Chapter 31: Plots and Schemes

  “You mean to say they survived !?!” The magister gasped.

  “And unmoored Venosimoor, though without destabilizing the crystal,” Ecbert replied.

  “But it claimed the Page. You said…” Kilvaran stammered.

  “I said it was likely they would die. They reported their magic was suppressed, and it seems it did claim Westphalia. They resurrected him after they prevailed,” Ecbert said with a stifled yawn.

  “They what! How!?!” Kilvaran gasped, turning pale.

  “It seems they may have abilities we do not yet know about; perhaps it is a factor of their ascension or their divine favor. What matters is that they’ve surpassed their trials and have the attention of the crown prince,” at that, Ecbert handed over a piece of paper with the royal seal broken on either end.

  Kilvaran took it, his eyes rising as if in competition with his eyebrows in some strange foot race. “His Royal Highness, future King of Ashes, The Strongest of All, orders Sir Tobias of Astor and Lady Riley of Astor to be detailed to the Ashenvale to continue their hunt for Venosicipher’s vessel, Chadrick, former prince of the realm.”

  “By the dead gods,” he slumped in his chair and pinched the skin between his eyes.

  “What matters is that they are loyal, and their being in the capital contains the contagion. My intent was always to station them here, and there has been an opening since Sir Swift passed last year. It fits, and we can isolate them now, bury them in noble obligations and the occasional bounty if they even bother. I understand the list is growing long,” Ecbert demurred.

  “Yes, quite, and it keeps them close. I understand they’ll come under the command of Sir Wilhelm then,” Kilvaran asked, rubbing a finger under his nose as if scratching a nonexistent mustache.

  “Exactly, and he has solved problems for us before. He’s of higher ability and experience than those two. I say we let them settle; we let them soften under life here in the Ashenvale, and then we will assign them a loyalty test. If they fail, then Wilhelm will see to it that they,” Ecbert coughed, “died nobly in the field. This is manageable, magister.”

  “Except they have survived everything thus far, in contradiction of your guarantees,” Kilvaran’s tones grew strident.

  “With respect, I recall making no guarantees, just contingencies, come what may,” Ecbert replied.

  “Hmmm, quite, and what of Page Westphalia was it?” Kilvaran asked.

  “He could have told us potentially more about their capabilities, but he was unwilling to take the bronze and instead embraced the dagger. It is the final right of our failures,” Ecbert explained.

  “So then, their contact with other Rangers has been minimal, and the bronze are of no consequence. Tell me, how are the survival rates in this year’s crop?” Kilvaran wondered.

  “It’s been a good year, and it looks like roughly twenty percent will succeed in their trials if current numbers hold. As for the bronze, I’ve assigned one in particular to them, Humbert. He’s an old fool but reliable. I’ve had dealings with him. They’ve actually asked to bring him along to Astor, something I’ve allowed,” Ecbert smiled deviously.

  “A spy?” Kilvaran grinned.

  “Oh no, the bronze are failures. He wouldn’t be of use. If he were, he’d have earned his crystal torc, but again, it contains the contagion, and Humbert is ultimately disposable. No one will ask questions if he needs to be eliminated if they happen to fail to prove their loyalty at a later date. What’s more, we have lines on their family here in the Ashenvale, which are additional levers of control that we can employ, though not without risk. Even the hint of such actions may serve us well,” Ecbert spoke without compassion or care, acting like a distant tactician of fate.

  “Very well, but I think it might do to separate them,” Kilvaran proposed.

  “They are truly bonded by at least a first-tier method, so separation would not be feasible. Riley retains her reason and self, which is not the tradition among the second tier. Honestly, it’s probably where this trouble started,” Ecbert crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.

  “So why not try to eliminate her? As you said earlier, it would break Tobias, perhaps in useful ways. If we are to contain this, why not be proactive? Surely there are means by which she could easily find a death within Castle Cinder? If we’re truly talking of isolating the contagion, why not eliminate the source? Tobias was as loyal as any Second as a student, judging from his records.” Kilvaran yawned.

  “Containment is a better choice, especially with the attention of the clergy and the crown. We have a solid plan. However, there are means in place should our hand be forced, and that begins with fetching Sir Wilhelm; perhaps he has an idea of how they may be further assessed,” Ecbert’s eyes flicked toward the door.

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  “Dismissed, and thank you, old friend. We’ll find a way to restore some sanity to this madness yet,” the magister smiled and rose, offering his hand.

  “We will. One way or another. Remember, at the end of the day, two, even two considered chosen, are nothing against the power of the Ashenrealm,” Ecbert took it, clasping arms in the Calarian fashion before striding out the door.

  “Sometimes lessons need repeating,” Kilvaran muttered as the door shut. The heavy sound of Ecbert’s boots beat a rhythm, fading decrescendo, as he moved swiftly down the hall.

  He sighed and looked over at his desk. Scrolls were piled up, along with a few ancient books, a rarity outside of the collegial ranks, of which he was the titular leader.

  His eyes fell on the symbol of Galdor, sitting at the very back and center of his desk.

  “My God, your humble servant wishes that you would share with him your aims in all this madness. For millennia, your order has reigned. You emerged victorious from the Ashen war. How can those that bring chaos and change be your chosen?”

  His forehead knitted in concern before he sighed once again and settled down into his chair to find peace within his work.

  Meanwhile, Grimm watched from a distance under celestial veil, concern knitting upon his lupine brow.

  A growl escaped, “Treachery at every turn.”

  As Vilharven sat down to his work, a pulse of intent pulled the wolf’s attention toward the Cathedral of the Ashenrealm.

  “You’ve been ordered not to interfere; it’s above your pay grade, puppy. You have to let it play out,” The teasing voice of Fengee drifted upon ethereal winds.

  Yet Grimm could not turn away as, within the spire of the Cathedral of the Ashenrealm, the Archbishop of Galdor sat.

  The room was comprised of perfectly cut stone, gleaming an alabaster white, and devoid of anything resembling a personality, featureless and as bare as winter. A bright white light descended from the ceiling as if descending from the heavens, illuminating the throne that existed at its apex. Inlaid into the floor was a graceful and arcing crystal formation, shaped much like a torc, offering the only contrast to the pristine white floor.

  Not a mote of dust floated in the air; not one smallest bit of debris littered the ground. All was perfect and still, as a glowing orb floated before the Archbishop.

  Constricted by alabaster chains, cracks rippled around it as if it had been smashed into the ground

  The Archbishop’s gaze drifted toward it as it pulsed while Grimm’s eyes narrowed.

  Heart of Feos, 0-0

  A channel stone, born of the heart of a God, and a font of power. This is the foundation of all human-based magic.

  Galdor spoke, his mind flicking to one of the millions of prayers streaming in as he drank in the faith of the mortals of the Ashenrealm. Since the great war and the murder of his brother, he had been ascendant, and rightly so. The only function of chaos was to give way to order, after all.

  For a millennia, he had been pushing the humans of the Ashenrealm, first to strike at the mortal base of his brother’s power, the Fae, and then shaping the humans, bringing them into perfect and concise order.

  No longer did the castes intermix. The First ruled, the Second served the first, and the commoner served all. Until an anomaly arose, an imperfect flaw in the ever-increasing perfection he had been guiding them toward.

  Riley and Tobias.

  “How can those that bring chaos be my chosen?” He laughed, his focus falling on Vilharven’s prayer.

  “Because just as it was during the Ashen war, chaos shall pave the way to perfect order, and my dominion shall reign supreme.”

  Slowly, he rose, peering off as if spying on a vast horizon. He could feel it; a change, a moment was coming, and with his victory, he’d need not bother with mortal life anymore. He’d need not bother with humans or the obsession of the weavers with balancing chaos.

  No, soon, all mortal life in Calaria would reach a cusp, and with its ebb, only his order would reign, and the balance would fall to his perfect will.

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/81852/second-tier-sorcery