Year: 3045 AGD
Month: New Life
Fourth Thirdday
Siniquity
Cyrian Dreadmeir’s Estate
It was dinnertime at the Dreadmeir Estate. That meant that a large portion of the staff and residents gathered in the spacious dining hall for the evening meal. Everyone ate the same food, no matter their rank or station. Those on duty would get a cold meal later, but Shade had learned from his guards that no one missed two nights in a row unless they were on special assignment.
The food was always well-prepared, and while not a lavish affair, those who lived here said it was much better than anything that ninety-nine percent of the rest of the city was eating. Cyrian did sit at a table removed and above his retainers, but Shade had a feeling it was only for propriety’s sake. As the man had reminded him a dozen times since their arrival, image was everything in Siniquity.
It was acceptable to treat his retainers well, but only just. If he ate at the same table as his guards or staff, however, that would be a faux pas that would be fodder for his rivals on the council to use against him. Because of this, it was not uncommon at these meals that Cyrian sat at the head table with only Shade and Tatiana to keep him company. Occasionally, another guest would grace the hall and give the trio a respite from the stilted conversation, but alas, this night they were on their own.
“I’m told that you failed another exam, Princess,” Cyrian spoke after their first course, which had consisted of some sort of thick green soup with large chunks of a meat that Shade hoped were bovine in nature.
In response, Tatiana stared defiantly at him.
Still not talking to him. Stewart Cantel was somewhere between proud and exasperated.
Well, she is technically his prisoner, Shade replied. It wasn’t the first time they had shared an exchange like this, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
Yes, but she could at least not rely on you to fill the empty air, the former High Commander groused. She is a princess, after all. If her mother saw the way she’s behaving, she would be mortified.
“I’m sure she’d just be happy seeing her daughter.” Shade realized a moment later as the pair turned to him that he had spoken aloud. It was becoming more of an issue every day. The former High Commander was making headway in establishing dominion over certain parts of Shade’s mind, but every victory he made in holding onto himself also blurred the line at where he ended and Shade began.
“You know Shade, that is a brilliant idea.” Cyrian picked his napkin off of his lap, placed it beside his silverware, and raised his voice. “Gregorious, would you come up here, please.”
A tall, thin Elf stood from the table where the guards usually ate. The man was not one of the stout warriors who protected the Estate however, as was made apparent by his bearing and attire. His robes were Blood Red, though not nearly as elaborately adorned as many of the other Shapers in Cyrian’s employ.
“Yes, Lord Dreadmeir,” Gregorious said as he made his way up the steps to the table. “How may I serve you?”
“Do you think you could establish a connection with the Arch Magus?” Cyrian smiled.
Gregorious’s already pale features went ghostly white. “The Arch Magus of the Protectorate?” Gregorious stammered. “Simon Windsbane?”
“Is there another Arch Magus that I’m unaware of?” Cyrian’s eye twitched slightly. Shade had never seen this reaction from the man, and he noted it for later.
“No, my lord.” Gregorious looked like he was about to pass out, or perhaps even run away.
Shade reached out and grabbed the Elf’s elbow, who visibly relaxed a moment later, seemingly unaware of the contact.
“I believe I can my lord, but it will be much easier for him to scry on us or establish such a link of his own in the future if I make the attempt.”
“Noted.” Cyrian’s eye twitched again. Shade assumed it was because the Elf was telling the man something that even a novice Shaper should be aware of.
“I would like you to make the attempt.” Cyrian paused for a moment. “Now.”
“Now,” Gregorious stumbled. “Right.”
Shade felt the energies the man was pulling in and realized that Gregorious was a fairly powerful Shaper in his own right. He briefly wondered why someone so strong was placed so low in the hierarchy of the Blood Mages, but as happened often of late, it was the High Commander that supplied the answer.
Politics, Stewart Cantel said. He probably specializes in something that the rest of the mages deem unworthy of respect or acclaim, and he probably has no motivation to play the games the others do. You saw that he was sitting at the guards’ table. If he had any interest at all in advancement, he would be with the other Shapers.
Shade was reminded once again just how little he knew about how the world worked. The potential particles around Gregorious began to quiver in anticipation to Shade’s senses, as the man began to assert his will over them. Some part of him recognized what the Elf was doing and marveled at the skill with which he was manipulating the energies contained within the particles.
“Master Windsbane,” Gregorious said aloud. At the same moment, Shade felt a familiar mind make contact with the man.
Whatever reply the Arch Magus sent was not shared with those present.
“Forgive the intrusion, but my Master wishes to speak with you.” Another pause. “Yes sir, Master Cyrian Dreadmeir, First Among Equals in the Council of Nine, and Lord of the Dragonmarshes.”
“Lord of the Dragonmarshes?” Shade mouthed.
“Later,” Cyrian replied in the same manner, with an added roll of his eyes.
“The connection is established, My Lord.” Gregorious said, a trickle of sweat rolling down his brow. Shade couldn’t tell if it was from the effort the man was expending or simply from nervousness about who he was currently linking minds with.
“Excellent. Ask the Arch Magus if he’d be willing to help us establish communications between the princess and her mother Queen Sophiana.”
Shade felt a flare of excitement from the other end of the connection and realized that the Arch Magus had already taken control of the entire situation. Gregorious went through the motions of asking, but Shade was fairly certain that the Elf knew he was now ancillary to the whole situation.
As the second course was arriving, voices began to emanate from the air next to Gregorious.
“…don’t care how much more energy it is going to take. I want to see my daughter.”
Cyrian quirked an eyebrow and smiled slightly as the voice came through. Tatiana visibly perked up, and Shade realized that the voice must belong to her mother.
“Yes, your Majesty,” the voice of the Arch Magus replied.
Shade felt a massive swell of will through the connection Gregorious held with Simon Windsbane, and he felt the fear that trickled through the Elf at the immense display of power. All of the silverware in the room began to flow like liquid, to the dismay of those trying to enjoy the delicious-looking meat that had just been set before them. Shade grinned as he watched several of the guards shrug and pick up the meat, taking the mystical event as something that simply happened and continuing their meal.
The rogue silver coalesced into a large mirror at the edge of the table that Cyrian, Shade, and Tatiana occupied. A few moments later, the image of an older woman with dusty blonde hair and hazel eyes filled the reflective surface.
“Is that the dog who is holding my daughter prisoner?” the Queen said as she stepped closer to what Shade assumed was a mirror on her side of the connection.
“I suppose so, your Majesty, and they can hear us.” The Arch Magus managed not to sound completely exasperated.
“Dear, please step back, the rest of us would like to see as well,” a male voice pleaded.
The queen let out a sigh and moved back, revealing several other individuals in the room.
“Unfortunately, there is no suitable place to position the mirror to get a full view of the table, so I would like anyone who would like to take part in this conversation to move closer to Master Dreadmeir,” the Arch Magus announced, as he walked over to the table where the others were seated and sat down beside them. A slight sheen of perspiration could be seen on his brow.
Tatiana leapt out of her seat and moved to stand in front of the newly-formed mirror. As soon as she heard her mother’s gasp, she seemed to realize that she didn’t have to get any closer to Cyrian. As it was, he could reach out and tap her shoulder, should he be so inclined, but he seemed content to observe.
“Tatiana dear, I’m so sorry,” the man who had spoken earlier said. In the mirror, it was the tall weary-looking man who had dark hair with several streaks of gray running through it.
Of course he’s sorry now. Stewart Cantel would have spat if he had been able. Nim, Ashur, and I all told him it wasn’t secure, but no, they wouldn’t listen.
“Cantel said it wasn’t safe yet, but we didn’t listen,” Theodrik Theromvore the second, King of the Protectorate, said. “Now you are there, and he’s dead, and it is all our fault.”
Boy, I bet that makes you feel like a jerk. Shade grinned. He was beginning to know who the people in the mirror were through the former High Commander’s memories.
Shut up. Stewart Cantel seemed annoyed not only that the King had repeated his own sentiments back at him, but that Shade had realized that it affected him as much as it did. It seems to be only the royal family, with Analya and Leodric. Too bad we didn’t interrupt a full council meeting. It would be nice to know for sure who took my place.
“Mommy!” Tatiana had tears flowing down both of her cheeks.
“Oh Tatiana.” Sophiana was visibly attempting to keep her composure, but as the words slipped out, she began to cry just as much as her daughter.
“Well, now I feel bad about not thinking of trying this sooner,” Cyrian said, though he sounded anything but contrite.
“Master Dreadmeir.” The King sat up, regaining some of the regal bearing he had been lacking moments before. The memories Stewart Cantel had of the man were a stark contrast to the man in the silvery surface before them. The time since his daughter was abducted had aged King Theromvore greatly, stealing some of the vigor that had remained only months before.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Your Majesty.” Cyrian inclined his head slightly.
“We received your letter; I doubt that our reply has yet made it to your hands, however.”
“That would be correct, Your Grace; I expect it should arrive sometime in the next eightday.” Cyrian waved Gregorious back to his meal, realizing that the Mage’s talents were no longer needed.
“Well, we will let the letter speak for itself, but if what you said in your correspondence is true, I would like to thank you for saving my daughter.”
“I have no reason to lie to your Majesties. I have offered the children nothing but hospitality, and I have provided them with the best tutors this side of Asylum.”
“Them?” Analya Theromvore asked.
The High Commander thought that she spoke a little too quickly, and the slight rise of Cyrian’s eyebrow said that he wasn’t the only one who thought that.
“Yes M’lady.” Cyrian smiled. “I found a wayward boy not long after rescuing the princess. He was watching over the body of the High Commander. Unfortunately, we arrived too late to help Master Cantel.”
“Oh?” Analya said.
Even Shade could tell without the former High Commander’s help that she seemed just a little too interested, but she was trying to play it off like she wasn’t.
You seem to have made an impression on Analya. Stewart Cantel seemed as confused about that development as Shade himself felt about seeing the woman.
Yeah, I suppose I would at that, Shade replied. We can talk about it later.
Alright, Cantel said, but Shade could tell that the former High Commander didn’t like knowing that there were things that Shade had kept from him.
“Shade, would you step into frame please?” Cyrian gestured.
Deciding that it didn’t much matter one way or the other, Shade stood and walked to the opposite side of where the Princess stood.
Relief was the only way that Shade could characterize the emotions that Analya and her husband Lagelion’s reactions as he stepped in front of the mirror. He felt a momentary pang in his chest as he realized that someone had indeed missed him, even if he couldn’t remember them through his own memories. A moment later, that feeling was replaced by sadness as he realized that it was Victor who they missed, and that boy was still buried behind a barrier in his mind.
“Well, the children certainly look healthy and well cared for.” Arch Magus Windsbane said, filling the silence that hung in the air after Shade’s entrance.
“Right you are,” Cyrian said. “We were just having a conversation about the Princess’s seeming lack of progress with her tutors when young Shade here said that perhaps it would be good for young Tatiana to talk to her mother.”
“That is a very astute observation,” King Theromvore said, inclining his head ever so slightly. “Perhaps the rest of us should retire while they have some time to talk. I hope that now that we have established a communications link, we might be able to talk more in the future? Perhaps after our reply to your letter arrives?”
“The idea does present some interesting possibilities.” Cyrian smiled and inclined his head. “Until then. Come Shade, let us give the Princess some privacy.”
“Oh great, everyone gets to leave except the one person who has more important things to do.” Arch Magus Windsbane said as he walked out of frame.
Shade knew the Arch Magus was maintaining the connection with his substantial will, but if he strayed too far or lost focus for even a moment, the communication would be lost and would require another major expenditure of energy to reestablish.
“Come now Simon, perhaps a game of chess in the sitting room?” Lagelion Daystar said as Shade stood and started moving away from the table behind Cyrian Dreadmeir. He just barely caught the Arch Magus’s reply before he was no longer in earshot of the mirror.
“You think that because I won’t be able to focus on the game that you’ll beat me, huh Elf? Good luck.”
Looking back, Shade saw Princess Tatiana sitting in Cyrian’s chair speaking quietly towards the mirror, a smile on her face. It was the first time since he had met her that he had seen her smile, and he thought it fit her rather well. He made a promise to himself to do everything he could to try to make her time here as short as possible, but he also knew he had a lot to learn before he could make that happen.
Year: 3045 AGD
Month: New Life
Fourth Fifthday
Blade’s Edge Mountains
Outside Tranquility Mist
Shawnrik had helped Pedrial finish the odd smithing jobs for the villagers of Tranquility Mist late Eighthday night. They had then bartered for some supplies before journeying out into the Blade’s Edge Mountains on Firstday morning. For the past five days, they had traversed the mountain trails while swapping stories. Pedrial would tell Shawnrik stories about his mom, and Shawnrik told his grandfather about The Institute and life on the streets of the Docks District in Safeharbor.
The more they talked about Shawnrik’s parents, the more withdrawn Pedrial became. It reached a point where after one particularly amusing story, neither of them spoke for several hours. Each of them was lost in his own thoughts of what was or could have been. As the sun reached its zenith and began to make its way towards the far horizon, Shawnrik came to a decision.
“I think we’ve talked about my parents enough. There’s no reason to make either of us go through all of this right now; we will have time to dredge through memories.”
“Lad, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this, it is to never expect that you’ll have more time later to say what you want to say.” Pedrial moved on for a little while longer before stopping at a promising resting spot. A soft summer breeze was making its way through the lower foothills of the northern Blade’s Edge mountains, bringing with it the smell of the grasslands below.
“It is not exactly the memories of your mother or father that give me pause, but rather the thoughts that come along after,” Pedrial continued, as he stretched his massive frame. “I think there are some things I need to tell you before you decide on whatever it is you are going to do from here. I’ve just been trying to figure out how to go about it.”
“Alright,” Shawnrik set down his pack and worked out the tightness in his back as his grandfather stared down at the plains thoughtfully.
“We, the Giants I mean, are not native to this planet.” Pedrial said after a time. He looked at Shawnrik. “Hell, I don’t think anyone but maybe the Dragons are native to Terrazil.”
Shawnrik looked into Pedrial’s eyes, trying to figure out if the old man was joking with him, but the look on the old Giant’s features was one of complete sincerity. “I…” Shawnrik sat down. “What?”
“Yeah, that’s about the usual reaction.” Pedrial laughed. “Your mother laughed it off and went back to playing with her friends the first time I told her. Of course, she was much younger.”
“I bet.” Shawnrik felt like the world was spinning out of control for a few moments before some of the things he had been reading in the back room of the library at the Institute started to pop into his mind, suddenly beginning to make sense.
“Where are we from? Why did we end up here? What…”
“Patience, lad, I’ll get to all of that.” Pedrial held up his left hand in a calming motion. “At least with as much as is remembered. As far as I can figure, we’ve been on this rock for at least ten thousand years.”
“That long?”
“Aye, and it seems that many of the peoples that came here made some sort of decision to forget who they were and where they came from.” Pedrial tossed a small stone over the ledge and watched as it bounced its way down into the grass below. “As far as I can tell, the only ones who didn’t were us, and the ‘Elves.’ The first thing you should know is that we are not ‘Giants’. Our people are called the Ulorans; our home planet was Ulora.”
“Ulora?” Shawnrik said, testing out the word.
“Legends say that Ulora was a wholly inhospitable world of massive creatures, dangerous enough to make Terroval look like a playground.”
“No wonder we left, then.” Shawnrik’s mind was trying to listen to Pedrial, process the new information he was gaining, and connect it to what he had learned at the Institute, but he was finding the whole thing to be beyond his capabilities. He decided to just listen and absorb the information, and figure out the rest later.
“That’s the thing though, by all accounts our people thrived on that world.” Pedrial picked up another rock, but instead of tossing this one, he crushed it in his mighty grasp. “Our people had large settlements and had learned to thrive. To live on Ulora, you had to work together. Doing things on your own was a good way to get killed, so we developed in such a way that we had a strong female leader who issued orders that we obeyed immediately.”
Pedrial shook the rock dust off of his hands and smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, our system that worked so well for survival left us highly susceptible to suggestion, and when the Imperial Galactic Alliance came, we were quickly turned into a labor and military force.”
“How did that happen?” Shawnrik took a drink of water from his canteen.
“Simple, they asked us.” Pedrial sighed. “The way our society worked is that our leader told us what to do and we did it. We developed in such a way that anything anyone said with authority seemed like a good idea, so when these new people came, we were essentially defenseless to their suggestions.”
“Our people slowly spread throughout the Alliance systems, essentially a slave class that was both hearty, strong, and willing to do whatever work you gave them. Occasionally, one of us would rebel, as it was natural in our society for one or two people in each generation to be born with more initiative and sense of self, to lead our tribes. However, those of an independent mindset were quickly taken care of.”
“Slaves?” Shawnrik was disgusted. Even as bad as the streets of the Docks District had been, everyone was free to do as they wanted. The Protectorate fostered a strong sense of civic duty in its citizens and required education and training for most of the population, but once you completed two years of service after your eighteenth birthday, you were free to do what you wanted. The idea of slavery was anathema to the citizens of the Protectorate.
“Essentially.” Pedrial stood and dusted off his pants, preparing to continue their journey down the trail. “No one knows the specifics, but slowly those individuals that were able to resist the orders given to them managed to band together and create a kind of resistance. Not wanting to lose their labor force, the Emperor at the time gave the order for all of the Ulorans who displayed a sense of self to be gathered up and exiled. Apparently, this Emperor was incredibly fond of the idea of exiling anyone that he deemed ‘problematic,’ because hundreds of thousands of peoples from every major civilization in the Alliance were exiled to a far-flung world.”
“Terrazil.” Shawnrik said as he hoisted his pack.
Pedrial nodded. “Terra Zeta Iota One was its designation on the star charts; over a few generations that became Terrazil.”
“So is that why the Giants live so far away from everyone else?”
“Yes.” Pedrial moved along the mountain trail with a grace and ease that belied his size and age. “That’s also the reason why everyone in the village is so careful in how they phrase things. It is difficult to ask something of someone when you never know if they are doing it because they want to or because they feel the need to do what you say. Luckily, that trait is diminished in the majority of us, because we come from a long line of leaders, but that doesn’t mean it is gone completely.”
“You’re saying I might be susceptible to this kind of thing as well?”
“More than likely.” Pedrial picked up his pace as they started down the hill. “We aren’t going to be able to go very much further if we want to make it back in time for you to return to the Institute for summer classes.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured. This is as far North as I’ve ever been. How far is it to Eske’taure?” Shawnrik breathed in the scents of the plains as they drifted through the afternoon air.
“It is a few days’ travel north of here, and over a small bay, not that you’d ever want to go there. I can only imagine what those people did to get on the Emperor’s bad side.”
They traveled for some time, making their way through the plains towards one of the passes that led back towards Tranquility Mist. Several large herbivores that Shawnrik had never seen before huffed at their passing, but other than that, they traveled in silence. As they entered the foothills of the mountains, Pedrial began to speak again.
“The Stroml’dier have Uloran blood in them, bred by the Imperial generals to be the perfect soldiers. Strong, fast, and willing to follow orders.”
Several things began to click in Shawnrik’s mind at that revelation. “You think that this all has something to do with why my parents were killed.”
Pedrial nodded.
“The Stroml’dier have some sort of knowledge store that fills in their part of the history of Terrazil.”
“More than likely, the Heartstone trial has something to do with that,” Pedrial agreed.
“And they had my parents killed to keep whatever information it granted him to themselves.”
“So it seems.” Pedrial sounded tired.
Shawnrik knew his grandfather could travel for days without rest, so the exhaustion in his voice was of a different sort. “Why did you tell me this?”
“So you know just how dangerous of a mess you are about to step into.”
“I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.”
Pedrial stopped and quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, not completely. I figured I had two more semesters of school to go before I had to make any kind of decision.” Shawnrik took one long look back at the plains below before moving along the rocky trail into the mountains. “Now I have a lot more to think about.”
“That’s the way of life. There’s always something else just out of sight that will come crashing down on you when you least expect it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m ready to get back to a nice quiet school where I can just be a kid for a little while longer.”
“I don’t blame you.” Pedrial said. “Sometimes I feel like I’m hiding away, trying to avoid the next big thing. I hope you have all the time in the world to be a kid.” Pedrial pushed Shawnrik’s shoulder, making the Half-Giant, or Half-Uloran, take a few steps to keep his balance.
“Me too.” Shawnrik grinned.