Day I
"Are you ready, Madame Royale?" inquired Professor Jean-Baptiste Colbert.
Her Royal Highness Henrietta De Tristain, heir-apparent to the throne of the Kingdom of Tristain, nodded resolutely, her ornate wand held tightly in her grip. Her gaze was focused on the pentagram she had drawn on the flattened soil of the conservatory of the royal palace. To her right stood her most loyal retainer Captain Agnès Chevalier De Milan while to her right observed her most reliable advisor Cardinal Jules Mazarin.
"I'm ready, Professeur."
Colbert nodded. "Very well, Madame Royale. Please begin."
While she may not have attended the Académie Royale Tristain Des Arcanes or any similar institution across Halkeginia, she was still a trained and adept practitioner of magic occupying the highest standing among the aristocracy. It was logical for her to partake in sacred tradition—more as a necessity since she was two years overdue for this—and it made practical sense for the heir-apparent to have her own familiar. After all, her late father had lost his own during the war with the Germanian Confederation several years ago while her mother's familiar remained largely retired, lounging either in her personal quarters or out in the yard.
Henrietta took a deep breath before raising her hand and reciting the words of the Invocation Familière Sanctifiée.
The first few moments of the ritual passed as normally as the overseeing Académie professor could tell. Then, all of a sudden, her wand suddenly released a massive burst of energy so bright that it nearly blinded all those present. Agnès, Mazarin, and Colbert were nearly thrown off their feet at the sudden subsequent shockwave that shattered glass, displaced furniture, and uprooted most of the neatly trimmed verdure in the conservatory.
Henrietta, however, remained firmly unmoved but flabbergasted at the amount of raw power she had exuded. For a triangle-class water mage, the magic she had released was more than what a square-class mage could conjure.
"Madame Royale!" coughed Agnès. "Are you alright!?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" the princess answered, shaking off her retainer's grip on her. "Is everyone alright?"
Mazarin returned to his place alongside Colbert but this time, they were wary of the fifth figure occupying the center of the pentagram.
The captain of the Corps Royal Des Mousquetaires immediately stood before her charge with her hands poised to draw on either her blade or one of her many flintlock pistols. "Madame Royale, is that...your familiar?"
Henrietta felt her throat dry up as she now took in the sight of her summon: a man.
A large man in a long, brown, dusty coat and a weathered wide-brimmed hat. His face was hidden behind an odd yet unnerving iron (steel?) mask. His blackened cuirass was lined with belts that carried pouches, satchels, and pockets for small brass vials. He even wore on his right hand a strange, steel gauntlet inset with glowing jewels and a large shimmering emerald gem. Yet, the most alarming details were the assortment of weapons on his person: a short bastard sword sheathed by his hip, a quartet of odd steel pistols holstered all over his body, and a bulky musket wrapped in rags slung over his shoulder.
The princess felt her breath hitch. Ignoring Agnès's warnings and gesturing at Mazarin and Colbert not to intervene, Henrietta approached her summon. He easily towered over her, his glowing green eyes striking fear into hers. And the odor... Brimir above, he smelled! The musk of dried sweat, the pungent scent of strong drink, and the stinging in her nostrils that could only come from burning sulfur or...saltpeter?
Had this man come from the depths of Hell?
No. She could not be distracted by tangential inquiries. She needed to finish the Invocation...before this would get out of hand.
"Monsieur, may I ask that you please remove your mask?" the princess requested.
The man did not respond, instead, tilting his head slightly.
Henrietta realized that he may not be from Tristain. So she gestured as best she could that he reveal his face.
After a while, the man reciprocated. He fiddled with the straps that seemed to hold his mask in place before it finally came off, hanging below his chin. What greeted her hesitant gaze was an unkempt, bearded face smeared in grime and bearing the weight of several years.
She stepped back and, after a hesitant nod from Colbert, she recited the final phrases of the Invocation.
The summoned man, though confused, remained unmoving until Henrietta gestured at him as though she wished to speak in his ear.
He complied, bowing his head, and immediately felt her lips press against his cheek.
What followed was a rapid series of actions and reactions that nearly ended with Henrietta's death had it not been for the timely intervention of the other three people present. Thankfully, no one was seriously injured...unless scrapes, cuts, and minor bruises were considered serious enough. And that was not to mention the odd Brimiric runes burned into the mysterious man's right hand as a result of the Invocation being successfully completed. Likewise, property damage still counted and some laborers had to be brought in to repair the conservatory...or what was left of it.
Unfortunately, as Mazarin pointed out later that evening, there were going to be serious complications for a human familiar summoned by the crown princess of one of the four Brimiric kingdoms of Halkeginia. An intelligent, volatile, uncouth, and very dangerous human familiar.
-~oOo~-
Day IV
There were indeed dire consequences.
Henrietta did not need either Agnès or Mazarin to inform her of the not-so-subtle hints of resistance from the Church, the aristocracy, and even the plebes when it came to discussing the sudden stranger who appeared at her side and began functioning as her 'right hand.' It was all disconcerting with the wild rumors that began to spread throughout the capital Tristania.
Additionally, the revelations from Professor Colbert and Académie Director Antoine-Laurent Osmond, both of whom had rushed from their institution in County Hainault to deliver their findings in person, only instilled greater fear in Henrietta's heart. Thankfully, she showed none of that even after Cardinal Mazarin highlighted the possible actions to take should the Church in Romalia receive word that the heir-apparent to the throne of the Kingdom of Tristain was actually a Void mage.
For Brimir's sake, her element was water!
How was it even possible that she could also be a wielder of the lost element? Of the powers that only Brimir himself could successfully practice? While it was true that over the six thousand years since his death that there were cases of those suspected to be aligned to that affinity but the Church and many other groups like it had very little tolerance for that.
Then again, the current pope Saint Aegis XXXII was seen to be among the more lenient of the holy fathers...
"Well, shit," whistled the princess's familiar who, until now, preferred to go by his nom de guerre Courier Six (or 'the Courier' or 'Six' or whichever; Henrietta stopped caring). "Sounds like the inquisition's gon' come knockin' on your front doors soon, Henny."
Captain Agnès, Cardinal Mazarin, Professor Colbert, and Director Osmond all gave him stern looks but otherwise did not loudly rebuke him. After all, the man had shown that their reprimands entered his one ear only to leave out the other. Henrietta at least did not have to raise her hand to placate them for being slighted on her behalf; the princess was inwardly more welcoming of the pet name her familiar had for her. It was a decent relief from her formal, courtly life.
"I do hope you jest often, Monsieur Sixième," Mazarin worded. "This is not a matter to be taken very lightly."
The Courier unfolded his hands and pushed himself off the column he was leaning against. "Oh, as a matter of fact, ole Julio, I do take this seriously."
"You don't seem to act like it," Agnès snorted.
"I mean, I am Henny's familiar. Her 'loyal companion' and 'personal bodyguard for life' if we stick to the definitions given by your eggheads here."
Offhandedly, Proffessor Colbert rubbed his hairless scalp while mouthing to himself whether or not his baldness was related to the term of being an 'egg-head.'
"That don' mean I'm leavin' you," the Courier continued. "I mean, I got all the world out there to explore and I have the means and the will to fight my way out if it comes to that."
"Be careful with your words, Sixième," the musketeer captain growled.
To which, the familiar gestured at her to let go of the hilt of her sword. "Really antsy today, aren't you, Angie? But just 'cause I can ditch Henny doesn't mean I'd do it in a heartbeat. She's got to deal with problems a girl like her shouldn't. And that don' sit right with me."
"So by your conviction," echoed Director Osmond, "you will stand by Her Majesty's side as her familiar."
Courier Six smirked. "I like your smarm, old man. We should sit down for a drink some time. Talk about enlightenment and the fifth element."
Osmond simpered and rubbed his long gray beard. "Why, I would gladly accept the offer, Monsieur Sixième. Alas, my work at the Académie leaves little time for leisure."
"That's understandable. Work's always a bitch, after all."
The director snickered loudly. "That's one way of putting it."
Professor Colbert cleared his throat. "Pardon for the interjection, you two, but may we resume our discussion of dealing with any impending Papal Inquisition in light of Her Royal Highness's case as a Void mage?"
"How," Henrietta breathed loudly, ignoring the attention centering back to her. "How is it possible that I am both a mage of water and a mage of...of Void? All my training, all my lessons... My element has always been water!"
"Madame Royale, while the Church is the most knowledgeable of Brimir and his powers, I must admit that we are not entirely accurate," Mazarin explained. "Hence, we continue to study the reasons for why things were and why things continue in the manner that they should not be. I am sure there are various theses written over the years exploring these avenues. I doubt the Inquisition would overlook any archival research in their fact-finding. The case of a person being of the Void since Brimir is not uncommon."
The Courier grunted, resting his calloused hand on the princess's shoulder. "Eh, look on the bright side, Henny. You can use two elements. Two's better than one. And I'm pretty damn sure you ain't the only one in the whole known world who can pull that off."
The cardinal sighed. "Simplistic. But Monsieur Sixième has a point. Mastery over two elements is quite a common case and generally accepted in many circles. Additionally, such an advantage even yields immense practical usage."
"And a lot of jealous mages from all walks of life," muttered Agnès, "including incumbent rulers of powerful realms."
Henrietta shook her head. "But how can I be...how can I...?"
"I'm sure there's been someone in your history who's done what you did," the familiar said softly.
"And that's supposed to make me what? 'Special?'" snorted the princess as she remained despondently seated on her recliner.
Much to the surprise of most everyone in the regal chamber, her familiar stooped down to a knee in front of her so he could meet her in the eye. "Henny, you're special not 'cause you're a princess but 'cause you got somethin' that'll shake the boots off even the bigs-shots on this whole continent. And from where I'm from, that's not somethin' to be afraid of. That's somethin' to capitalize on."
Mazarin gasped. "You can't be seriously suggesting—"
"I ain't tellin' her to wage war, Julio. I'm only sayin' that Henny's got somethin' goin' for her. Somethin' big, game-changing. And, based on what I've been pickin' up about how things work around here, we best not screw it up else we're gon' be lookin' at some shit-storms we can't handle."
"We risk antagonizing the Church," the cardinal warned.
"And they ain't gon' come in here with pitchforks and torches right from the get go," the Courier retorted. "You believe in a god, sure, but you ain't stupid. I know holy men can be annoyin' as all livin' hell but a lot o' holy men I met in my travels are pretty damn smart. Way more than me. And I know they're gon' be tickin' all the boxes 'fore they do somethin' drastic."
The musketeer captain furrowed her brow. "How can you be so sure of all that?"
"Angie, it's just how people behave. No matter the time or place, no matter how sophisticated or hifalutin, we're all the same. People gon' be lookin' for answers to mysteries they find and a lot o' folks are smart enough to do some right diggin' 'fore they gon' be bustin' down doors." He turned to Professor Colbert. "Ain't that right, Baldy?"
"Pardon Monsieur Sixième, but may I reiterate that my name is Jean-Baptiste Colbert. Not 'Bal-dee.' And yes... It is more beneficial to understand the unknown through the sources given than to trudge blindly into the abyss."
Henreitta looked up and saw the confidence in her summon's weighted eyes, the vindicated smile he sported to all those present. While his vocabulary would fit among the dregs of society, he was still an intelligent man speaking from study and experience. And she could tell that, no matter how many times Agnès or Mazarin would deny it, Courier Six was actually speaking some wisdom...for a thuggish commoner...with powerful muskets and a mystical steel gauntlet that hummed with a mysterious energy that made her skin crawl.
-~oOo~-
Day V
Henrietta found her familiar to be a mixed blessing. While his behavior and demeanor was generally aggravating, his actions often meant well.
Courier Six rarely minced his words and was willing to prove his point through brute force, even to the drawing of blood. The coldness in his voice and the lack of emotion in his eyes when he threatened to kill Agnès during a particularly heated argument proved that he was more than a mere commoner of some dispensable level of martial skill. Rather, there was no reason to doubt that the princess's familiar had seen his fair share of bloodshed in realms where water was scarce, sand buried ruined cities, the air remained poisoned for over two hundred years...and magic had long ceased to exist in the minds of man.
Such a life in a such a place would have no doubt created a monster.
Henrietta blinked to clear her mind (she did not summon a monster!) and waved away the smoke wafting over to her from the discharge of one of Agnès's flintlock pistols. A handful of the princess's own Corps Royal Des Mousquetaires were present at the shooting range of their barracks to observe the apparent 'testing' of their weaponry by 'Her Royal Highness's herald.'
"Not too shabby," he remarked, examining the weapon he just fired.
Across the field, the target sported a clean hole in its head.
"Your aim is...impeccable," Agnès observed (Henrietta had known her long enough to detect the awe and begrudging admiration in her voice). "At this distance...and with just a pistol."
The Courier let out a grunt as he handed back her firearm before gesturing at one of the observing musketeers for a musket.
The next shot, fired from the signature weapon of the princess's elite guard, yielded a far more accurate result with the ball once again lodging into the quintain's head, a bare inch above the last one.
"And you say you are a courier," Henrietta quipped nervously.
"I was," her familiar answered. "Deliverin' packages is a dangerous job, y'know."
No one disagreed with that. The life of a messenger was always rife with danger. Additionally, they had seen the ugly scars on his forehead and heard the grisly tale of how that came to be.
"So, Angie. What's your plan when goin' up against mages?" he asked.
"We have a variety of approaches," Agnès replied, having already consigned herself to that sobriquet. "The immediate approach is to fire first before the mage can cast a spell. It's not quite straightforward and is rather risky, especially when confronting them without the assistance of one's comrades."
Henrietta sat back on her chair as her retainer continued to list the various ways Tristain's royal musketeers dealt with their foes.
At the end of the discussion, the man let out a snort. "That's it, huh. Seems like y'all need some work."
To this, several of royal musketeers raised their brows. Agnès, in particular, folded her arms, posturing to accept a challenge. "I'm open to suggestions, Sixième."
The smile that the Courier gave off was most unnerving. "Good."
-~oOo~-
Day IX
Henrietta walked out onto the balcony of the royal palace to find her familiar seated on a cushioned chair, stargazing while indulging in the hardest liquor that could be found in the royal cellars. From the look on his face, she could tell that he was still mesmerized by the beauty of the two moons. She could not hold it against him for being captivated by such a common sight as the man, after all, had been summoned from a place where civilization was buried under toxic sand and only a single white moon hung in the sky.
Such rare shows of serenity dispelled the image of a heartless mercenary that he seemed to relish cultivating. He may had formed a habit of antagonizing Mazarin, vexing Agnès, and giving Henrietta another headache to worry about. But, strangely enough, he behaved in the presence of her mother.
Her Majesty Queen Marianne De Tristain had become a fragile shell of herself in the wake of the passing of His Majesty King Henri De Tristain. The woman was still grieving and was having immense difficulty in properly leading her realm. And it seemed, as Henrietta, Agnès, Mazarin, and much of the palace staff observed, that Courier Six never pushed a person who was in mourning. And maybe, in the princess's mind, her familiar was himself in mourning.
"You want somethin'?" said familiar asked without shifting his gaze.
"It's late."
"I know, Henny." He emptied his goblet before filling it back up again. "Damn good stuff."
"You seem to be acclimating well," she remarked.
"You could say that I finally got it through to my head that this is my new reality now. No use in achin' for the past when the present is ten times better."
"Your past is harsh. Perhaps that is why your training regimen has been quite grueling."
He scoffed. "They say it takes ten musketeers to take down one mage. At best, takes five. In my books, it should only take one. One shot, one kill."
She winced at the mention of killing. "It is...unconventional."
"Heard it all, Henny. 'Disgraceful,' 'dishonorable.' 'Conduct unbecoming.' Like I give a damn. Let's be pragmatic here. You want a rogue mage taken down? Do some research first. If he's guilty, he won't stick around to hear the damn spiel about his rights to an attorney. One bullet to the noggin 'fore he has a chance to either bolt or burn you to a crisp."
Henrietta could not fault him for such logic; it did, after all, make sense to dispense with the unnecessary rituals in a serious situation. Though, she winced at how hard he was 're-training' Agnès and the rest of the Corps Royal Des Mousquetaires.
"Angie wants me to lighten up, huh," quipped Courier Six.
"I've heard complaints. But I think Agnès sees the wisdom in your methods."
"She's a tough girl. Been through hell, that much I can tell. Well, tell her that I ain't plannin' on drillin' 'em to death." He made a gesture with his left hand, imitating the shape of a pistol, before mimicking the recoil from it firing. "Just have to fine tune 'em a bit more."
The princess noticed the faint glow from his gauntlet—'Pip-boy,' he called it—lighting up the four bottles on the table, three of which were empty. "Don't you ever worry about your health?"
"I've been through worse," he dismissed.
She sighed, sitting on the vacant chair across from him. "Very well. Um, how has the past week been for you so far?"
The man with the ugly scar on his forehead regarded her with a flat look. "I'm surprised I ain't dead already."
Henrietta frowned. "Don't jest, please. I'm expressing serious concern for your behavior and your regard for the—"
"Look, Henny, I know that you want to, uh, bridge the gap between us." He set his goblet down on the table, showcasing the space on his right wrist where the Divine runes of the Invocation Familière Sanctifièe had been etched into his skin, probably burned all the way to the bone. "And I don't really have a say in the matter when an Abrahamic god—"
"Brimir."
"Whatever. Father Abraham's counterpart in these lands. I don't have a say when he's basically branded me to be someone's slave."
"You're not a slave!"
"Synonyms, Henny."
The princess deflated, her hands tightening over her lap. "I don't want you treated like a servant. I want you treated as an equal. You've shown that you more than merit it."
Shrug. "Eh, if you're referrin' to yourself, then you're doin' a good job of it."
"You're my familiar. As your superior, I'm just...very concerned about the ramifications of what you've been doing."
Her familiar, the supposed 'Right Hand Of God' according to the runes on his hand, sniggered. "If you're talkin' 'bout that little tiff between me and ole Julio—"
"Cardinal Jules Mazarin," corrected Henrietta.
"We kissed and made up, don't worry."
"I would appreciate it if you weren't so crass."
"Can't help myself. Some habits die hard and some languages just can't be unlearned."
"Still, did you have to insult him in front of the entire court?"
The Courier waved dismissively. "We had a disagreement. He pushed, I pushed back. Things got heated. You know how it is."
"Meetings are supposed to be civil."
"Ideally. Realistically, though..."
The princess dipped her head into her hands. "I know, I know. But I have to know why...why do you have to make things so difficult for me..."
"Am I?" The man looked genuinely confused. "I thought it was just normal for a place like this. Y'know, how kings and queens and jesters and the annoyin' little pricks who constantly suck on your toes so they could get cushier seats..."
"Please don't refer to my subjects or their conduct as...as that."
"Well pardon me being blunt, Madame Royale, but you just have to get used to it." He ran his hand over his scalp as the moonlight accentuated the hideous scars where two musket balls apparently lodged into his skull. "Can't teach an old dog new tricks as they say."
"You're not that old."
"I'm old enough to be your father."
Henrietta regarded him tiredly. "Is it too much to ask that you please...behave yourself a bit more?"
"Am I not?"
"No."
Shrug. "Well, I'll keep tryin' then. Can't guarantee a better success rate though."
"We gave you a title. We crafted a lie to defend your place by my side. You have to behave as the knight that you are lest I will be forced to have you expelled from the palace grounds and I cannot have that. Especially not at this time. So please, for our sakes and the sake of this kingdom, don't undo all of our efforts. Don't...don't ruin everything..."
Silence.
Followed by a sigh.
And the Courier leaning over from his seat. "Henny, I know you're doin' all you can to save your people. I ain't blind to that. But know that I've got my reasons for actin' the way I do. And some o' that's been hardwired into me 'cause o' where I'm from. Like I said: you can't teach an old dog new tricks."
The moment hung in silence before the princess tried another avenue. "In that case... How bad was your world? How terrible was it that you are willing to risk so much? That you are...who you are."
He laughed. "If I told you everythin', we'd be here all night."
She mulled that. The moons were not that high up in the sky and her mother had already retired for the evening. Mazarin and Agnès were at the former's office going through her itinerary for tomorrow and that often led to long-winded arguments which sometimes lasted hours. So far, the princess had the rest of the night off. And it really was already late.
Then again, she couldn't sleep. Not with so much going on.
"I can spare the time." With that, the seventeen-year-old royal grabbed his wine and took a swig straight from the half-empty bottle. Brimir above, the kick was strong! What little taste there was had been diluted by the potency of the spirits of the ale.
Her familiar snickered. "That's behavior most unbecoming of you, Madame Royale."
The princess slammed the bottle down on the table. "I blame you for your horrible influence."
"Hate to say I'm proud of it."
Her throat burned and her tongue had yet to do away with the bitterness of the drink but at least she had reason to stay by his side. "Now. You said your tale would last all throughout the night."
"If you have the time."
"I do have the time," Henrietta bit back. "Start talking. That's an order."
For the first time, Courier Six laughed. "Alright, Henny, I hear you. Let's start with an old saying back where I'm from. It's about war. And war... War never changes."
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: December 23, 2020
LAST EDITED: January 8, 2021
INITIALLY UPLOADED: January 1, 2021
NOTE (January 1, 2020): My first publication for 2021. This started out as a bunch of snippets. Then I thought I'd link them together to form this sort of story.
Originally, this was going to follow the usual formula of Louise being the summoner but the original draft for this came out really dark to the point that even I felt uncomfortable proofreading it. So I instead rewrote it as Henrietta doing the summoning in a more controlled environment.
There's a lot more that I've added. Just have to string them all together in a cohesive chapter and hopefully with a conclusion because Lord knows I have other, bigger, longer stories I need to finish.