Griffith watched with muted awe as dozens of sailors and fishmongers clambered over the slowly rotting corpse of what had once been a mighty animal.
Mighty enough to have once been thought of as a god.
And now she was dead.
“Al’Hundra,” Captain Sulla, as she’d introduced herself, breathed. “I honestly never thought it’d happen. Let alone that I’d be alive to witness it.”
Griffith hummed in quiet agreement with the city guardswoman with whom she was supposed to be liaising. Which was a polite way of saying that she was present to ensure that none of Al’Hundra’s scales went missing between the time they were pried from the Kraken’s corpse and transported to the palace.
Already a few had ‘disappeared’ as a result of the actions of a few enterprising fishermen. Women who had happened upon the corpse in the early hours of the morning, prior to the arrival of the city guard.
Given that even a handful of anti-magic scales could see a plebian woman and her family set for life, it wasn’t surprising at all that a number of them were seen fleeing the scene when the city guard arrived to start securing the beach.
If they were smart those women would be halfway to the old Imperial continent by now – their families safely ensconced in their fishing boats along with any prized possessions they might own.
Because any that were foolish enough to stay and attempt to sell their newfound prizes to the local fences would be in for a rude awakening. Griffith gave it a day before the palace guard were knocking down the doors of any man or woman who had even the slightest connection to the black markets.
Never mind that the number of scales that had been ‘stolen’ would likely be less than even a percentage point of the total number present on the beach before her.
The crown could not afford to squander even the most minor of advantages – and a sudden windfall of anti-magic scales was no small advantage.
Hence why she and a dozen other instructors and guards from the Academy’s Royal House were out here watching over the city guardswomen watching over the labourers.
And it was telling that requests from other Houses to aid in maintaining the perimeter around Al’Hundra had been politely, but firmly, declined.
Griffith glanced up to where a number of airships from the Royal Fleet hung overhead, searching for any more ‘chunks’ of the great beast that looked like they might wash up.
“This’ll throw the merchants into a tizzy for sure,” Sulla continued. “You know they actually change their trade routes based on the old girl’s nesting seasons.”
“Truly?” Griffith asked.
“Oh aye. Not because of the beast herself - big kraken like her prefer to stick to the depths - but because of her offspring.”
Griffith hummed at the thought. She herself was only tangentially aware of the habits of Krakens, but even she knew that the real threats to ocean bound vessels were the younglings.
“I would have thought they’d be more concerned about what might have done this to her?” the Dark Elf gestured to the corpse.
A corpse that unfortunately provided little enough evidence to her eyes as to what made it that way. A few days spent drifting with the currents had seen more than a few examples of sea-life nibble at the corpse.
“Eh, probably a deep-dweller,” Sulla said casually.
“Deep dweller?”
The captain scratched beneath her steel helmet. “Catchall term, ma’am. For what most people are a few different species that prefer to live real deep. No one’s never actually seen one, or at least, not seen one and lived to tell about it, but it ain’t unknown for ships in open water to sometimes come across the savaged remains of Kraken floating about.”
“And how do they know it’s not another kraken that did the deed?” Griffith asked, morbidly curiois despite herself.
She’d had little to no reason to ever in her life board a seaborne ship, but the thought of creatures that actually preyed on creatures as large as Kraken awakened a deep seated dread in her.
“Never seen it myself, ma’am, just echoing what I’ve heard from traders. Apparently it’s mostly a lack of sucker-wounds,” Sulla said. “Plus, Kraken have relatively small beaks. Pretty hard to bite another kraken in half with just that.”
In half!?
Paling a little at the thought, the dark elf quietly decided that given that she’d managed to survive this long without having ever stepped foot on a sea-ship, she saw little reason to ever do so in the future.
She didn’t care if these ‘deep-dwellers’ never rose high enough to attack ships, she did not relish the thought of sharing any amount of space with creatures that large.
Dragons are bad enough, she thought.
“So you think Al’Hundra finally ran afoul of a… deep dweller?”
Sulla shrugged. “Couldn’t rightly say, ma’am. Heard she was supposed to be protected from that kind of thing because her nest was somewhere a bit more shallow than girls her size are supposed to prefer.”
Protection that clearly wasn’t infallible, even if it apparently served her well enough for a few thousand years, Griffith thought as she looked out at the ancient creature.
“Mostly the tradies are going to be…” the captain trailed off as something caught her eye. “Oh, looks like the shinies are here. Finally.”
Griffith deliberately ignored the guardswoman’s slightly insulting nickname for the palace guard given the ambient animosity between the two groups.
She could admit though that the nickname was apt.
The small group of cavalry women now streaming down toward the beach was quite shiny. Not just their gleaming white armour, but the coats of their unicorn mounts as well.
Given that a unicorn would only allow virginal women to ride them, the mounts were more than just fast and deadly steeds, they were also a symbol of the order’s dedication to their oaths.
Celibacy being amongst the least.
“I’ll start getting my people ready to pull out now that the cavalry have finally deigned to show up,” Sulla said with just a hint of resentment.
Griffith nodded along though. “And I suppose I’ll go see if my own are staying or going.”
Given the strategic value of Al’Hundra’s corpse, it wasn’t too surprising that the Queen’s orders were for the city guard to only remain for so long as it took the palace guard to mobilize for a sortie beyond the palace grounds.
The only question was if those same guards had enough numbers to effectively guard the perimeter to the beach. At only three hundred women strong, Griffith knew they’d be stretched thin trying to guard both the palace and this new resource.
As she walked over to where the leader of the new arrivals seemed to be, she caught snippets of conversation from the crowds present at the perimeter of the beach, held back by a thick line of steely eyed city guardswomen.
“…Idea how much this is going to cost me?” One woman, obviously a merchant captain by the cut of her clothes. “I can’t afford to wait around those overgrown squid to decide a new queen bitch.”
“Then sail around her old nest,” her companion, also a merchant, said disinterestedly.
“And add days to my trip?” the first squawked. “Not all of us deal in ingots woman. Somes of us have perishables. And contracts.”
The second merchant shrugged. “Well, you could always try risking her old territory.”
This time another woman laughed. “Ha, I can think of quicker and simpler ways to commit suicide. Any kraken within a hundred miles of her territory is going to be in a frenzy. I genuinely pity any fool that happens to be on a return trip right now.”
Ah, Griffith hadn’t though of that. Any ship that wasn’t currently aware of Al’Hundra’s death would likely be sailing into a veritable warzone.
Quietely she made a note to see if perhaps one the royal fleet’s smaller airships might be dispatched to warn any incoming sea-bound vessels away from the area.
Provided they flew the Lindholmian flag.
…She could care less what happened to any traders from Solite or Lunite.
So caught up in her thoughts was she, that she nearly missed another snippet of conversation. From another pair of merchants, ones who looked noticeably less affluent than the first pair she’d seen.
“…Think she can salvage the graveyard with Al’Hundra gone…”
Griffith didn’t bother to listen to any more though.
After all, as the other woman earlier said, there were quicker and easier ways to commit suicide.
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With that said, there would always be fools hoping to attain the ‘mystical’ treasure of Al’Hundra’s hoard.
Morons the lot of them. One may as well seek to touch the moon itself.
As she continued walking, she reached into her jacket pocket for a rather thick envelope. One containing a letter she’d originally intended to have delivered in the most clandestine manner she could.
Fortunately, the current circumstances allowed her to bypass that issue entirely.
So it was that she put on a practiced smile as she strode toward the mounted palace guardian who was already bellowing orders to anyone and everyone.
At least this way I can thoroughly wash my hands of the problem, she thought. From here on out the Ashfield problem will officially be above my paygrade.
And for a woman who avoided her own fiefdom in the name of staying away from politics, that almost made being forced to stay up all night breathing in the unique aroma of tons of rotting squid worth it.
Almost, she thought.
-----------------
Janet Ashfield was more aware than most of just how expensive having a prolonged conversation via communication-orb could get.
For starters, the actual physical orbs themselves weren’t cheap. Finding the crystals the things were made of, harvesting them, transporting them, before finally shaping them was an expensive process unto itself.
But that wasn’t where the true cost lay.
No, that lay in the infrastructure required to actually make use of the damn things. Because their range was limited. Admittedly, in the tens or hundreds of kilometres – depending on the quality of the crystal – but limited all the same.
The solution to that limitation came in the form of royal-waystations. Each with their own orb. Each manned by a rotating shifts of plebian-mages employed by the Crown, whose only job it was to power the orb they’d been entrusted with.
Plebian mages, admittedly, a step below even mage-smiths, but mages all the same.
Together, hundreds of these waystations, acting as part of a great interconnected orb-based network, served to allow nobles from across the continent to communicate with each other in real time.
Provided they could afford the royal-waykeeper’s fee. And didn’t much mind the unspoken reality that anything communicated via orb would invariably end up reaching the ears of the Queen. Or the fact that said line of communication could be cut at any moment if a call with higher ‘priority’ happened to need one of the waystations that was currently being used to facilitate one’s call.
…In short, as miraculous as the waykeeper-network was, there was a good reason conventional messenger based communication still remained in service.
To that end, a call coming all the way from Blicland Academy was not something to be dismissed as inconsequential. She would know, given that she’d just recently paid for a similar call in reverse but a few weeks ago.
It didn’t much matter that the caller was apparently working on behalf of the crown, she was quite sure the waykeeper-network would receive their due regardless.
That thought alone sparked some small joy in her mind as the dark elf opposite her tiredly continued an argument that had already been raging for a good hour at this point.
“I’m sorry Madam Ashfield, but unless you can describe your son’s most recent innovation to me fully, I cannot in good faith claim this innovation to be an Ashfield design.”
Janet gritted her teeth, as she loomed over her desk. “And as I have said, I cannot explain this item to you until you explain what it is you are asking for confirmation are. Otherwise I can only see this as a pointless attempt by a lowly Instructor to fish for Ashfield secrets.”
The dark elf once more raised a hand, gesturing to a letter there like it was some kind of shield. “And I remind you once more that I am speaking to you now not as an Instructor but as a representative of the Crown – chosen only because of my familiarity with the innovation in question.”
That was telling. It meant that whatever William had created, it was noteworthy enough that the Crown wanted to keep the number of people informed of its existence as small as possible.
That boy, she thought frustratedly. Where was this innovative mindset while he was growing up?
Certainly, he’d been quietly dubbed a visionary in the kitchen – even if it had ended up being almost completely overshadowed by his scandalous behaviour - but who would honestly believe that same creativity and genius could be applied to spellwork?
Because he’d certainly had opportunities to express himself in that manner if he’d so chosen. Perhaps his education on combat related applications for his magic had been a bit lesser than it would have been if he’d been born a woman, but it hadn’t been absent entirely.
Yet at most, his tutors had decreed his performance as a mage to be fundamentally solid, but with little deviation from the textbook.
Something that hadn’t raised a single eyebrow, given that that kind of performance was perfectly normal for a man. Janet had just assumed that while William was dutifully learning what was required, he had little true interest in it like he did his cooking.
Now she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d either been hiding his true talents – for what purpose though!? – or his time spent in the Academy had caused some kind of… awakening in him.
Certainly she’d hoped that he might straighten up a bit under the less tender hands of Blicland’s military instructors, but the reports she was getting back from her informants in the facility went so far beyond that it beggared belief.
And now this, she thought.
“Representative of the crown or not, I refuse to be baited into revealing hints into the contents of the Ashfield magical library in the hopes of blindly guessing that some of it relates to whatever my son has chosen to publicly unveil.”
That was horseshit of course. The Ashfield magical library was far from empty, but none of its contents related to ‘new spells’, merely educated guesses into the processes behind other house’s proprietary magics.
Something she was sure was the case for a good ninety percent of the houses in Lindholm.
Truly ‘new’ magic just wasn’t all that common – and the houses did manage to create something new rarely kept it under lock and key for long when it could be used to better benefit them by being used and/or sold on.
Yet her son had apparently created not just one, but two new magics.
Though I can’t help but wonder if this new discovery is more akin to a novel application of existing magics than a truly new spell, she thought.
God, what she would do for a few minutes of conversation with him before she was ambushed like this…
Though that was likely exactly why she’d been ambushed like this.
The Crown wanted this spell and were clearly not afraid of bending a few rules to get it. So much so that they were attempting to claim the spell belonged to her son alone rather than House Ashfield.
And if it belonged to him alone, well, it would be much easier to pry it from the hands of a boy of eighteen than a noble House.
“We do not need to ‘fish’ or flail blindly,” the glasses wearing bitch trying to steal from her family continued. “Your son has already demonstrated the spell in action to me as part of his academic testing process. As it stands, I can recreate it. My role here and the purpose of this conversation is merely to ascertain beyond a shadow of a doubt whom the original creator of the spell is.”
Janet shrugged. “Assuming I believed that, William is a part of House Ashfield. Thus, the spell is an Ashfield spell.”
Griffith shook her head. “That would be the case if he attributed it as such. He has not. He claims it as his and his alone.”
Janet stilled. “…You lie.”
William had his issues with their house – and he was definitely unhappy with her laying claim to his other spell – but surely that wouldn’t seem him go so far as to deliberately snub his own family?
To be a part of a noble house was to owe an oath of fealty to it. Everything Janet had done, from birthing her secondborn to scheming with House Blackstone was part of that oath. To be part of a house was to see it prosper.
She… could not conceive of the notion of one of her own family… snubbing it like that.
Especially over something as ridiculous as an unfavourable match, she thought hollowly. As part of a duchess’s family, he would have wanted for nothing. Hells, even if he never came to love or even like the Blackstone girl, surely one of the girl’s retinue would have been agreeable enough?
Such was the tacit understanding of communal marriages. Janet had long come to terms with the fact that her own marriage with William’s father had been less about love on his part and more about marrying into her family. Amongst her sister-wives, she knew she had not been the one with whom her husband’s heart truly lay.
That had been fine. Not ideal, but fine. The man had provided her a son – and would have provided her with more if not for his accident.
That was in line with their agreement.
…Even if she had truly loved him.
“I do not,” Griffith reiterated. “That is the reality of the situation. William Ashfield wishes to lay sole claim to his latest innovation – irrespective of his familial ties.”
That was it. She wouldn’t hear a word more of this slander.
“That is enough,” she said firmly. “Before this topic continues I would hear from my son. Not the woman attempting to twist one of her charges to her own political ends.”
She was sure of it. This was some ploy by an instructor hoping to cash in on her son’s genius by handing it to the crown.
And given the way the woman in the orb scowled at her words, Janet was sure her accusation had found fertile ground.
Yet the dark elf remained calm.
“So be it,” the other woman said tiredly. “I suspected this would come up at some point in this conversation, though I had hoped to confirm William as the true owner of his innovation first.” She gestured to the side as she moved out of the orb’s field of view. “To that end, William has been sat in the room throughout our conversation.”
He had?
And sure enough, it wasn’t a moment before the familiar expression of her firstborn – but not heir – slid into view, his expression as stoic as the last time she’d seen it.
…Which she now realized was when she laid claim to his previous invention – while denying his request to stay with his team in return.
Despite herself, she frowned.
This was likely to be a delicate conversation.
“Hello William,” she said, gathering herself.
He nodded. “Hello Mother.”
It was not a warm greeting. Nor was it scornful, as she might have expected from a bitter child acting out.
It was just… cold.
Like this was a chore that he didn’t relish, yet could not avoid.
“Please Will,” Janet said. “Tell me what it is you took from our libraries. If you don’t… well, this can’t be written off as just another youthful indiscretion.”
It would be a betrayal of the House, in as stark a terms as could be written.
She didn’t want that. No one wanted that. For all his faults, William was still her son. But if he went through with this… it would be a blackmark that would never wash out.
“Believe me, I’d like to,” he said slowly.
“Then do so,” she encouraged. “Do not let a moment’s pique overcome a lifetime of love.”
And he had been loved. As only a son could be. By both her, his sister and his law-aunts.
Because they were family – and while she could not deny that perhaps her son had suffered more than most in the name of that family when Olivia was made heir over him and the Flashbang was attributed to their library, that was ultimately part of his duty to the house.
That did not mean they didn’t love him. Eventually he would realize that. That his replacement as heir and betrothal to House Blackstone was the best thing for everyone.
Even if he couldn’t see it now.
Yet rather than acquiesce, she watched him sigh. “That’s the thing. I don’t doubt that you love me. Which is what makes this harder than I want it to be. But ultimately, I have to do it.”
“Why?” She didn’t shout, keeping her tone even through sheer will.
“You said it yourself. You still think my issues with the Blackstones are borne of some… immature difference of opinion. A momentary jerk reflex to the notion of a marriage I didn’t choose.” He shrugged. “And why would you think otherwise? After all, I’m just a powerless young man who doesn’t know any better. My complaints, acts of rebellion and arguments have fallen on deaf ears because ultimately they don’t amount to anything. Just words in the wind from a child.” He looked at her then, truly looked at her. “Because a man drawing a line in the sand is just a tantrum if he lacks the power to enforce it.”
Janet struggled not to say something as he stared at her with those eyes – so much like her own. “Well, now I have power. The power to hurt our family by denying it a valuable tool. And you’re right, that means that my actions can no longer be written off as youthful indiscretions.”
He took a breath. “So let me say it now, loud and clear, with the weight of something tangible enough to hurt backing it up. I will not marry Tala Blackstone. I will never make common cause with slavers.” His eyes softened. “I’m sorry mom. Truly. Deeply. But it seems this is the only way you’ll understand.”
And she did.
For the first time in her life, she did.
…But it changed nothing.
Because even if her boy had power enough to hurt her now – it was nothing compared to the force arrayed against him.
Still, she couldn’t help the small shred of pride that swelled in her chest as she started to think of new ways to crush this ongoing act of foolish rebellion – heartfelt or otherwise.
“So be it, son,” she kept her voice steady, as befitted the House of Ashfield. “We shall each act as we think is right. And the victor shall decide whose vision for the future shall be made real.”