I am distracted and I don’t look before I turn. Rounding a tent corner, a come upon a squad of men sitting on short stools. I am able to catch short my stride and stop before I topple over one of them.
They seem to perceive this all as fairly ominous. I sense the palpable tension but pay it little mind.
“Ca—can we help you?” the boldest or dumbest among them asks. It is funny how difficult it can be to tell the difference sometimes.
Still ruminating deeply in my thoughts, I snap my icy gaze toward him before I come to my senses. He reels as if I struck him. His comrades now stand to confront me.
“Who are you!? Identify yourself!” a sergeant demands between two rank-and-file with fiercely blank stares. His left hand is on his pommel defensively but not aggressively.
Great. Just what I need. I can’t really blame them though. It was I who suddenly appeared behind their corporal, looking sinister and looming over him with an intense scowl. I stopped trying to fit in a long time ago which means I don’t easily identify as an ally. Camped so close to the enemy stronghold, it is no wonder they are on edge. Still, I would prefer not to have trouble.
Think.
Ah yes, a very easy disarming tactic comes to mind.
“Where is your ranking officer? I have been assigned to assist your next maneuver.”
The man sitting beneath me stands up and turns around. His head leans way back and stretches his neck until its squashed flesh bulges at the sides. “Corporal Level, at your service!” he says brightly. And then, “Hey, I know you.”
His men visibly relax. I knew it would work. Now I will just say I have the wrong squad and be on my way, easily excusing myself before I am further inconvenienced.
Yet I pause and look down at the man who claims he knows me. I make a point to remember faces and names and, though it’s been a year and I met him only once, my memory of him springs to the forefront. It is the scout leader who came to me to identify Ulsh during the siege at Nodkis. He seemed a capable and reasonable man. Perhaps I can learn something that changes Val Maxis’s perception of me. I decide to keep up the charade a little longer and test the waters.
I nod in acknowledgment.
“Report?” he seems uncertain what he is supposed to do.
“I am a wizard. It was thought your squad could benefit from my help.”
He looks at his men, a little perplexed, but shrugs, “Well with the siege starting in a couple days, all we are doing is short-range trips a couple times a day to report back on enemy positions and patrols. Can’t say we need magic to do that.”
“Then I will go.” Through a long history of genuinely not caring to stay and listen to what others have to say, I’ve discovered that one of the best ways to obtain information is to try to leave.
“But I suppose…”
There it is.
“…we could check out that anomaly again if you can scan it for magic auras, or whatever it is you do.”
“Anomaly?”
“Might be nothing but the usual arcane bleed-off from the Wildlands, but there is a uh—dark spot in the forest to the northwest.”
There were, rarely, arcanum storms that came through Elysium from the south. The effects were usually different—dancing lights, walking trees, upside down gravity, razor-winged butterfly swarms, really vibrant colors in a particular area—but they were always obnoxious. Still, this might be promising. I do not know whether this will qualify as something near and dear to Val Maxis but the anomaly is in the proximity of the tower so I decide to go with it.
“Yes, I can assist with that.”
Corporal Level rushes off to request permission to further investigate the anomaly. The men look wary of me but thankful that they will not be sitting idly. An bored soldier is a troubled soldier.
As I look them over a bit more thoroughly, they look as though they have seen better days. Lean and grimy, the last year has been a struggle for these sons of farmers and merchants. Save for the sergeant, none appear to be enlisted for life. The silent longing in their eyes prays that this assault will put an end to the war.
Wars rarely conclude in just a year. These men have a rude awakening in their future. My homeland was at war more than it was not. The borders shifted yearly—a product of two ambitious empires sharing the same island. It is a large island, equal in size to most nations on the continent, with vast stretches of unsettled land. But still we fought the Andranian Empire again and again. That the unsettled land is mostly uninhabitable desert has a lot to do with it. Still, I think our peoples may have fought more for pride than for conquest.
In all that war, Varasht grew strong but became shackled by its traditions. Andranu’s hedonistic ways took them quickly to paths of power and pleasure, though they had dangerous consequences. Brand wizards from both nations had once freely exchanged their souls for arcane mastery. Such potent and volatile magics had led an antecedent king of Varasht to outlaw all arcane spell casting, save for a handful of indentured servants of the crown. These few Viziers were tasked with protection of the lands and the king should an Andranian brand wizard attack. There are typically less than a dozen Viziers in the entire kingdom. Those Varashti who show aptitude but are not selected for service are executed.
A dark cloud roils in my mind as I remember the day I was to be sent away for such assessment.
These men don’t know how easy they have it.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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