The Harmony entered the atmosphere of Thronehome at a leisurely pace, but by the time they had made it down to the planetary ocean, Vayra had only barely managed to hop up to the quarterdeck. She swung her left leg up a step. It was like locking her knee in place and trying to raise her leg to her chest. She just wasn’t flexible enough.
When she finally made it up to the quarterdeck, she lingered just behind the front railing, watching the ship prepare to enter the harbour. Already, the crew was furling up most of the sails, and the sailors at the prow were waiting to drop the anchors.
They passed the barge and checked in with the harbourmaster, which meant that, at any moment, the Order of Balance would be onto them. She looked at Nathariel, who stood just beside the wheel hub. The coxswain looked at him nervously, but kept his lips pressed tight together.
Nathariel would have nothing to worry about when it came to the members of the Order. It was Glade who Vayra was more concerned about. Under Nathariel’s instruction, he had broken through to Mate, the lowest stage of magic. She wasn’t sure how that stacked up against other members of the Order, but if even the Elders only made it Quartermaster, she suspected it had to be pretty good. Maybe they’d go easy on him.
The Harmony slipped into a berth in the military harbours. Bags of straw pressed against its hull, and the dockhands stretched a gangway across to the deck.
“The Order knows we’ve come back,” Pels said. “We should probably wait for them. I don’t need to be in any more trouble than I’m already in…”
“We’ll need a carriage, anyways,” Vayra said. She looked down the wharf, then up the other direction, but she didn’t see anything that looked like an Order carriage. Not yet.
Glade sprinted up the quarterdeck stairs two at a time, then stepped over to Vayra and paused beside her. “There is a high chance that there will be worse consequences for my actions than for Pels’s.”
“I’ll vouch for you,” she said. “You only came along to make sure I was safe. Doing your duty.”
He nodded slowly, then whispered, “Thank you.”
“Now…I should probably make my way down to the main deck before the Order arrives, so we don’t leave them waiting as I try to struggle down the stairs.” Vayra shifted, pushing her crutch back underneath her, then began to stutter back towards the quarterdeck stairs. At this rate, she shouldn’t have even climbed up them. “By the Streamfather, I feel like an old woman…”
“At least you do not sound like one,” Glade told her.
“Minor relief.”
“It will get better, I hope. At least you will be able to socket runestones onto your hand sooner than later.”
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By the time they arrived at the Gray Council’s meeting chamber, it was evening, and the sun was setting over the sprawling towers of Thronehome.
A pair of Order Adepts hauled the heavy doors open, allowing Vayra, Glade, and Nathariel to step into the center of the chamber. All of the Elders sat around the table, though they had taken away the seats at one end of the table so that all three of them could stand and face the Elders.
Vayra leaned her crutch against the table. As soon as the chamber’s doors began to close behind her, she opened her mouth, ready to vouch for Nathariel and Glade. All of the Elders’ hands rested on their swords, and she knew they expected a fight. Nathariel glared at them, however, and they all backed away.
Before Vayra could speak, one of the Elders (Miin, if she recalled) slapped his hand down on the table, and said, “You, Mediator, put yourself in incredible danger! You threatened the destruction of the galaxy, and for what?”
Vayra backed away. Her first, instinctive response wouldn’t have been measured, and so she slammed her lips shut. Without her crutch, she stumbled, but she thrust her flesh-and-blood leg back to catch herself and stop herself from tumbling back.
Admittedly, she had not been expecting them to be angry at her first. When she made it back to the table, she said, “I needed a teacher who could help me advance. The Order doesn’t have all the resources it used to, nor does Velaydia as a whole. To become a proper Mediator, to overcome the bottleneck I encountered, I needed to visit Nathariel. He was the only chance I had. You all made it incredibly clear how bad it would be to have a spiritually ‘lame’ Mediator.”
“And now you’re lame in other ways,” said the dwarven Elder.
Nathariel harrumphed, then approached the table. “She will overcome it with my help.” He set his hands on the table. They had been bound together by iron shackles, but he lifted them with ease, and whenever they clinked, he snorted with amusement. “She was a promising disciple, and she still is.”
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Elder Miin scowled. “You presume to teach—”
“That will be her choice, not yours, Elder.”
They remained silent for a few seconds. Vayra leaned on the table with both her arms. Her prosthetic elbow nearly buckled, but she compensated for it by putting more strength into her left arm. “Nathariel must go free,” Vayra said. “He helped me, and he saved me. And if I’m going to do my duty, I need a proper teacher.”
“He is not a bad man,” Glade added. “Whatever your past disagreements are, we need to put them aside. This is for the good of the galaxy. None of you were alive when he wronged you, if he ever did.”
“I seem to recall them hunting me because I was a potential threat,” Nathariel muttered, “not because I had truly done anything wrong.”
Vayra sighed, then said, “The point remains. Nathariel helped me. He doesn’t like God-heirs, and he wants to pass on his teachings to two of his disciples.”
“Two?” Elder Miin inquired.
“He agreed that he would teach me, as well,” Glade told them. “I mean no offense to any of the honoured Elders gathered here, but under Nathariel’s instructions, I advanced to Mate and established a domain over the sword itself.”
“And, after leaving the Order without so much as a note, you presume to return, with a new master, and accept our sympathies?”
“He has not abandoned the ways of the Order,” said another Elder. “He did his duty in assisting the Mediator, and helping ensure her safety. All while improving himself.”
“In these times, we need to take all the help we can get,” Elder Gheita said. “If that means allowing Nathariel to instruct one of our most promising disciples and raise him beyond what we ever could, I say we allow such an opportunity.” She looked over at Elder Miin and said, “Honoured Elder Eman-Fa would have stepped back and allowed Glade to train under a willing Admiral.”
Elder Miin’s face reddened, and he looked as though he was about to argue. But then, he took one glance at Nathariel, and whispered, “I concede. The Admiral is a better instructor for them both.” Then, he raised a finger, and added, “But neither of their transgressions should go unpunished. The Mediator should not have left, and Mr. Arvitir should not have left without so much as trying to stop her.”
“He tried to talk me out of it,” Vayra said, “and I didn’t listen.”
“I will submit a punishment if it means I am allowed to stay in the Order,” Glade said. “Or, if it means I am allowed to train with Mr. Layre.”
For a few minutes, the Gray Council discussed the punishment of Glade. They decided that, for a week, he would be mandated to lug water from the coast to the temple fountains with the other lowly disciples, and that it would be punishment enough for his transgressions.
Once Glade’s punishment was settled, Vayra said, “Now…the bounty hunters will still be after me. There will be plenty of people after me. I don’t think it’s wise for me to stay on Thronehome for an extended period of time.”
The council murmured in agreement. One of the Elders of the far side of the table said, “I am certain we could find a remote world for you to train—until you are needed on the Line of Battle to dispose of God-heirs.”
“You will depart in a week,” Elder Gheita said. “And Glade will travel with you once his punishment is served. Until then, remain in the city. We will have our surgeons tend to your wounds, to ensure that you are not at risk and that there is no lasting spiritual damage to your body.”
Vayra bowed her head. The council discussed a few more menial, minor points, before finally dismissing the three. Nathariel twisted his hands and chuckled, breaking the shackles off without so much as a grunt of exertion.
The Order Adepts guarding the chamber opened the doors, allowing the guests to leave.
Vayra stepped into the hallway outside and hobbled along. Glade and Nathariel matched her pace, but she only took a few steps before pausing at one of the windows. The last dregs of sunlight shone through the city smog, and eventually, they reached the windows.
She was about to keep walking, when Nathariel said, “You never told anyone if you wanted to continue your training with me.”
“I—” Vayra turned slowly in a circle, her leg trailing behind her. “I thought it was implied.”
“You won’t get any special treatment just because you’re the Mediator…”
“I don’t expect any.”
“And you must do your duty. No running off to fight Karmion because you get a little angry at him. You must promise me to have restraint, and to trust in your friends.”
“I promise, sir.”
“Then I will be your teacher, and you will be my disciple.” He glanced at Glade. “One of them. And we all have a lot of work to do.”
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Karmion paced across his map room. Above him hung an enormous golden spiral. Tiny specks glimmered in the candlelight, and tendrils of brass connected them all. The galaxy. Servants climbed up on step ladders to paint the tiny orbs the colours of planets.
Soon, it would all be his.
“I need the Mediator,” he grumbled, adjusting his hat. The plume of magically-suspended water sloshed. “I need her now. If the report is right, she’ll have a teacher. Nilsenir’s hunters aren’t working fast enough.”
A quill scratched against parchment, recording his words. He glanced over his shoulder at his aide, Mr. Lercer. Halfway through writing a sentence, the mortal man looked up and adjusted his glasses. “Your excellency, if you took action yourself, it would make your empire look weak, and…regrettably, you as well. A God afraid of a little girl from a barely-heard-of Velaydian planet?”
“I am aware.” Karmion stopped and looked up at the enormous map. He adjusted the lapels of his coat, then took one more step back. All around the golden galactic map was a vast, empty plain. Who knew what lurked outside their Streams and stars? He needed to assert absolute dominance, and he needed to do it now.
But it wasn’t worth tearing apart his empire from the inside out.
“I have something in mind. It should help us avoid all this…honour nonsense. Follow me, please…”
To be continued…
[End of Volume 2]