The aftermath of Quinten's spar with Master Zekial was a flurry of activity. An assistant ran off, returning promptly with a well-stocked kit full of bandages and other items required to treat minor wounds. The Quartermaster allowed the assistant to clean away the blood from his forehead, giving the fretting man the opportunity to see the healed cut. Its lack of bleeding, a testament to Ronan’s skill.

Annoyed with his assistant’s mother hen routine, he had Quinten, Cedric, and Ronan test how the manadrite they’d received affected their Gifts.

Cedric saw an appreciable increase in his casting speed, allowing him to shift and manipulate his telekinesis far faster than he could with it removed.

In Ronan’s case, his manadrite ring boosted his ability to heal, either by prolonging how long he could sustain a healing, or by flooding a wound with far more energy that he could naturally release. The latter came with an increased energy requirement, and or that fact alone, it likely wouldn’t be something he used often. But in an emergency, it might allow him to heal what could otherwise be fatal.

Quinten appeared to be one of those that received an increase in both power and in the speed of their casting. Neither was boosted to the same level as Cedric or Ronan, but he saw enough of both that Quinten was happy with the discovery. It was when he started experimenting with his new sword and his Gift, trying to recreate the shield-breaking attack he’d accidentally used on Master Zekial, that things took a turn for the unexpected.

“Normally, a mage will channel their Gift into a piece of manadrite, where it is focused and returned to them at an increased potency. That is where the boost to power or speed comes from. In the end, it is still channeled through the mage.” Explained Master Zekial. “This though… I wasn’t expecting.”

“This” being Quinten's ability to cast through the blade.

He’d thought over the incident while his friends were tested, and believed he had an idea of how to replicate the attack. The shield exploded in a burst of energy, but not one of Elemental. With that in mind, he’d channeled his Physical gift into the sword, watching as it shone with a faint blue light, barely visible under his close observation. His test strike left a shattered practice dummy and four pairs of ringing ears. The assistant having already left, with the on-lookers being kicked out of the room long before. Knowing the wooden dummy had been made to withstand hundreds of blows left Quinten feeling nauseous at the idea of actually hitting someone with such an attack.

“You’re going to want to test out what else she can do.” The old man suggested before warning in a lower tone, “And you probably want to do it where you have some privacy. These are the kinds of secrets that can save your life.”

They are also the type of secrets that can get you killed, he thought.

Shifting his gaze from staring at the sword Quinten looked at Master Zekial and asked. “You keep calling it she, as if the sword is alive. Does she have a name?”

The Quartermaster returned Quinten's gaze with raised brows. “Who’s to say she’s not? I made her, the finest I have ever created. If anyone would know, it’d be me—and of course, she has a name.”

Quinten waited, hanging on the old smith’s words. When new ones failed to come, he scowled as a grin broke through the man’s salt and pepper beard.

“Her name—is Astraea.”

*****

The Quartermaster took his leave of them then. Handing the trio off to another assistant with a clipboard that went down the list of standard equipment issued to Core mages. You could refuse an item and purchase a better quality one of your own, but the Mage Core did its best to ensure that none of its members went without the essentials.

Cedric received the lone set of gift-imbued gear. As a shifter, he was given a set of battle robes that could shift with him, saving him from shredding his clothes and walking around immodestly until he could replace them after shifting back.

The three young mages followed a pair of laborers as they pushed a cart loaded with their equipment through a set of heavy wooden doors leading to a large staging area. The sound of working men and the smell of horses and their waste met Quinten as he took in the open courtyard. Large supply wagons marked with the Mage Core symbol filled the space as men worked in the day’s heat to load them. He sympathized, knowing things would only get worse as summer continued to settle in.

“Beg your pardon, my lords.” One of their guides said, ”You’ll need to show the Sergeant your orders. He’s the one who’ll get your things added to their loading list.”

“Thanks, Carl.” Said Cedric, palming the man a silver before ruining the subterfuge by flicking a second to his partner, the glint of metal reflecting the mid-day sun.

Following the man’s advice, they did as suggested. Signing over their gear for transport, receiving a numbered tag in return that indicated which wagon their items would be stored in.

With the last task on their deployment check-list completed. They were free for the rest of the day. The supply train heading west not being scheduled to depart for another two days. Quinten was happy for the time. There were several things he wanted to pick up for the journey.

*****

After asking a nearby stableboy where they could find the closest exit, Quinten led his friends out of the side door, nearly knocking over the guard standing before it.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

The guardsman turned, the back of his neck red in anger as he scowled at Quinten. Seeing their newly issued brown robes, indicating their status as Core mages, the man’s expression quickly shifted.

“It’s no trouble, my lords. It happens all the time. I wish they’d put a latch on that thing, so I’d be able to hear it when someone goes to open it.” Letting out a nervous laugh, he continued. “Or better yet, they’d just bar the star’s cursed thing, and I wouldn’t have to stand here.”

Staring at the man and trying to process the flood of words, Quinten just nodded. “I don’t suppose you know where we can get something to—”

“Q... Over here…”

He stopped talking, hearing his name on the wind. Looking around, it only took him a moment to find the purple-robed figure standing atop the steps to a carriage near the headquarter’s main entrance.

Apologizing for bumping into the guard once more, he nodded in his grandfather’s direction and the trio headed his way. Stepping down to the cobblestone street, Ed greeted them with a pained smile and a look of confusion at Ronan’s presence.

Quinten took a close look at the older man and wasn’t happy with what he saw. Grandfather looked tired, appearing older than usual. He likely hadn’t been using his Gift to smooth out the new lines around his mouth and the ruddy blotching coloring his face.

“I’m glad I caught you. The rest of the Council stonewalled me when it came to your orders. The Archmage must have come down hard on them after voting to clear you.” Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, he asked. “Did you do something foolish, boy?” Raising a brow at Ronan’s blushing face.

“Most likely,” he said with a small grin. “Not that I regret it.”

“Now it makes sense…” Grandfather mumbled to himself.

Shaking off the thought, he said, “Let’s hope it stays that way.” He looked at each of them in turn. “While I couldn’t change your orders, I found out what I could about your command. The Mage Regiment is being led by Mage Commander Taskin, Duke Alistair’s cousin.”

Quinten stifled a groan at the news, but the look his grandfather gave him said he had the right of it.

“It’s a political appointment, assigned after the failure of the prince’s campaign in the north. A way of earning back his honor and prestige as a leader.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “He’s a snake, boys. You would do well to keep your distance from him. More than one of his detractors has been given the opportunity of leading a charge and not surviving the honor.”

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Quinten, Ronan, and Cedric each nodded their understanding.

Stepping forward, he pulled Quinten to the side, creating a tight pocket of air around only them. Looking him over, his grandfather took notice of his new sword. “Isn’t that a pretty piece of steel?” Quinten grinned. He placed his palm against the wide pommel, unable to resist touching it. He felt like a boy with his first practice sword. The buzzing sensation from earlier ran through his touch, quickly becoming a feeling of comfort.

Grandfather paused, seeming to consider. He nodded to himself and pulled a ring from his finger, handing it over. Quinten recognized it instantly. He’d seen it every day living with his grandparents. Polished gold, it bore the symbol of House Wycliff pressed into the bezel. Turning it over in his hand, Quinten's head whipped up in shock.

On the inside band of the ring, just behind the stylized image of a peregrine falcon, was a section of ring missing the gold-plating. In its place shimmered the blue-grey of manadrite.

Smiling, Grandfather nodded. “It’s what you think. That ring has been in our family for generations. I want you to wear it. That sword will draw a lot of eyes and if you are ever separated from it, having this in reserve could save your life.”

The worry and concern in his grandfather’s voice hit Quinten hard. Reaching out, he pulled the older man in for a tight hug, getting a hard squeeze in return.

“Thank you. I will keep it close.”

Giving one last squeeze, his grandfather stepped back and motioned to the carriage. “I wanted a little more insurance than just some ring.” He said, breaking the privacy barrier around them. “I’m sending one more thing along with you. Thankfully, he made it here in time.”

Quinten looked over to see Garrick stepping down from the carriage. Grinning, he approached the grizzled old master-at-arms. Breaking propriety, he gave the man a hug. “It’s good to see you, old man. Grandfather is finally going to put you back to work. No more sitting by the fire getting fat, eh?”

“Sod off you little shi—I mean, my lord,” replied Garrick with a wide smile of his own.

Stepping back, Cedric and Garrick exchanged grips before Quinten introduced him to Ronan.

“So you are the one to blame for all the training exercises this big idiot has been making us do?” He asked as he gripped Garrick’s outstretched wrist.

The old soldier let out a belly laugh and shook his head. “I’m not taking all the blame for that. I wasn’t his only instructor.” Eyes flicking to Cedric, he continued, “Though it sounds like my lessons on how to throw a punch were taken to heart. The Archmage’s son, lad? You grew into a pair, didn’t you?”

Grinning, Cedric could only shrug. “You use what you’ve got. That’s what you taught us, right?”

“Enough of that,” Grandfather said with a wave of his hand. “You lot are heading off to war. It’s only right that you do so on a full belly, and not that slop they serve you in the Core kitchens. Let’s go.”

The group made their way through the city streets. Busier now that the day was drawing to an end, giving way to night. Grandfather took them to a large and well lit building. The mouth watering smell of cooked meat and baked bread wafted through its open windows, setting Quinten's stomach to growling its excitement.

The tavern bustled with life, its low ceiling trapping in the scent of the cook fires that crackled in every corner. The smell of stew and baked bread filling the space. Wooden beams, darkened by years of smoke, stretched across the ceiling like the ribs of an old ship. The long tables were crowded with patrons, a mix of rough-looking soldiers, travelers, merchants, and locals enjoying a hearty meal.

Quinten and his companions were seated near the main fire. Their new Mage Core robes and the purple that marked Grandfather as a Councilman, earning them a wide berth as they enjoyed their food. The tavern girls were sure to keep their cups full, doing their best to show off their—assets—at every opportunity.

I wish I could see Izzy one more time before we leave, Quinten thought, watching a rather busty waitress walk by with four large steins held to her chest.

Flick!

“Knock that off, boy. If you come back from war with a bastard, your grandmother would kill you,” Grandfather said with a prominent scowl as Quinten covered his throbbing ear.

Laughing, Cedric leaned across the table and whispered, “No need to worry about that, my lord. He can turn that bit of magic off whenever he chooses.” Wiggling his brows in insinuation.

Grandfather looked at Quinten with his own brows raised, to which he received a small nod in acknowledgment. “Huh, that’s probably one I should have taught you. There was no need for it when I was your age. I never learned it.”

Quinten winced. “Can we talk about something else?” He asked with a shiver, earning a laugh from the rest of the table. Turning to Garrick, he asked. “How’d you get here so quickly? It had to have taken days for you to get here.”

Instead of the man answering, Quinten's grandfather spoke up. “I sent a bird home to your grandmother as soon as I secured the votes needed to get you free. I didn’t want her to worry. I had her send one to Henry for the same reason. Hopefully, the news of your release reaches him before he does something drastic.”

Quinten rapped his knuckles against the wooden table, happy that his grandfather’d brought up the subject.

Raising a wall of air around their table every bit as tight and smooth as his grandfather had earlier, he asked. “About the voting—how did you manage to secure enough to get us out?”

Grandfather sighed, looking at those around the table. Quinten met his eyes levelly. He trusted his friends with his life and had no problem with them hearing what it’d cost him.

“Council voting… is complicated, as are most things at that level of decision within the kingdom. Nearly everything has some political ramification and it has only gotten worse since my return. Before my vote was deemed biased, which is a crock of starfire. Every vote is biased.” He said in a low tone that matched his brows.

“You already had the Healer, Selena’s vote as soon as the Infirmary confirmed the poor girl's condition. Petra, who oversees the Mage Core and Academy, initially voted for you but changed it overnight. I can only imagine the Archmage put pressure on her. I’m sure similar events have happened in the Core that never made it into the public eye. If that fact became well known, no one would be comfortable sending their daughters to the Academy or the Core, not knowing it put them at risk. Her time on the Council would be short-lived. By voting against you, I can only imagine she was promised it wouldn’t happen.”

Clearing his throat, he downed the rest of his drink. “We’d have lost it then, and you’d likely still be in a cage instead of enjoying this fine ale.” He said, motioning for the barmaid to fetch them another round.

Quinten found himself frowning at his grandfather’s hesitation until it clicked.

This was where the true cost of his actions had to be paid, he realized.

“That same night—I had a visitor. Reven came to see me….” He said. Looking Quinten in the eye. “She was willing to give you her vote if you agreed to help her in return sometime in the future.” A shiver wracked his body. “Owing that woman anything is a terrifying prospect, and the promise I had to make on your behalf came without restrictions, but it was the only agreement she was willing to accept.” He said, his frustration with the situation evident.

The barmaid, with perfect timing, chose that moment to approach their table. She paused just long enough for Grandfather to drop the privacy barrier before passing out her loaded tray. While everyone watched her, Quinten kept his gaze on the older man. He could tell that there was more, and potentially worse news to come.

As his grandfather opened his mouth to continue. Quinten felt a tingle of regret and guilt settle into his stomach, turning the recent meal sour. His eyes narrowed, knowing where the emotion was coming from and that he’d been right.

“The next two votes came at a cost… thankfully, the same one.” Fidgeting with his newly filled glass, Grandfather slowly spun his drink as he stared into its depths. “I mentioned how Council decisions are political? It’s because many nobles have some sway over its members.”

Looking at Ronan, he said. “I went to your father first, hoping your friendship with these two would make him more inclined to help.” Ronan snorted, and Grandfather nodded, giving him a slight smile. “I figured out that you’d already been to see him, requesting the same thing. You can imagine how that conversation went.”

“Like I was there to witness it,” he said. Ronan’s pained expression making it clear he understood.

“When that didn’t work, I went to the Greve’s estate directly. It’s well known Althea makes the voting decisions for both of them. Without a Duke’s influence, our best option was to appeal to her financial desires. They are many, and varied. And likely the reason she is now the Master of Coin.” Grimacing, he continued. “It wasn’t cheap, but I bought their votes with a percentage of the County’s revenue for the next three years—Don’t make that face at me, boy. I’d do it again if I had to.”

Quinten continued to glare at him. “And punish your people for my troubles? No, you will take it out of the investments I have with you and from the Earldom’s accounts, if the first doesn’t cover it. I’m not letting anyone else pay for the decisions I make.”

The two locked eyes in a contest of wills. Eventually, and to the surprise of those at the table, it was Grandfather who turned away in acquiescence. “Fine. I’ll do as you’ve ask.”

Quinten nodded, letting the conversation draw to a close. But he wasn’t fooled. The guilt and regret he was feeling from the man hadn’t faded at all. If anything, it’d only increased.

*****

Ed watched through the open window as the carriage pulled away, leaving his grandson and his friends behind.

“You didn’t tell him.” Garrick said, a statement more than a question.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What would it have accomplished? You saw his reaction to the payments. How well do you think telling him that would have gone over?”

Garrick’s grunt turned into a low laugh. “Terribly, my lord. I can see your point.”

Drawing the curtain over the window in an attempt to help ward off the headache he could feel coming on, Ed sent a pulse of his Healing gift through his body to clear his mind.

“I’ll tell him, but not until after he returns. He’ll have enough to keep him busy until then.” Frowning, he said without consideration. “I hope it goes without saying, but I don’t want him learning of it from you.”

Garrick sat up straight, and Ed could tell he’d offended the man. He just didn’t have the energy to care, his face smoothing out as he donned a soldier’s professionalism like a well-worn cloak.

“Of course, my lord.”

Meeting the master-at-arm’s eyes, Ed said, “Thank you.”

An awkward silence filled the carriage for several minutes before Garrick asked. “What am I to do if he meets someone out west?”

Closing his eyes once more, Ed rested his head against the padded wall beside him.

“As long as he doesn’t try to marry them, leave them be. He has a few more years yet to enjoy himself before the debt comes due.”