Avon River Crossing
Western Marches
As their caravan crested the hill, Quinten had his first opportunity to see where his grandfather, the Lord Marshal, had picked for the staging ground and the command center for the kingdom’s defense against the Drakovians.
The Avon River was the largest water crossing closest to Rivenna’s western border with Drakovia. In the past, it had been considered the end of their kingdom. Population growth and a higher demand for food forced the expansion of Rivenna across the river and into the plains beyond. The fertile fields were just too valuable to the growing kingdom as potential farmland. As the realm expanded and new villages were created to grow food. The open plains did not lend themselves to natural chokepoints where the Rivennans could create easily defensible structures without a lot of magical assistance. Instead, a number of Army outposts were built. Unfortunately, the large swaths of land between them reduced their effectiveness markedly. It was through these gaps that the Drakovians were riding through to raid, pillage, and enslave the vulnerable farming villages.
Now that they’d reached their destination, Quinten could feel the energy, like a tingle that ran through his entire body, letting him know that he was where he needed to be. After the assassination attempt in Darrowford, Quinten, Cedric, and Ronan were kept on a pretty tight leash. Captain Blackwell hadn’t said much to them regarding the incident, but it was clear, based on the assignments they received throughout the remainder of their journey, she didn’t want them getting too far away from the caravan. She’d sent off her reports of the incident at the next city they passed that boasted an Aviary. From there, it was out of their hands. The Core would investigate, bringing in the Bureau of Inquisition if they deemed it necessary. The latter part had been news that Quinten could have done without. He never wanted to be involved in their affairs again.
“Are you done day dreaming over there?” Lastrel asked with a grin from beside him as they descended into the valley and approached the city.
Quinten flipped her off by way of an answer, earning himself a laugh. After the night she’d propositioned him, they’d become friends. He’d never taken her up on her offer, nor had she mentioned it since. Quinten was thankful for that. He was also fairly certain she was now sleeping with one of the infantrymen managing a wagon team.
The Crossing itself was a large stone bridge that spared the river in its entirety. The small city of Avoncross had built up on the Rivennan side of the river over the years, with the far side becoming a fortified Army Post to protect the bridge and the city behind it. The area immediately surrounding the Army post on the far side of the river was filled with the neat and orderly rows of army tents and wagons.
Their caravan made its way through the towering gates of the city and Captain Blackwell stood in her stirrups at the front of their column, indicating that they were to separate from the main body of the caravan while it continued across the river where it would be swallowed by the never ending hunger of an army’s needs.
Garrick peeled himself away from the conversation he’d been having with an army sergeant and rode up to Quinten's side. To say the man was angry at Blackwell for telling him he needed to remain behind, only to have Quinten get attacked, would have been an understatement. Because of that, the man had hardly left him alone long enough to take a piss on his own, and Quinten hoped that he’d get some much needed space while at the crossing.
They followed the captain as she led them through the stone streets. It was readily apparent that the city’s infrastructure had grown around the original layout of the army outpost. Buildings made of wood and stone were arranged in the same grid pattern commonly used in army camps with their critical operations placed at the center of the camp, or in this case, the city.
The narrow streets were arranged for expedient foot traffic, cartwheels, and clear lines of sight. One point of difference was the bustling market square central to Avoncross. Formally used as a parade ground or training field when not in use. Now, the large square was filled with market booths and food venders. The square itself was bordered by buildings previously housing army divisions that had since been put to more merchant purposes. It was one of those buildings that held their final destination.
The former army headquarters had been requisitioned by the Mage Core. Before the current hostilities with Drakovia, the building was being used for an administrative overflow within the city center, with the bulk of the army infrastructure having moved across the Avon. Its proximity to local services made it an ideal place for the Core. It went without saying the nobles filling the Core’s ranks would want to stay in the city rather than in a tent across the river if they could avoid it.
Captain Blackwell came to a stop outside of the Mage Core Headquarters, calling the procession of mages to a halt before the building. Stable hands and groomsman came running up to hold their mounts while they dismounted. A young woman dashed forward, reaching to grab Star’s reins, brushing her fingers across the back of Quinten's hand by accident. The touch came with a wave of excitement and an undercurrent of hope and anticipation.
Quinten had spent the remainder of their journey west practicing Empathy as frequently as he could. He’d even asked Captain Blackwell in a roundabout manner if she’d ever heard of anyone with unique Gifts during her time in the Core. Apparently, she’d heard of them, but hadn’t ever met anyone who had one.
Even without instruction, he’d improved his ability to control the intensity of the emotions he felt by strengthening or thinning out the mental barrier he’d learned to construct and keep running at all times. On the occasions when strong emotions were nearby, they would rebound off of his mental shields, giving Quinten the opportunity to lower them if he wanted to. His defense wasn’t perfect. Physical touch could still surprise him, but he’d had enough exposure since leaving Gremelda that he’d developed a thicker “emotional skin” when it came to dealing with other people’s feelings.
Dismounting, Quinten watched as the young woman with sun-kissed brown hair led Star away. Focusing his Gift let him listen in as she talked to the horse. “Well, look at you, beautiful. That coat is marvelous. Your rider must spend—” Smiling to himself, Quinten made a mental note to tip her well when she brought Star to him later.
Garrick took the opportunity to speak to Quinten while the rest of their group stretched after several hours in the saddle. “I will go see about a room for you and the other young lords. If the Core is anything like the Army, we will only be here for a few days before shipping out to meet with your units.”
Nodding, Quinten asked, “Can you grab an extra room for Lastrel in case she needs it?”
Garrick gave a smirk in return and turned away with a wink. Quinten almost objected that it wasn’t like that, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort to try to correct his man’s assumption. Instead, Quinten brought up the rear as the mages followed Captain Blackwell into the large stone building. It had the letters MC carved into the wall above the main entrance. Immediately through the doors was a large entryway, with stone staircases flanking both sides of the room leading to the second floor.
Standing at the banister above, looking down on them, was a man Quinten did not recognize. From the murmurs of those around him, it was clear he was the exception. Trading a glance with Cedric, he lifted a brow and received a shrug and an eye-roll in response.
“Welcome!” The man said, his voice perfectly pitched to carry throughout the room. “Welcome to the Avon Crossing and to the Western Plains.” The man let the silence ring for just a moment before continuing. “My name is Lord Tasking Wyndham. I am the Mage Commander assigned to leading The Core, and its mages out here on the frontier. I hope your trip here was restful, because you will be heading into the thick of it, I’m sorry to say. You are all replacements to mages lost in battle, and I can tell you for a fact that things are only getting started on the front lines. With temperatures dropping, neither the Drakovians, nor we, want to draw out our time in the saddle riding patrols. We are expecting events to move quickly and violently over the next few months.”
His statement had its intended effect, bringing a low murmur to the crowd as they repeated his words.
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“Do not fear unnecessarily! The units you will be assigned to have all been tested in battle and are all veterans in this war because of it. Trust in the Core and your fellow mages. They will see you through these bloody times.” Pausing once more with a blindingly white smile, his voice rose in conclusion. “And I will be right by your side as we bring these savages to a heel!”
Cheers rang out and Quinten could feel a wave of excitement and, to his disgust, trace amounts of lust from the mages around him as they stared up at their new Mage Commander.
Stars above, does the pageantry ever end? Quinten internally groaned as administrators wearing the shield and staff of the Core on their robes emerged from a number of doors along the main entryway. They each carried a stack of folders and began calling out names.
“Atkinson!”
“Lastrel!”
“Hastings, Vaelmara, & Ashford!” Came Mage Commander Taskin’s voice from the second story. It was the first time he’d spoken since finishing his speech and it covered the entryway like a wet wool blanket.
With a twist of his lips, Cedric said. “Well lads, I guess that’s us. I think they figured out you weren’t supposed to come with us, Ronan. I bet you’re in trouble now.”
Snorting, the red-headed young man pushed him as they made their way toward the stairs. “He may want to see us because, oh I don’t know, someone tried to kill us on our way here?” He asked with a look of exasperation.
“Nope.” Said Cedric with an exaggerated popping of the ‘p.’ “Definitely not. We killed them all. What else is there to talk about?”
No one deigned to answer him as they climbed to the second story, where Mage Commander Taskin stood waiting. So, Quinten thought. This is the guy Grandfather had such good things to say about. He does appear a little reptilian.
The man did not in fact look like a snake, though he had that same timeless appearance that made placing his age difficult. He presented himself as a man in his prime, mid-to-late thirties, but a single exchange of eye contact told a very different story. Unable to resist the temptation, Quinten touched on Empathy and gave the man a quick reading.
His skin broke into a cold sweat. Starfire! I’ve heard someone called cold-blooded before, but I’m getting absolutely nothing from him. The feeling wasn’t like when he was unable to connect with his gift. He could feel both Cedric and Ronan easily enough. The emotions he felt rolling off the man were simply too cold and oily to register. Taskin had a calm self-assuredness to him as he watched the trio approach that made Quinten feel as if they were walking into a trap.
With no other option but to proceed. The three formed a line as they would for an Instructor at the Academy, standing before the Mage Commander. Up close, Lord Taskin was not an imposing figure. A head shorter than them, the trio towered over the man and his thin build.
“Thank you for not forcing me to send someone to find you.” The Mage Commander said with a slight smile. “Come with me. There are concerns that need to be addressed.” He ordered. His voice, when it wasn’t being projected to an entire room, was a warm baritone, so smooth it put Quinten on edge.
No wonder Grandfather said this was a political appointment. He sounds like he could talk a star down from the night’s sky. Thought Quinten as he, Ronan, and Cedric followed the man through a door at the end of the hall. It led them into a second hallway and they followed until Taskin stopped before a door with his name burned into the wood. Pushing it open, he entered and walked around an oversized wooden desk that managed to make the man look like a child playing in his father’s study. Quinten saved that mental image for later, knowing it would get a laugh out of Cedric.
Having received no instructions, the three followed the commander into his office. They formed back up in the same line as earlier, arranging themselves in front of his desk, staring levelly at the wall behind it.
“I hear your journey has been eventful.” Taskin said, relaxing into his chair, peering at each of them in turn.
None of them knew what to say to that, nor what the protocol was for meeting a commanding officer in the Core. They chose the safe option of remaining silent.
“You are all new.” The older man said, tapping a stack of folders sitting on his desk. “Your files say that you missed the mandatory Rules, Regulations, & Procedures training all new Core members receive upon starting their service. That’s unfortunate, but I can understand the Archmage and the Mage Council wanting you out here where you can do some good.” Taskin said, flashing them that pearly white smile once more, his eyes drifting down to Quinten's waist. “That is a beautiful blade you have there, Lt. Ashford. I believe I saw it during its construction. Though, if I remember correctly, it was not meant for a lieutenant.” He said with a raised brow.
“Thank you.” Quinten said, keeping his tone light. “I have grown quite fond of it myself. I was told it was meant for the prince, my lord..?” Quinten responded, his form of address uncertain.
“Commander will do. It’s procedure, as is answering honestly and to the best of your ability, any questions a superior officer may have for you during a debrief like this one. Do you understand?”
The three exchanged a cautious look, but each responded with a, “Yes, Commander.”
Nodding, Taskin steepled his fingers together and said, “Good, good. Now, I want to hear a full report on the night you were attacked. We take violence against our people seriously in the Core, and I want to get to the bottom of what transpired to ensure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
Now they care? Quinten thought as he tried to piece together what was going on. Captain Blackwell couldn’t have given less of a flying star after it happened.
Taking the lead, Quinten proceeded with the same report he’d given the captain back at the village. He wasn’t sure why, but he chose to keep much of the details surrounding his and Cedric’s abilities as vague as he could. Focusing more on their assailant’s capabilities, numbers, and the fact they were all Gifted. Drawing his recounting of the night’s events to a close, he fell silent and stared at the wall once more.
Mage Commander Taskin was quiet for several minutes as he reviewed a number of documents on his desk. Eventually, he turned to Cedric and Ronan, asking.
“And you two, do you have anything to add?”
Cedric shook his head and remained silent. While Ronan said, “No, commander. I am a healer and not much of a fighter. I didn’t see anything that Lt. Ashford did not already share.”
“I see,” Taskin said tersely. “What of the identities of the assassins? Did you recognize any of the group? There are few enough mages. I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew at least one of them.”
Either Captain Blackwell chose not to mention that she recognized Marcy in her report, or this is a test, Quinten thought. Considering the man seated before him, it could very well be the latter.
Making a snap decision, Quinten shifted his gaze to meet the older man’s and replied, “We did not recognize any of the attackers. And unfortunately, some of their faces were unrecognizable after the fight.”
Another aspect of Empathy Quinten had discovered was that physical touch was not the only way he could establish a direct emotional connection with someone. Eye contact had a similar, if slightly weaker, ability to do the same. Like looking into a window versus walking through an open door.
Quinten scanned the man’s emotions and watched for any changes of facial expression. He thought he may have seen a brow twitch, but he could feel only the slightest hint of frustration from behind a wall of self-satisfaction.
Taskin began drumming his fingers on the desk and stared at Quinten for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he said, “Very well.”
Commander Taskin paused then, eyeing Quinten for a long moment. Eventually, he nodded to himself and Quinten felt the odd sense things were about to take a turn. “Are you aware that there has been a concern raised regarding you and the young woman in Darrowford?”
Quinten frowned deeply as his head jerked back slightly in confusion.
“What kind of concern?”
Taskin raised a brow and Quinten watched the commander’s eyes shift to one of the sheets of paper before returning to meet his gaze. “Surrounding her death, of course. You pointed out in both your written reports, and in the one you just gave me, that you believed she poisoned you, correct?”
“Yes?” He answered, half as a question and half in uncertainty, feeling his hackles start to rise the dryer his throat became.
“And you do not know how she died?”
Quinten clenched his teeth, gritting out, “No.”
The commander nodded slowly. “She had her neck snapped. A grizzly affair from the reports. Almost like it was done out of anger.”
Freezing, Quinten realized the implication. Are they going to try to blame her death on me?
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Taskin spoke over him.
“Either way, there isn’t enough evidence to say why she was killed.” The man said with a nonchalant shrug. “But it is my duty as your Commander, and from one noble to another, to ensure you are aware that your actions will be closely watched going forward.”
Quinten stood at a loss, trying to understand if he was being accused, threatened, or if the commander was just making a statement.
Continuing as if the matter were closed, Commander Taskin opened a drawer, swept the stacks of paper off his desk into it, then shut it and moved to the next drawer up. He removed three new folders and slid one before each of them. “Here are your reporting orders. I know you received assignments back in Gremelda, but here are updated details for each. Lt. Hastings and Ashford, your instructions are the same. But yours, Mage Vaelmara, has changed upon the Core learning you’ve developed the ability to fly.” The last was said almost as a question as he stared at the young man.
Cedric’s brows rose. “I can’t really fly, Commander. At least not yet?” He said uncertainly. “It’s more of a glide at this point, but I’ve been getting better.”
Commander Taskin continued to stare at him for a long moment, drumming his fingers atop his desk in thought.
“While that’s not ideal, we can still make use of it. We have so few mages that can fly. Let’s hope that someone in your new unit can help teach you ways to improve the ability. That is your goal from here on out, Mage Vaelmara, to learn to fly so you can truly be a part of the Skyrunners.”