remarked. “And I consider myself privileged to be part of the latter, though I do not know if he is the same man I called an ally and friend.”
“You were his friend?” she demanded, and he lifted his shoulders.
“In a sense. We were allied by hatred, particularly directed at your father, for our respective homes were destroyed by his empire. Hundreds of Gratsinmornian soldiers desecrated his home, while mine was shattered by the same. But we are not the same men we once were, and I know he has taken a pseudo-retirement as he returns to his station only to wreak havoc upon the knights sent to dispatch him. I believe your father has long since learned to avoid his domain.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said first, and he waved her apology away.
“I am not foolish enough to believe you were at fault,” he told her. “You were likely an infant when my family fled, and it was not by your hand that my brother was taken from me.”
“You lost a brother?”
“I have not seen him in thirteen years, and he was four the last I knew him,” he said, once again waving away her hurried apology. “My sister must be alive somewhere, but I have not seen her in a decade. But grief is present in life. You have suffered much the same, have you not?”
Her sympathy was temporarily replaced with horror as she wondered how the mage knew of her older brother’s death, though it quickly faded as she remembered who he was. She should have figured he would know of the tragedy.
“I have,” she agreed, sighing at the memory. “I guess we’re more similar than we thought.”
“We are,” he remarked. “But I suppose your ambitions do not stop at the draconic.”
“No. I’m looking to try to convince Khavel to assist us.”
The mage did not scoff nor laugh as she was bracing herself for him to do. It was true that a Khavellian intervention would be a declaration of war and a potential source of political instability, but there was nothing to destabilise by this point. There was so much to gain from the request, and so little to lose, for Khavel did not have the soldiers to occupy nor control Gratsinmorn, but their intervention could sway the uncertain districts and fiefs and create an alliance for the years to come. And it seemed the mage’s knowledge of the Khavellian caste resembled hers.
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“You would find no aid in Khanil Miku Juharu, for I doubt he would appreciate an unofficial foreign delegate,” he noted dryly. “But Sapum Akiratome Oui of the Sapoui Faltinae will likely be able to convince him. Especially after how Gratsinmornian propaganda has villainised him, he will likely be more than willing to aid you, even if only with the Faltinae beneath his command.”
“His name is Akiratome?” she demanded with a hint of worry, and his nod made her frown. “I thought his name was Akira…”
“If he requested you call him Akira, then we are in good straights for enlisting his support,” the mage assured her, and Lunar’s gaze returned to the mage’s with a hopeful light. “He only allows those he deems family or close allies to speak to him so informally. You must have won his respect.”
“Not sure how I would. I was just a little kid at the time,” she noted, and the mage lifted his shoulders again.
“He values grit, honesty, and a willingness to learn,” he said, turning to his battered home. The battle results were plain, with blood, debris, and damage visible at every corner of the room. Lunar followed his gaze, noting the cracks and breaks across the cavern’s structure as a result of the fierce combat. “You likely embodied all three, given your curiosity here.”
Unsure of how to respond, Lunar offered a sheepish smile as the mage turned his attention to the cave behind him. She paused, watching as he effortlessly channelled his magic into cleaning his domain, his swift, deliberate movements rapidly repairing the cavern. The defects retracted and repaired, every wave of his hand clearing a crack in the stones. His black cloak, made of the more durable gilvian—a subtype of invik—billowed beneath his motions, his deft sorcery boggling the magicless princess. He was impressive by any standards, but especially for her. She knew of mages being capable of great feats, but such easy repairs were one of the few she had never heard of.
He seemed occupied, so she turned to her unconscious friend. His raksteel coating had faded away, but he looked to be alright, and she smiled faintly. He had fought well, and she was glad he was safe. She sat beside him and waited for him to awaken, which he did moments later, and his groan filled the room. She turned to face him as his eyes blinked open, and he pulled himself to his feet with a grumble as his hand jumped to his head.
“Where…” he began before he saw Lunar and tackled her in a hug. Her eyes widened, and she yelped as she felt his arms wind around her, pulling her close. The knight drew a shuddering breath as if to test his lungs.
She hugged back as soon as her shock receded, keeping her smaller arms around the knight. Both to return the gesture and to check for any breaks left unattended, of which there were none. The mage had healed him, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she sank into his grasp. Even though she wasn’t in danger anymore, and the mage seemed reasonable enough, her former guard’s arms were safe, though his arms came away from her as the pale man spoke.
“I have restored my home. I suppose it is time to travel?” he queried while Michael scrambled to his feet. But Lunar grabbed his hand before the knight could reach for his sword, which was a few feet away.
“We talked,” she assured the knight, and he paused to stare down at her. Disbelief in his crystal blue gaze, and she dutifully clasped his palm. “He’s on our side and going to help us out.”
Michael’s disbelief turned to the mage, who lifted his shoulders. The knight grimaced while the mage offered an arched brow and gestured to Lunar.
“Her Royal Highness is most persuasive,” he decided, a slight teasing look in his eye. “There is far more to gain from an alliance than to rebel alone. And I have been told of her good nature by various associates through the years.”
“Associates?” Michael demanded.
“Village folk,” the mage replied. “She seeks a world beyond senseless violence. And if it means your Kingdom’s infernal ilk quits burning down the town they’re meant to protect, I will side with you.”
Michael just turned, shaking his head as he exhaled his frustrations. He glared at Lunar, the mage, then back at Lunar.
“You think we can trust him?” he snapped, and Lunar grimaced. But the mage spoke first.
“It seems we, as a group, must trust one another, or our conquest will die before it begins,” he noted, and Lunar couldn’t help but smile.
“Took the words from my mouth,” she admitted before standing and clasping Michael’s hand again. “I know it was a rocky start. But we knew we might have to fight. And if he wanted to kill us, he would have by now. It’s not like either of us came close to killing him.”
“Would it help if I were to make an oath, or would you trust a Shadic’s lineage?” he wondered, and Lunar’s alarmed stare snapped over to the mage.
“You’re Shadic?” she demanded, and his brow lifted again.
“If it were not plain in my accent, it should have been clear from my texts,” he remarked sarcastically, gesturing to the shelves. And as Lunar’s gaze swept across the titles, she realised he was right. She was not even conversational in Shadic and knew only curses from the neighbouring nation, but even she could recognise the distinctive marking. Only Shadic words were so blurry, distinctly impossible to read, but a perfect indicator of the foreign tongue. And while the mage’s accent was not heavy, it was surely noticeable.
“I was more focused on trying not to die,” she decided, and the mage’s soft laugh proved to be rather enchanting. It was neither harsh nor sarcastic as his scoffs before, but a genuine chortle of mirth as he shook his head.
“That was the more pressing matter,” he agreed. “But I hope we understand one another.”
Khavel and Shadinara, Lunar knew, were both nations of honour. One could only be a man or woman of both if duty-bound to the cause. She could have her misgivings, and it was a broad generalisation of such massive populations, but she had to cling to hope now more than ever. And while she did not have an extensive list of the mage’s anarchist tendencies, Covenhaven’s experience had proved enough that he did not kill or steal recklessly. With the power he possessed, she doubted many people would do the same. So she just sighed.
“We do, but on one condition,” she said. “I’d rather not call you the Mad Mage for the next few cycles, seasons, or years. What’s your name?”
“Names,” he scoffed. “I take caution over years to hide my title, and here comes a princess to claim it.”
Lunar felt a nagging moment of doubt as she received his glare, but it cleared as he offered a minute smile.
“My name is Enocavian. Enoch for short.”
“Lunarvian,” Lunar replied, and Michael glared for only a moment before relenting.
“Michael.”
“Well, your name is certainly basic,” Enoch noted, and Michael glared again as the mage turned and conjured his archaic tome. “I suppose we should prepare our next steps. Do you have a map?”
He was already searching the large book when Lunar told him they did. The thick spellbook, bound with black leather and adorned with gold lettering, cheerfully fluttered as if chortling at its master’s previous joke. And while Lunar watched, the mage flipped through his spellbook before presenting two of the novel’s titanic pages, which expanded until a fully-fledged map sat before her. Lunar stared at the contents, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinised it. It was detailed, and all of its contents seemingly scaled with the distances between each fief and district capital being more or less accurate. Tiny little patrols of soldiers were pictured, defined by a legend on the top right, as well as various forests, rivers, and trading paths. It made sense that the mage, so dedicated to his cause of wreaking havoc, would have a detailed map to do so. But then she saw something that caught her eye.
The figures and labels were moving.
The pictured groups of soldiers were moving between fiefs, likely exchanging positions as the war raged. She stared upon the North, dully noting the hundreds of little patrols depicted across the landscape. The mage’s legend indicated that the noted patrols consisted of no fewer than a half dozen platoons, each with at least a hundred troops, and she grimaced as she saw just how many soldiers were crawling across the map. Even as she watched, two groups clashed, and while the horrors of war could never be conveyed through a page, she knew the mayhem resulting. The writhing mass of dots was a scene she could already imagine, and she sucked in a breath as she forced herself to stare elsewhere, searching instead for their destination. But even as her gaze swept across her home, she saw the various patrols battling, with one fief even up in flames upon the page, and she dared to cast a mournful glance at the mage, who just stared blankly back at her.
“You are right to seek an end to this violence,” was his response. “But it will take many deaths to achieve this peace.”
“I almost hope I’m one of them,” she muttered to the mage’s silence as he held the map out to her still. She felt Michael’s arms gently wrap around her, comforting her as she stared at the contents of the spellbook before she jabbed at a particular mountain, frowning up at the mage. “What’s that?”
The mage peered over, staring at the page and following her jab before his gaze fell upon the location, and he offered a sly grin.
“Mount Vreskie,” he said, and she thunderously frowned, jabbing at the picture of Enoch’s home, which, of course, was the largest marking on his map.
“But that’s your home. Mount Vreskie is right here. It’s part of why we came here first,” she protested, poking at the nearest mountain. And Enoch, his expression humoured, shook his head.
“You are certainly the crown’s daughter,” he laughed, though his amusement didn’t seem directed toward her. “Every crown official and knight believes that it is Mount Vreskie, whereas its true name is Mount Faleik. However, through careful deception, the draconic has managed to convince the populous otherwise and has crafted the dormant hill into a perfect battleground. Cavalry cannot climb the treacherous terrain, archers cannot maintain their footing long enough to fire their arrows, and knights cannot maintain a decent pace on the steep hill. The few survivors that make it to the top stand no chance.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you knew him,” she breathed. “You know his tactics well.”
“They are tactics I, too, would use if I were constantly hunted by patrols of hundreds, or even thousands, of heavily armed troops. Everyone has their limitations, and burying a beast in body is often the only solution. The Kingdom does not train nor hone many mages, and the few they do are reserved for crown positions, such as Sir Fabijaka over there.”
Michael, whose arms were still protectively curled around Lunar, frowned at the mage before deciding not to question how Enoch knew his name.
“Then we have to subdue him,“ Lunar mused. “Somehow. One crown soldier, one capable mage, and me. This feels like a death wish.”
“I count as a platoon,” Enoch decided, and Lunar decided not to challenge him as he continued. “His greatest weapon is a magic I can subdue if you and your knight can resist the call of death from his talons.”
“What’s that weapon if not for the talons of a beast bigger than some villages?” she wondered, and her eyes widened at the response.
“He is a beast of mythology, brought to life by means unknown, which you may know as a Dakwon Quaralak. His greatest weapon is his voice, in which magic has been embedded. He rages with few words, yet his speeches can challenge move mountains and challenge Mother Nature herself. But I may be able to silence him.”
“I don’t like how uncertain that sounds,” Lunar decided after a moment, and Michael gave a grunt of assent. “I’d rather you know you can silence him.”
“So would I,” the mage agreed. “But Dakwon magic is unstable and unpredictable. I cannot guarantee an outcome.”
“I thought the Dakwon were a race of Gods,” Michael grumbled, and the mage lifted his shoulders.
“Perhaps they are. He is not,” the mage assured him. “But he has magic akin to the legends of Konda and Thavin. There are others who can do the same, but they are men and women I wish never to meet. But I have already met the draconic, so I suppose I am resigned to this fate.”
“Makes three of us,” Lunar grumbled.