Another Voice: Reports and Plans
A man and a woman walked down a corridor.
"-but without the prince's body, they're not willing to believe he's dead. Not after all his raids," the man was saying. He wore elaborate clerical vestments that fit him poorly, and a mote of Light followed him.
The woman, who wore a novice's simple, black robe, scowled. "Cymru will be brought to heel soon enough."
"Perhaps," he replied. "But they will require a delicate touch if you wish to get any use out of them. I doubt they'll be willing to fly except in the defense of Albion against an outside invasion, as they fought against us."
"If that's so, then they can remain grounded in their aeries!" she snapped. "Let them strut in their spurs when those who are loyal to us return home carrying the bounties of plunder from their battles!"
The man shook his head. "They are not the same as the scions who proved so willing to rise up against their elders and seize power. The ambition of the dragonriders is already fulfilled: Their dream is the sky, and their joy is in flight. And the Tudors treated them well from the day that dynasty claimed the Throne of Air and sought to conquer Albion. The Brotherhood will be slow to submit, I fear, even after we prove that the Tudors are extinct." He frowned. "Or swallowed up by the Throne of Water."
"No matter. The last of the Tudor blood will end when the de Tristain Heir is slain, so there shall be no revival of them or their claim. And no knightly order is incorruptible."
They stopped and faced an unremarkable section of the wall. The woman frowned in concentration, and in a moment the wall melted away, allowing them to step through.
"You still do not understand," the man said, shaking his head again. "They're not knights, with dreams of glory and battle. The Dragonriders only take those who love the sky."
The woman shook her head. "Foolishness. How else are they to boast and strut for the women they chase?" She gave her companion a stern look. "But even so, every group has its renegades. Even the Winged Folk, or the elves! Find some renegade dragonriders and recruit them!"
"That will make it even more difficult to persuade the Harjalling to submit to us, if we extend pardons and welcome to those they deem unworthy."
"Then we shall not need to prepare the wyrmbarges, and can focus on repairing the ships we lost taking Newcastle!" She took a deep breath. "But I must spend the rest of today here, so you will need to handle matters yourself."
"I do not envy you your task." The man grimaced as he looked around the room they were now in. It was circular, sheathed in granite, not terribly big, and the only furniture therein was a round obsidian table, some two paces in diameter, set in the exact center of the room.
On the table was the body of an old man, eyes open and unseeing, naked and spread-eagle, skin gone cold and pale. His blood, now dry, traced runes on the floor that had never seen use in the spells of the followers of Brimir.
"I would prefer to put it off myself, if there were not questions that needed answering," the woman replied. "But the invasion of Tristain must not be delayed any more than necessary!"
"So I am denied the chance to fall in battle against the highlanders?" her companion asked lightly. "Or would we have subdued the islemen next?"
She snorted. "Cromwell is triumphant, and now assumes the first of his Thrones. You were chosen to live, not to die. Was that not clear?"
The man's eyebrows shot up slightly. "I see. I am honored."
"Honor your duties, and leave me to mine."
He bowed. Then he adjusted a ring on his finger, and his form rippled, changing until the vestments he wore fit as if tailored to him.
Thus altered, he left the room. The wall filled back in, plunging the woman into total darkness.
But only for a moment. She spoke a harsh guttural word, one intended for throats that weren't precisely human, and the runes on the floor, traced in blood, began to glow a faint red.
Then she removed her robe. Underneath she wore naught but a black leather loincloth and an amulet. Runes were traced in blood all over her body, and they cast the same dim glow as the runes on the floor.
The robe was placed in a small alcove in the circular wall, and then she moved to stand beside the table, over where the corpse's head lay. Next she grasped the amulet, hanging around her neck, holding it firmly in both hands.
Then, taking a deep breath, she began walking around the table widdershins, intoning more guttural words, speaking a language that had nothing to do with Albionian, Romalian, Germanian, or indeed any tongue commonly spoken by the humans of Halkagenia.
Hours passed by. Nothing seemed to happen, and so she continued, walking and chanting her sepulchral verses. Her voice gradually grew hoarse and cracking, and her arms grew leaden and shaking.
But then, finally, the corpse's face shifted slightly, and the eyes began glowing a faint blue.
The woman reached the head of the table and staggered to a halt, almost stumbling. But she maintained the chant, croaking out a new verse, her voice suddenly ringing deep and hollow, until the final syllables left her lips.
She looked down at the body on the table, and triumph curled her lips. Then a frown of concentration, and then she allowed herself to collapse, as the glow of the blood runes faded and left her once more in the darkness.
But it was not long before the entrance melted open once more, and 'Cromwell' returned. He stepped around the table until he saw her, crumpled on the ground.
"You didn't say it would take this long!" he cried in distress, hurrying to the niche where her robe lay and bringing it to her.
A brief moment of contact as he lay it over her- "You're freezing! Can you even stand?!"
"I must," she rasped. "Help me up."
And she was able to stand, if only barely, shivering in the cold and swaying with exhaustion.
"I've been waiting for you to ring the grave-bell," 'Cromwell' told her. "And this, all for one man . . . it takes too much out of you! Let me find another to perform these rituals."
"How will you find orcs here on Albion?" she rasped. "Only a grave-caller can perform valgdrar. And only I can command Hel's Reprieve without being ordained."
"I could find a renegade. Or even hire an entire tribe from the continent."
The woman laughed. "With the trouble I suffered, claiming the amulet in the first place? No, a grave-caller backed by a tribe wouldn't rest until I was slain and their relic reclaimed. Find a renegade if you can, but I doubt we'll be able to raise an army of draugr this year or the next."
She pulled the robe more tightly around her. "You said you were waiting for me to ring the grave-bell? What problem has arisen? Or did the twinned tablet work its dweomer?"
"The latter," he told her, fishing a scroll out of his vestments and handing it over. Then he pulled out a vial and handed it over as well. "But before you read it, take this. I glanced over it, and you'll want your strength."
'Cromwell' hesitated, then bowed his head. "I thought it might not be the wisest use, given the effort the tablet cost you to ennoble, but the agent offers insight that we couldn't have otherwise received. I should not have doubted you, or by implication your holy master."
"No, you shouldn't have," she replied curtly. "But you are forgiven. And I shall want as many answers as I can glean before I wrestle more from him," the woman declared, jabbing a finger at the glowing eyes of the corpse on the table. "The sooner we find the Relics of Air and the prince's body, the better."
"Then I pray that the report offers the insight you seek." The false figurehead straightened. "And I shall need to make preparations, I think."
"Go, then." Her lips quirked. "Your humble secretary must finish 'communing with Brimir' before I rejoin you above."
He bowed. "Yes, Lady Myothvitnir."
With that, 'Cromwell' left the room. But when the light left with him, the scroll that he had given her began to glow.
Myothvitnir imbibed the contents of the vial, then sighed in relief as the shivering faded and a rush of strength flew through every limb. "Thank you, Manawat," she said in sudden prayer, "for sending me a competent Cromwell after the others all died."
Then, standing straight: "Master, are you awake?"
There was no one in the room save her and the dead man on the table, but she tilted her head slightly, as if listening to the response of another.
"Yes, Master, this is important. I've received the report I demanded of Viscount Jean-Jacques Wardes, and I have his words in my hands."
She paused again, but only briefly.
"Of course, Master.
"'Most Honored Pater,
"'I confess that I was startled when this 'twinned tablet' was delivered to me today, but reading the missive included with it I understand the need for haste.
"'I can confirm most confidently that Prince Wales is dead. I was offered an excuse to separate myself from the prince without ever having to ask for one. Then, having made my way to the kitchen, I was forced to kill three servants to gain access to the food being prepared for him, but afterward I joined the banquet and personally witnessed him consuming the dish that I'd tampered with. The tell-tales I placed on it in the kitchen remained on it in the dining hall, and so the dish was not disposed of or switched out for another. Furthermore, the prince was hungry enough to consume it all, and I remained with him long enough afterward to ensure that there was no time left for an antidote to save him, before taking my leave and returning to Bruxelles.
"'As to my second task, I am convinced that the token that my fiancée was sent to retrieve was of value to our cause. Sadly, it seems that her familiar argued for its destruction at the last moment, and Prince Wales was persuaded towards this uncharacteristic act of cunning. Unfortunately, this happened before I had a chance to search my fiancée's baggage, and she felt safe enough in the prince's presence that she did not see the need for my advice and counsel when acting as an ambassador for Her Highness.
"'I have chided her for this, and I think that Louise shall be better behaved in the future.'"
The woman fell silent a third time.
"I agree, Master. He should have taught his fiancée better before letting her alone with Prince Wales. But may I go on? Thank you.
"'As to my final task, I cannot confirm success or failure, merely offer my observations.'
"Or offer more excuses for his failure.
"Yes, of course, Master. I will continue.
"'I now deeply regret that I did not investigate this Jason when I commanded the Royal Guard on her Highness's vist to the Tristain Academy of Magic. I thought it enough then to simply report the gossip of a human summons, as I had been instructed to, but if I had met him then I could have already taken his measure, and not dance around the issue with my fiancée.
"'Sadly, I did need to be circumspect. Louise was unwilling to admit that she had summoned her familiar, preferring to imply that she was being subject to more of the special study regimen of her first year of Academy instruction. I was unsure of her motives for that: She wears the mantle of a Second Form student, so clearly she had a familiar, and then why not speak of it? Especially when so much of the spring instruction focuses on the value of one's familiar.
"'Such transparent evasions. Was she trying to set a trap for me? Deceive me into revealing what I've learned of the mysteries? Perhaps a trap set for anyone who knew too much? I could not be sure, and I remain unsure. I believe Louise knows either too little or too much, but I do not know which.
"'As for her familiar, I thought I saw runes on his left hand when we met just outside the Academy fields, so I signaled to my clone to race ahead and arrange for the ambush of brigands. More easily arranged than the stampede, fortunately!
"'He seemed displeased when the brigands attacked, and I was waiting for him to draw a weapon and dispatch them. Unfortunately, the age-old rivalry between the Zerbsts and the Vallières was revived at that moment, for Kirche von Zerbst, who shares classes with my financée, flew out over the trees and dispatched the bandits with great expediency.
"'(She then proceeded to embark on a most unsubtle campaign of flirtation and invitation, no doubt in the traditions of her family. I confess, were circumstances otherwise I should not have objected to dallying with her. Perhaps once I have an heir and my line is secure . . .)
"'But for the moment my test was undone, and so we continued onward to La Rochelle.
"'There I discovered that Louise's familiar was utterly unaccustomed to riding. I'd observed his lack of skill during the day's ride, of course, but I was not prepared for the magnitude of his saddle sores. I treated them as best I could, of course, for it afforded me the opportunity to examine him closely.
"'I'd heard gossip that my fiancée's familiar was little more than a great sack of lard, barely able to walk up a few flights of stairs to his master's suite without passing out. Perhaps that was once the case, but if so he has improved his conditioning greatly since he was summoned. Perhaps it was inevitable, given the need to walk up those stairs, but perhaps it was evidence that he is being prepared for his divine role, and thus that his master does know more than she feigned. I could not discern which, so I resolved to remain circumspect.
"'I put this Jason to the question as we bathed, albeit gently. He seemed clever, perhaps even learned in the ways of his barbarian people, but I was convinced that he lacked skill in the ways of intrigue, for his expressions were poorly controlled. When I challenged his potential as a tutor, it was clear enough that he never planned to teach my fiancée, although he spoke of strange maths and seemed confident in his mastery thereof.
"'Once he slept, I did take the opportunity to examine his luggage, and this threw all my calculations awry. There I found mostly clothing, but I also found a healing potion – what testing I could do without leaving evidence suggests that its potency is considerable – and a stiletto of very peculiar make. The blade was short and extremely thin but also seemed very sharp, able to pierce skin with ease, and the round hilt, longer almost than the needle-like blade, was of a strange clear material that I have never before encountered. I think it must be an assassin's weapon, or at the very least a weapon that a commoner could carry without seeming to be armed.
"'His possession of an assassin's stiletto troubled me that night. Looking at him, I should never have imagined him as such a killer. But is that not the highest praise for an assassin or spy, that they do not seem to fit their role? I resolved to observe him further the next day.
"'And so I did. Perhaps I was too obvious: The more I scrutinized Jason the quieter he became. Certainly he was more than what he seemed, but did he know what he was? I could not decide.
"'But I was concerned, for one of the subjects he mentioned in passing was an understanding of the laws that govern time. As if he were privy to some of the mysteries of the holy Void! And the way he spoke of it, it was an example of, perhaps not trivial knowledge, but something commonly known among his people.
"'I spent time walking through the city with my fiancée, as is appropriate, and gave her opportunities to impress me with her magical prowess. Unfortunately, she insisted that her element is Fire, and that she was still making up for a lost year of practice. When I sought to hint at other spells she might know, she very nearly broke down, I was forced to reassure her, and I was denied the chance to see her cast any Void spells.
"'I decided to arrange a new test. I understand that familiars of the holy Void can learn to commune with their masters. If Louise's familiar had been given such training, then she could summon him from the Goddess Temple Inn to the docks. If he hadn't, then we could send a bird. Either way, training as an assassin would serve him well, for through my wind clones I had recruited the brigands back up to strength and filled the streets with them. If Jason could fight his way through them, then I would have my answer.
"'But my second test was likewise spoiled: Kirche von Zerbst had arranged for an aerial vigil of her rival, and brought her rival's familiar when she flew to the ship we were to take passage on, no doubt so that there could be no complaint regarding her continuing to accompany us.'"
Myothvitnir paused yet again. "There is more to the letter, Master. Perhaps he did devise a better test. Shall I continue?
"Thank you, Master.
"'The brigands had not been expended this time, so it was simple enough to round them up and assault the airship we were taking passage on, after arranging to isolate Louise's familiar and see to it that he had a sword to fight with. And even if something went wrong, I was determined that he would not be permitted to rejoin us until I had seen his performance in battle.
"'Until, that is, Kirche Brimir-von-forsaken Zerbst unleashed a massive Fireball and destroyed my brigands again! Truly, the fiery slut is every bit her father's daughter! Three tests and she spoiled all of them, simply by being there!
"'Then, during the voyage, we were waylaid by pirates. (They turned out to be the Eagle, captained by Prince Wales, but we did not know that at the time.) I thought to seize the opportunity and administer a fourth test. But instead of fighting, no matter how heroically or ineptly, this Jason acted as a Fool, asking absurd questions that made an utter mock of the situation . . . until all of a sudden he had shifted the battlefield, and now we were holding the Eagle's boarding party hostage! And this from someone who feigned to possess no skill at intrigue!
"'Once the situation was resolved, and we were taking passage on the Eagle as guests, I confronted him, and once more he seemed a clever but ultimately simple barbarian.
"'Perhaps it is that he isa barbarian, that his ways are so strange that I cannot discern them. I do not know. I have administered one final test to him: I left him behind at Newcastle shortly before Prince Wales died. If you seemed to face a hero out of ancient times when you stormed Newcastle, then I pray to Brimir that you cut him down, that my fiancée may have the opportunity to summon a more appropriate familiar.'"
Myothvitnir frowned. "There were no reports of such a hero, when we stormed Newcastle. Most of those we faced were so wounded that they could barely lift their wands, and had clearly been left to slow us down long enough for the Eagle to escape with the surviving remnant."
Still again another pause, for a response that only she could hear.
"No, master, we didn't realize that the Eagle had returned to Newcastle. Not until Captain Wardes' coded message was brought to me later, and I passed it along to you to decipher. We all thought that Prince Wales had fallen in battle, and that's what the defenders were outraged at.
"Wherever the Eagle is, that is where we will surely find this strange new Gandálfr, as well as the Relics of Air and the body of Prince Wales. Shall I continue?
"'If my fiancée's familiar has survived, then he has not followed his master to Bruxelles and the palace. And that is a good thing, for I suspect that Louise has begun to look to him for comfort and support, and no maiden should look thus to a man other than her intended. I hinted that we might marry on this mission, as her parents have assured me that she has looked forward to for the last ten years, but I was soundly rebuffed, albeit with the excuse that she was finally succeeding with her studies.
"'I had thought it best to wait, to influence both my fiancée and her Highness in preparation for their new future under Reconquista, but as I have written this report I have had another thought:
"'I was warned, upon accepting my current post, that Louise and Princess Henrietta are prone to mischief when they spend time in each other's company. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage.
"'If Prince Wales' body is missing, then perhaps it can be said that he escaped. If you contact the princess in his name, then you can draw both her and my fiancée out of the palace and even Bruxelles. If they attempt it, I can permit them to succeed in whatever escape plan they devise, and ensure that we would be late enough in pursuing the errant children that you would have ample time to collect them and vanish from all possibility of pursuit.
"'Once you have possession of them, we not only hold Tristain's future, we can then take the time teach Louise of the truth of her destiny properly. If she is truly one of Brimir's Chosen, then let her infuriatingly opaque familiar pine away and suffer the fate of all abandoned familiars. Then, once she has been taught to be loyal to our cause and her husband, we will be ready for a familiar of our choosing.'"
Myothvitnir skimmed the rest of the letter. "The remainder is nothing more than an elaborate farewell and declaration of his undying loyalty, Master."
She frowned. "Yes, I agree, it seems a good plan, and if we use it we must use it in haste, but I have not the Ring of Air, Master. Surely the Eagle has flown beyond our grasp today! The only one who could seal a letter as one ordained to Air would be King James himself, and if I command him to that then I will not be able to question him regarding the Relic and his son! Not without time we cannot easily spare!"
Then a wince. "No, my Divine Commission is not waning! The amulet is not a Brimiric nobilum, Master. Hel's Reprieve is of the orcs and their demon-goddess, and the legends I've heard of it say that it was taken from her own dark realm! It's a Relic in its own right, Master, and slow to submit to me! The Ring of Air, had we recovered it, would submit to my rightful authority in the twinkling of an eye."
This time a pause that went on for several long moments.
Finally Myothvitnir bowed her head. "It shall be as you say, Master. I shall wrest my answers another day. For now, I shall summon my latest Cromwell and make our preparations."
With that she frowned in concentration, and once again it was not long before 'Cromwell' returned.
"Yes, my lady?" he asked.
"The Brotherhood at Cymru refuses to submit, but do we not have a few dragons that can still fly?"
"A handful, yes," came the reply. "But they are not fit for fighting."
"They will not need to, so long as they can carry some of our soldiers and mage-knights over to the continent."
'Cromwell' thought it over. "Yes, I believe they can manage that."
"Then hurry and have them ready for flight!" she snapped. "We have no time to waste!"
"Yes, Lady Myothvitnir!" With that, he fled.
"And now," the woman murmured, walking over to bend over the head of the naked man on the table, "it is time to discover if all this will be worth it.
"King James Tudor of Albion," she commanded to the corpse, staring into his glowing eyes, "wake up!"
A/N: Orc magic, huh? Swimming in some deep waters there, Myothvitnir.