Pillars of the Kingdom

Chapter Four

Branden's light blue eyes studied Clarice's darker ones, a difficult task when one considers how narrow the slits on a helmet were. His blue hair was a powerful contrast to Clarice's green; her’s was long and hung below her headgear, his hardly even showed due to the steel covering. The male brandished a saber much like the one his father had used, only it was a training weapon - And a practice dagger was held in a reverse grip, originally pulled from that slender left hip as well. He held his saber back and placed the dagger before him, his left shoulder and the dagger ready to face the woman's possible attack.

"...Can I ask you a question first, Clarice?" Branden asked, glancing from his left to his right, hoping not to see some hopeful young soldier in search of a distracted target. The chaos around them was slowly but surely dying down, with the weaker players in the game having already been eliminated.

"If you're worried that we'll be interrupted, we won't. People tend to let one on one fights like this go on." She said as she entered a stance of her own. Her left shoulder was facing Branden, and the sword in that hand was extended toward him. She raised her right hand a little above her head and let her sword's tip fall down to nearly touch the blade of its twin. Sunlight glistened from her armor, and Frost had to admire just what a perfect image she was.

His blue cape blew in a sudden gust of wind and he laughed gently toward the girl. "I meant if I can speak to you after the match. I have some questions I'd like to ask you." He paused, knowing the confusion this would bring her, and he cleared it up quickly enough; "I want to ask about Coaslund, since I might vacation there soon."

Clarice was blushing underneath her helmet, thankful her face was obscured. She'd seen pictures of Branden in the archives of Emor and had to admit...He was cute – almost as attractive as Kathy, she had to concede. She nodded faintly, the helmet jiggling ever so slightly as she spoke her agreement. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Both seemed to hesitate then, almost as though they were reluctant to fight, but Branden’s first move came after that moment's pause. His first step was fast, but Clarice came to the conclusion that Branden’s skills were overstated - He was quick, but not as agile as she was. A second footfall touched the ground and her weight shifted involuntarily to her back foot - No longer was he just fast, he was almost a blur to her eyes. A third step and Branden appeared to separate into three distinct images, her eyes wholly unable to distinguish which was real.

Clarice knew just how fast someone had to be to leave an afterimage - She could do it to a civilian, but not to most Ranked fighters. Branden was leaving three of them, though after the initial shock diminished and her focus returned she felt certain she could which one was the real one - Her senses, as with his speed, were more than human. Just when relief that Branden was only one step above her had set in, he took the fourth step in his gait and vanished from view.

"How?!" She exclaimed as the first sword blow struck her, knocking her body step to the left. She took a quick breath and swung one of her swords in the direction the blow had come from, a desperate gambit to find purchase against him; she missed. His sword struck her again, from behind this time, and made her take a stumbling step forward - A strike she responded to by swinging a sword in a broad arc behind her; the same hope, the same disappointment.

Then, as though he’d been plucked from existence, came nothing; no attacks and no desperate defenses, merely clouds of dirt being kicked up. For a long time, all she could see was the ground exploding when he turned coupled with rare flashes of blue cloth as he moved. Her eyes closed, the stacatto pattering of feet on the floor coming to the fore of her senses, punctuated by the sudden shuddering of the ground as he changed the direction of his momentum. She almost seemed to lower her guard. Her hopes were base – that he would register her lack of a defensive posture as a sign of submission and strike one last time, to walk into her trap.

Naturally, Branden had anticipated this - He didn't exactly know how she'd learned it, but he’d heard of blinded men who could fight with sound, and the nickname Blind Justice, while being that of a formerly-touted Goddess, was significant because Clarice was known to fight with eyes her closed. It was a powerful advantage, capable of detecting a coming ambush as though she’d been told by its leader. Some said that, with practice, this technique would allow her to see sound, or see the aura of a person through closed eyes. These tales were well and good, but did he believe she'd mastered this knack of using all of her senses to such an extent that she’d be able to be able to catch him in his attack?

The sword striking his side served as quite a painful, but nevertheless acceptable answer. He coughed from the force of the impact as he hurtled through the air, flipping in a spiral to land on his feet while digging his heels into the sand beneath him in order to manipulate his momentum. It had hurt, but only because he’d let himself be distracted as she’d been feigning. Once he landed, he simply went back into his charge, using the moments he had to debate wether or not she'd gotten lucky or had found a way to compensate for his superior speed. The answer to this follow-up question came as he raised his weapon to attack and was suddenly forced onto the defensive. Clarice stepped forward, spinning both blades in a blur. Branden's saber parried one blow, and he used his dagger to deflect the other. In spite of her sudden return to parity, he grinned a touch - She was strong, the strongest foe he'd faced in a while, and that's exactly what he'd been looking for in her.

With nothing more astonishing than momentary bending of his will, Clarice found the air around her grow drastically colder. Suddenly there were six spheres of ice suspended in midair. Her mouth gaped open as all of them smashed into her torso - Two into her shoulders, two into her ribs, and two at her hips. She felt herself lifted through the air, then felt herself smash into another soldier before tumbling to the dirt. Whichever side that unfortunate was fighting for had probably just lost another warrior, possibly permanently.

Holy fuck, how'd he do that? Her foggy mind asked itself as she got to her feet, using both swords to support herself.

"...It's over, Clarice. You're good, alright, but you still have a step to go," Branden shouted, a touch of cockiness entering his voice. In the back of both of their minds, they knew he deserved it.

"...Not so fast, Branden. You're better than me, but I think we're both done in this fight." Clarice whispered as she stepped forward once, removing her weight from the blades as she moved them towards a ready position.

"Oh? You can still stand, I'm impressed," he said with just a touch more arrogance – she slumped a touch, he noticed the sudden sloppiness in her stance and shook his head. "I seriously recommend you stop for now. You were tired coming into this, and you're only risking your ass to keep your pride afloat."

Clarice might have continued the verbal exchange, used it to recover a little more, but she knew she'd have only one chance to pull out an upset. She ran forward with all the speed she could muster - She knew Branden could easily keep up, but she counted on the element of surprise as her ally. She neared him and threw her left arm in a forehand slash just short of her foe.

Branden raised his sword to block, finding her attack only inches short of contact – a feint! His eyes flashed with astonishment as her momentum drew her closer than before, past his defenses, the weapon in her right hand struck his side painfully. He staggered back a touch, only to find her left hand blade scraping along the ground, striking his legs and taking them out from under him.

"HA!!!" Clarice roared involuntarily as her muscles strained, counteracting her own momentum; she pressed the sword in that same right hand into Branden's chest as he hung suspended by inertia, not falling just yet. The sound was sickening, a terrible crash as though lightning had just struck the field of battle.

The Fecha judged Branden's distance in the air to be equal to her previous flight, but she'd had the benefit of slamming into another person while Branden hit the ground and rolled almost effortlessly to his feet. His armor wasn't even dented - But Clarice's wasn't quite dented either. This mysterious property – that such force wouldn’t bend steel upon impact – was often attributed to the symbolic link between armor and wearer; that the Hora’s spirit wouldn’t allow the armor to bend any more than the flesh. Whatever the case, it was impressive.

"...Fine,” Frost said softly, just loud enough that she could hear with those supernatural senses, and he took his first step. At the fourth he was invisible, and her eyes closed - She "saw" him approaching, saw him readying for a straight on charge, his feet buzzing as though she listened to the wings of a bee buzzing mid-flight.

She never saw his left hand prepare for a punch toward the ground, but suddenly he was face to face with her. He was upside-down, his feet above his head, his sword striking her in the helmet and turning off all of the lights.

*****
"...The kid's good. Better than his daddy. That's why I'm worried about him." Serge said to the two beaten warriors before him. Gatamene had clearly carried the day, and Coaslund was surrendering, but Yasmeen and Ulfric were still conscious - Helmets off, recuperating from a number of earth-shattering blows.

"Whaddya mean, Lord Lenkmen? --" Ulfric began, but a stern glance from the elder silenced him.

"Please, I told you to call me Serge. We're both warriors, and this isn't a real war, so relax," he reminded with a sudden smile and a shrug of his shoulders. "Go on."

"....I think we're both wondering," started Yasmeen, "Why Branden's skill would be such a problem. I mean, I know Icebridge and most of Gatamene faces little threat - Only the Presias and Coaslund tend to have monster invasions these days, since Yenohar tends to firebomb them and Gatamene is landlocked, but why be so concerned over this young man's promise? He's not even thirty and he's as good as you." The puzzlement on both Coaslundian's faces caused Serge to smile.

"You know, ten years ago I'd agree with you," he began with a soft hint of sadness in his voice. "You know Clarice's little project, the 'Monster Unity Thesis?'" Serge asked, knowing the question was rhetorical.

"The MUT. It's like the dog, halfway poppycock," Ulfric said with a scoff, standing up. His golden practice armor and its matching blue cape was dented and dirtied, but otherwise fairly intact - A good weaponsmith could make it usable again. It was pretty clear which side of the theory Ulfric stood for.

"Not at all," Serge retorted against many an expert’s opinion. Yasmeen blinked her eyes while Ulfric stared in amazement that a member of the Council would confirm this theory's validity. It was most certainly a highly contested one, as well as one which many careers had been tarnished over.

"Please, do explain, Serge," stated the female as she got to her feet as well, her armor the opposite of Ulfric's - Cracked, split down the middle and with a torn cape. She'd taken twice the damage than the man she wanted to marry, and she was in about the same shape. She was glad she spoke first - Ulfric looked plainly unhappy.

"Think about it - Yenohar is the main industrialized territory, correct? These elementals and whatnot used to scream and attack it constantly. Yenohar then adopted this policy of aggressive countermeasures, eliminating entire enclaves of sprites, as well as Goblins and Wolgs." The Goblin, a semi-sentient race, and the Wolg - A combination of Wolf and Tiger - were two dangerous threats as they had intelligence coupled with the brute force of a beast - Well, more the Wolgs for strength and the Goblins for the craftiness.

"...You're suggesting they moved eastward, over toward, say, Coaslund?" Ulfric spat back, shaking his head in disbelief. To him, the theory that a natural resource could possess more than animalistic intelligence was...

"Insane, no?" Serge replied softly, than smiled at the Fecha's shock. "The more elemental creatures, like sprites, died out fastest. Wolgs and Goblins, for example, have simply vanished with no Crystal residue. That, along with Clarice's encounter with those sprites in the northern part of Coaslund about two months ago..."

Ulfric immediately realized his case was defeated - Clarice had encountered a large group of Elder Flame sprites and had beaten most of them back when a small contingent of Ice Sprites arrived and, instead of wreaking all-around havoc, seemed to ally with their opposite element in order to fight a human foe.

The first statement was also strong - All forms of life, once dead (Except, of course, Humans and certain animals with less violent dispositions...Though this had also been disputed), left behind material which was known as Crystal. For an Ice Sprite, it would be a blue gem - The quality and size of the gem could be different based on how powerful each slain creature had been. A baby Storm Sprite's remains were virtually worthless, bought and sold for as little as ten gold pieces and used to power small, convenient objects such as flash-lights.

On the other hand, a Storm Gigas - A tall, powerful creature which entire parties were called upon to hunt - Could provide electrical power to a city for years. The technology employed in this system was entirely dependant upon crystal - To operate quickly, computers used Crystal-tipped connections to transfer data. Weaponry for the Principalities of Yenohar and, increasingly, Coaslund were also dependant upon Crystal - Not only to power engines of technology but to create armaments for soldiers.

Alternatives had been sought after, of course: There was Petrol, a black liquid which when burned could provide power; while it was rare in nature Yenohar had learned to synthesize it at relatively low cost (compared to a hunting party's pay), but there were two inherent problems with the substance: First was pollution, (something Crystal produced virtually none of) while second was it's comparative lack of power output.

It was almost like measuring the muscular power of an ant against an Elephant - Sure, Ants were strong for their size (a barrel of Petrol could destroy a small building if detonated), but in the few experiments Yenohar had done with detonating crystal, it had proven inert unless placed under very specific circumstances. "Tero-Nuclear" fission, on the other hand, was based upon lost ancient technologies and involved using magical impulses to force together two or more types of Crystal - all with flashy pyrotechnics and, depending on the elements fused, devastation of terrifying proportions. This produced no mystical after-effects after the magical levels balanced out with its surroundings, however even an extremely low-yield weapon was virtually impractical on a battlefield. Furthermore, using these detonations as a power source was impractical; the output was simply too great for any natural (and most supernatural) forces to contain.

This left the Kingdom of Emor in a rather precarious position - Gatamene, despite being landlocked and unable to expand its boundaries, had long ago isolated a "preserve" of magical creatures, where such resources could be “mined” and sold. Yenohar's self-defense tactics, often involving air-to-ground bombing, left very little of an incinerated monster’s corpse as Crystal. While it wouldn't explode under most circumstances, Crystal could crack and become virtually useless except if liquefied or used in spell-work. This love-hate relationship caused by one having resources and one needing them had led to many a dispute, oftentimes involving their mutual neighbor Ralase.

"So, you believe in that MUT. Fine, Serge, and I suppose you have a great amount more experience than killing Quadragammin monks?" The words were meant to bite the older knight, and they did, though he didn't show it.

"Ever see a Wyvern? A real, full, live Wyvern?" A creature nearly of myth - They were almost twenty feet long, with two claws on its legs and wings almost like a dragon's. They had tails which made them almost thirty feet long and often had wicked barbs which could sweep five men at once. Their mouths weren't as long as their larger "so-called cousins,” Dragons, but they were still big enough to eat a person in one cruel gulp. "So-called cousins" because Dragons existed as a lost legend; or, rather, Dragons of immense power did. There were the occasional threats from such beasts, but their size had made them easily found and technology made them easily slain.

"Bullshit Serge, don't even try to start lying to me!" Ulfric said loudly, almost moving to draw an arrow. Yasmeen's hand snapped to his immediately - Both to restrain him from attacking the living legend and because of how foolish it would be to try; he was quite wounded, perhaps even unable to nock one of his arrows to his bow.

"It's not. I was fighting a particularly skilled Quadragammin monk.” The old man’s voice was heavy, tired. The images flashed over his eyes, and he closed them in a futile attempt to dislodge them from his memory. “He knew everything in all four schools, and taught all four of them as well." A rarity - The Gam people's military branch, the Gammin Monks, had four schools of combat: One for each element. To know them all had grown something of common, to master them all had grown to worry enough people, but to teach all four was incredibly rare. "The Wyvern was a Gammin weapon. The Monk had a Bracelet of Control."

Magical artifacts were made by Arcanics every so often as part of training exercises or various, nondescript magical routines, but to create a Bracelet of Control was a very specific, difficult process. It could also give its weilder control over any monster, so long as the owner had the power to back his orders.

"Fine. You fought and beat a Wyvern. I bet the Crystal load was worth a lot," Ulfric retorted, still hesitant to believe the story. It was only when he looked at Yasmeen's captivated eyes that he softened a little. If his love was at least entertained, perhaps he could be convinced to remain calm.

"About sixty thousand gold pieces. Dragonite; though fairly cloudy and chipped, it was huge. Sold for about twice that on the open market, but auctions do that, and I don't really need the money," Serge said matter-of-factly, and when he looked at Ulfric he saw the man was sold.

"So..." The almost-forgotten female stated softly, "...It's really true? They're organizing?" She asked this almost hopeful that Serge might say 'No, I'm kidding!' If he would say that, it would be sarcasm.

"Yes, they are," he responded, then added softly to them. "That's why I worry about Branden." Their lack of response clued him in that perhaps Gatamene kept rumors more under control than any other Principliaty; generations-long rumors about the mightiest bloodlines. "I believe in the folklore that Branden's great, great, great grandfather had some kind of relations with an Ice Elemental, establishing the Frost namesake. He's a good kid, but...I fear what might happen if he breaks down."

The popular tale was often wrong; in this case, however, it might just be accurate. Legend had it that some distant ancestor of Branden’s had fallen in love with a lovely monster which bordered on human in terms of intellect and conscience. There’s little question that such a union could lead to public crucificion, yet this ancestor managed not only to ‘get away with it’ but to have a child; and as the natural course of inherited traits runs, Branden’s father had an affinity toward ice magic just as Branden did.

Ulfric looked as if he'd consider asking why Serge had this cockamamie outlook on Branden's biology, but he remembered the formation of those six spheres of ice out of thin air, and knew he'd have little ground to stand on. With that much power backing that Hora, all Ulfric could reply with were three little words; "So do I."

Chapter Five

The words, their meaning vague and undetermined, spun through his head. The repeating images in his mind of the armored figures, both the one who struck him and the one who reassured him as he blacked out, were gradually replaced with others. These words, ones he heard as if spoken by a voice in a cavern as well as saw behind his eyelids emblazened in blue flame, held some untold gravity and power.

"Though we died, we see

Though we no longer live, we speak

To you we come

To you we trust

The third is first

The second is next.

The first is last

To you we entreat

End the cycle

End our deaths

Ending our lives

Ending our speech."
He began to ask what this voice, that of an old man, one which resonated with the slight tonal variation of a crowd's chanting, meant by this rather insane poem. Dead, alive, speaking spirits; he didn't understand a word, and voiced this loudly within his own mind with a wordless wail. First? Last? None of it added up. Aside from an image of blue flame, he was granted nothing but the peace of sleep.
*****
The next morning proved an entertaining one for Jacin. He awoke in an infirmary bed, an identifcation tag tied to his wrist with a trio of guests awaiting his waking. As he oriented himself to the room and slowly sat up, one of the figures moved a pillow behind him to allow him to comfortably sit while viewing his visitors. That omnipresent scent of 'hospital' was underpinned in the room, and he saw one of the figures offering him a glass of water.

With a sip, he observed the offerer; it was Lieutenant Maxton, who sported a splint on his left arm. It was quite obviously broken, and Charles’ eyes had that look of pain-killers in them; glassy, irritated yet oddly content. Jacin gasped loudly, but his friend was quick to place a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"I'm alright buddy, no worries," he said with a chuckle, rubbing Jacin's shoulders in a way nearly described in Jacin's mind as fatherly. He paused to think, Well, the guy is old enough to be my dad, maybe.

The second figure was a slender man, slightly shorter than him. The central feature of this male was, despite the grey shirt and black denim pants adorning his muscular frame, the blue hair and matching eyes; both of them were a light blue which, in some places - especially the ends of his hair - were closer to white. There were no markings on the man's clothing to delineate a regal lineage, but the hair was the only tip Jacin needed.

"You're..." He began, but the blue haired youth shook his head with a devilish smirk on his face.

"Yeah. Branden Frost. That's me," the hero revealed in a polite voice before bowing his head. “Toldja you could bill me for the medical care, since you took an arrow meant for me.” Jacin felt obliged to do the same, inclining his head swiftly, and the room started spinning.

"Dummy, sit still, move slow!" Maxton exclaimed both seriously and jokingly, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment. "You've got a mild concussion, so don't push it just yet." The advice was sound enough, and Jacin lay back a little.

The third person, a female, looked downward at this assessment of Jacin's injuries. She was taller, by a very small margin, than Branden, and her hair was long and green. Her breasts were of decent size (a feature Jacin couldn't help but notice, especially in a concussed state and from a laying position) and her eyes were a sparkling blue, darker and deeper than Branden's yet with a similar light within them. Determination perhaps? The woman was very well toned and clearly a strong fighter, judging by her sheer -presence-. The fact he didn't begin to recognize her put him off, however - He at least had descriptions of most of Gatamene's stronger warriors.

"...M'Lady, who might you be?" Jacin asked the question. Branden chuckled softly, having apparently read the lack of recognition on Jacin's face long ago. Jacin's boss just shook his head. The woman almost blushed.

"Clarice Saffron," she responded with a nod of her head. She had to remark that this kid was kind of cute, for a younger man, let alone for a man, and not to mention his being...Dazed, was the polite word? "I'm the one who gave you the little bump on the head." When Clarice said this, Jacin jumped up slightly in his bed and nearly fell out of it. Maxton had to hold him steady and Clarice's hand moved to her mouth. "No, don't get up. I'm real sorry about it, but I guess that's how it goes."

"No..." Jacin said once with a woozy voice, recovering from his self-inflicted daze. "No apologies necessary. I'm just glad I got to fight someone as famous as you, Lady Saffron." Hero worship was silly to some, while flattery was obvious to most, but Jacin felt exactly as he’d described in that he was honored to have faced her.

"Oh brother, call 'er Clarice, already," Branden remarked, flicking a strand of hair back behind his ear. A faint chuckle rose from his lips as he leaned against the doorframe in a rather catlike fashion, looking between Jacin and Clarice.

"Ummm...Sure...Clarice," Jacin blurted out with a weak, bashful smile crossing his lips; eloquence had rapidly faded in his new environment. He ran a hand up to his cheek and rubbed it, trying to defray the blush which was he felt was radiating from his flesh.

"Yeah, thanks,” Charles commented, “Anyhow Jacin, here's the deal; you did really well, five or more confirmed KO's for someone who's never done the whole war thing. The higher-ups really approved," Jacin's luitennant said with a smile on his lips. He placed a letter on the table. "Rest a day or two then open this. It's for your own good that you take your time. Branden and I are gonna go get to work already, you just relax, okay?"

Jacin's eyes blinked rapidly as he absorbed this statement. "Wait...Work on what? You have a broken arm," he objected, worry clear in his face. Not to mention he had no damn clue what Charles’ letter wanted from him, nor what precisely they –could- work on.

"No no, just sprained, I just need to keep the pressure off it for two or three days, like you need to sleep, and it'll be better." Charles said with a chuckle, running his right thumb over his lips with a smirk on them; the mischevous mask he could don that struck Jacin as a 'Shore leave has just begun' look. Of course, Jacin never quite pinpointed the truth - Charles had been treated by Arcanics for a compound fracture of his arm and the only damage that had been left unrepaired were the muscular injuries that were tantamount to a sprain. In effect, his supervisor wasn’t lying to him completely, just a little.

*****
Clarice, Branden and Charles all walked to the nearest bar and seated themselves at a table. A waiter quickly approached them with a haggard look upon his face. The place, as the trio noted rather quickly, was neither “shady” nor “nice” - It was a downright restaurant in its own right, a socialization paradise for the upper castes of Gatamene (And oftentimes the lower as well).

Its walls were marble, its ceilings lit with lamps of various colors designed to swirl and come close to entrancing the patrons, and though the dance floor hadn’t become overcrowded just yet, a long line had formed of people waiting for a seat and quite loudly complaining to this very wage laborer about some level of unfairness.

"Gentlemen, lady, you can't simply sit down. You have to wait to be seated, and it’ll be at least an hour," The waiter was clearly repeating a social convention that, despite what the interlopers might feel, applied to all people equally.

“How’s a fifty gold tip sound, on the charge card of Branden Frost?” To match the touch of arrogance in his voice he raised a palm; with a tiny invocation of his will a light and very, very controlled snowfall caught the unsuspecting people in the room with a gasp and admiration. Even those who hadn’t overheard exactly who was visiting had to admit that, although these people had just cut rudely ahead, they would probably contribute a good deal to the night’s atmosphere. Already, they’d performed a small feat of wonder!

The waiter’s haggard look brightened instantly at two hours of pay in one lump sum and he stared in wonder. “You...” He said with a smile, studying the male’s icy blue hair. “Really are Branden Frost! And...” he hesitated, almost afraid to ask, “Who are your companions?”

“This is Clarice Saffron,” he stated plainly. At the sight of the waiter’s blushing, he whispered. “Yes, Blind Justice herself.” A wink was directed toward the good worker, and then he gestured toward Charles. “And this is Luitennant Charles Maxton, a good man indeed and an up-and-coming officer in Gatamene’s military.”

Charles grinned a little at the waiter and poked him in the ribs softly. “I’m not exactly a bum, either,” he laughed to the man, “I can pay for my own food, and speaking of I’d want some now, if you don’t mind.” He flashed a wink to the employee.

The waiter nodded his head softly and ran off to get a trio of menus, instructing them as to which table to take.

“Do you think,” Clarice questioned as she sat down, voice poised to the rhetorical, “that it was right to bribe him into letting us cut the line?”

“What line?” Branden said with a faint grin, shaking his head twice. “There were only groups of five or greater, parties that couldn’t fit at this table anyway. And besides, we’re hungrier as we just got done training to defend their ability to eat food.” He’d spoken the truth; after all, party goers rarely went alone, and this was a table for four, not eight.

“Good point, I guess” Charles said, nodding in what she hoped would pass as satisfaction. Clarice didn’t quite appear satisfied.

“So anyhow,” Branden said with a smile on his lips and a dodge on his mind. “What do you guys think of the place? It looks nice, right?”

The two nodded, and Branden did as well. He opened his mouth to say more, but the waiter returned with menus.

“Anything to drink, lords?”

Branden ordered himself a glass of red wine, Clarice a glass of raspberry juice and Charles a “Large, tall, foamy glass of beer.”

“So, where in Coaslund do you feel like vacationing, Branden?” Clarice asked in an attempt to get him on the topic that drew them together tonight, perhaps more than anything else (Unfair, nagged the back of mind, as he was so damn cute...).

“Anywhere really,” he replied with a casual shrug, “I’ve wanted to see the ocean for a while; so naturally you’re the person to ask!”

Charles looked at them both, than gestured to Branden. “Chicks, lookin’ at me, I’m out.” He got up and left towards the quite...Quite attractive pair of ladies that were checking his figure out and were softly “awwing” to one another and pointing at his arm and its support.

“Well that was unexpected,” Branden said with a smirk. Clarice chuckled softly, perhaps reflecting something in her subconscious before she looked him over. “So, where did you say you wanted to visit?”

“I dunno,” he replied nonchalantly, “anywhere, I guess, I just wanted to know about the politics of the place and such.”

“Why...I don’t know,” she stated questioningly, unsure as to how this mattered to a trip. “I mean we spend a lot of money on research and get it on trade. Its pretty basic history, we’re becoming technological.” She licked her lips and shifted her weight so that her chin rested in her hand, elbow against the table. “We’ve got plenty of people living in pre-scientific standards, but that number is shrinking by the year. Our cities almost resemble Yenohar’s.”

“Well, that sounds lovely,” Branden said, looking up to the waiter who arrived with their drinks. “Ahh, Charles is over there. I’ll take a nice steak, medium well, with salad, the house dressing and some nice fries.”

“Sounds good,” Clarice stated before she shrugged. “I’ll take a chicken breast though, and put Coaslundian dressing on the salad.” The waiter nodded and moved to Charles to take his order. “You were saying, Branden?”

“Yeah, it sounds great, but what about the rumors I’ve heard about the health care system there being torn apart for research funds?” He had to admit, this did unsettle him in the large scale - He was in favor of health care. Furthermore, he was outspoken and she’d know it.

“Yeah,” Clarice said with a soft sigh following her speech, “I don’t like that either. I mean, we need the research to improve medical quality, so I guess it balances out but it still sucks for the interim.” She was being quite loose-lipped indeed.

“Anything else like that happen over there?” Branden asked, having found the chink in her armor entirely too fast.

“Yeah, sometimes, but they don’t bug me that much,” she replied with her eyes looking downward for just a moment before she smiled. “It’s so nice, though, we give a lot of money to the poor when we can. Especially through the research department, all they have to do is test some form of medicine or something.”

“With horrible side effects,” Branden joked. Both laughed, but both understood how potentially serious that statement was. It was very possible that negative results could pop up, and it certainly wasn’t unheard of that a medicine could have lethal effects upon people if it wasn’t fully researched.

“Yes, they could, but we tend to be rigorous with our testing. We also find people jobs so they can work in the trade industry as well as in the research department.” Clarice pointed out.

“Yeah, but doesn’t that just make people slaves to a wage? And further, aren’t we all slaves to something?” Here it goes! He thought. “Wouldn’t you rather just live in a place where everyone is taken care of and everyone takes care of others?” Branden asked, lifting his glass of wine and swirling it once before taking a sip.

“I don’t know.” Clarice clearly looked puzzled. Did she ever give such things thought? Perhaps not until this very moment, but regardless she was intrigued. “I suppose it sounds lovely, but it would be difficult for such a society to survive. If people didn’t have good morals, wouldn’t they just not work?”

Branden nodded his head once, shrugging. “I agree, but there are two ways to make such a thing work. First is to give them some reason, that if they don’t perform they won’t do quite as good as those who do - A small incentive, bonuses and the like, but nothing that can accumulate too much to unsettle things.” This brought a bit of a smile to Clarice’s lips. “Second is fear, though I hate to phrase it like this. Fear of Monsters, fear of Barbarians, fear of the leadership caste coming down on you if you don’t do your share of the work.”

Clarice paused to consider this for a moment, but ultimately she shook her head. “It has merit, but once the leadership begins to use force to achieve productivity, doesn’t that just make them as bad as those who use economic pressure?”

Branden took a turn to pause, as if to consider, then nodded. “Yes, but ultimately it comes down in that case to the nature of the leadership. If the leaders are corrupt, then they are to be feared and eliminated in any culture. If the leadership is benign, offering many chances before forced labor shows up on the table, is it not at least partially redeemed?”

Clarice sighed softly, sipping at her juice then nodding once. “I suppose. It’s easy for any of us to say we could be good leaders who care for the people. When ultimate power is invested in us, how will we fare? Better than than tyrants of the past or not?”

“I don’t really know,” Branden responded with a casual shrug. “I think I’d remain fairly honest, since I’ve had a fairly rough life, but I won’t call myself perfect. I’ve never killed anyone before, not one human being, so it could be that such a standard would provide me some advantage in staying true to my ideals. But in all my experience I learned it’s not the major differences that make you corrupt, it’s the minor ones - The close friends in Icebridge who commit crimes that I spend time trying to find motives for lighter sentences for, maybe.” He had to recuse himself on that one but, then again, to save a man of talent from the pitfalls of one small mistake was redeemable, no?

Clarice laughed heartily and took another sip of her juice, licking her lips clean of the liquid that reddened them. “Raspberry is good,” she said offhandedly, offering another rise and fall of her shoulders. “I suppose you’re right, someone like you might do very well for the people and only a little wrong, but you might not. I guess we’ll never know, unless you somehow become King of Emor!”

Both laughed again, and Branden grinned just a little in reply. “Maybe I will, but even that might not be enough.” What he said had a small bit of merit - The throne didn’t always pass through heredity, as oftentimes rulers did not have children or follow their family’s footsteps. King Tevalain, Emor’s current ruler, had claimed the throne from his father, who had inherited it due to being a competent politician who appeared devoted to the kingdom. Kendrick Tevalain, known as the ‘White Prince,’ was long vanished - He’d left the kingdom behind long ago. It was unfortunate for Branden, as the two were long-time friends.

“Yeah, the political structure really can’t be changed too greatly. The King has a lot of power, but not complete authority to just trash everything.” Clarice shook her head once. “King Tevalain is a good man, but not all of the Councilors are.”

Branden made his move. “Then,” he said softly, “Might it not be better to re-vamp the entire system, from outside if not inside; change it so the people are better off than they are now? Give the King a little more power or, if that isn’t satisfactory, give the people more of it?”

Clarice was clearly taken back. Everyone always was, but in the end she shook her head. “I don’t really know, I think it would lead to too much bloodshed. The Councilors do hold a lot of power, and I shudder to think what would happen if we caught Cassandra Retholden at a bad time with a proposition like revolution.” This last was a joke - Cassandra and Shade were so good it was scary, even more frightening than the immense levels of raw power the two top leaders of the Arcanic Council wielded.

Branden nodded his head with a gentle sigh. “Yes, too much bloodshed indeed.” He might have said more, but their salads came and they quickly got entrapped with eating. Even after the meal, he couldn’t decide who won the discussion - Him or her.

Chapter Six

Three days and a long, uneventful journey later Jacin was dressed in his formal outfit; a cloth military uniform, a number of small medals indicating his rank as a Sergent as well as an Aqui, and his his spear held in a sling on his back. The black wolf on the back of his tunic was the military insignia of Gatamene, and his nationalistic pride forced him to smile to himself while wearing it.

That letter which his superior had given him was no ordinary order; it had been a formal request to arrive not at Gatamene's capital, convinently called Gatamene City, but at Emor's central city, reffered to as “Castle,” or Castle Emor. It is said that once Emor had a name all its own, but over the last six generations it had been forgotten as the "Silver-Tongued" principality established the currently existing Kingdom. The orders were vague, including a mention of possible deployment after some form of meeting.

But where could he be deployed to? Certainly, his performance in one battle was not a worthy reason for promotion to a great leadership somewhere like Castle; instead, such performances usually led to minor assignments to embattled areas. The only active fronts he knew of were the southern borders of Presia, the former Gam kingdom, and perhaps some form of duty in pseudo-isolationist Yenohar. The possibilities were maddening, not to mention the fact his rank didn't justify a full-scale command and wouldn't until he'd reached at least Media, if not Fecha.

As he arrived in the waiting room to the Council Chambers, he saw Luitennant Maxton as well as Branden Frost waiting as well. They both had letters in their hands, similar to the one he carried, and he began to suspect that something about their encounter with Clarice had called them here. He looked at their envelopes and then his own, only now realizing the silver Crest of Emor was upon it, and that it was official in the sort that makes a mountain out of a molehill and could, if authority was needed for rather than forced into a situation, reduce a mountain to a pebble. How could he have overseen it?

Branden, for his part, was making soft, idle conversation with a rather attractive young secretary. Her blonde hair fell over her blouse and her dress hung down past her knees. Branden had forsaken traditional military garb in favor of a blue shirt with both Gatamene's and Icebridge's crests - almost an expectable thing, from what Jacin was learning of his lax-about-authority personality.

Charles, however, was out of his sling and wearing the same sort of tunic as Jacin, his sword attached to a traditional scabbard and sword-belt. He had only one mark of the battle and that was a small scar on his arm. He had his hair combed down as nicely as possible, considering how rebellious his locks were, and he seemed to be a touch tense while sitting in his seat. He rose quickly and stepped over to Jacin as soon as he entered with a look on his face of relief combined with imminent difficulty.

"...Why the heck am I here?" Jacin asked his superior officer, prompted simply by his approaching the young spearman so sternly. It might have been an attempt at a joke, a futile effort to relax the officer's nerves despite his own anxiety, but no laughter was elicited.

"You know, you were called up special for a mission. What mission, I have no idea, but I know I put in a request for you," came Charles’ reply; and it came as an accessory to the mystery, not clarification on it.

"No offense, boss..." Jacin said with a slight smile on his face, "But you know for a fact they wouldn't reassign a kid, especially one like me, to a special detail with just a Luitennant's request."

"You're right," the elder replied. "Branden requested us. Both of us." The words came out fairly hushed, but they masked a certain amount of joy that Jacin hadn't quite seen in his superior.

"Wait, what...? He requested both of us? Geez, did we make Lady Saffron angry or start a war with Coaslund or something?" The question came with frightened haste, and Maxton boldly laughed in return.

"No, no. Horas like Branden get sent on missions all of the time. Sometimes, they just need backup, others they need general assistance. Branden probably decided to give us a shot at a good, adventurous job. I'm glad, I guess, that I can go." Charles said before delivering a hearty slap to Jacin's back. The spearman yelped, causing a number of looks from staff members and from Branden himself, then he blushed as they chuckled and returned to their buisness.

"Yeah...Sure..." Jacin said hesitantly. The truth was, so far as he could see it, that he wasn't anywhere near prepared for this. He knew deep down how little he was worth in a battle, and he was terrified that one should arise and his actions condemn it. The door to the Council chambers opened and a man dressed in a rather mundane page's outfit, few devices adorning his rank other than the fact he wore a special silver uniform, stepped through.

"Sirs Lancir, Maxton and Frost, please come in. The Council is ready for you."

The Council of Emor consisted of a very select group of individuals. Each Council had three members upon it, as well as four other advisory members who dealt, along with the main Councilors when they had the time, upon internal affairs. There was no particular order of succession, and in fact a person never before sitting on a council could be promoted to the leadership of any particular branch of the Grand Council if there was a need for their particular skills. Any province's citizens could be asked to sit on the Council, and membership was largely life-term, though a member could be asked (or, as it tended to be, told) to leave if their conduct was irrational, their health had deteriorated, or they simply got tired of the job. On this Grand Council, the divisions were fairly basic.

The Knights' Council dealt primarily with issues of military defense. They were in charge of ensuring that the entire kingdom was well defended according to the standards of each Principality. The Scientists' Council, as the name might imply, was where most technological research came from. Not surprisingly, all but two of the Councilors, and two of the three Grand Councilors, were from Yenohar. The Arcanics' Council governed the general use of Magic as well as helping to craft opinions on the behaviors of various types of monsters. The Civil Council was in charge of managing casual affairs and legalities such as taxation, food distributions, and other such ordinances, and was by far the largest organization.

Not quite a branch was the King of Emor. King Tevalian was descended from the last "true" royal line and was respected, largely, as a Council unto himself. This usually had no effect on the Kingdom’s decisions, but provided the tie-breaking vote due to the Council’s representative system. Each Councilor had a say within his group, and each group had a single vote. This led to four points spread across twelve people; and, in the case of a tie, the King’s vote decided the outcome.

As sort of a check against monarchical abuse, the new king was not nominated by birth, but by the Councilors. The governors of each Principality were allowed to partake in the vote for the next King, and more than once in Emor's history the Kingship had been hotly contested enough to nearly spark a war. Upon entering the Council Chambers, one was easily reminded of this fact because of the amazing architecture that blended scientific, basic building methods with more elaborate, even religious construction. The Councilors all sat a large desk and the center of the floor was one step below the members of the Council. It was, all in all, a breathtaking scene which called to mind the immense power which the Kingdom possessed.

The three entered with Frost at the front, and they stopped facing the King while partway into the room. Branden gave a halfway serious bow as the two younger warriors knelt. When the two looked up with shocked expressions from Branden to the Council, expecting Frost to be chastised for his lax nature, they saw no looks of dismay; rather, Jacin observed a cool respect between the two.

A knight with rather long, salt and pepper hair canted his head to the side. He was clearly a member of the Knights Council and held the title of Third Ranked. His face had a pair of scars upon it, but his voice was as powerful as he was handsome. "Rise, please, warriors of Gatamene. We were hoping that more would come, but either word has not been received or the mission has been turned down," the older man said with a smile.

"Lord Lenkmen..." spoke Branden in a rather jovial voice for one facing the rulers of his kingdom, "I'm sure they will come. If not, we will find more. You and I both know the importance of this mission, and I am confident we will be vindicated for our feelings." Branden's polite, jolly voice held many an undertone which reeked of strong need at accomplishing this task. Furthermore, he gave a few telling looks to Civil and Science Councilors.

"Well, Branden Frost, you certainly have picked an odd crew," spoke a male figure from a separate table. The table bore the mark of the Arcanics, and this black robed man could only be one person: Shade.

One would note that Arcanics were those naturally gifted with the ability to use magic. How or why they were born remained a mystery. It had been discovered, both by Scientists and Arcanics themselves, that rural areas like Gatamene tended to produce more Arcanics than citified areas. Those who did come from the more densely populated areas, such as Yenohar, tended to be a step stronger than the average Arcanic from a place like Ralase - As if only the strong survived some inexplicable depression of their powers but lost nothing if their natural gifts were strong enough.

All people could, in theory, open themselves to magic. The years of meditation it took to accomplish this feat served as both the blessing and the curse of the Gammin monks – Their leaders were far stronger than many Fecha of Emor, however the small number of truly powerful fighters was their downfall. The only other method of utilizing magic was through the use of Crystal as well as chants, rituals, and gestures which often took too long to be of use in battle. For many purposes, however, hefty preparations and long delays were acceptable – Sorcery was a favored art among doctors and electricians for various reasons.

Instead of focusing on creating massive physical effects, Gammin monks and Swordpriests both focused on the mastery of their internal energies, as Horas almost exclusively had done as well, while Sorcerers used the various paraphernalia attached to spell casting.

Shade, for what it was worth, was the considered the most powerful Arcanic alive. This was not a title given in arrogance or jest, or even one derived from over-rating his strength; he was the first man in recorded history to fly during a battle before the Gammin war. This particular battle had seen an entire region of Yenohar taken over by a barbarian tribe which had infiltrated one of its military bases. Twelve War-Walkers, despite how experimental and crude they were that many years ago, against one Arcanic seemed folly even for him; he was strong, but their combined firepower was enough to level a fortress. Surprisingly, Shade laid them to waste with amazing speed. He was not alone in being unusual; the other two Arcanics had strange emblems on their robes - One of them bore the mark of Yenohar. The other, a slender but aging woman, bore the other the Emblem of Sheng-Li - Presia's national crest.

While one could easily envision a Yenoharan becoming an Arcanic, despite how rare such an occasion was, Presia's religion pressed heavily against those with the gift of magic in their natures. Worse, the land itself was a complete theocracy, where the religion of Sheng-Li reigned supreme. Only the Principality’s "Oracles" were permitted the use of Arcane power and never were members of the Five Cloisters of Presian Oracles permitted to serve on the Arcanic's Council. There was only one Arcanic who claimed Presia as her home, in fact.

This woman could only be the Second Councilor, Cassandra Retholden - Known to have been saved from burning at the stake by the "Man who Flew" himself, and rumored (not that either denied it - In fact, both easily agreed to having had a myriad of trysts) to be his consort. If Shade were a wrecking ball, Cassandra was dynamite.

"I can still fulfill this mission alone if you wish. You know I have to follow out that envoy to Yenohar anyhow, so sending these two, as skilled as they are, out alone is rather dangerous. I will complete it alone, should you wish." Branden almost sounded like he was offering an easier way out than he wanted to take, trying to spare a number of people a great deal of trouble.

"No Branden. I will go with them," the knight with a large scar on his muscular forearm replied. "Similarly, we will wait a few days until the message is certain to have been spread. Then we shall join up at the place on the western border of Gam and New Presia, where both principalities touch."