Bernt stripped off his clothes in the chilly changing area, noting with some embarrassment that he smelled a bit under one arm. He’d meant to get up earlier today and bathe before coming, but he’d been up late, finally recreating the portal to nowhere in the back room of his house and talking to Jori. The opportunity to catch up had just been too tempting to pass up and they’d spent hours well into the night doing just that.
It had been good to learn more about Jori’s project and how Ed was doing, even if he wasn’t totally sure what he thought of it all. The imp didn’t seem to have a clear plan for what to do with her cousins once she freed them. That worried him. What if she didn’t want to leave them? Worse, what if she insisted on summoning all of them to the mortal plane? He remembered the sight of them bearing down on the defenders from above during the battle – how one had torn out Bartholomew’s throat. Could Jori control them all? For that matter, she was working to free them. So, would she even want to? Bernt didn’t have answers, but he had concerns.
The real surprise, though, had been learning that the demons had it out for him, personally. Not humans, not Halfbridge, but Bernt the Underkeeper. Apparently Nuros had put out a bounty for his head in some kind of misguided attempt to win Jori’s loyalty, or at least her service or something. They thought killing him would break her pact with him, or her “obligation”, whatever the difference was supposed to be. Of course, they didn’t actually have a pact, or any kind of binding service agreement. Bernt was not a warlock. If he were, he would have already summoned Jori back.
Of course, Jori had already reported all this to the Solicitors, who had not seen fit to share it with him in turn. Ed had, predictably, demanded that he get Iriala involved. Bernt wanted to avoid that if at all possible, though. For one, it would mean that everyone, including the Solicitors, would learn about his familiar bond – likely sooner than later. That felt like too much to give up just to file a complaint about inadequate information sharing. Worse, if Iriala or Radast decided this was important enough, either or both might decide to interfere with his other plans so they could keep him here.
Bernt had spent weeks cramming history, protocol and rhetorical skills, but one point had sunk in more than all the others, reinforced by Iriala at every opportunity. Politics happened everywhere, all the time – even and especially between allies. Right now, he was just a tool both Iriala and Radast were playing with, even if he couldn’t see exactly what they were doing. In their games, his goals and interests weren’t a factor. He could accept that and allow himself to be moved as a piece on a board, or he could join the game himself. Carefully.
The familiar bond was a hidden advantage – maybe their best. It had to serve his interests, and Jori’s first. He couldn’t just give it up for free, and especially not now. Bernt would be appointed as a legitimator soon, and leaving not long after that. He would conduct his research at the Phoenix Reaches, scour every library on the way for useful knowledge and watch Torvald’s back while he did it. Going forward, he would build a new class of sorcerer mages, both in and outside the guild, and he was going to do it personally. Pollock had the right of it – this was where he could make the biggest impact, and where he could build the power and influence he needed to get and keep the Solicitors off Jori’s back permanently.
He just needed to work out how.
Sighing to himself, Bernt fastened his belt over the warm wool robe, stepped out, and looked into the mirror. He shrugged his shoulders and held his arms out to check the length of the sleeves. It was the first time he’d ever had clothes custom-fitted, and they sat much more comfortably than his Underkeepers’ uniform. The robes were still gray – his status as an Underkeeper was what qualified him to be a legitimator, after all – but they had a lighter shade than his uniform with darker accents around the hem. Additionally, he now had two narrow red stripes embroidered on his sleeves to represent his two investitures. Those wouldn’t do anything meaningful for his status at court, but it was traditional. It was going to be a formal event, after all.
Hopefully, he could swap them for the braided stripes of a magister when he got back.
“Perfect!” the elderly tailor said, stepping up to examine him. “Now, you’re going to want to be careful with these seams here, alright? They’re temporary, so your enchanter can open them up to get at the leather lining on the torso. If you pick at them out in the street, they’ll come apart.”
Bernt smiled at the man and gave him a little bow. “Thank you for getting this done so quickly. I really appreciate it.”
“That’s very nice, and you’re welcome,” the tailor said, peering at him over his glasses, “do feel free to express your appreciation monetarily as well, though. I trust that you’re satisfied?”
“Of course.” Bernt said, retrieving his bag to count the coins out for him while doing his best not to let the pain show on his face. Sixteen gold marks and thirty-eight silver. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to spending that kind of money, but this was what it was for.
Besides, it was a fair price. The tailor had really outdone himself, adding a warm hood, making adjustments and layering leather under the wool lining to provide additional protection. Once Grixit got his hands on them, these robes might provide even better protection than his work clothes – despite looking better, being far more comfortable and weighing less than half as much.
The goblin shaman had insisted that the tailor use sheep leather, which had added to the cost, but Bernt wasn’t going to argue with the man. Grixit’s work had yet to let him down, and he was downright affordable compared to traditional enchanters.
Regardless, enchantments were a concern for later. Offering the tailor a smile and a nod, he gathered his things and left. He was due at the castle in less than two hours, and he still needed to take a bath.
***
The gates were open when Bernt arrived at the castle, though one of the guards stopped him to look at his letter of invitation before he could enter. He’d expected the place to be a hub of activity, but it seemed no busier than the last time he’d been here – when Ed had taken them there to report the kobold incursion. Had that really only been a few months ago?
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
As he crossed the courtyard, he was met by a vaguely familiar-looking young man with ink stains on his fingers.
“Underkeeper Bernard, right? ” the man said, looking him over critically. My name is Art, I’m the count’s secretary.” Bernt nodded in confirmation and he smiled politely.
“Good. Please, follow me. I’ll be briefing you on what to expect.”
Without saying anything, Bernt followed the skinny little man inside and down a corridor to the left. A few moments later, they entered a modestly sized room where three other people, two men and a woman, were already waiting for them. Not bothering with introductions, Art cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and addressed the room.
“I’m sure you’re all very curious why you’ve been summoned to appear before the court today. It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected to represent the Count and the Kingdom of Besermark as legitimators to the Invigilation. If you’re not familiar, that means –”
Bernt stopped paying attention to Art’s explanation of what a legitimator was and examined the other people in the room. They were all humans, which Bernt thought was a little odd. If he remembered his academy lessons correctly, humans made up about half of the Beseri populations – he would have at least expected a gnome or a dwarf. It seemed that Torvald had been right. They really wouldn’t have appointed Nirlig, even if he’d recommended him.
Taking a closer look, Bernt realized that he recognized one of the men – Leirin, the archdruid who he’d met in the dungeon and who had created the vines that lit up the Undercity. He barely recognized him with his hair oiled and wearing an embroidered jacket, rather than the long off-white tunics that druids normally wore. Wasn’t he a high-ranking adventurer? How was he a government employee?
Next to him sat a nervous-looking younger man, though he was probably still a few years older than Bernt. He was dressed expensively and had the look of someone who didn’t spend much time outdoors – pale and skinny, not unlike Hallan. He had a pen and paper out, and his eyes were focused on Art, hanging onto every word as though the gods themselves were speaking to him. Every few seconds, he would look down to scribble something on the paper before focusing his attention back on the secretary.
Last was the only woman in the room. She wore a military uniform, marking her as one of Arice’s people – an officer, judging by the stripes on her shoulder, though she couldn’t have been much older than the fidgety man next to her. The contrast couldn’t have been clearer. She sat as straight as a lantern pole, with no expression on her face at all. There were some stripes on her shoulder, which Bernt knew marked her as some kind of officer, but nothing on her sleeves, so she wasn’t a member of any specialized corps like mages, rangers or berserkers would be.
“You will receive papers allowing you to draw your normal salaries, as well as additional funds for expenses and a small stipend from Beseri banks for the duration of your service.” Art said, drawing Bernt’s attention. “Once you accept, you will be committed for a term of five years, or until the crown dismisses you, or until your charge departs the kingdom without an express intent to return. If any of you intend to turn down this appointment, you should inform me now. We have other options in reserve. Denying the count to his face would be… unfortunate.”
Bernt looked around. Nobody said anything.
Art nodded and cleared his throat again. “Good. In that case, please follow me to be presented to the court. They should be ready for us in a matter of minutes.”
***
“Wizard Bernard, of the Underkeepers.”
When the doors opened in front of him, Bernt’s legs felt oddly shaky, but he forced himself to move when he heard Art announce him. He’d called him wizard, just as Iriala had recently started doing. It sounded odd to him, somehow. Were they doing it to make him sound less like a simple Underkeeper, or to emphasize his association with the Mages’ Guild?
The room was full of people, at least fifty of them. All of them were watching him, and for a moment, it made Bernt forget what he was supposed to do. Mechanically, he stepped forward, palms sweating as he approached the Count. The old man sat front and center in a tall chair, looking at him while leaning to the side as someone else whispered something to him.
Letting out a slow breath, Bernt tried to ignore the audience and focused on what he was supposed to do. He bowed at the waist and waited for the count to begin speaking before he stood up straight again. He’d been listening through the door as the two legitimators before him were announced, and the ceremony felt at least somewhat familiar now. As the count repeated the same words once more, he managed to relax a bit.
“Underkeeper Bernard. You are hereby appointed by my authority as the lord of Halfbridge to represent the interests of the crown as a legitimator to the Invigilation – to accompany, validate and document the actions of Torvald, a Paladin of Ruzinia and representative of the Invigilation. Do you accept this charge?”
“I accept.” Bernt said formally, and followed up with another bow as protocol dictated.
Standing up straight again, he realized that he’d forgotten to find Torvald in the crowd as he entered the room. He was supposed to go stand next to him, symbolically taking on his task immediately. Trying not to be too obvious, he scanned the crowd to his left and right. He found Iriala first, who met his eyes before looking meaningfully to Bernt’s left.
Turning, Bernt found the paladin just behind him and to his left, and stepped over to take his place. Bernt wasn’t sure if the crowd had noticed his moment of hesitation, or if they were just polite enough to ignore it. Either way, his part in this was over, for now, and he was thankful for it. Torvald gave him a friendly nod and turned back to look at the count. He seemed totally relaxed, even though he guessed the paladin must have just gone through a similar introduction.
If this was what the lives of politicians and nobles was like, he would take cleaning sewers over it any day of the week. Across from him stood Archdruid Leirin, who was apparently also the Count’s agricultural advisor, and Captain Emata, who turned out to be a junior tactician. By the looks of the priests standing next to them, they’d been assigned to representatives of the temples of Eyeli and Noruk, respectively.
“Baron Regin of Hilltower.” Art announced, opening the doors once more to admit the last of their number.
The fidgety young man entered, going through the same motions that Bernt had just completed. He would never have guessed that he was a noble. For that matter, he wondered what kind of political maneuvering had put him in this position. He certainly didn’t seem like someone who wanted to follow a priest around on a potentially dangerous winter journey that might well carry them all to war at some point. Listening with half an ear, Bernt heard the count assign him Angjou, the high priestess of Balarian.
“In light of the fall of Loamfurth, as well as the Duergar’s recent aggression against us here, King Renias’ has pledged his cooperation with the Invigilation as it seeks to renew the exercise of its ancient mandate. Representatives of the four temples have been Chosen here and from all corners of the continent to meet at the Sacral Peaks.”
Count Narald paused for effect, making eye contact with the crowd. “There, six weeks from today, they will determine a united course, with the aim to bind all mankind to our common purpose – to protect ourselves, our neighbors, and all of humanity against the depredations of demons and those who would wield them against us.”
Six weeks. Bernt wasn’t sure exactly how long it would take them to reach the Sacral Peaks, but he was sure they would have to leave soon. It was winter, and they would need to be prepared and leave time for unfavorable conditions. Still, it felt good to finally have a clear course. It was done. Bernt was officially a legitimator.