Duty book 2, p.26
Duty (Book 2), page 26
part #2 of The Trysmoon Saga Series
“I think we can work on that.”
By the time Fenna left to spend time with the Chalaine, Gen felt confused and sick despite Fenna’s sincere affection. None of the scenarios for rule under Chertanne ended pleasantly for him, and if he wasn’t careful, things wouldn’t end well for Fenna or anyone that cared for him, either. How Chertanne would react to the wedding announcement was not guaranteed to play out as Gen foresaw it, and everything Shadan Khairn had taught about enemies exploiting those he held dear to him were slowly and awfully coming true.
Gen shoved the worrisome thoughts away. Fretting would only weaken him. To distract himself, he removed the Trysmagic book from his travel chest and began to read. As it was written in a language only he, Maewen, and Ethris understood, he wasn’t worried someone might discover it. If someone did find out it was a book about Trysmagic, however, it would invite a lot of questions he didn’t want to answer.
Since he had begun studying some months ago, he had learned that Trysmagic greatly differed from Mynmagic and Duammagic and that it was staggeringly flexible and powerful. Whereas Magicians of Mynmagic and Duammagic had to memorize specific, discreet incantations and gestures to perform their magic, Trysmagicians did not. Trysmagic had no set spells and was limited only by the imagination and power of the Magician. This flexibility came with a price—Trysmagic required a stronger will to perform and tended to exhaust the caster more quickly than the others, and, from what Gen had seen, Myn and Duam magic quickly drained the power of even puissant Magicians.
To counter this weakness in Trysmagic, the book he was reading taught that a Trysmagician must use wit to accomplish tasks with a minimal effort. Gen read,
Take, for example, the case of bringing down a mounted rider. It is often the mistake of the apprentice to want to be ostentatious. Therefore, they expend great effort and time to turn the entire animal into stone, exhausting themselves unnecessarily and leaving them ill prepared to deal with any other danger that may arise by and by. Furthermore, anyone who witnessed the event would be immediately alerted that a Magician was nearby. While the result may be spectacular and impressive, approaching the problem differently yields a better overall result.
A Magician in this scenario would be wise to think, “What is the least I need to do to unhorse the rider?” There are several answers, of course, depending on how much injury you wish to inflict upon the rider. But instead of turning the horse to stone, why not simply weaken the material of the saddle buckle so severely that it breaks? The rider would fall, little effort would have been expended, and the victim would not think a Magician the culprit, but rather a poor craftsman.
The most important thing Gen had read, and what Ethris told him to understand—even if it meant suffering ignorance on every other topic—was protection from Trysmagic’s transmuting power. Trysmagicians could take an object, including a living thing, and with a subtle spell protect it from transmutation. The protection was as strong as the will of the Magician, and only a stronger will could break it down. Gen knew that his first task upon the unveiling of Trys would be to protect those he loved against any pettiness that Chertanne planned to inflict upon them.
Since Trys would be unveiled slowly, its power would grow slowly for Gen and Chertanne. Gen wasn’t sure how many people he could protect at first, but the Chalaine and Fenna were obvious choices for his immediate consideration. Mirelle and Ethris would follow as quickly as he could.
The more Gen read, the more he realized how complicated protection could become. While persons could be protected against having their flesh transmuted to stone, the protection could not keep a Trysmagician from transmuting the air above them into a huge slab of iron or the ground at their feet into a gaping pit.
Gen read how most Magicians would create and maintain a globe of protection around themselves when they thought danger was near. It took stamina to keep such a protection active, and only extraordinary Trysmagicans had power enough to create items that would do the work for them. Creating magical items was second in difficulty only to creating life, both feats involving imbuing something with a self-maintaining force. Few Trysmagicans had ever mastered the former, and even fewer the latter.
But somewhere within those pages lay the secret of Gen’s creation, the answer to what Joranne had showed him. There were two types of creations Trysmagicians could fashion, animations that had no spirit or essence, and vivifications, whole beings with spirit. Gen wondered what Mikkik had done with the seed Joranne had planted in the Goreth Forest.
Gen studied protections for a while longer and then put the book away. He knew Chertanne had likely read translations of the same books he had and probably more. Thinking of what Chertanne would be able to do to any of them in a few short weeks sent a chill up Gen’s spine. Trysmagic in the hands of a spoiled, self-indulgent brat could only lead to misery for anyone connected to him, and Gen doubted the Blessed One would ever have a will strong enough to impel Mikkik to do more than laugh at him. Mikkik was a God, and Gen didn’t see how any mortal Magician could ever have sufficient strength to overpower him. Even Eldaloth, Mikkik’s master, had not been able to defend himself from Mikkik’s power. Perhaps Eldaloth’s return would come swiftly enough to render Chertanne’s weaknesses irrelevant.
Pushing aside his doubts and concerns, Gen found peace enough to sleep.
The camp was quiet save for the steady patter of rain and the occasional splash of a sentry’s boot. Gen wrung out the hood of his cloak again, wondering why he bothered. The rain hadn’t so much as favored them with a minute’s respite, and the Puremen found themselves in the service of those catching sick due to constant exposure to the dampness. The overcast sky plunged the camp into pitch darkness when night fell, and no one dared light a lantern for fear of archers in the dark.
Geoff had stopped by early in Gen’s watch to congratulate him on winning the Lady Fenna. While the flashy bard tried to appear nonchalant, Gen knew better. The slight strain in the voice and eyes as he talked about it revealed his feelings on the matter. Gen fought against an urge to hurt the bard by rubbing it in, choosing instead to offer a simple thanks.
Mirelle had also stopped by briefly but left upon finding her daughter asleep. Gen wasn’t sure if she had forgiven him for his ‘little outing,’ as she and Fenna now called it, and the First Mother’s face bore more worry upon it than usual. She and Ethris engaged in many conversations with each other that evening, and whatever they talked about discomfited them both. Gen had to admit to a nagging worry festering within him, as well. The enemy, far from being disorganized and incompetent as they had previously thought, was instead calculating and prepared. The Uyumaak and their masters had laid a plan, and there seemed little they could do to disrupt it without exposing themselves to even greater danger.
“Gen?” The Chalaine’s voice startled him as she had been asleep since before he came on watch.
“Alumira. What brings you awake this time of night? Are you well?”
“I slept most of the day. The clouds make it even darker in here than usual, and the sound of the rain lulls me to sleep. I have never really been outside in a rainstorm like this before. It makes the little rain we received at Shroud Lake a drop in a pond.”
“Most storms aren’t this bad or this long.”
“Fenna told me what you’d learned about the rain. And while I mention Fenna, I must congratulate you. You certainly turned that situation around in a hurry.”
Gen couldn’t tell if she was genuinely surprised or probing because she suspected something. “I was almost a bard,” he returned. “I do have some skills with the fairer sex, whether you believe it or not.”
“You must be powerful in your arts, indeed. Just yesterday I don’t think she would have given you an affectionate kick in the shin, much less accept the idea of marrying you without some serious, prolonged groveling and repentance on your part. Then she shows up this morning with nothing but good things to say about you and face glowing with anticipation over your upcoming nuptials. I simply must know how you affected this reversal.”
Gen knew she was suspicious now. “Well, if you must know, I think she changed her feelings when she saw me take my shirt off after my watch. I may have the personality of a dog carcass and the charm of a bloated tick, but you will have to admit that I do look good with my shirt off. As far as I can tell, my muscular chest dismantled all her remaining concerns.”
The Chalaine laughed, an alien sound in the benighted camp. “Oh, do go on. Was she speechless? Did she just melt into your arms? Surely Fenna is intelligent and stalwart enough not to fall for such base charms.”
“You know Fenna well. I thought I was going to lose her for a moment, but then I started flexing my chest muscles one at a time, first the right, then the left. No woman can resist that, especially when combined with a few well-crafted expressions of undying devotion.”
“I see,” the Chalaine smirked. “So a muscular display and a few sweet whispers in the ear, and Fenna toppled. I had thought she would hold the fort longer. I shall have to revise my high opinion of her willpower.”
“Do not be so quick to judge! Don’t think that just because you’re the Chalaine that you’re the only one that has irresistible charms.”
She chuckled. “I see. I must have missed that part of the prophecy—the Blessed One, the Chalaine, the Ilch, and the soldier with the irresistible chest. So your role in our epic history is what? To make all women dissatisfied with any other man?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“To what end?”
“To make all men angry with me, I think.”
“Really?” The Chalaine’s mirth subsided and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Then you are fulfilling your role well. By all reports, both Kimdan and Geoff were in high dudgeon all day. Geoff, I can understand, but Kimdan’s displeasure angers me. Fenna was giddy about him for years and he wouldn’t so much as be polite to her. He only became interested in her when he realized she was taken with you. Losing Fenna serves him right.”
“I don’t much care what either one of them thinks.”
“I didn’t think you would. I do want to congratulate you. Fenna is a wonderful woman and I’m happy she found someone like you. She has grown since she began her association with you. I can’t help but feel a little envious of her. Of course, my heart belongs to Chertanne. . .”
“Don’t say that!” Gen protested with sudden heat. “Not even in jest. That your person belongs to Chertanne is bad enough. Let your heart rest on something or someone else.”
The Chalaine was silent for a long time. Gen started to apologize when she spoke. “It does, Gen.”
“If I thought there was any chance you’d be happy with him, I would encourage you to love him wholeheartedly, but I can’t. You must do your duty, and I will see you through it no matter how bitter I may feel about it. I shouldn’t have said anything. What you decide to do or feel is your own and I am sorry.”
“Do not be sorry,” the Chalaine whispered. “You know as well as I do that Chertanne doesn’t love me. And you know that I could never love him. The only comfort for me is the long history of women who have for political expediency or family station been forced to do the same as I.”
“History is poor comfort.”
“Poor comfort is better than none, but I have also been fortunate to have people around me that do genuinely care for me.”
Not for much longer, Gen thought, unless this plan works.
The Chalaine sighed. “But please, Gen. Do not dwell on me. Tonight is your night. Yours and Fenna’s.”
A hue and cry halted their talk. Gen drew his sword, thinking that the Uyumaak were up to some mischief again, perhaps firing arrows in the dark.
“Lie on the floor of the carriage and stay away from the windows,” Gen ordered, though he thought it was probably unnecessary; previous nights of terror had taught her the lesson. Gen could see little, but several soldiers ran by in the darkness, and after a few minutes, someone lit a lantern near the tents where the soldiers’ commanders slept. A great number of men were gathering around the lantern until a stern voice—Captain Tolbrook’s—ordered them away. More lanterns were lit inside the caravan circle, the reflected lights dancing in the puddles, as nobles, Magicians, and Churchmen awoke at the alarm. Several messengers from the soldiers’ camp pushed their way into the circle, soldiers from the Rhugoth and Aughmere seeking their respective leaders
A cry of anguish rose above the splashing, wind, and rain, and Gen knew the voice, as did the Chalaine.
“Mother!” she cried. “Something awful has happened. Gen, let me out. I must see her.”
“No, Chalaine,” Gain said. “Get back down! There is danger about.”
In the circle of lamplight, he could make out Mirelle donning her cloak and leaving her tent escorted by Cadaen and Ethris. They didn’t come near the carriage, choosing the direct route to the soldiers’ encampment.
“What is happening, Gen?” the Chalaine asked.
“I don’t know. Something in the soldiers’ camp. There are a lot of people moving around, but they seem concentrated around one tent. Your mother and Ethris went there just a few moments ago.”
The sound of heavy splashing footsteps coming toward them put Gen on guard. Volney came out of the darkness. In the weak light of the lanterns, Gen saw the haunted look in his eyes. His cloak hood was down, and rain dripped of his ample nose and plastered his black hair around his face.
“My Lord Blackshire,” he said, breathless, “he’s dead. Regent Ogbith is dead. Killed by an Uyumaak arrow. Got him right in the throat while he slept.”
Gen’s heart fell, and he sought the stillness of his training, forcing emotion out of his mind so he could think.
“It can’t be,” the Chalaine said, voice pained. “It just can’t.”
“An Uyumaak arrow?” Gen asked as the Chalaine sobbed.
“Yes, Milord. A black one. Just like the ones that killed the two soldiers. Quite a shot in the rain and dark, don’t you think?”
“Almost impossible, unless and Uyumaak got close to the camp without the outlying patrols seeing it. The Regent’s tent is close the wagons, and if he were inside, lying down, then a shot to the throat would be an incredible feat of skill or luck.”
Gen wished he could analyze the scene himself but knew he couldn’t leave the Chalaine.
“Well, the evil one’s about, that’s for sure,” Volney said, looking around nervously. “I don’t think it a coincidence that the leader of the caravan was killed. Ilch’s work, for sure.”
“Certainly not a coincidence,” Gen said. “Go. Find out as much as you can and report to me.”
“Yes, sir.” Volney saluted smartly and quickly walked away.
“I’m sorry, Chalaine,” Gen consoled, but she returned nothing. Regent Ogbith was probably as close to a father as the Chalaine had known, and Gen felt for her. He felt doubly worse for Mirelle, for the Regent had been a longtime confidant and friend.
Gen fought his impatience as people ran back and forth, word of the Regent’s death on their lips. Gen caught a glimpse of Maewen entering the tent and emerging some minutes later. She came directly to the Chalaine’s wagon in company of Ethris, Cadaen, and Mirelle. Mirelle’s deep cowl hid her face. Ethris seemed paler than normal, and Cadaen—who had been Regent Ogbith’s best friend—walked with his face to the ground and his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought back tears.
“Does she know?” the First Mother asked. Her voice, while steady, carried a deep sense of loss.
“She does,” said Gen. “I am sorry, Mirelle. I wish there was something I could do. He was a good man.”
Mirelle embraced him and Gen returned it, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She cried quietly on his shoulder for several minutes while those around her mourned silently.
At length, she pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Let me see her. Unlock the door.”
Gen reached into his cloak and pulled the heavy key from around his neck, inserting it in the lock only those with the Im’Tith could see. He helped Mirelle in and closed the door quickly, locking it.
Ethris stood in front of him, eyes alight with fury. “We need to talk, Gen. Soon.”
Gen nodded and Ethris left, taking long strides toward his tent. Cadaen sat on the edge of the carriage and buried his face in his hands. Gen turned his gaze to Maewen, who regarded him intently.
“They said it was an Uyumaak arrow to the throat,” Gen said in Elvish. “Quite a shot, I would say, in the rain, dark, and wind.”
“It was an Uyumaak arrow, but if it was shot by an Uyumaak, then I’m no ranger. There was no hole in the tent where it entered, and the arrow stuck down into his neck at an angle that would suggest it came from directly above him.”
“Did someone stab him with it, hoping to make us think it was shot?”
“I would say that was likely, but it went deep enough into the ground behind his head that the force of a bow at close range is indicated. It is an impossible shot. Unfortunately, the gawking soldiers turned the ground around the tent into a quagmire before I could see it, though I doubt there was much to see. I fear magic is involved, in which case, I am less help than Chertanne in a sword fight. A powerful enemy is set against us. If they can kill us in our camp at will, without being seen, then we ought to take the Chalaine and leave, Gen. Our only hope is stealth and speed. If the enemy doesn’t know where we are, he can’t attack us, even if magic is on his side.”
Gen shook his head. “You know I just can’t take the Chalaine and run off, Maewen. Which brings up a point. Who is in command, now?”
“You know as well as I that it is Shadan Khairn.”
