“Isil von Caligo. The Hero of Dawn, Savior of Life, Dynast Mage, Mana Sage, and more.”
She didn’t say it loudly. In fact, it was rather quiet. However, to King Darvos, the words seemed to be louder than the screams of a king bat in an echo chamber. He knew the titles that the woman in front of him proclaimed herself owning. More importantly, he knew the name she spoke. He knew it, of course he knew it. How could he not? He fought with her – bled with her. Their camaraderie had been forged in the most vicious of battles.
Yet… he didn’t… know her?
He could quite understand himself. He knew he knew the person in front of her very well, but… How did he not know her until now? It was impossible!
“You alright?” The woman-he-knew-yet-didn’t asked.
“I...” He was too stunned to use his royal pronouns. “… Come with me, we can talk in my office. I need to sit down or something...”
“You… probably need more than that. You look really pale.” The woman said, looking worried.
“Then have someone call the physician...” The king stumbled and he suddenly felt a firm grasp on his arm.
“You literally can’t stand.” She said, firm and demanding.
“I’ll be-”
“No, no you won’t,” She grabbed his arm and pulled it over her neck, using herself as a human crutch. “I thought you would’ve been less careless after the war, but noooo, you just have to… Haa, just come on.”
“Halt! What have you done to his majesty?!” A knight yelled, the tromp of heavy footsteps running over barely registering in the king’s mind.
“You were watching the entire time, what do you think happened?”
“Release him – this instant!”
“… If I had ill intentions, do you really think you would be in any position to negotiate? I don’t, but did you ever think that through?”
“You cannot escape! We have you surrounded!”
“And, for a moment, would you do me a favor and think about this? If I waltzed into the castle central, incapacitated the king in broad daylight, and didn’t immediately start running, what makes you think I wouldn’t have a plan?”
There was a moment of tense silence, where the king, though his senses were beginning to fail him as his mind began to overload him with memories, struggled to keep himself conscious under the strain. He pulled himself up by pushing down on the woman’s, Isil's shoulder.
“Very well, what are your terms?” The voice of his personal bodyguard demanded.
“I haven’t thought of that, what to steal, what to steal...” Isil snickered, but the king could detect a trace of panic in her voice as she dug herself into a deeper hole.
“Stop it before you say something you shouldn’t...” The king groaned, trying to maintain hold on his voice.
“We’re past that point.” Isil commented.
“Your majesty!” His bodyguard called out.
“I’m fine… I’m not a hostage, she’s just an idiot.”
“Hey.”
“I… need to… get to my quarters… before I pass out...” The king said, his words causing his concentration to slip and again be assaulted by his re-emerging memories.
He wasn’t in any pain, but it seemed to just wear on him, like waking up to a massive load of work, hearing the news of war, or the death of a friend. It was like the fatigue that built up when faced with adversity. It dragged him down, trying to bring him to an eventual state of apathy and entropy. Stagnation and placation. Order and silence.
He was slipping…
-_-_-
Isil felt extremely awkward. Her first meeting with an old comrade had turned into a hostage crisis, and she was the perpetrator. She had intended to walk in, drop a bombshell, get some information, then leave. The first two parts of the plan went fine, but it hit a speed bump with spikes in it after she dropped the bombshell and Darvos had a heart attack… or something similar. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but she didn’t like the idea of what it could be.
“I’m not sure what it is, but it does not seem anything physical.” A husky voice spoke, concerned.
“Some royal physician you are.” Isil quipped, but the tip of a sword that was already inches from her neck gravitated closer, and she shut up.
“Hold thy tongue, criminal.” The knight holding said sword spoke fiercely.
“You say that, yet I’ve not seen the torture chambers. Isn’t that the place that holds criminals?” She couldn’t resist flexing her quick wit.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The sharp sword lightly pressed against her neck, a warm feeling suddenly springing up around where the blade was touching her. She did as she was told and held her tongue. The sword drew away and Isil quickly healed the small wound. This caused the already murderous stares to turn from first degree to serial.
“Wait until your king wakes up before you cut me into ribbons, please. He might want to hear what I have to say.” Isil spoke.
“What wicked magicks you have for his majesty won’t be spoken, lest I cut your tongue out.”
“Now, I know you weren’t thinking of the spelling when you said that, but you 100% said magic with a ‘k’, didn’t you?”
“Your words will not save you. It is only through his majesty’s condition that you have received a stay of execution.”
“… Say, are royal knights recruited from commoners as well as nobles?”
“What? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, I’m thinking back to all the important people I’ve met and they all have elegant wordplay that puts mine to shame. I was wondering whether it was everyone, or just noble education.”
“...” The royal knight seemed utterly confused on how to answer the question.
“It’s probably best if you don’t speak with the prisoner.” Another royal knight chimed in.
“Yes, yes, right you are.” The royal knight Isil had been talking to shook his head in a defeated manner.
I need to learn to shut my big fat mouth better. Isil reflected on her mistakes well, but also realized she was going to do it again, even if it would eventually bite her back. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been mature enough to resist reigning in her tongue and likely wouldn’t ever be. She rubbed her wrists, thankful they didn’t tie her up yet. None of them had any rope to do so with, so they opted to point swords at her instead. She wasn’t sure which one she preferred.
“… Since I can’t be of use, I will go see if Hassar is in the castle. This is his area of expertise.” The royal physician said, standing up from the king’s bedside.
“Trust me, what’s happened to him isn’t Hassar’s area of study.” Isil commented, crossing her legs and leaning back in the chair.
“Why is she here? Who is she?” The physician demanded one of the knights.
“Caligo, Isil Caligo,” Mmm, no, that sounded terrible. Caligo needs to end in a consonant to make it sound anyway decent. “As for why I’m here… well, honestly I thought they would’ve just thrown me in the prison. So maybe they wanted information out of me and then immediately see if it works on Samil-”
“That’s his majesty to you, fiend.” A knight said, bringing their sword closer to her.
“- No. Anyway, that’s why they wanted me here.”
An armored hand entered Isil’s view and quickly disappeared, followed by a sudden pressure on her neck. She didn’t have time to react to it and was caught completely off-guard. The grip was strong and prevented her from speaking. She was shoved up against the backside of the chair and held their.
“You will address his majesty with the proper respect or else!” The knight choking her ordered.
Isil could only make wet gasping sounds in response.
After a few brief moments of letting the message sink in, the grip on her throat was released. Her head flew forward and downward as she desperately sucked in all the air she could. She broke out into a coughing fit and struggled to get herself under control. By the time her breathing was more manageable, the physician was already gone. She gently massaged her throat to ease the pain.
“Some way to treat a guest...” Isil mumbled to herself, sounding undaunted by the near-death experience.
Although her voice was steady, her psyche was not. For the first time, she had experienced a feeling of helplessness and a palpable threat of death. When she dealt with Amaties, the bandit trio, and the Trachyon, she was prepared, ready to fling magic from the tips of her fingers. Because she was ready, she didn’t even have to remember that she could use magic, but when the malicious intent came at her when she was unprepared, the logical part of her brain took a swan dive out a window.
With her power, she could snap her fingers and kill everyone in the room. However, when she was taken by surprise just once, by someone who didn’t even have any intent to kill her, she panicked, and badly. She felt ashamed. It didn’t have anything to do with her own magical ability, but rather her failure to react to a sudden choke, even when she had ample time to counter it. She could’ve done something. She should’ve done something.
… Guess I’ll just have to treat this as a lesson. Not that I want to, and probably won’t. I’ll forget it if something similar doesn’t happen in a few months. Damn the human mind – or, rather, elven mi-
The door burst open, shocking Isil out of her pity party. A middle-aged man with mostly gray hair poked his jeweled wooden staff at a random royal knight as he marched in.
“You there, brute – what has happened to his majesty?” He spoke in a voice Isil could easily imagine saying “rubbish” or “impossible” when confronted with a storybook hero showing off their power that defied common sense.
Isil stared at the man as he walked over to the king. She was dumbfounded someone could fit her image of a stereotypical grouchy, arrogant, gray-haired, hooked nose mage so well. She wasn’t sure whether to feel awe or pity towards the man. Though his staff was unnecessarily gaudy, she could feel his magic at work, and noted that he wasn’t bad. It wasn’t anything amazing, and even she, in her relatively novice usage, could do better, but she couldn’t scoff at it.
“Hmm…” The grouchy mage stroked his stubbly chin. “Whatever magic that was on his majesty is broken, and anything left that I can analyze are just fragments. There’s not enough for me to build a counter-spell.”
“Told ya.” Isil commented.
“Silence,” The knight that had previously explained the situation to the mage order her, then turned back to him. “Is there nothing you can do Hassar?”
“Unless this woman here wants to elaborate, then no.” Hassar said, shaking his staff at her.
“You gesture a lot with that stick. Wish I could help you, but I’d be down one head if I tried to do anything. Not exactly a tempting offer.” Isil yawned, now prepared for a royal knight slapping her on the head or choking her.
“This is not a stick! This is The 1000-colored Staff, show a little respect! And you will do as I say.”
“That is way too opulent a name for a walking stick. The staffs I hang on my walls are better than that. What are you compensating for?”
“Your waggling tongue wouldn’t know the difference between dog shit and souffle, and your eyes are blind! This staff has been handed down for generations of royal magicians – each have left their own improvements on it! It is the weapon of a hundred magicians combined, and your plebeian eyes -”
“Plebeian?!” Isil was incredulous, changing her lax posture to a more aggressive one. “Take a moment to look at these clothes with your old man eyes, and tell me if these are rags or tailored garments! I bet you I paid more for these than what you made in an entire year!”
Isil hadn’t gotten angry because Hassar was insulting her, but rather because he insulted her clothes. The ones she was wearing was one of her favorites, and insulting them was a very personal insult. Although many would perceive insult to their clothing as personal, Isil found clothing to be too varied and easily changed to be a personal insult. Insulting clothes she liked, however, was much more personal.
“Both of you, please!” A royal knight stepped in between them. “You are here to stay silent and consider your future, and Hassar! I thought you would be mature enough to ignore her childish insults, and yet here you are, flying off the handle at the smallest comment!”
“...” Isil was silent.
“...” Hassar was silent.
“… Thank you.” The royal knight said, breathing a breath of relief and stepping back.
“They’re not childish...” Isil mumbled.
“Do NOT start!” The royal knight jabbed his finger at her.
Isil nodded, and mimed zipping her mouth shut and tossing away the key. The gesture obviously didn’t make sense to the knight, but he understood the intent. He rubbed his forehead and sighed, evidently tired of the whole situation.
“Ahem, if we can get back on track...” Hassar said, a little bit more subdued. “There is nothing I can do, there’s too little for me to work with, and I am unclear as to his majesty’s current state. Unless our prisoner has had a change of heart, we are at a dead end.”
“I never had any ill intentions, my first impression was taken the wrong way, and I have a habit of running my mouth into a ditch. If you will let me, I will do my best to fix Sam - … his majesty’s condition.”
“That is...” The royal knight was uncertain.
“Worry not. With me here, there’s nothing she can do to his majesty unless I allow it.” Hassar said proudly.
Bold words from someone who couldn’t make heads or tails out of spell fragments. Isil mocked him mentally, but allowed him some concessions. She moved over to the bedside and sat down next to the king. If looks could kill, she’d be a desecrated corpse. She took a deep breath, and focused on the king. She gathered her mana, and slipped it into his body.