Hanged man [https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/49286215853_f5697742f3_b.jpg]
Shun is jostled in his seat as the wagon comes to a lurching stop before a towering stone building. The place is grey and drab, gargoyle topped expanse of arches and shadow enshrouded corridors.
“End of the line, boys.” The driver says, indicating the Taneranese parliament.
As Shun’s feet hit pavement his eyes are drawn upward by movement. Hanging from the towers are several limp figures swaying in the wind.
“The leaders of Taniran hanging from the ramparts of their own parliament. ” Sim says cheerfully before spitting. “Should send a hell of a message dontcha think?”
Shun grimly nods as he follows the Lieutenant up the marble steps and into the vast and tomblike corridors of the Taniranese parliament. No statues or paintings here, no decorations of any kind. Just stark granite walls grimly devoid of any artistry, hard and humourless stone leading into a cavernous and dimly lit structure. The air inside is cold and stale, he wonders how the parliament could stand working in such a place and why of all places General Armstrong chose this as his headquarters.
“It’s a power play for sure to make a military headquarters out of the enemy parliament but damn if I don’t wish Armstrong had picked someplace less musty.” Sim says as if reading the private’s mind.
Two statuesque figures stand guard before a mighty oak door, their faces as cold and stony as the walls themselves.Their eyes flash with alertness as Sim’s hand digs around behind his back.
He produces a rolled parchment which the guard snatches from his hand with alarming speed.
“Orders to bring this man to the general at once.” Sim says with more formality than the private would have thought possible. A long moment passes between the lieutenant and the guard before a curt nod signals the lieutenant to step back and salute.
“It’s all in order.” The guard says, cold eyes suddenly on Shun. “Private Shun, you may enter the chamber and sit quietly in the gallery until you are called. Anything you may hear is to be considered privileged information. Let slip even one word and they’ll be fitting you for a noose, understood? ”
Shun’s mouth feels unusually dry as he nods his understanding. The door groans loudly as it offers him admittance to parliament chambers. As he steps through the portal he feels a rush of cold air before hearing the slam of two inches of oak behind him.
The gallery is nearly empty save for a scattering of uniformed individuals sitting in nervous silence. Shun’s heart skips a beat as his eyes lead him to the chamber floor. There sitting in the prime minister's wooden throne is a figure larger than any man has a right to be. He wears a full suit of black armor and his face is entirely obscured by a bucket like great helm. This figure is without a doubt the most terrifying man in the army , General Armstrong.
***
Compendium of Monsters [https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/49286856131_77850ae116_b.jpg]
The wind blows heavily as Draken hikes the rocky trail up to the sorcerer's cottage. He pulls his cloak tighter as the wailing gale blows into his hood flapping it around and numbing his ears.
“Dramatic weather isn’t it?” The sorcerer asks from his perch atop a large boulder. “It’s not natural, of course. Not in the normal sense.” He hops to the ground as Draken closes on the cottage. The old man points to the mountain pass. The boy’s eyes follow the path of his master’s finger and grow wide as he gasps in wonderment.
“You see it, don’t you, the magic flowing in the mountain air?”
Swirls of shimmering gold and violet sparkle in the air, flashing like lightning as they collide and mix. Draken starts as the old man pats him on the back.
“That gaping idiotic look on your face is enough to tell me you’ve got a powerful gift. A normal person cannot see magic as we can, one day you’ll even be able to see it in people.”
“It’s beautiful,” Draken mutters.
The sorcerer snorts. “A beautiful mess perhaps, you’ll soon come to see that swirling storm of shit as the enemy.”
“What do you mean?” The boy asks, following the old man past the hut’s quivering door.
“I mean those bright flashes you see when it collides are effectively mindless spells which chaotically change the nature of reality itself.”
Morro unfurls a crumpled scroll on the table and flattens it out with his hand.
“This is an activity map, it shows the biggest underground concentrations of magicyte, at least the most volatile ones. These lines here represent the magic’s pattern of movement and these areas...” He points to the parts of the map marked in red. “These are collision points, where the raw magic collides, casting spells upon the environment.”
Morro’s rumy eyes are cold and serious.
“This is the real responsibility of sorcerers.” He taps the red spot with his bony finger. “Changing the magic flow to prevent chaos spells from creating monsters and slaying any such abominations we were too late to stop.”
“Monsters, you mean like dragons?” Draken asks.
“Dragons are nonsense creatures invented by wizards,” he waves the question away. “We’ve got demogorgons, trolls and basilisks to worry about, not to mention some of the really scary ones. ” He gets up with a groan and walks to the bookshelf near the back of the room. After pulling down a dusty book he tosses it at Draken. Wiping away the caked on dust reveals the toothy grin of a horrible creature carved into the leather binding of the book titled Compendium of Monsters and Other Sorcerous Creatures. He flips through the pages to see colorful eye catching illustrations of his worst nightmares. Things with many heads and many eyes, things made of mud and filth or made of fire. Page after page of horrors from the depths of hell.
“You’ll want to commit as much of that book to memory as you can.” Morro says. “There’s no telling when you might run into a monster and the best ways to handle them are there in plain ink.” Morro’s devilish smile draws the boy’s attention from the hellish cloud creature on the page. Something about that smile puts Draken’s guard up, the old bastard is planning more than an afternoon of light reading.
“You’ll have time to study the book later,” Morro says. “It’s time we taught you some practical skills.”
***
General Armstrong [https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/49286814477_4350c0a313_b.jpg]
A small bespectacled man who looks far too pleased with himself approaches the general. At a gesture from the overdressed underling a servant appears and presents Armstrong with a bound sheaf of parchments and retreats into shadow without ever raising his head.
“The last of the noble houses of Taneran have pledged their loyalty to the empire.”
Armstrong unbinds the blue silk string from the stack of fine stationery. Shun, who observes the scene with interest can’t help but note how the people of this country will use writing parchment so gaudy that it can be seen from fifty feet away but hold their government in what amounts to being a cold tomb devoid of sentimentality. Not unlike the general who lets the fine and flowery pledges of loyalty fall to the ground like so much trash.
“A pointless gesture.” The general says, his voice so hollow and icy as to send a shock through the private’s body. Shun shivers at the sound of a voice that resembles more the toneless notes of an out of tune fiddle than anything that could be produced by the mouth of a man.
“Words are meaningless, ambassador. The only thing these people will respond to is primitive emotion. It is fear that will guarantee their loyalty, fear for their families.”
“You would threaten men who’ve already given their oath and bent the knee?” The ambassador’s voice holds the edge of challenge riding a wave of horror. “I know these people, they will take it as the worst kind of insult. If you want to spark rebellion, this is the way.”
“I will crush rebellion before it begins.” Armstrong says, hardly registering the ambassador’s hot tone of voice. “Send every wife and every child, every sibling niece and nephew to Valis as hostage and the noble houses will not dare to rebel. Not after they see the families of those fools who resist this order put to the torch.” The ambassador pales a bit but doesn’t lose his composure.
“And if none resist this draconian order, how then will you make your examples?” The ambassador asks.
“If fewer than five resist, pick ten at random and burn their families. The story will be that they resisted, the facts are irrelevant. My calculations show that such a display will hit the right notes for this backwards culture and produce the desired effect of cowing the nobles.”
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For almost a full minute the ambassador is speechless. Realizing that silence has hung in the air for far too long he swiftly bows.
“As you command, my general.” With those words he turns on his heel to hide the scowl on his face.
“Ambassador, one warning.”
The ambassador stops mid stride.
“In case you were considering upsetting my plans you may want to also consider that your family is equally combustible.”
The words seem to age the man ten years in an instant.
“My loyalty will never falter.” He says weakly. “Your commands will be carried out.”
“Good, your wife Mellissa and your son John are uncommonly healthy for citizens of our country. Barring accident I project long lifespans, It would be a shame to shorten them prematurely.”
Shun feels a mix of emotions as he watches the ambassador retreat into the shadows robbed of all spirit. He accepts the realities of war, that to conquer a nation and to build an empire sometimes requires cruelty. The private doesn’t doubt this, for Valis to rise others must fall. Still, to threaten the children of men who’ve already pledged an oath seems a step too far. But to threaten the family of a loyal servant of Valis, innocent citizens of the empire? That is unspeakably horrific. There is no line this general will not cross and that he feels free to so openly cross them puts a knot in Shun’s stomach the size of a coconut.
***
Dais [https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/49286810807_738f589608_b.jpg]
Draken blinks as the sorcerer’s hands come together and a flash of brilliant light hits his eyes. As green and blue phantom images dance before his dazzled eyes he hears the sound of moving gears. As the spots clear from his vision he sees a smile upon the old man’s mustachioed face.
“Now your training can really begin.”
Draken leaps away as the floor moves beneath his feet and turns just in time to wince at the loud and grating sound of stone scraping against stone. A carved dais in the shape of a two headed serpent rises from the center of the floor. Looming large in the small cottage, dominating the space. Set in the serpent’s twin maws are two hunks of magicyte, each the size of a fully grown mastiff. He can see the faintest ripples of magic, like waves on the ocean rolling out from each crystal. Crashing together, swirling and exploding into bright colors.
“They are called focus crystals,” Morro says. “We use them to hone our control of magic, sharpening our skills to a razor's edge.” As Morro speaks the waves recede,rolling backwards and straightening into sharp lines. The lines form shapes, change colors.
The boy’s eyes are amazed by an array of dancing shapes and sparkling figures which collide together in a flash of brilliant light. The air is abuzz and Draken feels the hairs on his arms standing up. There is a slight ripple and beneath the dais stands a small humanoid shape made of mist.
“A water sprite, one of the few beneficial creatures which raw magic can produce. It serves as a good demonstration of the principle.”
Draken looks nervously at the creature as it wisps into the water pump.
“Will that be alright?” He asks.
Morro chuckles. “It will actually clean the pipes.”
Draken’s heart sinks as he looks at the intimidating swirl of magic energies and he sighs.
“I don’t think I can make one of those.” He hears himself too late as his mind screams a warning.
The sorcerer’s aged hand squeezes his shoulder with a bit more strength than anyone should expect.
“You lack the proper motivation.”
Draken holds his breath as the old man leans in. “There are all sorts of ways to get you motivated and in time i’m sure you’ll experience them each but for now you needn’t worry.” Morro’s grip loosens. “Today is more about learning control.” His bony finger pokes at the swirling mass of energy. “Follow my finger along the currents, do you see the ebb and flow?”
Draken, trailing the motion with his eyes makes out patterns of movement amongst the magical waves and eddies. Currents flowing in many directions and of the myriad currents driving the waves of raw magic many collide with flashes of brilliant color which only a sorcerer’s eyes can behold.
“You see the places where the currents bunch together, colliding like crazy?” The old man asks. “You’ve got to unknot them and turn the currents back into the flow of magic.”
The areas in question are like miniature thunderstorms, flashing rapidly and with great speed. Draken tentatively probes with his mind, the magical flows feeling like a great many strands of spider’s web but made of a porous liquid, always moving, if not quite alive very animate. He feels a sharp buzzing and hears a pop as the flows of magic flash and restrict.
“Be gentle,” Morro says. “As you would with a lover.”
“Wait, why the hell would I be gentle?” Draken asks. “Don’t all girls like it rough?”
The older sorcerer shakes his head. “You do have a lot to learn, concentrate!”
The old man snickers. “True ladies like a gentle hand to guide them slowly and expertly toward ultimate pleasure.” Morro winks as the tangle of energy separates and flows away. “Now I want you to try, be careful and make your touch both light and deliberate.”
Picturing the knot of magic as another purse to lift , Draken reaches with his mind. The knot is no different than the string securing a purse tightly to a man’s belt. Cutting it could draw attention. The snap could be too loud or the string too tight that it snaps back and draws the man’s eyes right to the place they shouldn’t be looking. But Draken has never had that problem, the knots always come loose like magic. He feels the tension releasing as the colliding waves of magic change course.
There’s a warmth in the old man’s eyes as he nods his approval. “You’ve figured that out quicker than most.”
“I guessed it was just like picking a pocket and the whole thing came together.”Draken scratches his chin. “Just to be straight, you’re saying I shoud fuck girls like i’m trying to pick their pockets?” He shakes his head with a grimace. “Sounds too pervy for me.” He shrugs, “That kind of kinky shit costs way too much money.”
Clearing his throat, Morro directs Draken’s attention to several more complex formations of magic. “That’s a good start but now I expect you to turn this boiling sea into a smooth babbling brook.”
***
A familiar grey bearded figure confidently approaches the general, carrying a quiet intensity with each step. Shun does not know this man’s name but has taken his orders without question. The Commander is the nameless figure in charge of the Experimental Rocket Troopers. A figure of deep and nagging mystery who is said to report directly to General Armstrong.
“You've compiled the battle data into something useful.” It's not a question but a cold statement of fact. The Commander nods his confirmation with equal detachment.
“The rocket trooper experiment was a complete success.” He says, letting a small amount of pride shine through his otherwise monotone voice.
“A complete success?” The general asks. “We tossed eight hundred men at four master mages and three apprentices and only one hundred and fifty survived. ” A moment of cool silence hangs in the chamber as The Commander stands perfectly still.
“The data you wanted was obtained, was it not?” He asks.
Armstrong’s laugh is such an unnatural sound that Shun grits his teeth as he tries to dispel the haunted feeling it conjures. He can’t help the shivers that come over him.
“That’s why I like you,” The General says. “You are completely non-sentimental. The losses, while unfortunate were always an acceptable part of my calculations. The data we’ve gathered will be incorporated into the next generation of weapons and deployed with devastating accuracy.”
Thinking of everything he’s risked and all of his friends who died so miserably, Shun shivers for a whole other reason. Jumpei, Bixby and Jim will never see home again and these people don’t give a damn about them. He wants to stand up and leave, tell the whole army to go to hell. He clenches his fists as he pushes those feelings down. If an ambassador's family can be threatened … He can’t risk making these people angry, not if there’s even a small chance his family will be punished. His mother and sisters don’t deserve that. With his father dead even a light reprisal could be devastating.
He takes a deep breath and silently thanks his superiors for opening his eyes to the truth. It isn’t just in war that others must be sacrificed to make a brighter future, it’s life. There is no line that cannot be crossed, there is only victory and what it takes to be achieved.
“With regards to the next phase, I've selected a few promising candidates for leadership.” The Commander says, untucking the folder from under his arm and handing it to Armstrong.
The general lightly parouses the parchments before setting the leather folder down. “I’ll want to vette these people before sending any of them to Gilgamesh.” He says.
The commander nods. “I’ve anticipated this and called some of the more promising ones here.”
“I only want the best assigned to lead this new squad for the mobile battle fortress.” Armstrong says. “As you know I will be taking personal command of Gilgamesh and will not tolerate any weak links.”
“I’m still not sure I trust this notion of magitech.” The commander says, rubbing his beard. “It seems like an unholy marriage and on such a scale...”
“Do not give in to primitive thinking.” Armstrong replies with a rumbling voice. “You’re beginning to sound like General Linus, perhaps you’d like those memories restored inorder to learn from his mistakes.”
“General Linus is dead, a fool beholden to an outdated code!” The Commander shouts, losing his cool for the first time that Shun can think of. He falls to one knee and bows his head. “You have made me the purest version of myself, free of confusion and doubt. I would sooner end my life than have anything of my old life restored.”
With a gesture Armstrong bids The Commander to rise. The whole thing seems unreal to Shun as he tries to examine The Commander’s features. He pictures the man clean shaven and his long hair cut close to the scalp. There is something very familiar about that face but could it really be General Linus? This man is the loyalist hero who everyone thinks died fighting to save that old idiot king who was rightly deposed. If the Old Monarchists could see him bending his knee to General Armstrong they’d fly into fits of mouth frothing rage. The great hero of the old order bowing to the new!
“Then I trust you to be open to the future.” Armstrong says. “What you call magic is only science that we do not yet fully understand. It is perfectly natural to unify the two even as we seek to unify this world.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” The Commander replies tartly.
“We are talking about the greatest power this world has ever seen, not even an army of mages will be able to stand against the might of my battle fortress. The Triumvirate will be all but helpless against Gilgamesh, Arcania will be crushed like a clod of dirt beneath my feet.”
The Commander nods thoughtfully, Armstrong’s vision is a powerful one. Even Shun is overcome by the idea of something so powerful as to grind a nation of mages to dust and yet he finds himself believing every word.
“When will this newest invasion begin, my master?” The Commander asks.
“Gilgamesh will be our spearhead, everything awaits its’ arrival at Arcania’s border. However, in spite of all her power she is a slow beast. I expect to see the first battles in approximately two months, eight days, three hours and thirty six seconds.”
Before Shun can digest the implications of what he’s heard a strange sound catches his attention, then he feels something quickly blow past his ear and the whole world turns upside down.