The Tower of Kartage

Story By

Thomas Knapp

Based on MegaTokyo: Endgames By

Fred Gallagher

Editor

Ray Kremer

Copyright 2014 Fred Gallagher. MegaTokyo and
MegaTokyo: Endgames are registered trademarks of Fredart Studios LLC

Day 1: The
Keep by the Sea

Pirogoeth
was not fond of walking. Seemed like a fairly silly exercise, all
things considered. For the sake of general activity, there were a
multitude of more engaging things. For the sake of travel, there were
several more effective means.

They had
been using one such method to cross the distance through her home in
Bakkra, in the Western Free Provinces, to where they were now, but
the old man leading her decided just yesterday to drop their horses
and take the rest of the travel on foot.

The
elderly male had said they were rented horses, and could not be taken
off the Great Trade Line, which was believable enough, but didn't
make the walk any less of a nuisance.

The
cobblestones, well made for a horse’s hooves, not so much for
human feet, weren't doing her any favors. Even with well fitting
boots, her heels were becoming unbearably sore, and she could feel
spikes of pain shooting up her shins with each step.

“It
is a truly wonderful day. Not too hot, with clear skies and a gentle
breeze. These are the perfect days to take a walk in this beautiful
world we live in without stressing your thoughts. A long walk is an
exercise in resting your mind,” her escort offered. He liked
such wordplay. Pirogoeth wasn't fond of it. She said nothing, lest
she encourage further attempts at banter.

Dominus
Socrato, Venerated Citizen of The Imperial Aramathea, one of the most
prominent mages of the living world, was nothing like what
Pirogoeth had expected.

He looked
the part of an Aramathean elder, that much was true. Bronzed
skin, a thin line of silver hair in a half circle around his
otherwise bald head, thin withered frame wrapped in a pristine white
toga and tied with a golden sash that managed to somehow remain
unblemished despite the dusty trade lines they had followed for the
last two weeks. A pair of round, sophisticated glasses dangled from a
gold chain at his neck, though he had not used them, finished
the look of a respected, learned sage of the Southern empire.

But that
was where it ended. He moved with a vitality that should not have
come from a man of such evident years. There was no creaks to his
joints, no apparent aches and pains. And there was little in the way
of quiet reservation. Socrato was jovial, boisterous, and loud; as
quick with biting wit as sage wisdom.

Socrato
was undeterred. “You could at least pretend to look more
enthusiastic, young lady,” he commented, bright and cheery
despite his advanced age; his voice not reflecting any discomfort
despite the sandals on his feet, of all things.

“There
are a thousand mages in the world, of varying talent. I have only
deemed a handful worthy of my attention,” he continued in
monologue. “Are you not aware of your opportunity, I wonder?”

Of course
Pirogoeth knew. Her first teacher, Torma, had been one of those rare
pupils to learn from the Dominus. When Pirogoeth started to exceed
what Torma was willing and able to teach, that had led to the
summoning of Socrato. Torma had spent the last two weeks before the
elder Armathean's arrival in Bakkra telling Pirogoeth all about the
honor she was receiving.

Torma had
not mentioned anything about a day's hike.

“Still
not impressed, are you?” the wizened mage noted, his lips
turning downward into something that wasn't an obnoxiously cheery
smile for the first time Pirogoeth could note. His gaze drifted off
the road, towards the southwest, and he said, “Maybe this
will stir your spirit.”

Socrato
then veered off the cobblestone, and onto the dry grass, taking far
longer strides than Pirogoeth would have expected for someone his
age. She scrambled to keep up with him; while the dry grass was
easier on her feet than the road, her boots didn't get quite as good
of a grip.

Her path
went up a steadily increasing incline, while the road wound south
around the rise. Socrato looked down from his position at the top of
the hill, beckoning her forward. She clenched her jaw in annoyance,
and forced herself up the remaining distance.

Once she
reached the summit, huffing with lost breath, she followed Socrato's
outstretched hand and the panorama provided by the higher ground,
focusing on the southwest, and the heavily walled keep in the
distance.

Pirogoeth
had certainly heard of keeps like the one in front of her. She
had even listened to Torma speak of this particular one. But when the
largest “city” she had ever experienced was the
wood-walled city-state of Wassalm, this was a jolt to the system to
see in person.

Below, the
hill dropped into a fertile valley at the mouth of a river that
emptied into the South Forever Sea. Sitting upon that delta was a
double walled keep, the first exterior wall of dark gray stone, with
several entrances both from land and from the river as it branched
across the delta. Between the first and second walls were colorful
awnings of shops and shingled roofs of houses.

This was
followed by the second wall, but of a different material that
Pirogoeth couldn't quite identify from the distance, only that it was
considerably lighter, and shimmered under the sunlight. Then, within
that interior wall, was a tower of the same material, reaching to
such heights that even with Pirogoeth's vantage point it required her
to lift her head to see the top.

The top of
the tower more resembled an observation deck, with a copper dome on
the top, though the angle made it hard to tell what the dome was for.

A smile of
triumph stretched across Socrato's cheeks. “This is Kartage, my
domain, and home to the tallest man-made construction short of the
Royal Spire in Grand Aramathea.”

He puffed
out his chest, and said proudly, “This is where you will
continue your learning, a place where you can apply your studies
without worrying of terrifying villagers with pyroclastic displays.
There are no bullies to torment you as you read. No menial chores to
waste your time and talents. You will be respected here for the gifts
you possess, for this is where magic is expected, and much will be
expected in turn.”

Pirogoeth
tried very hard to sound annoyed, but wasn't successful. “You
have managed to impress me. Well done.”

Socrato
turned about with a bright laugh, and began to retrace his steps back
towards the road. “Come along, dear girl. The road is not much
longer.”

That was
more music to Pirogoeth's ears. “Good. I haven't walked this
far in my life.”

The old
sage then abruptly stopped, nearly causing Pirogoeth to run into him.
“Unless...” He said thoughtfully, then spun right back
about towards the crest of the hill. “You tire of walking, do
you?”

Pirogoeth
followed as Socrato returned to the road, stopping just shy on the
grass. “Yes...” she said warily, deciding that being
truthful was the better part of valor.

And at
that point, Socrato pushed her onto the decline.

It was a
fairly sharp decline at that, and Pirogoeth quickly gathered speed,
curling into a tight ball in a potentially vain attempt to avoid
serious injury. Fortunately, the earth was much softer than its
parched appearance would have implied, with so much give that she
barely felt each impact.

The sky
and the ground blurred into one incoherent mess in her eyesight, and
vertigo began to play tricks with her stomach. She remembered her
peers would go rolling down the hills outside of school after classes
ended, and that they seemed to have no end of fun doing so.

Now with
that experience, Pirogoeth really did not understand the allure at
all.

The world
didn't stop spinning even after she finally did, splayed out on her
back, her hair having come free of its ties, and the longer locks at
the back of her head having come to rest over her face.

As her
mind finally began to sort itself out, she sensed a shadow fall over
her. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, clearing eyesight processed
Socrato hovering above, a broad smile again stretching his cheeks.
“Enjoy yourself?”

“Are
you insane, you old
bat?” Pirogoeth screeched, quickly scrambling to her feet only
to discover that her balance hadn't quite returned and forcing her
back gracelessly to her knees. “Are you trying to kill
me?”

Socrato
scoffed at the accusation. “Oh, do not be a dramatic. I assure
the Hermian Theatre has plenty of actors already, and does not need
any more. I promise you were in no danger, and look! It was so much
faster, wasn't it?”

Pirogoeth
rubbed dust off her face, and tried to beat it out of her clothes,
with less success. “Oh, is that how you travel this path,
then?” she snarled in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

The old
sage shook his head as if dismayed by the thought. “Oh Coders,
no! My frail body couldn't possibly take such a jostling. No, such a
method is best reserved for the young. Oh... you dropped these, by
the way.” Socrato held out his right hand, holding her faded
leather hair ties. Pirogoeth crossly ripped them out of his palm,
angrily tying back her hair while scowling in disapproval of her new
teacher.

The old
man regarded Pirogoeth's appearance, and then declared, “We
will have to get you some new clothes in Kartage. It simply will not
do to have you looking so dirty in my tower.”

“That's
because you pushed me down that damned hill!”
Pirogoeth bellowed.

Socrato's
jaw dropped with mock astonishment. “Language, young lady! I
will not have such an uncouth tongue in my halls!”

It was
obvious that Socrato was intentionally prodding her temper, and so
Pirogoeth clenched her teeth tightly, forcing back any further words.
She doubted it would stop him, ignoring bullying behavior never did,
but it didn't do her any good to keep playing his games.

He wasn't
wrong, if Pirogoeth was being entirely honest with herself. Even
before her tumble, her clothes would hardly have been considered
sophisticated or lovely. They were working clothes, designed for a
life in the farming community of Bakkra, not the halls of learning in
Kartage.

“Come
along. It's not even an hour to go, if we do not linger,”
Socrato announced, gesturing Pirogoeth to follow as he took the
shortest path available back to the road. Pirogoeth clenched her
eyes, took a calming breath, and fell in step behind him.

She really
started to get a sense of just how large Kartage was as they got ever
closer. It looked big before, but the full height of its
sixty-foot-tall walls didn't sink in until they stood before her,
looming and imposing. The only breach through that nigh impenetrable
barrier held the promise of two thick metal portcullises, one behind
the other, hovering above the entry to block any unwanted sorts. And
if that wasn't enough of a dissuasion, the score of Arameathan
soldiers, ten to each side, would no doubt offer further pause.

“One
wasn't enough?” Pirogoeth asked dryly, pointing to the
barricades locked in an open position.

“If
you look closely, the second door is solid steel,” Socrato
corrected. “It's used at this gate in the spring to hold back
water after the snows melt in the North and flood the delta.”

He then
leaned in, and with a conspiratorial note added, “One of the
keep's defense mechanisms involve storing water from the high tide,
and temporarily flooding the plain in the case of an attack. You'd be
amazed at how devastating the power of water can be.”

“Hmm,”
Pirogoeth acknowledged passively.

Socrato
clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I would recommend not
being so dismissive. I understand Torma allowed you to play with fire
nigh exclusively, but as my student, I will expect you to respect and
to be versed in all the schools of magic by the time you leave.”

Pirogoeth
didn't have to desire to explain it was a lack of interest in flood
plains rather than a lack of interest in magic. “Yes, Dominus,”
she said.

Socrato's
eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn't press the issue further.
“Yes, yes. Very good. Now onward.”

Getting
through the gates was not just a matter of walking right through, to
Pirogoeth's surprise. She would have figured the lord of the keep
would not be held up.

“Greetings,
Dominus,” One of the soldiers to the right of the gate,
distinguished by three red bands crossing over the chest plate of his
bronzed armor, said amiably, even as he lowered his spear in their
path. “Papers please.”

“Ah!
Yes, of course, Captain,” Socrato replied with equal cheer,
reaching into his clothing no doubt for the documents requested.
Pirogoeth couldn't help but find it extremely odd to see such a
pleasant exchange while in the presence of drawn weapons.

The
documents were taken, examined, and returned, then the captain's
spear returned to its rest position, followed with a respectful bow.
“Thank you, Dominus. I trust the girl is with you?”

“Yes,
Captain, she is. This is Pirogoeth; she will be my pupil for the time
being,” Socrato declared. “I trust she will have papers
drawn up for her as well.”

The
captain bowed again. “At once, Dominus. I'll have Footman Trius
send word to the Registrar immediately.”

An
official order wasn't necessary, as a member at the rear of the
company immediately broke off and retreated into the keep proper.
Then the captain addressed Pirogoeth with another respectful bow.
“Apprentice Pirogoeth, I welcome you to Kartage. If there is
anything you require during your stay, day or night, you need merely
ask any of the Phalanx stationed here. If they cannot offer
assistance, they will find out who can.”

Pirogoeth
was not used to such reverence, especially from someone so physically
imposing. She could get used to this. “Thank you, Captain...”
She let her voice drop off, hoping to bait out a name to go along
with the rank.

“Daneid,
my lady.” The captain correctly offered, earning him a pleasant
smile.

Socrato
sternly leveled a glare first at the soldier, then at Pirogoeth.
“Let's press on, Apprentice,” the sage said coldly. “We
still have to get you some new clothes before settling you into your
quarters.”

He stepped
forward deliberately, and when he felt Pirogoeth wasn't responding as
he liked added gruffly, “Make haste, my girl. You were the one
that wanted to get off your feet.”

She
shuffled off after Socrato, eyes narrowing in annoyance. But before
she could demand what had irritated him, he provided the answer.

“Captain
Daneid is a decade your senior.” He said simply.

Pirogoeth
rolled her eyes. “Coders... did you honestly think that
was what was on my mind?”

“Don't
pretend you weren't preening.”

She didn't
deny it, mostly because the old sage wasn't wrong. “I'm... not
used to that sort of attention and respect.”

“Some
attention isn't worth what you get from it,” Socrato grumbled
warningly. “Not from the captain there, to be fair. He would
most certainly respect your limits. But some men are not nearly so
gentlemanly.” The old man's eyes narrowed, seeing something
ahead as they got closer to the bazaar. “Like this example...”

Two men
appeared from the horde of shoppers in the marketplace, leading a
pair of long haired, stockily built horses the likes of which
Pirogoeth had not seen before, one chestnut brown and the other black
with white markings across its snout and flanks.

The men
themselves were most certainly not Aramathean: They were both
far too pale in both skin and hair color to ever be confused for
people of the southern lands. The first one caught her eye because of
his size; if he wasn't seven feet tall he was close enough for it to
not be of much difference, and likely would have looked even taller
if not for the slight curve to his back. He had broad, shoulders and
impressive bulk, and a mop of black hair pulled pack into a simple,
inelegant tail. She had no doubt he was very physically strong, even
if his build was not the carefully sculpted muscles like the soldiers
at the gate.

He was
also dressed simply and suitably: light brown trousers and similarly
colored sleeveless shirt. If it wasn't for his sheer size, he'd be a
perfectly unassuming fellow.

His hands
and face carried heavy callouses and scars, with dark stains on his
palms. His brown eyes squinted in the sunlight, taking in everything
as they darted back and forth nervously. It took Pirogoeth a while to
remember where she had seen those sort of traits before. Once she
did, it seemed pretty obvious. At some point in time, this man had
been a miner. It could not have been a comfortable life, and
explained the curve in his back. Mining tunnels were not large.

The other
man was nearly everything the first was not. He was long, gangly, and
thin, like he had been uncomfortably stretched three inches longer
than he was supposed to be. A neatly trimmed mustache and carefully
styled hair most hidden under a flamboyantly red feathered hat and
similarly colored formal suit nearly hid the similar traits he shared
with his companion. They were most likely related in some fashion if
the eye, hair color and skin tone were any indication.

“Dominus
Socrato! Pleasant days to you, my lordship!” the smaller one
declared with a wave, halting his procession. “It is so rare to
see you outside your tower this early in the day.”

For all
the pleasantness the man was trying to project, Socrato was not
putting on airs. “If only it were as rare to see you here,
Julian.”

Julian
threw his hand over his heart in dramatic pain. “You wound me,
Dominus! My trade only comes through twice a season at best!”

“Which
is twice too many as far as I am concerned, charlatan,” Socrato
said with a dismissive scoff.

Julian
lost his joviality, protesting, “That was a year ago,
and I paid due recompense, with added value, I may add, for those who
bought my reptile scale serum! I have not attempted to sell anything
I have not personally vetted since!”

“And
what exactly were you trying to validate when you were cavorting with
my magister's daughter last fall, may I ask?”

“She
seduced me!”
Julian countered. “Tell him, Pierre!”

Pirogoeth
had expected a simple voice and manner from Julian's larger
companion. But rather than follow that cliche, Pierre was soft in
tone and well spoken with remarkable enunciation and clarity of voice
despite the low volume: “I am not getting involved.”

“I
remain astonished how your brother got both the size and
intellect in your family.” Socrato said
with a polite nod to the larger man. “I trust you are doing
your best to keep him out of trouble, Pierre.”

A long,
tired breath escaped Pierre's lips. “As much as I am able.”

During
that exchange, Julian caught sight of the girl behind the Dominus.
“Hello, hello! Who do we have here?”

Socrato
quickly imposed himself between Julian and Pirogoeth. “Someone
so far above you that to even try to gaze up to her level
would break your neck, peddler.”

It was
only at this point that Julian became visibly cross. “I was
asking her, Dominus. I didn't think you'd be one to presume to
speak for a lady.”

“My
name is Pirogoeth. I am Socrato's newest apprentice,” she
finally said, “And I am right here, so I'd appreciate it if you
both stopped speaking of me as if I weren't.”

“An
apprentice?” Julian said, the smarmy grin returning. “Then
I would guess the Dominus is right that these are matters beyond me.
So with that, I must end this banter. Pierre and I have much ground
to cover along the coast if we are to make Reaht by the end of
summer.”

With that,
Socrato's face softened from scorn to mild interest, “Taking a
long route this year, are you?”

Julian
shrugged. “Some clients back home have a taste for more exotic
fare, and when the money is right, I take the long road. I wouldn't
think you'd be so bothered to know that I'd be absent until fall at
the least.”

Pirogoeth
sensed there was more to this discussion than the two were letting
on, like a secret code only they understood. Socrato's next words
didn't change that impression. “I know well how goods from
Reaht are received in Aramathea. We tend to not approve of such
foreign goods passing through our lands.”

“I
take all care, as you should well know.”

“If
only you kept the goods in your trousers as well hidden.”

Julian
clicked his tongue cheekily, then with a flick of his right hand,
beckoned his brother forward, leading their laden horses around
Socrato and Pirogoeth. “Oh, I did just deliver some fine linen
and silk from Caravel to Lanka's Clothiers. I bet they'd be a welcome
change from the rags your apprentice is currently clad in,” he
said in parting.

“Thank
you, peddler,” Socrato snarled loudly
in annoyance at the retreating pair. “Come along, girl. As
obnoxious as the merchant can be, he knows his materials. We'll take
his advice.”

“Who
were they?” Pirogoeth queried as they resumed their own path,
though she doubted she'd get a straight answer. “I sense they
were more than mere merchants.”

“Their
names, as you should already know, are Julian and Pierre,”
Socrato answered. “As for what they do, it depends entirely on
who you are. For your sake, you should hope they remain mere
merchants. The moment they become more than that, it means trouble.”

“I
take it they did something bad here?”

Socrato
shook his head, and reluctantly grumbled, “No. Not here. And in
all honesty, it was trouble I invited upon myself. The only thing
they did was exactly what I told them to do. It's my fault I didn't
take all the risks into consideration.”

“What
happened?” she pressed further.

Socrato
eyed her warily, and bristled. “I asked them to acquire a very
valuable item for me. I did not expect the previous owner to be quite
so unreasonable in his price. So when I told them to get it, no
matter the cost, I didn't exactly impress to them that the cost
needed to be greater than zero.”

“They
stole it,” she surmised.

“In
a sense, in the way that merchants 'steal' things,” Socrato
clarified. “They traded a great many items with highly
perceived value that had little real value. When the man they cheated
learned of this, he was understandably irate, and came to me with
that rage, as I had the item in question. It was... not a pleasant
exchange, and I had to get... violent. It was a very important item
for me to have, you see. Vital for my research. I will not pretend
that I was wholly in the right, but it needed to be done.”

“What
could be so important?” Pirogoeth wondered, more out loud than
an actual question.

Socrato
offered a vague, “you may find out, presuming I find you worthy
of that knowledge.” He turned right, pointing ahead, and added,
“this way. Lanka's is off the center road by more than a
handful of strides. She likes it that way... She is not fond of
random customers.”

The exterior of the shop certainly reflected that desire
to not attract walk-ins. It was dingy wood with faded red awnings
over windows that had not been cleaned in some time, judging from the
layer of dust caked upon them.

Inside,
however, was a picture of exquisite luxury. Plush red carpeting was a
blessing to Pirogoeth's feet, and the windows to the rear of the
store facing away from the road were impeccably clean, casting
sunlight through to illuminate the interior. A chandelier of crystal
overhead was currently unlit, but Pirogoeth had little doubt it would
look spectacular as evening approached.

Waterfalls
of velvet, satin, silk, lace... every fabric Pirogoeth knew existed,
and many that didn't, lined the shelves and the walls. A central desk
with a satin cover and a stack of books drew her attention as a woman
stepped through a curtain on the south side of the building.

The woman
was the embodiment of elegance, wearing a long-sleeved violet dress
of silk with gold trim, embroidered with what Pirogoeth vaguely
recognized as Ancient Aramathean runes across the sleeves and skirt.
It highlighted her deep caramel skin and the black hair tied back
with a shimmering, thin silver band across her forehead. The woman
wasn't exactly young, but she wasn't old either... Resting right at
that age where she still had a youthful glow but also possessed an
experienced, practiced posture and manner.

She threw
her hands out wide, and sang, “Dominus Socrato! It is a
pleasure to see you again, my master. It has been far too long!”

Socrato
grinned brightly. “Lanka, I keep telling you, if you want to
see me more often, you simply must not make such fabulous and
indestructible clothing.”

“Which
is why I am surprised to see you,” Lanka retorted. “I
can't imagine you need something mended already.”

“It
is not for me,” the Dominus answered, “but for my
apprentice here. Pirogoeth, step forward if you may. Lanka does not
see distances well.”

Pirogoeth
complied, shuffling forward in front of Socrato and directly into the
line of sight of the clothier.

“Oh
my! Such a slight and tiny thing!” Lanka squealed. “You
are just so adorable, I could eat you up!”

Pirogoeth
was not amused, but tried to hide her annoyance with a thin lipped
smile. She hated being reminded of her small stature.

Lanka,
however, gave it no further thought, putting her right hand on her
chin with in appraisal and thought. “You are clearly not
Aramathean. Western Free Provinces, I'm guessing.” Leaning in
closer, the clothier nodded in affirmation. “Indeed, you have
the eyes of a Dayne and the complexion of an Avalonian. High cheek
bones, consistent with a mixed heritage, though your brows carry a
hint of Sparian blood of the old North Aramathea. You are from
Wassalm, am I correct?”

Pirogoeth
was genuinely surprised by how close the clothier had gotten just
from a look at her face. “You came very close. Bakkra, not even
two days travel to the west. Though the city-state is so small you
might not have ever heard of it.”

“I
have now,” Lanka sang, flipping open the top most book of the
central pile on her desk, testing a quill with her tongue before
making a quick note. She then pushed that book out of the way before
picking up the next three and making another stack with them further
down the desk. “Now then, you will no doubt be needed at least
two outfits straight away, formal attire and training clothes, am I
correct?”

“You
are, as always, Lanka.” Socrato supplied.

Pirogoeth
asked, “What of those times when I'm not at some formal
gathering or training?”

“You
can get such plain, unremarkable rags anywhere else,” Lanka
grumped. “I do not do mundane, child. I specialize in the hardy
and elegant, the sturdy and the refined.” The clothier spun
about swiftly, and started rifling through the books she had set
aside, making thoughtful sounds as she turned the pages, and stealing
occasional glances at Pirogoeth.

“Yes,
I do believe I have something which will suit until we can fashion
something specifically for her,” Lanka at last declared, moving
back to the original pile of books and carefully sliding one out from
the middle of the stacks. “Hmm... yes... this way, my dear
girl. I shall get you dressed for the proper occasion.”

Socrato
nodded his approval, and said, “I shall wait here for your
return.”

Pirogoeth
obeyed, falling in step behind the taller clothier as they crossed
past the curtains into the back room of the shop. “As an
apprentice mage under Dominus Socrato, you will be learning and doing
things that you likely have never done before. The clothes and gear
for your training will need... special traits in order to stand the
tests ahead.”

The rear
section of the shop was set up for efficiency as the front was set up
for aesthetics. The shelves were more like cubbies: small
compartments where finished items were sorted by type, fabric, and
style.

The sets
nearest to them were gloves. Lanka found the number she was looking
for etched on the front of the compartment, drawing out a pair of
brightly polished leather with open fingers and bronze colored trim.
“Try those on, and tell me how they fit. You will want them
snug and tight, as loose fitting gloves can allow residue both
physical and ethereal to linger and potentially cause injury over
time.”

Pirogoeth
complied, though she had never heard of such consequences. “Really?”
the apprentice asked as she pulled on the left glove over her hand.

“Dominus
Socrato is an accomplished apothecary as well as a mage. He will
likely teach you the crafting of such potables as well... the residue
of which can be very flammable or reactive when the energy of spell
casting flows through you. You would not be the first to severely
burn her hand in such a fashion.”

“I
see,” Pirogoeth said thoughtfully. “Then I worry these
might be a bit too loose.”

Lanka
plucked the material to assess for herself, then came to agreement.
“Indeed they are. No matter, for there are many other options.
Try these...”

From
gloves, they moved onto bracers. “By instinct, people tend to
cover their faces with their arms. It helps to have some actual
protection on those arms, yes?”

Then,
leggings... With knee and seat pads. “You might be surprised
how often you will find yourself thrown to the ground by an errant
spell or concoction. Something sturdy and padded is essential.”

A jerkin.
“Thin enough for ease of movement, but with added protection in
the chest. Feel how the chest is firmly molded and not the same
supple leather as the rest? You will likely need a belt for these and
your trousers to fit properly. One moment...”

Then
boots. “Open toed shoes are never a wise choice for an
apprentice. Until you have mastered your art, you will no doubt have
a lot of stray energy spraying about. Residual embers from magical
channeling can and has burned the feet of many a young mage. Now, go
try these on in the changing room at the east end.”

When
Pirogoeth returned five minutes later, she wasn't sure she liked
it... “I look more like I'm getting ready to train in swordplay
rather than spellcraft.”

“Why
shouldn't you?” Lanka asked. “Magic is far more dangerous
than any steel. And rest assured, whatever learning you had before
you came under the Dominus's wing will be nothing compared to what
you are to experience.” Then with a warm smile, Lanka offered,
“But I think you'll find this next part much more fanciful to
your eye.”

Truth
being, it wasn't. Pirogoeth had never been particularly driven to
look “pretty” or “cute” or “fancy.”
She found dressing up to be a chore more than anything. That opinion
didn't change when she found herself in a long sleeved pale blue
formal gown with silver trim, complete with puffed shoulders and
pearl colored high-heeled shoes and matching gloves. Though she did
appreciate that it was an Aramathean design rather than some that she
had seen from Avalon with the crinoline that flared the skirt to
absurd sizes.

Lanka
added a belt of similar color to the gown for Pirogoeth's waist, and
said, “It will suit for now. I'll have you properly measured
and better fitting formal and training attire prepared as soon as I
am able.”

“So
can I change back?” Pirogoeth asked.

Lanka's
lips curled in distaste. “Girl, I would sooner burn those
filthy garments you came in here with before I let you trudge up my
store again. I'll package your training gear, and you can wear that
out.”

Pirogoeth
held back a groan, not wanting to insult the shopkeeper. High heels
were not exactly helping her sore feet.

Lanka
offered a silent answer to that concern, presenting a pair of
blissfully low heeled tanned moccasins. With a conspiratorial lowered
voice, the clothier said, “Perhaps I have some plain and
unremarkable things in this store. But only shoes, and only because I
know what a terror raised heels are.”

As
Pirogoeth changed shoes, the clothier ordered, “now, return to
the Dominus, I will be back with your purchases shortly.”

Pirogoeth
then reminded herself these were things that had an expectation of
being paid for. “How much will all this cost?”

“Never
you mind that, apprentice. The price is between the Dominus and
myself.”

“But...”

Lanka said
sharply, “If price were an object, or he expected you to pay,
he would not have brought you to me. Now out!”

With a
startled squeak, Pirogoeth scampered through the curtain and to the
sales floor. Socrato seemed quite pleased with her new appearance.
“Lanka has an eye for what looks good. Just wait until she has
the chance to tailor something for you.”

On that
prompt, Lanka emerged from behind the curtain with a cloth covered
package bound in silk ribbon. In her other hand was a tape measure
and a row of pins between her lips. “Come here, girl. Let's get
you measured,” she ordered between clenched teeth as she laid
the bundle down on the desk.

The
clothier's skills were readily apparent as she swiftly used the tape
and pins to take various measurements at every perceivable angle
around Pirogoeth's frame without even so much as a prick from any of
the needles, and recording the numbers in still another book at her
desk.

“Very
good,” Lanka declared. “I think I have a good idea of
what will look magnificent on her as well, Dominus. I trust money is
no object.”

“Is
it ever?” Socrato answered with a smile.

“I
shall have three sets of training and formal clothes available in two
weeks time. I will send word the morning they are completed.”

Socrato
bowed respectfully, which Lanka returned. “Ever gracious. Thank
you again, Madam Lanka.” He straightened and then spun about
with a gesture to Pirogoeth. “Come now, child.”

Once
outside Lanka's store, Socrato asked, “would you like to finish
shopping, or save that for the next day and instead settle into your
new living arrangements?”

“I
really need to get off
my feet,” Pirogoeth admitted tiredly.

Socrato
nodded. If he were disappointed by her admission of fatigue, he
didn't show it. “Understandable. Then come this way, to the
tower we go.”

But once
they stepped back onto the main path, it was as if a thick blanket
fell on the bazaar, muffling the ambient noise. Pirogoeth was keenly
aware that a considerable amount of attention had turned her way.

“There
she is!” someone nearby declared, though Pirogoeth couldn't
identify the source of the voice in the crowd. “The girl with
the Dominus!”

“Is
that the one that Socrato will be teaching?” another asked.
“She doesn't much look like
a Princess.”

“If
she is the Crown
Princess of Avalon, she likely would have never seen the court.”

Pirogoeth
looked up at Socrato and asked, “do you hear that? What are
they talking about?”

Socrato
kept his eyes forward as if he heard nothing amiss. “Empty
gossip. The lands to the west had a violent revolution years ago, and
the royal family there was executed. Some believe that one of them
escaped into the Free Provinces.”

“And
they think I might be that person?” Pirogoeth said with a roll
of her eyes. “Hate to disappoint them. My family has been
mudrakers in Bakkra for generations.”

“I
am aware. All the more reason not to dignify their flights of fancy
with a response,” Socrato advised. “There are going to be
many assumptions about you due to your association with me, though it
will rarely be to your face.”

“Wouldn't
be the first time people gossiped about me,” Pirogoeth replied
darkly.

Socrato
nodded in somber approval. “No, I suppose it wouldn't. Let's
waste no more thought on baseless banter. We are almost to the
tower.”

As large
as it looked earlier, that still didn't do the size of the
tower justice once she reached its base, its diameter at least five
times as wide as the main road through Bakkra. Socrato let the size
and scale sink in; then, after he deemed suitable respect was paid,
put a hand on Pirogoeth's back to usher her forward.

They
passed over the thick stained oak double doors at the main entrance,
he instead guiding her along a cobblestone path around the perimeter
to the west. As it curved to the south, the path declined, going to a
depth of at least fifteen feet by the time they reached the opposite
side of the tower. A single less grandiose iron door appeared over
the bend, guarded by two Aramathean soldiers.

“And
why are we going this way?” Pirogoeth queried.

Socrato
said, “This is a less conspicuous entry. I prefer it so as to
avoid too much attention from those waiting in my tower who do not
deserve it.”

The door
swung outward by an invisible hand, but the light from outside
offered no illumination of what was across the threshold. “It's
a magical defensive mechanism.” Socrato assured as he saw
Pirogoeth's wary step forward. “If you were an invader, you'd
have much to fear. As you are not, there is nothing on the other side
that can or will harm you.”

A desire
to not look like a fearful child overcame being a fearful child. With
a quick, irritated glance at Socrato, Pirogoeth took two deliberate
steps forward...

... Into a
lavish, well-furnished bedroom.

Spinning
about back where she came, she discovered not only was the exterior
door no longer there, it seemed that there was no reason for it to be
there. The wall behind her was, in fact, an interior wall, made from
thin wood without even a window, much less a doorway.

The exit
was in front of her, and led into a curved hallway that she assumed
was an interior hall of Socrato's tower; well maintained and lit with
candelabras every five or six feet, though Pirogoeth correctly
guessed that is was no normal fire that burned from the unmelted wax
sticks.

She took a
step back and turned full about again, this time let herself take in
what was her new home.

It was
indeed exquisite, if a bit too pink for her liking. The carpet
beneath her, drapes and bedding were awash in the hue, although it
was tolerable considering that she had a genuine bed. She was
used to the old cot back in Bakkra. While she had never thought it
uncomfortable, that opinion changed the minute she threw herself down
onto the mattress with her arms thrown out to her sides.

It felt
like she was floating on a cloud, a softness she had never
experienced before. The mattress surrendered to her every movement,
the resistance so gradual that it seemed like she would never stop
sinking into it.

“I
do apologize if you were disoriented by the travel. Some do not take
shifting very well,” Socrato said from the doorway, causing
Pirogoeth to yelp in surprise and tumble onto her stomach so she
could face the venerable sage.

“Shifting?”
Pirogoeth asked.

“It's
a means of connecting two places together that are not connected.
It's a rather complex art that is usually not worth the time invested
into it. But useful if you want to get from one place you frequent to
another quickly.”

“I
see.” She replied, though she wasn't sure she did.

“Enjoying
your accommodations?” Socrato then asked, his eyes perusing the
room with what looked to be pride.

“I
don't so much like the color,” she admitted.

Socrato
shrugged. “Easily enough changed,” he then said, snapping
his fingers... and turning everything that had been pink into a pale
blue. “Or would you prefer green?” Another snap, and sure
enough, her room was now a light green.

“How
are you doing that?”

Socrato
grinned. “The art of illusion. The mind is a very powerful
thing. What you believe affects what you see, not so much the other
way around. Even when you know it is a ruse, your eyes will
often refuse to believe you.”

Out of
curiosity, Pirogoeth asked, “then what is the real color
in this room?”

“What
is real other than
what we perceive to be true?” Socrato answered. “If you
see green, and I see orange, which one of us is wrong? How does
orange look to you, by the way?” A snap
followed, and the room changed to an orange cream, which Pirogoeth
immediately showed distaste in. “No? How about brown?”

Pirogoeth
blinked in the middle of the shift this time, finding her
surroundings now a rustic earth tone. “Then allow me to
rephrase, what were the colors in this room before you started
working your magic?”

A snap,
and the room became a very drab and lifeless white. “That one.”

Pirogoeth
smiled in amusement and said, “I'll take the blue.”

With her
room the color she preferred, she asked, “So I take it I'll be
able to do this sort of thing in time?”

Socrato
nodded warily. “I am sure... though not as effortlessly. All
mages have their innate talents; we're more naturally skilled in some
schools, and less in others. Torma told me you are more attuned to
material magics, fire most notably. My talents tend to lie in the
ethereal, like the illusions you saw here. While I insist on my
students being versed in all schools, you are naturally going to
shape your strengths far more than your weaknesses.”

He then
reached into his toga, and pulled out a narrow tome. “Speaking
of which... this is for you.”

Pirogoeth
hopped out of the bed, and eagerly dashed to the sage, a broad smile
on her face as he handed her the tome. Her first magical book, and it
was indeed all hers.

Most mages
of the world could cast minor cantrips without channeling anything,
and up until now, that was what Torma had had her doing. To do
anything beyond a flash of fire or skip a stone across a lake with a
thought, a mage needed a much more robust power source.

And that
was where tomes came to be. Within the pages of such enchanted books,
mages could channel far more complex and powerful techniques. While
she doubted anything too incredible would be found in that thin book
that was maybe fifty pages if she were being generous, it was still a
significant step forward from what she had been able to experience up
to that point.

“That
is a third edition training manual,” Socrato warned. “Do
be careful with it.”

Pirogoeth
nodded, understanding the serious responsibility her new master had
given her. Few spells were new and unique at this point. The old
enchanters from ages ago had long mastered most of the techniques
that would form the backbone of the magical arts. The best that
modern mages could do was pass along that knowledge as well as they
could.

But there
was no such thing as an exact copy. With each iteration, minor flaws
would be introduced to the tomes. And while every so often a
correction of an older tome would be made that would restore some or
most of the old ways potency, or an alteration that actually served
to increase the power of the original, a good rule of thumb was that
the older the edition, the more powerful the techniques within it
were. A third edition was at the very least a century old, and
possibly older depending on how well its owners maintained and
repaired it. She held it close to her chest and said, “I will,
Dominus.”

“Study
it tonight. Dinner will be provided shortly to your room. I doubt you
want to be immersed in tower life on your first night in strange
environs.”

Socrato
then departed, closing the bedroom door behind him. Pirogoeth
returned to her bed, sat down, and examined the thin tome more
carefully. Some magical books had elaborate covers, but this was not
one of them. Plain russet brown leather and an equally unremarkable
black binding. It appeared to be a trait of books once owned or
possessed by Socrato, as Pirogoeth recalled that many of Torma's
tomes had been unremarkable in appearance as well.

The spine
creaked warningly as she lifted the cover, and she winced in worry.
Quickly examining the binding to make sure she hadn't already
damaged the tome Socrato left in her care, she determined the
sound to be natural to the behavior of older leather, and her nerves
calmed. At that point, she allowed herself to drink in the contents
of the tome.

That
wasn't as much a metaphor as what really happened. To someone without
the spark of magic, a tome would look like nothing more than an empty
book. They'd see no writing, no runes, no diagrams, or anything other
than blank pages from front to back.

To those
that did possess the gift of magic, what was etched within
jumped from the page; energy flowed from the tome, through the body
and weaved itself into the memory of the mage. Some spells, like the
bulk of those within the book, could be retained and cast at whim
with enough repetition. More complex techniques could not be so
easily remembered, or had physical components necessary for the spell
to be properly channeled.

Like one
that Pirogoeth had just come across on the tenth page. An immensely
powerful flash of fire, far hotter and more intense than what she
would be able to normally channel from this tome... but required an
already existing flame as a catalyst.

There were
a few spells in the tome which were like that, requiring certain
conditions or items on hand to be properly used. No doubt this was
the measure of a mage: it was more than learning spells, but the
circumstances that allowed them to be used to maximum effect.

Then there
were the ethereal techniques that Pirogoeth found were as alien to
her as Socrato expected they would be. She understood the concept
behind the power of the mind, but she was a far more practical sort,
and had a hard time wrapping her brain around casting magic that by
design wasn't there.

This
promised to be nothing like the simple spellcraft and study
she had had with Torma back home.

Home.

It
occurred to her that she hadn't given much thought to her family back
in Bakkra since she hopped on the Great Trade Line to The Imperial
Aramathea. She hadn't felt at all guilty about that... Until she felt
guilty for not feeling guilty.

It was
silly to feel bad about it, she told herself. It's not like she had
much value on the farmland. A diminutive girl with barely any
physical strength or wide birthing hips wasn't exactly what would be
called an asset, either in the field or as a wife. Life with the
other village children her age had not been... pleasant, either. If
word of Pirogoeth's gift hadn't managed to filter to a journeyman
mage passing through named Torma...

Pirogoeth
really didn't want to think about that.

But
despite the troubles, she didn't think she had grown up unloved. Her
father had worked hard to support his family, had never hurt her or
even harshly punished her. Her mother the same. They both had
accepted what little help Pirogoeth could provide on the farm without
expressing shame or disappointment.

They had
gladly accepted Torma's aid in assisting Pirogoeth with her awakened
talents. They had tearfully accepted Torma's recommendation that
Pirogoeth learn from Torma's old master nearly half a continent away.

She missed
them both already.

A sharp
rap on the door turned Pirogoeth's head from the tome and her
thoughts. “Come in,” she said.

An
Aramathean girl who Pirogoeth approximated was twenty at best pushed
a wooden serving cart through the door. The girl herself was
unassuming, in a plain white full length toga, lacking any noticeable
traits other than it was immaculately clean and a cloth sash dyed
brown, and with entirely average features for her country; tanned
skin, brown hair and eyes, neither ugly nor beautiful.

The girl
did have a very pretty smile, however. Pirogoeth would give her that.

“Greetings,
Apprentice,” the girl said. “I am Taima. The Dominus told
me to send your dinner here.”

Pirogoeth
sat up, then stood. It seemed more polite to address the delivery in
such a fashion rather than inelegantly sprawled across her bed.
“Thank you, Taima. I must admit I'm not used to such
pampering.”

“Oh,
I do hope I didn't startle you, Apprentice. I meant not to disturb.”

Pirogoeth
shook her head animatedly. “You did nothing of the sort. Where
I'm from people wouldn't bother knocking, much less bring food with
them.” She turned her attention to the cart, and asked, “What
do you have here, if I may ask?”

“Sheep
rolls,” Taima answered. “They are a common and popular
Hermian dish.”

Pirogoeth
knew what rolls were. They were fluffy appetizers made with yeast and
bread dough, topped with butter or jam. This was not a roll.
She picked one up, and examined it. The bread wasn't light, nor did
it have a golden brown texture. It was far thinner, not the slightest
bit flaky, and heavy.

She
discovered that the weight was because there was something inside
the bread, identified once Taima sliced one open. Ground meat,
though of a drab gray unlike the browned beef that she was familiar
with, spinach leaves, yellow maize, and a white crumbly cheese.

Pirogoeth
continued to regard the food with considerable apprehension, even as
Taima happy showed Pirogoeth how to properly eat one, by slicing it
in half with a knife then eating from the open end towards the closed
one.

Nervously,
she took a bite, and determined it... wasn't bad at all. Unlike
anything she was accustomed to, but certainly more than edible. And
once it hit her stomach and reminded her how hungry she was, it was
little effort to finish that sheep roll and two others.

Taima then
reached down to the lower shelf of the cart, pulling out a broad
bottom glass carafe, tinted a light purple, that narrowed into a thin
neck, and partially filled with a red liquid that was poured into a
pair of what Pirogoeth had initially assumed were bowls. Pirogoeth's
eyes raised questioningly as a pungent aroma hit her nose. “Wine?”

“Of
course,” the servant girl answered, demonstrating how to drink,
by cupping the bottom of the bowl and gently tipping it forward with
short sips. “It's good for you!”

Pirogoeth
had seen enough people stumble out of one of Bakkra's three taverns
to doubt that claim very much.

Taima
gathered the disconnect quickly enough. “This is not the
spirits that are drank in the Free Provinces, I assure you.
Aramathean wines are cultivated to enhance the mind and body, not to
steal it.”

Pirogoeth
did comply, bracing herself for the biting sting of alcohol on her
tongue, only to be surprised when she barely felt a tingle, the tangy
flavor of the grapes being the far stronger flavor. While further
sips did increasing the alcoholic sting, it would have likely taken
that entire carafe and a good deal of a second to intoxicate even her
waifish frame.

“And
here is some water,” Taima announced, setting and filling a
more customary glass in front of Pirogoeth from a clear carafe.
“Anything that is left over, please include it with the cart
and set it outside your door. I will also return before dusk for your
clothes, as you will need them washed for the morning.”

Pirogoeth
watched Taima retreat, then nervously asked, “Is there
somewhere you have to be?”

Taima
shook her head. “Nothing of immediate need. My orders were to
attend to you specifically.”

“Would
you... care to join me? I certainly won't be able to eat this all
myself.”

Taima
offered as warm of a smile as Pirogoeth had ever seen, astonishingly
white teeth and all. “I'd be glad to, my lady.”

To have
anything resembling normal interaction with a person about her age
was a novelty, and one that Pirogoeth found enjoyable. She found the
time spent with Taima to be enlightening, though not always in
positive ways. Such as when Pirogoeth discovered exactly how
indentured servitude worked in The Imperial Aramathea.

“You
have to work here ten more years?”
She gaped in astonishment.

Taima
nodded. “That is how it is for the layman. At fifteen, we
perform service to a lord for five years to become lower citizens. At
the end of those five years, we can offer ten more years of service
to attempt to become higher citizens of the empire, including the
right to vote and even seek political office. There are some
exceptions for those of remarkable talent, but that is the road to
full freedom for nearly the whole of the people of the First Empire.”

Pirogoeth
had a very hard time processing how such a pedantic process was
necessary. In Bakkra you became a citizen the moment you were old
enough to push a plow and farm your own land. “But why be
forced to...”

Taima
shook her head rapidly. “Oh no, I am not forced into servant
work. I could have very easily followed in my father or mother's
footsteps, and become a higher citizen in that way when I turned
thirty, provided I had saved enough money to afford a plot of land.
But I had no desire to be a smith or a cobbler. This process of
servitude allows me to learn a different craft under someone else and
make my own path in life.”

That made
a little more sense, she supposed, but she still found the precise
number of years to be an unnecessary stipulation. “So what is
the path you wish to take?”

“I
wish to be a chef,” Taima said. “Working with the
Dominus's chef here in Kartage was an honor I had not expected.
Vargat is in my mind the finest chef in the whole of the First
Empire. I've learned so much already and still have so much to
learn!”

“And
then once you've reached the end of your servitude... what?”

Taima
shrugged. “I could open my own restaurant with the stipend I
would be granted by the Dominus after my stay was complete. I could
take a position under a venerated citizen, like Vargat has with the
Dominus. I haven't decided obviously, but what matters is that I will
have my choice and many options available to me.”

There was
something to be said for that, Pirogoeth supposed. “You
probably need these clothes to get them cleaned, don't you?
Especially if you actually want some sleep tonight.”

Taima
stood and offered a polite bow. “That is most generous of you,
my lady, I'm sure the linen maids will appreciate the courtesy.”
She then started wheeling the cart away. “Set your clothes down
outside the door once you are ready.”

With that,
the servant girl left, and Pirogoeth quickly settled her remaining
business for the night. It took surprisingly long for her mind to
settle itself in the unfamiliar setting, but once it did the comfort
of the bed allowed her a deep, restful sleep.

Day 2: When
in Kartage...

Her dress
from Lanka had been returned to exactly where she had left it the
night before, only much more expertly folded and with her
undergarments tucked inside the folds rather than resting on top. She
quickly grabbed them before anyone could see her while indecent.

Taima
arrived with a gentle knock just as Pirogoeth was tying her belt
around her waist. When bid to enter, the servant girl said, “Dominus
Socrato requests your presence for breakfast in his private dining
hall. I am to lead you there.”

Slipping
into her shoes, Pirogoeth nodded, and said, “Then lead on. I
will follow.”

Socrato's
tower, at least the ground levels, was formed like a spoked wheel,
with eight halls corresponding to the main directions of the compass
cutting through three halls that flanked the perimeter. At the center
of the tower was a spiraling staircase that went both up to the
higher floors.

They went
up three floors in this case, then took the Northwest hall to the
second ring. Taima stopped at an oak door with a scarlet banner, then
opened it and stepped aside for Pirogoeth to enter.

Socrato's
private dining room was not as large as she had expected. Maybe
twenty feet from end to end and fifteen deep, with only two
entrances, the one she had come in from and another that apparently
was for the cook to have access with food, as a man in a white smock
and folded back hat with a broad brim had just appeared with a plate
in his left hand.

“Ah,
dear girl. Excellent. Thank you, Taima. I suggest returning to the
kitchen, I do believe Vargat wanted you to prepare the sauces for
midday.”

Pirogoeth
turned her head to watch Taima's pleasant bow. “Thank you,
Dominus. I shall see you again, my lady.”

“Perhaps
when my errands today are done?” Pirogoeth offered.

“I'd
appreciate that. With your leave.”

Taima
disappeared, closing the door behind her. Socrato then gestured
across the long but narrow table to an empty seat across from him as
the servant set down the plate he had been carrying, and retreated
back through the side door. “Have a seat, eat, and we'll
discuss our business for the day.”

The table,
like everything else she had seen Socrato possess, was not the least
bit extravagant. The surface of the wood was stained and polished.
That was the extent of the work done to it. No etching, no sculpted
legs or edges, it could not have been more plain and been fit to eat
off of.

Her plate
was filled on the left side with a fried and scrambled egg topped
with white crumbled cheese and a mix of green and red peppers. To her
right were two links of an oddly red tinted sausage. Nervously taking
a bite of the sausage, having experience that things that color were
of considerable heat, she was surprised to find it possessed nothing
more than a very light hint of spice. It was also of a much smoother
texture than any sausage she had before... having been used to the
chunkier and more marbled sausages from the butchers in Bakkra.

Aramathean
cuisine was clearly full of surprises.

“So
I understand you and Taima made an acquaintance quickly,”
Socrato noted. “That's good. She's quite a bit younger than
much of my serving staff. It will do her good to have someone more
her age and friendly.”

“By
the time she gets out of here, she'll probably be their age.”
Pirogoeth grumbled, still not quite accepting the path of Aramathean
citizenship her new friend was on.

“Pardon?”
Socrato asked, hand cupped to an ear he leaned in her direction.

Pirogoeth
figured he had heard her perfectly fine, and that there was no sense
in lying. “Keep Taima here working as a servant girl until
she's thirty. You don't see anything wrong with that?”

Socrato
nodded knowingly. “Ah. I see. Yes, the path to high citizenship
probably does seem quite alien, doesn't it? For what it is worth, I
hope Taima expressed that it was her decision.”

“She
did,” Pirogoeth said with a glower, not even trying to hide her
displeasure.

Socrato
shrugged. “The Imperial Aramathea has many different levels of
freedom. Taima has, admirably or foolishly depending on who you talk
to, chosen to seek the highest and most difficult one to attain on a
person's own merits.”

He took
another bite of sausage in the middle of his explanation. “There
are two grades of citizen, lower and higher. Lower citizens have the
full protection of the law and attain that status upon twenty years
of age, so long as they aren't stripped of that privilege due to
serious crimes against the Empire. Taima will gain that status in a
month's time, at which point she could fully leave my employ without
penalty. With her talent, she could very easily become a personal
chef to nearly any higher or venerated citizen looking for one.”

He drummed
the index finger of his left hand on the table in front of him.
“Higher citizens have that right, as well as the right to own
land, vote for venerated citizens, propose legislation, and seek
political office of their own. That requires three things, to be
thirty years of age, to be a master of one's chosen craft, as well as
to demonstrate undying fealty to the empire... though attaining the
first two is almost always deemed sufficient evidence of the third if
one is a natural born citizen.”

“Why
would anyone think seeking such goals is foolish?” Pirogoeth
wondered.

Socrato
frowned, “When they are lower citizen parents who are insulted
that their daughter has decided the life they live isn't good enough
for her.”

“Oh.”
Pirogoeth said in surprise. That idea made even less sense than the
whole citizenship process. “Why would her parents... not
want her to have a better life?”

“Not
everyone has such supporting and thoughtful parents as you,
Apprentice,” Socrato said sadly. “I would recommend not
pressing Taima on that issue either. Even after five years, I think
it is a bit of a sore point.”

“Will
I have to be here
until I'm thirty?” Pirogoeth wondered out loud and with no
attempt to hide her disdain at the idea.

Socrato
shook his head dismissively. “Oh no no no... the training for a
mage is more like the Free Provinces and Avalon in methods, which
works because there are not as many, and direct one on one
instruction is not only common, but I would suggest necessary.”

Pirogoeth
was much more familiar and comfortable with that idea. You
apprenticed under a master until that master deemed you were ready,
then you were allowed to explore and broaden your talents as a
journeyman, finally settling down, honing your craft until you could
be deemed a master in your own right.

He
brightened, then pointed to her plate with his fork. “Now
finish up. I believe we have to get you some more comfortable clothes
yet, then we can begin your lessons.”

Pirogoeth
didn't take long finishing her breakfast. She was a bit taken aback
by the orange juice, not being used to the fruit and finding it a bit
too tart for her liking, but had little issue otherwise. Both she and
Socrato stepped away from the table to allow servants to clear and
clean it, and left the room for the central stairwell.

Unlike
yesterday, the pair left through the main doors. The bazaar up ahead
didn't look nearly as busy, nor were the roads nearly as heavily
traveled. “Most are still having breakfast or waking up. I like
to get an early rise to the day for precisely this reason. If we are
quick about it, we can get you your necessities and make our return
just after the keep has settled in to their duties.”

Pirogoeth
fell in step and asked, “You mentioned it earlier, as did Taima
last evening. What is a venerated citizen?”

“At
fifty, higher citizens are eligible to be venerated by the empire.”
Socrato answered. “There are two ways to do this; the most
common one is to be recognized by other higher citizens for your
contributions to the good of the empire. The second is to be honored
by the Emperor for exceptional valor in a time of war. The only
additional duty a venerated citizen has is that they can elect a new
emperor or with a unanimous vote depose the current one.”

“You
can vote for an emperor?” she said in curiosity. “It's
not passed from father to son?”

“Any
child of the current emperor is indeed a candidate,” Socrato
explained, “and such children are near always the favorites to
succeed their parent. But it is not necessarily the case. Any
venerated citizen, which royal children are by default, can seek and
be elected as ruler of the empire.”

Pirogoeth's
mind swam. “How do the people of this empire keep track of all
the rules?”

“Some
would argue we don't,” Socrato snarked, “I'm not
convinced they are wrong.”

The shop
that Socrato stopped at was located directly on the main street, and
was every bit the opposite of Lanka's Clothiers. Well kept and
maintained on the outside, and lacking any sense of style on the
inside. Racks of the same types of garments were neatly ordered, with
little variety in fabric or style.

Then
again, half this store probably cost about as much as one outfit from
Lanka.

A servant
worker almost immediately pounced on them, though becoming
immediately deferential once he identified Socrato. The Dominus
offered little small talk, instead following Pirogoeth as she grabbed
four or five items from each rack to try for fit before she retreated
behind a curtained off section at the back of the sales floor.

Socrato
began to ask her questions as she tried on the various options that
had been selected. “While I wait, I suppose I can get a gauge
of what exactly Torma taught you. What did she tell you about the
schools of magic?”

“There
are two primary schools of thought in the arcane arts,”
Pirogoeth answered, reciting Torma's own words as best she remembered
them. “Material and Ethereal. Material emphasizes the elements
and mastery of the body. Ethereal focuses on the mastering the mind
and perception.”

Socrato's
voice was muffled both by the curtain and by the shirt she was
pulling over her head. But she was able to hear well enough to know
he wanted her to continue.

“Each
school has four different manifestations. Material magic is divided
into heat, cold, wind, and stone. Ethereal magic is divided into
illusion, spirit, mind, and entropy.”

Socrato
hummed thoughtfully before saying, “Hmmm... Go on.”

“Go
on?” Pirogoeth asked, having just found the trouser size that
at least came closest to fitting her correctly, though still not
particularly well. Fortunately if there was one thing Aramathea did
not lack, it was belts.

“I
sincerely hope that wasn't all Torma taught you,” Socrato
prodded. “I'd have to be horribly disappointed in her knowledge
retention, her teaching method... or the quality of her student.”

Pirogoeth
momentarily forgot she was trying on belts as her mind raced trying
to remember what else she had been taught. She highly doubted that he
was looking for practical application, so she moved further into the
theory. “Material magic is balanced among itself: cold stills
wind, wind weathers stone, stone suffocates heat, and heat thaws
cold. Ethereal magic is balanced in a similar way; spirit denies
entropy, entropy unravels illusion, illusion deceives mind, and mind
dominates spirit.”

“Clearly,
Torma was simplifying the way of things for you,” Socrato
concluded. “But what I will say to you now is that the world of
the arcane is much more varied and complex than that, as you will
learn under my guidance.”

Pirogoeth
emerged from the curtained area, her expression neutral. She didn't
like the idea that Torma taught her incorrectly. She had liked
Torma.

Socrato
caught the displeasure, and correctly identified the source. “Now,
still your glare. I didn't say Torma did not teach you well.
Sometimes you must ignore the tree in front of you to see the forest
behind it.” Quickly changing the subject, he asked, “Did
you find what size you needed?”

“Yes,”
she huffed, softening her expression, but not by much. She gathered
the rest of her clothes largely in silence, choosing different colors
and styles now that she knew what fit, figuring whatever slight
differences existed could be managed. Socrato insisted on eight
complete outfits, so that the maids could limit the load to once per
week, which was rather
thoughtful of him if she was being honest.

The
process took so little time, in fact, that Socrato's timing for the
return trip fell way short, and they found themselves emerging onto a
crowded street full of people swarming to get to their jobs or
finishing their own errands. While the mass parted for them as much
as was possible, it was slow going on the return trip to the tower.

“As
much as I would like to avoid the rabble of diplomats again, I fear I
really cannot shirk my duties as lord of the keep today,”
Socrato said reluctantly once they crossed under the arch and columns
that demarcated the common grounds of the keep from the tower. “So,
in the front we go. We will meet after the midday meal in the hall
arcana. Taima will guide you. Be sure to be wearing your training
clothes.”

“Yes,
Dominus,” Pirogoeth said, allowing Socrato to enter first as
the guards stationed at the doorway pushed the doors open. Taima was
waiting for her, guiding her back to her room before excusing herself
to return to the kitchen.

Pirogoeth
entertained herself with setting her clothes into a standing wardrobe
that must have been provided for her while she was out that morning,
changed into her training clothes, then gleefully studied her tome,
becoming more familiar with each page and what they contained. Torma
had taught her that the “flow” of each tome, and even
each page within a tome, was different, and sought different
paths through the body. The better she learned its contents, and what
ways the magic wanted to flow, the easier and faster she could
channel the powers inside.

Pirogoeth
found this process surprisingly simple, considering how Torma had
regarded such study as a painful chore, though she tempered her pride
with the thought that it was probably harder keeping it all straight
when you had several tomes much larger than the thin apprentice's
manual Pirogoeth was working from.

She was
going through her fifth read through when Taima entered with the
lunch cart. “The Dominus extends his apologies for not being
able to attend to lunch with you, such is life when you are the
keeper of the land.” She said. “But I am to take you to
the hall arcana once you are done eating.”

“You
are welcome to join me,” Pirogoeth offered, “and you can
consider that offer an open one from this point forward.”

Pirogoeth
was rewarded with another pleasant smile, then Taima described what
was on the cart. “This is pita bread.” She picked one
flattened half loaf, then pressed the edges until a pocket formed in
the center. “You fill the interior with sliced meats, greens,
cheese, and dressing, and eat it much like a sandwich.”

Pirogoeth
liked this item already. “A sandwich that doesn't have
everything fall out when you take a bite? I approve.”

“I
brought an assortment of meats for you to try,” Taima said. “I
have beef sausage, lamb, chicken, and veal. My personal favorite is
the lamb; I helped Vargat smoke and slice the side this came from
this morning.”

“Lamb
it is, then.”

With pitas
prepared, lunch began in earnest, and it was Taima who broke the
silence. “Tell me about where you came from. Bakkra, was it?”

Pirogoeth
shrugged. “Not much to say. It's more a collection of farms
than a real city or city-state. Maize is about the only thing that
can grow up there reliably, but there are a few potato and wheat
farms. Beef is the primary livestock, a lot of grassland for them to
graze on.”

Taima bit
her lower lip nervously before asking, “has your family lived
there long?”

“My
great grandfather on my father's side was born in the region, so at
least seventy years or so.”

“What
about your mother's side?”

Pirogoeth
was becoming wary of the line of questioning. “From the South,
in the area of Timin, from what I'm told. Why?”

Taima
cringed at the suspicious glare being cast in her direction. “Well...
I had heard... from... it was just gossip... I didn't believe
it... but I thought I'd ask... just in case... it... might be true?”

Pirogoeth
rolled her eyes. “Oh, Coders take it. I am not some long
lost Avalonian princess. While I'm sure there's Avalon blood in my
family, I can say with near certainty that it's not royal blood or
even noble. And even if it were, it's become so diluted over
generations in the Free Provinces that I'd not be recognized by
anyone there.”

Taima
placed a comforting hand on Pirogoeth's arm. “I'm sorry, my
lady. I should have known better.” She cast her eyes down on
her half eaten pita sandwich, and said, “Did your parents...
How did they react to your decision to come here and learn under the
Dominus?”

“They
were obviously sad that I was leaving, and that I would likely be
gone a very long time.” Pirogoeth decided to say. “But
they understood it was necessary. Torma, one of Socrato's old
apprentices, couldn't teach me everything herself, and I... I needed
the time and space that Kartage provides.”

“I
remember Torma,” Taima laughed weakly. “I had just
started working here as she was finishing; she was sent off as a
journeyman about a year and a half after I arrived. The serving staff
used to pick on us both endlessly that our names sounded so similar.”

Socrato
had told Pirogoeth to avoid this line of conversation... But
considering Taima had started it, she couldn't exactly shut the whole
conversation down, could she? “Why do you ask?” Pirogoeth
queried, hoping to nudge the discussion further without appearing to
pry. “Why wouldn't my parents have felt any other way?”

For every
bit of brightness Taima's smile offered, her sad eyes and vainly
hidden frown stole the light from the room. “My... My parents
weren't nearly as supportive.”

Pirogoeth
was not one for tactile contact. Her father had never particularly
been one to physically display emotion, and while her mother was
inclined to hug and smooch, Pirogoeth had often found it more
imposing than comforting. Pirogoeth gave it her best attempt,
bringing an arm around Taima's back. “What happened?”

“My
parents... thought I was making a mistake. I tried to tell them that
Dominus Socrato wasn't like that, but they didn't believe me. They
think all venerated citizens take advantage of lower citizens like
me.”

Pirogoeth
felt certain she was missing some vitally important context. “What
do you mean?”

Taima
sighed. “Traditionally, a lower citizen offers servitude to a
venerable citizen in exchange for learning a craft that they can
master and ascend the social ladder. But lately, there have been
venerated citizens who have been charging those lesser
citizens for the opportunity of a better life.” Taima frowned
as she continued. “Most lower class families and citizens can't
afford what the venerated citizen charges up front, so they offer
themselves as servants until the debt is paid. I think you can see
what happens next.”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “What?”

“The
venerated citizen has no incentive to truly prepare a lower citizen.
They intentionally claim the lower citizen failed to meet their
obligations, which they demonstrate by showing how little the lower
citizen truly knows, then takes anything and everything
from the lower citizen and their immediate
family. Entire families have been thrown onto the street.”

“And
no one stops this?” Pirogoeth gasped.

Taima
shook her head, “There's little anyone can do. Lower citizens
don't stand much chance before a judge when their word is met by that
of a venerated citizen. The complaint is often tossed out before the
hour has passed.”

Pirogoeth
had found she had lost her appetite. “I'm sorry, Taima.”

“Why?
I'm in no danger of such chicanery. I did my research, I knew who
could be trusted and who couldn't. It's no accident that a young
woman from Grand Aramathea is serving a Dominus in Hermia.”

“I'm
sorry that this entire messed up system exists. It shouldn't be like
this.”

Taima
smiled wanly. “There are always going to be people who find a
way to abuse the system, no matter what that system is. I'm sure
there was even someone in Bakkra who gained wealth or prestige
unfairly off the backs of others.”

Pirogoeth
was about to protest that, when she remembered her father grumbling
about that “lazy, good-for-nothing mayor who hadn't worked a
field in years yet made enough money off of taxes paid to live in a
manor three times as large as any other home in the province.”
Not that the memory helped much.

“That
still doesn't make it right!” Pirogoeth protested, somewhat
shocked at Taima's lack of fight on this issue. “Just become
some people will always be terrible doesn't mean you should give up!”

Taima's
face tightened, and her voice grew stern. “I don't have
to do anything. It's not a fight I have the power to win at
this point, even if I wanted to.” Her expression
softened, and her lips pulled upward warmly. “But thank you for
wanting to.”

Pirogoeth
understood why Taima felt that way. To be honest, it's not like
Pirogoeth had any power in the matter either.

But they
both knew someone who did.

“I
suppose we're done eating then?” Taima asked, standing and
making sure everything was situated on the cart. “It's getting
about time to take you to the hall arcana, so I'll just leave this
outside and pick it up on my way back. Are you ready?”

Pirogoeth
nodded, though her mind was still mulling over the previous
conversation.

Taima
noticed the apprentice mage's distraction, and said with a chiding
yet friendly tone of voice, “you may wish to pay attention to
where we are going. I'm not going to be permitted to lead you
everywhere for the entirety of your stay.”

Pirogoeth
snapped her eyes forward, locking with Taima's, a hint of color
creeping onto her cheeks. “Right,” she said sheepishly.
“I will do so.”

The hall
arcana was five floors up, and Pirogoeth could feel all five of those
floors in her legs. That was not an easy climb. “It's
depressing how tired this poor farmer's girl gets walking around. I
promise you I was not a pampered princess.” She declared
as she rubbed her abused calves.

Taima was
sympathetic, however. “Oh no. I do not blame you. I was
exhausted going more than two flights of steps when I first arrived
here. I swear to you that the Dominus intentionally designed these
stairs taller than normal. He denies it, but he must have.”

Pirogoeth
was comforted by that. At least it wasn't just her. “Alright,
well, lead on to the hall arcana.”

Taima
simply pushed open the door. “There.”

Pirogoeth
understood when she crossed the threshold. The entire floor was one
circular room with the enclosed stairway in the center. Unlike what
she had seen anywhere else in the tower, the walls of the hall arcana
were study gray stone and mortar. She understood why. She could feel
the crackle of magical energy lingering in the air, ruffling the hair
on her head, telling her that the sort of activity that occurred here
was not friendly to wood or fabric.

Making
sure her gloves were snug, she called out Socrato's name, and got an
answer.

“South
side, dear girl!” He called out from what seemed like some
distance. “Come around!”

Pirogoeth
circled around the stairwell, and on the opposite side found Socrato
waiting at the far wall. A large part of the floor, roughly fifty
feet square, had been cleared, save for an iron cauldron wafting
fingers of white smoke.

Socrato
said, as he noticed Pirogoeth's quizzical expression, “I was
brewing a draught for congestion the last couple of days.
Occasionally this area has a summer flu that is carried by
mosquitoes, and I like to have this medicine prepared just in case.
So don't worry, we won't be working with any potions or anything
today. We're just going to be exploring some magic theory. Besides,
it's too heavy to move.”

Pirogoeth
fought back a giggle. She really didn't want to encourage him.

“Torma
taught you that magic exists in a balance,” Socrato began, “but
it is but a selective observation, just as flawed as the theories of
the previous age. Did you know that, not even a hundred years ago,
mages believed that ice and fire were foils? And that the balance
came from elemental forces in conflict?”

Pirogoeth
shook her head.

“Hmmm...
History studies may be of use to you as well, then,” Socrato
mused thoughtfully. “It is as important to know from where
you've come as it is to know where you are going. Oh yes, I hope you
were anticipating book learning, and a great deal of it.”

“I'm
not scared of reading,” She replied with a scoff.

Socrato
exhaled in relief. “A good many eager minds are. They prefer
their plays and operas, as much as I am loathe to use generalities.
While it's a perfectly acceptable way to engage minds and thoughts,
it's not quite as portable or on demand.”

He
interrupted his own segue with a cough. “At any rate, all
magic, be it material or ethereal both complements and conflicts
among itself. Rather than study finding order within the chaos, we
have discovered chaos within what we thought was ordered.

“Wind
can feed a fire just as easily as snuff it. It can wear down stone
just as easily as build the hills children roll down. Fire can melt
stone to lava, and also forge it into the hardest steel. Even fire
and ice can work together to make quite the spectacular show.”

Pirogoeth's
eyes perked.

“Have
you ever seen frostfire?” Socrato asked. “I hope not. I
really don't want to think that Torma did anything this dangerous
around you. But here, with me, I think it will be safe enough.”

He pointed
to the west. “The apothecary shelves are that way. Third rack
facing you, second shelf from the bottom, there should be a
reddish-brown colored powder in a ceramic urn. Bring it to me, could
you?”

The
shelves were arranged along the exterior wall, seven racks with five
shelves each, containing powders, liquids, crushed herbs, rock salts,
and many compounds she couldn't even hope to identify, like the one
she took off the shelf. It was indeed a red-brown, but it was more a
mix of red and black powders that created the effect. She figured
that Socrato would explain when it was time for her to know.

“Ah,
very good!” He cheered as Pirogoeth returned with exactly what
he had requested. “Normally, fire requires three things, heat,
air, and fuel.” He tapped the ceramic container. “However,
this catalyst allows
us to make a fire without air. You'll see why this is important.”

Socrato
set the container on the floor, and escorted Pirogoeth further back
until she bumped into the stairwell. “You'll want to keep your
distance, just in case.”

He closed
his hand into a ball, and within seconds, the container was sealed
tight within a block of ice nearly a foot thick. “Now, watch
this...”

With the
same hand, he snapped his fingers, and a flicker of flame appeared in
the ceramic container. Then the powder ignited creating a brilliant
white flash, and a violent explosion that startled Pirogoeth into a
frightened screech. Shards of ice crashed against a wall of fire
Socrato had conjured, melting them before they could do any harm.

“Impressive,
no?” Socrato asked. “Granted, this sort of thing has
little practical purpose, but as a demonstration that the world has
many wrinkles to it that can't be summed up in two sentences, it
works splendidly.”

With the
display ended, Socrato began a lecture about the history of magic and
the first mages. While it would have likely kept Pirogoeth's
attention under normal circumstances, current events began creeping
into her mind and slowly began to mute her master's voice.

And
Socrato noticed this. “There is something else weighing on your
mind,” he noted, though his tone of voice was more curious than
annoyed by her lack of attention. “It is distracting you.”

Pirogoeth's
jaw set, deciding there was no better for it than to face the issue
head on. “Are you aware about citizens like you exploiting
lower class citizens?”

Socrato's
eyes narrowed, though he kept them straight ahead. “I have been
aware of some cases in which it happened. It has been more prevalent
within Grand Aramathea itself, where an insular community of elites
have found kindred spirits in senators to create an environment ripe
for such abuses of power.”

“And
you don't do anything to stop this?” she asked, trying to
figure out why he would
have such a resigned opinion.

“What
do you propose I do, young lady?” Socrato answered sternly.
“Should all venerated
citizens be punished for the legally criminal acts of a select few? I
understand the Free Provinces have few coded laws, especially between
different city-states, but there are procedures and processes that
empires require in order to maintain themselves.”

Pirogoeth
shrugged, “Then change the process.”

“And
how would one go about that? The venerated acting in this manner have
bought influence in the senate which makes new laws. They are
the judges that conspire amongst themselves
to refuse a fair voice to those manipulated. They even have the ear
of Emperor Macedon, who enforced the laws of the land.

Pirogoeth
went silent for a moment before asking, “Have you tried
approaching the Emperor? Surely you'd be able to get his ear too.”

In just
two days time, Pirogoeth had seen many different emotions play on
Socrato's face; amusement, mischievousness, annoyance, regret, and
mirth. But this was the first time she had seen anger. The sage's
nostrils flared as his upper lip curled up menacingly. His pupils
narrowed and his brows dove downward towards his nose. From there,
his chest rose sharply, and what followed was one of the most
frightening moments in Pirogoeth's fifteen years.

Socrato's
bellow nearly deafened her and seemed to shake the floor beneath her
feet. “How dare you lecture me about things you know
nothing about, you infantile brat? If I wanted a barely
cognizant, screeching juvenile in my tower, I would have bought
myself a howler monkey!”

Pirogoeth
winced, covering her face with her arms while she trembled. She was
hardly a coward, but this was well beyond what even the staunchest of
wills would be willing to face unmoving. “But...”

“Return
to your chambers,” Socrato snarled as he lowered his voice. “I
will summon you again when I am not in the mood to send you back to
Bakkra in a barrel.”

Pirogoeth
tried to stammer an apology, but she couldn't even form one syllable
before Socrato interrupted her. “Leave!” he
ordered, the full force of his lungs returning. “Now!”

Pirogoeth
hastily fled, her eyes so filled with moisture that she almost flew
completely past the floor her room was on. She felt so horribly
guilty as she slinked despondently into her chambers, throwing
herself face down onto her bed.

She forced
herself not to cry. Crying never helped. It only showed weakness that
could be exploited in the future. At least, that's what her parents
had told her. The advice hadn't helped her back then, but it was a
lesson that had ingrained itself nonetheless.

Not that
holding back her tears helped hold back her guilt. How could she have
been so cutting? Why would she assume that Socrato would have been
complacent in something so wrong? That was hardly fair of her. Why
did she always lash out like that at people who didn't deserve it?

She was
not feeling much better as evening arrived. She didn't acknowledge
the first knock at her door, nor the second. It wasn't until Taima
called out, “Apprentice? Are you... Are you there? Please
answer me.”

Pirogoeth
raised her head from her pillow, hastily trying to wipe the moisture
from her eyes. “I am sorry, Taima. Please... Enter.”

The
servant girl again wheeled a food cart in front of her as Pirogoeth
sat up. “Oh, my lady, you look horrible! Whatever happened up
there? The Dominus was absolutely irate! I don't think I've ever seen
him so angry!”

Pirogoeth's
face fell. “He must be furious at me.”

Taima
blinked. “At you? Odd. He didn't mention you at all. Why, what
happened?” As Pirogoeth relayed the events in the hall arcana,
Taima frowned. She sat down onto the bed next to the apprentice and
put both arms around Pirogoeth in a warm hug.

“Oh,
you poor dear... It most certainly isn't your fault,” the
servant girl said reassuringly. “There are few things that
upset the Dominus, and you happened to poke one of those scant sore
points. That's probably why he was so angry... he lashed out at you
and feels horrible about it.”

Pirogoeth
grasped onto that thin line of hope. “You... think so?”

“This...
scandal... is something that has troubled the Dominus for some time.
He has argued this case before the Emperor twice,”
Taima explained. “It's why I tried to keep you out of it. There
are few things that upset the Dominus, and you happened to poke one
of those scant sore points. That's probably why he was so angry... he
lashed out at you and feels horrible about it.”

Offering a
weak smile, the servant girl asked, “Now, why don't we have
some dinner in the hopes that it will soothe the nerves? I brought a
special treat for the occasion. Sweet orange cake with a vanilla
glaze. Perhaps, on this occasion, we can have desert first.”

Pirogoeth
discovered that cake didn't actually make her feel better. But it was
part of a pleasant diversion that kept her from thinking about the
inevitable next meeting with her master. She could only hope that
Taima had the right of it.

Otherwise,
Pirogoeth was about to have the shortest apprenticeship in the
history of the world.

Day 3:
Books All the Way Down

That
anxiety led to a fitful sleep. Nightmares of being sent back home in
shame, forbidden to use magic, having to deal with the abuse and
bullying of her peers. If she had totaled more than two hours of
sleep, it was not by much.

When Taima
arrived, without a cart, that dread only built. “No breakfast
here?” Pirogoeth asked tentatively.

“I
fear not,” Taima replied, flashing a reassuring smile. “You've
been summoned to the Dominus's dining room. It's okay, I saw the
menu, and I don't think you're on it.”

Pirogoeth
dropped her head, and breathed deeply. “Let's get this over
with.”

Taima
shook her head disparagingly, but realized that there was nothing
further she could say to ease the apprentice's worries. “Would
you like me to lead the way?”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “I'd rather you not get caught in the
aftermath. I can go myself.”

“Very
well, my lady.”

Taima took
her leave, and Pirogoeth began her personal walk of shame, forcing
herself to not make eye contact with anyone she passed in the halls.
This was harder than she anticipated, as Socrato's tower was bustling
with no small amount of activity, contrary to what she assumed would
occur in a mage's tower.

The
already unnaturally tall steps felt like climbing a mountain, and her
legs heavy as lead. She had to stop at her destination floor to
regain her bearings. Circular buildings were terrible on a person's
direction sense, especially when one wasn't paying close attention.
Once she sorted herself out, she took the proper fork and stopped in
front of Socrato's dining room door.

She
knocked so slightly that she was worried that it wouldn't be audible.
But as she prepared to do so again, she heard the stern order,
“Enter.”

Pirogoeth
nervously pushed open the door, sliding through the moment there was
enough of an opening to do so. Socrato was at his usual seat, head
down and his chin on his hands.

“You
will not interrupt me,” he said, his voice measured and
controlled. “You will not speak until I am finished, and you
will not try to argue with me. Am I understood?”

Pirogoeth
nodded swiftly with fearful eyes, forcing her breathing shallow just
in case even that would be construed as an interruption.

With that,
her master said, “As your mentor and teacher, my duty is teach
you how to think, how to observe, and how to challenge the world
around you. After two days, I have already failed in that task,
allowing my own frustrations to suppress the curiosity I should be
encouraging. That is unacceptable for a man of my standing, and for
that, I humbly offer my apologies.”

Pirogoeth's
eyes widened, and her lower jaw hung loose.

“This
is where you are supposed to say, 'I accept your apology, master',
then you sit down, eat, and we can discuss the matters of the day,”
Socrato said with a bemused half grin.

The
apprentice flushed bright red, and bowed, “Yes, master. I
accept your apology.”

Socrato's
apology came in more than words. Once she sat down, she was presented
with wheat toast with sweet cream butter, three thick strips of
peppered bacon, and a fried egg with an unbroken yolk.

“Taima's
idea more than mine, if I'm being wholly honest,” the venerated
sage said, “but I think it wouldn't hurt occasionally to see
fare more to your custom.”

Pirogoeth
smiled, and graciously responded, “I appreciate the gesture,
master. But while the food of the empire is different, I've liked
what I've experienced so far.”

“The
empty half of your plate would suggest otherwise,” Socrato
replied, noting that Pirogoeth had launched into her breakfast with
considerable vigor. “Vargat can make anything delicious. Taima
is quickly catching up to him too.” Then his tone turned
serious. “Small talk aside... I think I know just the thing for
you to do.”

“Hmm?”
Pirogoeth asked, her left cheek bulging with a mouthful of toast.

The sage
tapped the table with his fingers. “The citizen's conundrum has
not been something I've taken lightly. I've tried on more than
one occasion to sway the Emperor to act against the practice... but
even if the venerated didn't closely have his ear, their
position is remarkably legally sound, using the balance of power in
our system to their advantage.”

Pirogoeth
swallowed, and asked, “how so?”

“The
senate has three levels; local, provincial, and imperial. The two
lower branches do not have the authority to pass laws that target
venerated citizens without the approval of a seven-tenths majority of
venerated citizens within that city or province. Within Grand
Aramathea, they have enough of a presence to block any legislation,
and the provincial level doesn't have the authority to impose laws on
the First Capital.”

“So
why doesn't the imperial senate do anything?”

Socrato
sighed. “For one, the senate and the venerated citizens are
closely tied. Most members of the imperial senate got their post
through the influence of venerated citizens, and as such are loathe
to act against them. In addition, the imperial senate can only enact
laws on an imperial scale. Such broad sweeping laws can have
disastrous consequences. It would be akin to sending a phalanx of
soldiers to handle a rat infestation in a wheat field.”

Pirogoeth
nodded sadly. “It might work, but they'd probably wind up
burning the whole field down.”

Socrato
frowned. “The judicial system is run by the very venerated that
take advantage of the laws, which means there's no help to be found
there. As I quickly found out when I argued my case.”

“What
happened then?”

“I
argued before the Emperor that the venerated guilty of this act were
fraudulently trading, offering services that they had no intention of
honoring. They in turn argued that that the only thing they were
truly selling was room
and board, which they could more than adequately prove they were
providing. The 'education' they were offering fell under the Law of
Free Information.”

Pirogoeth
asked, “and what is that?”

“The
Imperial Aramathea's Great Library within Grand Aramathea had always
charged a small fee to use the information within for the sake of the
library's upkeep. But the fees kept steadily increasing as more books
became centralized within the library itself.” He took a
breath, and a bite of his food. “With the development of the
press, it looked like the Great Library would lose its monopoly on
information, until it claimed that any book that had been copied from
the library technically was the library's property, and tried to have
those who sold or distributed books arrested or fined.

It
culminated with the Imperial Senate passing the Law of Free
Information, that education can be readily available to all, without
charge. And as it cannot be charged or paid for...”

Pirogoeth
completed the statement. “It's not being traded and therefore
no fraud is taking place.”

Socrato
tipped his head in confirmation as he swallowed. “The Emperor
agreed with them... albeit reluctantly. The Emperor's power here is
not absolute. While he has the final say on laws, he cannot make them
himself. He could have the power to reign in these venerated citizens
specifically... if we could find a way within the current laws to do
so.” He then stood, leaving his breakfast mostly uneaten.
“Which brings us to the task at hand. Finish up, and I will
show you what I mean.”

The
apprentice hastily shoveled her remaining breakfast down, and
abandoning proper etiquette wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her
shirt. “Should I change into my training clothes, master?”

Socrato
smiled. “Not as of yet. Where we are going hopefully will not
go up in flames.” He then leaned forward, looming over
Pirogoeth, and added firmly, “Because if it did, it would take
you five lifetimes to repay the damage.”

Pirogoeth
nodded animatedly, and Socrato led her out towards more new areas of
the temple. It was during this latest trek, another six floors up,
that she was reminded of her mentor's oddly inexhaustible energy for
his age.

He was
looking down from at least one floor up through the gaps in the
wooden steps. “Are you coming?” he asked brightly and
teasingly.

She
huffed, forced air into her lungs and her legs to march upward. How
could someone well into his sixth decade be more physically capable
than her?

The
destination, however, was worth it.

Books. A
countless number of books awaited her in the room directly ahead on
the ninth floor of Socrato's tower. The entire room, stacked
from floor to ceiling with shelves brimming with books of all
different sizes and colors, along with scrolls and even stone
chiseled tablets, though those were behind glass. No doubt
extremely rare and expensive.

Socrato
noticed his apprentices awestruck glee, and pleased with that
reaction said, “The entire floor is but one floor
of my library, dear girl.”

Pirogoeth
wasn't sure her eyes could get any wider.

“The
eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh
floors of the tower are devoted to my public library, available to
any and all who wish to explore. Not as many people do so as I'd
like, but more than I expected. I also have
my private library on
the fifteenth and sixteenth floors... but those are devoted to the
magical arts; tomes and apothecary recipes and such. You will become
very familiar with
those floors by the time your studies are done.”

His
apprentice was about to go catatonic, which made him decide to get to
the point. “But as to why we are here... This particular room,
and the next two over, are where I have stored every law and judgment
and imperial decision over the last fifty years.”

Pirogoeth
looked up at Socrato with the a dazed, overwhelmed expression.
“That... why?”

“Because
this is my challenge to you: find something that my contemporaries
and I have missed in our arguments against the class fraud that my
despicable peers have been engaging in. You will have your evenings
free to do this research, if you wish it. I won't expect it to take
up every evening...
Every mind needs its rest, after all.”

“But...
if you couldn't find a
solution, what makes you think I can?”
she asked, dumbfounded.

Socrato
shrugged. “Sometimes a different perspective can find things
that others overlook. It's entirely possible that there is something
that I have become so used to seeing that I never consider it; a
nuance to a law, or an interpretation of a legal precedent that I
haven't noticed, but that you would.”

Pirogoeth
steeled her expression. While she was dubious that she'd have any
success, it would hardly look good to not even attempt to meet
her master's challenge. “I will do my best.”

“Very
good. Now, I would
recommend going down and changing to your training clothes. Meet me
in the hall arcana in one hour. You are going to start channeling
from that tome of yours today, and that isn't always a smooth
process.”

It would
promise to be for Pirogoeth, though, which she quickly demonstrated
once she had returned to the hall arcana.

Just like
with her personal practice on her first night, she had little problem
moving the magic from the tome, through her, and into a “ready”
state at the tips of her fingers. Proving it wasn't just a matter of
knowing how one particular spell worked, she replicated that ease
with other spells on other pages Socrato chose randomly.

“Remarkable,”
he had finally said, visibly amazed and impressed by her swift
mastery of the matter at hand. “I'll be quite honest that the
process of properly channeling magic from a tome is often the hardest
thing to teach a prospective mage. It really is
an unnatural thing for most mages to grasp.
Having experience only with using the small spark within them, they
have a hard time drawing it out from an external source.”

Pirogoeth
didn't understand that much at all. “Draw it out? I have to
fight to keep it in.”

Socrato's
eyes rose, and he requested, “do explain.”

She
demonstrated instead, sweat beading on her brow as she forced the
magic pooling in her hands back towards the tome. “The magic in
this tome here wants to come out. It wants to...
explode. I know that the goal is that the tome will feel like an
extension of myself, but when I channel... It feels more like I
am an extension of it.” Pirogoeth could not gauge
Socrato's reaction, as his face had become absolutely unreadable save
for a sense of intense scrutiny, like he was searching her face and
body language for any hint of mistruth or exaggeration.

Finally,
after what felt like an eternity of silence, he said, “That
will be enough hands-on practice today.”

Surprised
by the abrupt end of the lesson, she asked, “Master... Did I do
something wrong?”

He gave
her a wary smile, and replied, “Oh no, dear girl. Quite the
opposite, in fact. You did something far too right, and I need to
revise my teaching plan almost entirely because of it.” He then
took her hands and held her palms up. “What you are doing
naturally is normally the result of years of training. The
tome you have has almost instantly become submissive to you.”

“Submissive...
to me?”

“Tomes
are not normal books, as you well know; but the lengths of their
uniqueness extend far beyond even the obvious,” Socrato
explained, even as she could see that he was choosing his words
carefully for reasons she didn't understand. “Tomes have...
something akin to a spirit. They aren't 'alive' in the sense that we
perceive it, but they all have unique behaviors. Training tomes, like
the one I gave you, tend to be more cooperative by nature, but even
then, you generally have to prove your worth before it offers its
power fully and willingly.”

Pirogoeth
blinked as her mind swam trying to process what was being told to
her.

“The
behavior you described is one that normally comes from a tome that
has become so in tune with its owner that it seeks nothing but to
provide everything demanded of it. It fights your trying to force the
magic back because in this purely submissive state, magic wants to
nothing but to fulfill the spell that is being channeled.” He
smiled reassuringly at his apprentice's continued confusion. “I
apologize if this seems a bit off. The vast majority of mages never
even reach this level of understanding, much less so naturally and
readily.”

Pirogoeth
actually wasn't confused. With it all sorted out in her head, what
she had been told made sense... yet was incomplete. It felt like she
had a wonderful puzzle in front of her, but was missing several
crucial pieces that would allow the image to truly take shape. She
told herself those pieces would no doubt come in time, and shook her
mind free from that exercise. “I'm sure I'll get it one day,”
she finally said with as disarming a smile as she could manage.

Socrato
accepted that. “I have no doubt you will. Now, if you will
follow me, I will bore you to tears with more history of magic and
its role in building the The Imperial Aramathea...”

She
honestly didn't find it boring. She really didn't. It was merely that
there were so many things on her mind that were more engaging that it
seemed like she was disinterested and distracted. So she
really hoped he understood if her eyes drifted and glazed over.

Once
Socrato identified that he was losing the battle for his apprentice's
attention, he asked, “Would you like to start your evening
study a little early today?”

Pirogoeth
blushed guiltily, and admitted, “If that would be acceptable.”

“Get
going. Would you like dinner in the library? Or will you be able to
curb your enthusiasm long enough to eat with the rest of us?”

Pirogoeth
blinked. “The rest of us?”

“Yes...
the evening meal is generally taken in the main banquet hall on the
first floor of the tower. All are invited in a buffet style meal.”

Pirogoeth's
eyebrows raised. “Even the serving staff?”

“Even
them. As a result, you are expected to serve yourself. I do suspect
that wouldn't be a bother for you though.”

Pirogoeth
made an uncomfortable connection. “So... you mean... the last
two days when I had dinner in my room...”

Socrato
sighed, and offered a comforting smile. “Taima was more than
willing to forgo the normal way of things to serve you a private
meal. She was also quite flattered when you asked her to join you.”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “Well, I won't do it again. If the serving
staff aren't supposed to serve me in the evening, then they will not.
Of course I will attend to dinner as per custom!”

“I'll
have Taima show you the way, as I don't believe you've been there
yet,” Socrato said. “Now up to the library you go. You'll
have a few hours to spend before dinner.”

Pirogoeth
spent those hours more getting a feel for the rooms that Socrato told
her would carry the information most relevant to her task than
actually reading it. She had expected the documents and books to be
sorted by year, but had found that to not be the case. They were
initially sorted by theme: Land disputes, trade disputes, political
treaties, civil rights, among other things. Then they were
further sorted by year. She found that fairly handy, as it meant that
she wouldn't necessarily have to dig through entire rooms to find a
related case in a different year. Deciding it would be best to start
with the most recent cases, like the one that Socrato personally
argued, she had just about been ready to open that book when the
headmaster of the library arrived and showed her something that
rendered much of that first hour fairly meaningless.

One floor
down, on the eighth floor, was what the librarian called the catalog.

The near
entirety of the floor, save for three offices reserved for the
librarian and her two servants, was devoted to an index of every
book in the public library, with relevant information written and
bound into volumes then sorted by multiple topics. “In your
case, the law and judicial catalog is over to the Northwest on the
gray painted shelves,” the librarian explained with the
practiced patience of a woman who offered this sort of instruction
often. “The shelves are sorted not only by topic and year, and
by the judges and advocates involved, but also where the case was
heard. I suspect you will find it useful.”

Pirogoeth
nodded dumbly. Having never been used to seeing more than ten books
in any one place, this sort of sorting tool would be invaluable.
But for now... She needed context, which required her to go back to
reading.

It was
slow going, as it turned out legal arguments and decisions were dry
reading. It wasn't exactly high theatre, after all. While Socrato no
doubt spoke well and with great passion, that emotion was lost in the
transfer to the printed word, and the judge's statement to his final
decision was wordy, prolonged tripe.

So,
Pirogoeth found it a hint of mercy when Taima arrived to take her to
dinner. “Are you ready, my lady?” the servant girl asked.

“Coders,
yes,” Pirogoeth
admitted, nearly jumping to her feet. “And please
could you stop calling
me 'my lady'? You're older than I am!”

Taima
seemed aghast by the idea. “Oh, I couldn't! At least not until
I was of higher standing. You are an honored student of the Dominus,
and proper decency demands I address you as such.”

Pirogoeth
sighed. “And there's absolutely no chance you're going
to relent on that?”

Taima
grinned in apology, and replied, “I fear not... my lady.”

In defeat,
Pirogoeth took stride behind Taima, and departed for the banquet
hall.

The first
floor, as well as the two above it, were part of the larger interior
keep, and as such had more room to house such spaces like the main
banquet hall of Kartage. And unlike any of Socrato's private rooms,
it was indeed a spectacular sight.

Firstly,
it was massive, larger than most houses in Bakkra. At least fifty
feet square, if not more, with enough space to hold four rows of
tables along with a center island where food was being set out. The
tables and chairs were made of a dark stained mahogany, draped with
red velvet and gold trim. The island was similarly decorated, though
made of stone to help keep the food on it at a proper temperature.

Lighting
came from above, in the form of six crystal chandeliers hanging from
the ceiling in a hexagonal pattern, holding the most unusual candles
she had ever seen. Twenty such candles were mounted to each
chandelier, and looked to Pirogoeth like the flames were being held
in a glass bowl... Which made no sense to her. Covered flames died,
even magical ones.

Taima
noted where the apprentice's eyes were. “Amazing, aren't they?
The newest thing in lighting, powered not by fire, but by the river
currents.”

“How?”
Pirogoeth said in amazement. “How can water make fire burn?”

“I'm
not entirely certain myself,” Taima admitted, “Just that
the flow of the river generates energy, and that energy is used to
power these lights. I'm told the Dominus wants to have them expanded
to the whole of the tower by the end of the year. Anyway, come. If we
want some of the best portions, we'll want to move quickly.”

Plates
were available at the head of the center island, along with utensils,
and it gave Pirogoeth a good look at the varied and abundant spread
available. Much of it was obvious, slices of lamb and beef, chicken
and pork. There were noodles, rice, and sliced bread along with the
pita bread and wraps she had seen earlier. There was also four
different types of rice, which took Pirogoeth by surprise, having
only known of one.

“This
is brown rice, which you've probably seen before,” Taima
explained. “Further east they are famous for white rice, which
can be prepared many different ways like you see here. It can be
fried,” she said, pointing to a slightly yellow variety,
“steamed,” pointing to the pearly white variety, “or
boiled in stock with a pasta called pilaf. This particular variety
has been boiled in beef stock,” she finished, pointing to the
light brown mixture with small oval shaped pasta noodles mixed into
the rice. Pirogoeth took a slice of the beef and the rice pilaf,
thinking that they'd compliment each other.

They then
moved further down to a steaming section of the island, where sausage
of varying colors from red to brown, and steamed vegetables like
maize, carrots, and sweet peas were available. Still further down and
separated by a stone partition was the chilled section; leafy greens,
tomatoes, and fruits such as oranges and bananas rounding out a
hearty and balanced meal.

Taima then
blocked Pirogoeth's progress to the next section with a chastising
shake of her finger. “No desserts until dinner is done!”

“Yes,
ma'am,” Pirogoeth acknowledged playfully, taking her laden
plate and turning to look for an available seat. She didn't have to
look far, because at a table at the head of the banquet hall, her
master was beckoning her over with a raised hand.

“You
best be going, my lady. When the Dominus beckons, one must answer.”

Taima
turned to part ways when they heard Socrato bellow, “And where
do you think you're going, Taima? I do not request your
presence so I can be ignored!”

Pirogoeth
had to stifle back a chuckle as Taima's face turned so red it showed
through her almond complexion. “As I said, when he beckons, one
must answer,” she said with a trembling voice.

Socrato
gestured across the table where he wanted Pirogoeth and Taima to sit,
then introduced the apprentice to the fourth member at the table.
“Apprentice, I do not believe you've had the opportunity to
meet our master chef. Pirogoeth, meet Chef Vargat.”

At this
point Pirogoeth became aware of the man sitting to Socrato's left.
She had never seen such a dark skinned person. Vargat was nearly as
black as pitch, definitely an older man, with curly black and silver
hair sneaking from under his broad white beret. He stood, took her
hand politely with a gentle shake, and said, “greetings, young
apprentice. The Dominus speaks highly of you in such a short time.”
Then he graciously bowed to Taima. “And good evening to you as
well. Your broth for the beef was indeed excellent. I should not have
questioned you.”

Taima
colored again, and she returned the bow. “You are the master;
it is your duty to question me.”

Socrato
laughed heartily. “The evening meal is meant to put aside rank
and title, my friends! Could we do so and eat this wonderful food you
both can't stop talking about?”

Pirogoeth
wasn't sure Taima could do that.

But the
servant girl could eat, at the very least, and keep her head down,
which is what she did the moment she felt it proper to take her seat.

“Coders,
Taima. You've been here nearly five years. You'd think you'd stop
being frightened of my station at this point,” Socrato chided
playfully, noting the same behavior Pirogoeth did.

Taima
gulped, and nearly choked on what she was swallowing as she learned
her strategy of making herself as small as possible had failed. “It's
a matter of respect, Dominus. I have much to prove before I can
pretend we are equals.”

Socrato
asked Vargat, “That reminds me, Taima is about to be a citizen
of her own merit within the month, if I recall correctly. I trust
you've put all those affairs into order?”

Vargat
nodded vigorously. “Of course, my friend. The certificate of
merit should be in your queue already. She's more than passed by my
measure, and will definitely serve the empire as a proper citizen.”

Socrato
answered, “Well then, I shall have to dig it out of my queue
and have it sent to the Registrar at the First Capital first thing
tomorrow morning. I will not make you wait a day longer than your
twentieth birthday, Taima. You can rest assured of that.”

Pirogoeth
interjected, asking, “Chef Vargat, are you also a venerated
citizen?”

Vargat
gently shook his head in denial. “Oh no. I cannot be, as I am
not a natural born citizen of Aramathea, and I doubt I'll be winning
any wars to gain that exception.”

That led
into the question she hadn't wanted to ask so bluntly. “May I
be so bold as to ask where you are from, then?”

Socrato
offered Vargat a look of concern, but the chef shook it off with a
tired smile. “It's all right, friend. My lady, I was born far
to the south on a continent called Tanzibar, nearly sixty-one years
ago to this day. There, within that jungle canopy you could find my
home of Canno, the cradle of life, and contrary to what any
Aramathean will tell you, where the true First Empire and
First Capital could be found.”

Socrato
scoffed, and groused. “No evidence of that outside of your
word.”

“What
was it like?” Pirogoeth asked, her curiosity piqued. It was
rare to hear tales from other lands living in Bakkra, much less lands
that lied beyond the great oceans.

Vargat
seemed to enjoy the memory, smiling blissfully. “Nothing like
here, or anywhere on this continent. The trees were so tall, with
branches and leaves so broad they could blacken the sun. We built our
great ziggurats tall to break the canopy so our priests could pay
homage to the coders who we believed lived on the sun.

Our cities
were small because of it. The lands were untamed. Your cats are but
small bundles of fur. Our cats were gods, tall, powerful
beasts up to eight feet long, with teeth like daggers, and fur as
black as a moonless night. They were the true lords of the
land, and we understood that. At least, until my ancestors finally
crossed the dunes of the great sands, and onto the fertile coasts,
where Canno was founded.”

Vargat's
hands spread to animate his tale, “Our empire stretched from
the Western Endless Ocean to the East. Our ports were five times the
size of even the docks of Grand Aramathea. They had to be, for we
didn't fish for salmon, we fished for sharks, great sharks
twenty feet long. Their teeth were used in jewelry, their blubber for
sealant on our boats, and their meat... oh their meat was succulent.
To this day I try and bribe the naval vessels that moor here for
supply to try and hunt those deep ocean sharks... to no avail.”

“Why
not?” Pirogoeth asked, “Are they that dangerous?”

Taima's
eyes bulged in shock. “No ships dare brave the waters that far
off the coast of the Gibraltar Isles! The Void lies not even a mile
past!”

Socrato
sternly corrected Taima. “That is not true, girl. The
Void waters are far out to sea, but it is true that vessels
dare not sail too far, for the difference between the ocean and the
void can be subtle, and once you cross there is no return.”

Pirogoeth
had heard of the Void. It was a frequent horror story that her father
would tell to scare her when she was younger. She somehow doubted the
truth was anything like those scary stories. “Is that why you
can't return home, Vargat? The Void gets in the way?”

Vargat's
lips flattened, and what followed was the voice of a man long
resigned to his loss. “My lady, the whole of Tanzibar, Canno
and all, fell to the Void forty-eight years ago. I was on one of the
last boats that sailed away from the doomed land. I watched the last
golden spire sink below the dire water.”

Alright,
maybe the Void was like the horror stories she had been told.

Taima
whispered in a nervous tone to Pirogoeth, “Some say it's only a
matter of time before the Void starts eating our continent.”

Socrato
again chastised the servant girl. “Do not go trying to scare my
apprentice, Taima. There is no evidence that the Void is
encroaching from any direction.” He clapped his hands,
and said, “Let us move the conversation to more pleasant
things, can we?”

It managed
to do so as Vargat turned the tables on Pirogoeth, asking her no end
of questions about Bakkra, which was no doubt as alien to him as
Canno was to her. The four then shared stories until Pirogoeth yawned
loudly, startling Socrato as he was in the middle of one of his
tales.

“Goodness,
I would have never thought any of my alchemical mishaps would be
considered boring,”
Socrato said in tease.

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “I... didn't sleep well last night. I think
it's catching up with me.”

“Then
do get your rest, for I will not be nearly as
easy on you tomorrow as I was today, now that I have a better idea of
what you are capable of,” Socrato said both in warning and in
parting. Taima started to stand as well, but Pirogoeth gently pushed
the servant girl back down. “I can find my own way tonight. You
aren't going to escape these two that easily.”

Pirogoeth
then made her retreat, glad that she didn't stumble from fatigue
until long after she was out of sight of the banquet hall. She
didn't even change out of her clothes once in her chambers,
collapsing onto her bed, asleep almost the instant she hit the
mattress.

Day 17: A
Lunar Celebration

And those
days would not get any easier. True to Socrato's promise, he had put
her on what she could only figure was an accelerated training
program, thrusting more reading and practice into her hands as soon
as she had just finished the previous lessons.

In
addition, her research into the lower citizen dilemma consumed near
the entirety of her remaining hours, with not much progress to speak
of. There was so much she had to learn before she could even begin
to propose ideas to Socrato, and she could only read so fast.

It's not
that those were problems, exactly. Her study was in fact very
engaging, and her spirits were buoyed when, one night, her master
granted her a genuine tome, rather than the thin training manuals she
had had before.

Like
Socrato had implied, the full-sized tome wasn't quite as... willing
to please... as the training manuals had been. Pirogoeth's touch
needed to be more delicate, and the energy didn't flow nearly as
cleanly, requiring legitimate channeling to move the way she wanted.

She had
been so eager to study it that she stayed up far later than she
should have, and as a result was rather dreading this morning, as she
knew she wasn't at full speed and it would take some time for the
sluggishness to fade.

Blissfully,
she got a break when she arrived at breakfast. “Lanka delivered
notice that she has completed the rest of the clothes that were
ordered. We should attend to that promptly.” Pirogoeth's ears
perked at the announcement, not so much because she was looking
forward to getting more clothes, but that it would give her an hour
or so to finish waking up... if not more, considering how particular
Lanka could be about clothes.

Socrato
grinned teasingly. “That should give you ample time to find
your bearings before I start pounding your beleaguered brain full of
more half-useless information, right?” Seeing Pirogoeth's
guilty reaction, his face softened. “Oh, dear girl... you would
hardly be the first one who spent all night playing with a new toy.
Coder's curse, I don't think I slept for three days straight when I
got my first 'real' tome.”

“I
honestly can't imagine you as a boy,” Pirogoeth admitted.

Socrato
huffed in mock insult. “I was a handsome young man, so you
know. Quite the charmer. The girls all adored me.”

“Did
they?” Pirogoeth goggled in mostly mock disbelief.

“They
did,” Socrato insisted. “Though, in the spirit of total
honesty, I had little interest in them for the most part.”

Pirogoeth
couldn't help but ask. “Why was that?”

“The
general design of ladies that sought my favor were, at the risk of
sounding slanderous, not particularly intelligent. Their desires and
thoughts were base, and they offered little to engage me beyond the
physical. It was not particularly satisfying.”

“Surely
they weren't all like
that.”

Socrato
paused, and it was a rare moment of discomfort that dropped upon his
face. “No... but that's a tale for another time. Lanka is
waiting.”

Pirogoeth
wasn't content with another time. Not even fifteen minutes later,
once they left the tower on the road to Lanka's Clothiers, she smiled
sweetly as she asked, “So, tell me about these others.”

Socrato
played dumb, and not convincingly. “What others?”

“The
other women. The ones that interested you.”

The sage
huffed, and supplied a half answer. “I have loved, and I have
lost. Why do the details interest you?”

Pirogoeth
began to get the hint that she was treading in dangerous waters
again, and didn't want to risk her master's wrath, especially for
what was a trivial curiosity. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to know
more about you.”

Socrato
became apologetic himself. “No, I am sorry. I tend to keep my
personal life closely guarded, for a somewhat good reason. I have
been... a target... of political games at times, and I like to keep
those close to me as detached from that as possible.”

Pirogoeth
nodded. “That's understandable.”

“But
in this case, I suppose I shouldn't be so reserved. I haven't had
many companions, but those I did have I am still close to. We are
going to meet one of them now, in fact.”

The
apprentice jerked. “Lanka?”

Socrato
bristled. “And what is wrong with that?”

“She...
how old is she?” Pirogoeth always had the impression that the
age gulf between the clothier and the sage was significant.

“If
you must know, she is only eight years younger than I,” Socrato
said. “No, she doesn't particularly look her age. Our
relationship was not particularly meant to be; neither my master nor
our parents approved of her. She was far too clever to keep her
tongue still, and that didn't sit well in the more... strict
generations of the past.”

“I'm
sorry.”

“It
was for the best. We were of two different social strata as well,
something that was not encouraged... and in some parts of the empire
still isn't. We have remained close over the decades, and I really
cannot complain. It was actually through her that I met my since
departed wife Mila.”

He
answered her question before she could ask. “Mila passed away
eight years ago. She developed a horrible heart condition that was
prevalent in her family. Of all the ways it could have ended, hers
was more merciful than most, peacefully in her sleep.”

Pirogoeth
nodded. “I suppose it would be.” One of her neighbors had
the patriarch of their family suffer a similar event. It had
apparently been very traumatic for everyone involved. “Do you
protect your children in the same way?”

Socrato
shook his head. “Yes. Mila... couldn't have children. I have
two sons through Lanka that Mila and I raised as our own. They are
both serving in the Aramathean First Army as officers. While they
know, it is not entirely common knowledge, and we all prefer to keep
it that way.”

“Imperial
politics makes my head hurt at times.”

“If
you ever have to deal with it for six decades, then maybe I'll give
your headaches sympathy,” Socrato teased, then pointed to his
right to the side road heading to Lanka's shop.
“Anyway, we
are almost there. I'd recommend not talking about this to Lanka,
she's even more of a private sort than I am.”

“Really?
I wouldn't have guessed,” Pirogoeth snarked. “About the
only thing her shop doesn't have is a 'GO AWAY' sign in the front
window.”

“It
did at one time.”
Socrato chuckled. “She eventually took it down when I was able
to convince her that it wouldn't hurt to have a few customers not by
appointment.”

At least
now Pirogoeth had a better idea as to why Lanka had been so warm and
welcoming during her first visit when the exterior of her store
reflecting anything but. Pirogoeth was also impressed that two people
could actually have a relationship break apart and still remain close
in spite of it. That was not something she had observed to be
terribly common.

Those
thoughts fell by the wayside as Lanka revealed the outfits that she
had fashioned for Pirogoeth. They were absolutely exquisite, and
Pirogoeth had no problem acknowledging they were lovely and beautiful
and magnificently crafted. This was no doubt the reason why Lanka
could run a business without walk-in customers, because Pirogoeth had
no doubt the three outfits that Lanka displayed likely could have
been used to purchase half of Bakkra.

“Yes,
Dominus, they are more northern and western in design,” Lanka
said. “I figured they suited your apprentice better. Longer
skirts, smoother fabrics, such vibrant colors... Oh, I do enjoy them.
Aramathean clothes can be so dreadfully simple.”

Socrato
shook his head dismissively. “I said nothing.”

“You
were thinking it,” Lanka retorted. “Such is the bliss of
living here, where cultures merge! Go on, try them on!” she
then ordered Pirogoeth, pointing to the curtained off rear of the
store.

“What
of her training clothes?” Socrato asked. It was clear what he
thought was important. “No offense, but
you can only wash one set so many times before there's no removing
the smell.”

Lanka
waved off the concern as Pirogoeth slid behind the curtain. “Yes,
yes... I have those too, Dominus. Ease your mind.”

Pirogoeth
actually liked the forest green dress the most, even if it perhaps
wasn't the best color for her. Not that the other two were poorly
made, by any stretch, but they were similar to the one she already
had.

The green
one, however... she liked how the skirt wasn't an even length; while
it was ankle length on her left side, it was barely below her knee on
the right, with a trim that looked like ruby dust. It very well might
have been ruby dust, but she really didn't want to think about it.
The more she thought about how expensive it was, the less she'd be
willing to wear it.

That same
trim decorated the shoulders, which, while puffed, weren't nearly
as exaggerated as she had seen on some of the more elaborate
dresses back home, and the wrists, highlighting the full length
sleeves that were a slightly darker shade than the rest of the dress.

“I
really like the green one,” Pirogoeth called out.

“Oh,
fabulous!” Lanka replied happily, “I hoped you would. The
inspiration really took off on me with that one! Are you finished
trying them on?”

“Yes.”

“Very
good. There is one
more, but I need you personally to finish the touches on it. I shall
be right there.”

Pirogoeth
was stepping out of the dress as Lanka slipped through the curtain,
holding a bundle of gray cloth. “This, I fear, rather has to be
of Aramathean design, my girl.”

“What
is it?” Pirogoeth asked.

Lanka
unfolded the bundle and held it up. “Your toga, which is
largely required clothes for official functions, which I can promise
you will encounter at some point. Socrato does host very
important dignitaries from time to time, and you will no doubt be
expected to attend as well.” Lanka began wrapping the cloth
around Pirogoeth's frame, explaining how exactly it went on and tied
together as she made the subtle alterations necessary.

“Why
is this gray? Aren't they supposed to be white?”

“You
are foreign born,” Lanka explained, “For you, the toga is
gray. If you were native born, then it would be white. In addition,
as you are a layperson without citizenship, your belt is brown. If
you were to become a lower citizen, you would be expected to wear a
bronze sash. If you were to ever attain higher citizenship, your sash
would be silver, and if somehow you were to be venerated, the sash
would be gold.”

Pirogoeth
thought about this, then noted, “So... Dominus Socrato walks
around in his daily business in what is equivalent to a full dress
suit?”

Lanka
chuckled. “He is a vain one, always strutting around in his
finest. I can't entirely blame him though. Unlike those bulky suits
that the men of your homeland would wear, Aramathean togas are
very comfortable.”

Pirogoeth
couldn't disagree with that, as first impressions of her toga were
positive; it wasn't bulky or cumbersome, allowing for plenty of
freedom of movement. Her primary concern was not securing it properly
and having it all come unraveled in public.

“Well
then, I suppose I need you to try on the sets of perfectly boring
training clothes I made for you as well. The Dominus insists. Some
men just don't understand the important things in life, no?”
Lanka added a teasing wink to her words to convey her lack of
seriousness, moving to the other side of the enclosed space for the
clothes in question.

The trip
successfully gave Pirogoeth the time she needed to fully awaken, and
allowed the rest of the day to proceed normally. Much of Socrato's
tutoring was spent refining the skill of channeling now that she had
a tome that wasn't as cooperative. She was getting a sense of the
delicate balance needed in order to impose her will on the magics
within, steadily gaining the strength to bend it to her whim. It felt
easier by the end of the lesson... but she could just be fooling
herself.

“The
mind is good at that,” Socrato said, “Telling us what we
want to hear, showing us what we want to see. It's why the art of the
illusion and other ethereal magic can be so very effective. It preys
on the weaknesses inherent in the human mind.”

“And
why I'm terrible at it,” Pirogoeth said glumly.

“Yours
is a practical mind. It prefers knowing what is real, and resists
accepting what it sees is not always real,” her master said
reassuringly. “It takes time to break that programming... and
is something that you have only really been studying for the last
four days.”

“But...”

Socrato
held up a warning finger. “You are used to magic coming easily
to you. You will not always find that everything is so trivially
mastered in life. You should not be discouraged when such times
happen.”

His advice
might have been more easily received if learning ethereal magic was
her only source of frustration. The evening task she had agreed upon
was bearing even less fruit the last few days, only her
stubborn refusal to never quit on a task forced her forward
through long hours of studying just to get the context she would need
to even begin looking for ways to solve the lower citizens'
dilemma.

Pirogoeth
began to understand why Torma seemed rather put off by book learning,
a trait the apprentice could not have imagined a mage having. She was
finding it increasingly hard to crack open a book herself, now that
it had become mostly an obligation.

She had
one such moment one evening, as the sun began to peek through the
window behind her. With a heavy breath, she rolled up the long,
meandering scroll that contained a judge's decision that supposedly
was the precursor for the Law of Free Information which lay at the
heart of this mess. It had not been pleasant to struggle through. How
could such educated people be so tedious to read?

Taima's
voice drifted to her ears from the stairwell. “My lady?”

Pirogoeth
sighed. It just wasn't worth fighting the honorific anymore. “Over
here, Taima!”

The
servant girl followed the sound of the voice and appeared in the open
doorway. “I was told you were likely up here. Are you studying
still?”

Pirogoeth
didn't really want to tell Taima what was actually going on. It
seemed to be a topic the servant girl wasn't keen on discussing. “Of
sorts. Socrato has me reading at every opportunity it seems.”

Taima had
never looked mischievous before. “Is it of vital importance?”

Socrato
had said he didn't want her spending every evening
doing this. “No. I suppose it isn't,” Pirogoeth answered.

“Then
perhaps you can join me in the center square tonight?”

Pirogoeth
blinked. “What for?”

“There's
a lunar eclipse tonight,” Taima answered. “I'm sure
Socrato mentioned something about it.”

“He
did,” Pirogoeth acknowledged. “And that he was going to
study it from the observation deck tonight. Why would we be going to
the center square, though? We wouldn't be able to see much from
there.”

Taima bit
her lower lip. “We wouldn't actually be going to watch the
eclipse. There is a celebration that occurs among younger folks
whenever there are celestial events like this one. There's dancing,
games... though you have to bring your own food and drink. It's
nothing base or carnal, but revelry is something the older folks tend
to frown on nonetheless.”

Pirogoeth
somehow doubted there wasn't any debauchery present at a young adult
gathering. She wasn't stupid as to how teenagers and young
adults minds worked. But at the same time... she had never been
invited to peer gatherings back home. “I trust you have the
food and drink covered.”

“A
basket just outside the door. Filled with sweets and goodies from
lemon cake to my attempt at Avalonian Chocolate. I fear I didn't do
it quite right. I also have a fine fortified cherry wine that in
theory should go very well with the chocolate.”

“I
suspect you did amazingly as always,” Pirogoeth replied. She
gave herself the once over, then said, “can I change into
something else first? I was playing with brimstone this morning, and
I doubt the smell has completely faded.”

Truth
being, Pirogoeth just wanted the opportunity to change. She didn't
want to head to a celebration still in her training clothes. And it
gave her a chance to show off her new green dress.

“Of
course!” Taima answered.

The
apprentice smiled. “Then let's go.”

Taima
regaled her on the sort of happenings that occur at these gatherings
as they made their way down the steps to the ground floor and then to
Pirogoeth's chambers. She seemed particularly interested in the
dancing, which apparently used the central square itself as the
dancing floor. “It's amazing the routines that people come up
with between gatherings and in such short times!” The servant
girl said.

“Lunar
eclipses aren't that common,”
Pirogoeth replied. She remembered one when she was eight or so, and
that was it.

“The
eclipse is more an excuse to gather than a reason,” Taima
admitted. “There have been gatherings for the fall harvest, the
first day of spring, an election day, among others.”

There were
worse reasons to have a party, Pirogoeth figured.

At the
door to her chambers, Pirogoeth held Taima back, and wagged a finger.
“No. You wait out here while I get changed. I want you to tell
me what you think once I've changed.”

Getting
changed into the dress was easy enough. Deciding which shoes to wear
along with it was another matter entirely. It wasn't just a
matter of color; as she had three different pairs of brown shoes that
would have matched the colors of the dress well. She had suede high
heeled shoes that made her look taller – a definite plus –
but were very unwieldy to walk in. She had a pair of boots with a
similarly platformed heel, but were very bulky and not very
attractive. Finally, she had more casual rough leather shoes that
were more like slippers, comfortable and easy to move in, but didn't
offer any height boosting effect and were remarkably plain.

Worried
about keeping Taima waiting, Pirogoeth settled on the comfortable
shoes, just in case she wound up embarrassing herself dancing. She
then returned to Taima and asked, “Well? What do you think?”

Taima's
eyes lit up happily. “Oh, Coders be... is that... that has
to be one of Lanka's dresses! You are so lucky!”

Pirogoeth
flushed slightly, not expecting quite such an exuberant response. She
really didn't want to mention now that she had four dresses
from Lanka.

“The
Dominus must have paid for that. I had wanted to have one tailored
for me... but I won't see that amount of coin until I am a higher
citizen myself!”

Pirogoeth's
curiosity got the better of her. “How much did Lanka try to
charge?”

“Thirty-seven
Imperial Gold. That would have been twice a year's stipend for me!”

Pirogoeth
spun about, the color draining from her face. “I'm going to
change into something else.” Taima caught her before she could
even cross the threshold again, and started insistently pushing
Pirogoeth towards the exit of the tower.

The
apprentice was a bit surprised that they were heading towards the
main exit and not one of the more conspicuous side exits. “Why
are we going out the front? I thought this gathering wasn't approved
of.”

Taima
rolled her eyes playfully. “It's not illegal, my lady.
Old men stuck in their ways just think it's too loud and we're not
respecting proper decorum, then spend much of the night shaking their
walking sticks at us.”

Dusk had
settled upon Kartage by the time the pair had left the tower and
entered the city section of the keep, and immediately the pair drew
every set of eyes... or more accurately, the foreign apprentice of
the Dominus did.

Pirogoeth
was far too used to being a social outcast, and becoming the center
of attention so quickly by a score of people she didn't know was
disconcerting... which quickly turned to a mild annoyance when
unsolicited questions suddenly reminded of the gossip she had been
isolated from for the last two weeks.

“Is
it true you're from Avalon?”

“No.”

“Did
you know your father was a king?”

“That
would be news to him, I'm sure.”

“Do
you remember anything about the court?”

“Can't
remember somewhere I've never been.”

“Is
life in Aramathea anything like life in Avalon?”

“Wouldn't
know.”

“Is
it true the Dominus is protecting you from assassins?”

“They'd
be the dumbest assassins in history.”

“Come
now, people!” Taima interjected futilely. “We're here to
have fun!”

Groupthink
had conjured an entire narrative out of nothing, as far as Pirogoeth
could tell. She was the lost Princess of Avalon, after a revolution
that had deposed the royal family twenty years ago. All of that
family had been confirmed executed save the youngest daughter.
Socrato was teaching and protecting her so that one day she could
reclaim her throne and restore the monarchy.

While the
entire backstory of the Avalonian Revolution was true, Pirogoeth's
supposed role in the story fell apart by applying simple logic. This
“lost princess” was a young girl at the time of the
revolution, yes... but she was alive. Pirogoeth hadn't been
born until nearly five years later.

And while
it was true that her father's side of the family came from Avalon,
that was five generations and more than seven decades ago, and they
came from the northern part of Avalon that was just as frequently
Daynish lands, depending on where the ever fluctuating border was.

Through
the barrage of questions, a firm and powerful voice cut through.
“Now, kind men and women, I highly doubt that even if the
apprentice here were a member of the Avalon royal family that
she would be interested in holding court here and now! Scatter and
give her space!”

The man's
authority of voice did the trick, as men and women quickly found
somewhere else to be, and this allowed her to get a good look at her
rescuer.

Pirogoeth
recognized him, though he did look a bit different in civilian
clothes, a brown leather tunic and trousers held together with a
black belt, than he did in Aramathean Phalanx armor. “Thank
you...” she began, coming to an embarrassed halt when she
discovered she didn't remember his name.

“Daneid,
my lady,” he answered, not showing any sign of insult. “Don't
worry yourself; we have met all of twice, I believe, and both times I
was in uniform. I'm told I look rather different then in it.”

“Well,
thank you again, Captain,” Taima interjected. “I'm a bit
surprised to see you here.”

“Someone
has to keep the peace and appease the seniors of the keep that
nothing inappropriate is going on,” Daneid answered. “I'm
just glad it isn't me tonight.”

That drew
a laugh from both girls, then Taima lifted her basket and offered, “I
have prepared some desserts for the celebration, Captain. Would you
like to join us?”

“I
would be glad to, my ladies. I think I can appropriate a good spot
for us as well. Come with me.”

The
phalanx captain did as promised, even if he probably had to use his
authority inappropriately in convincing a group in front of the font
in the square to find a different spot. Pirogoeth found the misused
authority to be barely above the bullying she was all too familiar
with, but at the same time didn't want to make a scene and ruin
Taima's night.

It helped
that lemon cake had an uncanny ability to soothe tempers. Especially
lemon cake crafted by Taima's expert hands. A perfect blend of sweet
and tart, which would have been a dangerous combination had Pirogoeth
been alone... because she would have probably eaten the whole cake
herself.

Night had
completely fallen, and the lamp on top of font behind them lit, like
it did every night. This, coupled with long torches mounted into
standing steel frames, served to give enough light for the party to
continue.

Then Taima
revealed the wine she had brought. “Be careful with this, my
lady,” she said in warning to Pirogoeth as she filled the
apprentice's glass a quarter full. “This is probably a little
bit stronger than anything you've had before.”

“What
about the chocolate?” Pirogoeth asked.

“That
will be for later,” Taima replied.

Daneid
nodded in agreement. “Too much sugar doesn't always mix well
with stronger alcohol. It's a bit of an initiation trick in the
phalanx. Superstition goes that if you vomit, you won't have what it
takes to survive army life. It's a stupid superstition; plenty of men
have had perfectly respectable careers and not been able to handle
that stomach curdling mess.”

“Like
you?” Pirogoeth asked.

“Oh,
Coders no! I handled it just fine.”

Both girls
giggled at the comically defensive response, and used that as an
adequate break in the conversation to drink.

Taima
hadn't been joking. The burn of the wine was very evident and
overpowering, to the point that Pirogoeth could barely taste the
fruit, and it caused her to sputter. This was far more like the
potency that she had sampled before, back home. Up until now, that
small sip from her father's mug had been plenty enough for her.

Taima
immediately showed concern. “My lady? Are you well?”

The
apprentice coughed twice, and waved off concern. “I'm fine.
Just took me by surprise.” Not wanting to make Taima feel bad,
Pirogoeth resumed drinking, forcing herself to ignore the burn. It
got easier the further into the glass she got, but even by the end
she still wouldn't have called it pleasant.

As
Pirogoeth finished her glass, Taima clapped her hands and squealed in
delight. “The dancing has started! My lady, come with me!”

The
apprentice shook her head. “I think I'll decline... for now.
Give my stomach a chance to settle.”

“I'll
keep the lady company,” Daneid encouraged, shooing Taima
towards the cleared section that had been reserved for the dance
floor. “Have fun. I'm sure we'll all get our chance to strut by
the time the night has concluded.”

Taima was
initially torn between staying with Pirogoeth and dancing, but the
encouragement from both convinced her to take the latter option,
gleefully dashing to the rapidly filling dance floor.

Aramathean
dance was far different than what little she had seen of dancing back
home. People didn't “pair off” here, instead forming into
groups or even solo, with fluid improvised movements rather than the
carefully scripted patterns that girls and boys had to learn.
Pirogoeth was astonished that in the wild swarm that no one seemed to
collide with another.

“To
be fair, I don't like dancing because normally when I'm in close
quarters with someone, it's either sparring or fighting,”
Daneid admitted. “My reflexes as a result have made me
unwelcome on the dance floor.”

Pirogoeth
laughed.

Daneid
picked up Taima's bottle of wine, and asked, “would you like
some more?”

Pirogoeth
visibly cringed at the idea, as an unfamiliar voice cut into the
conversation much like fingernails across a chalkboard.

“Oi!
Cap'n! Shouldn't you be playing with someone more your age?”

The sound
came from above, Pirogoeth craning her neck back to identify the
source. Along what was normally the upper pooling lip for water in
the font was a woman, perched in a crouch upon the edge.

To call
the woman rough looking would have been an understatement. Her
clothes were faded, tattered and frayed at every end, her blue denim
shorts held to her waist by a hemp rope. A red shirt, visibly
strained by the woman's chest, looked like it would split in two with
a particularly deep breath. A yellow, flower print bandana wrapped
around the top of her head and battered, unpolished leather boots
completed the haggard ensemble.

Yet it was
more than her clothes that seemed off. As the woman grinned
menacingly, her canine teeth commanded her mouth, more like fangs
than teeth, really. Her gaze seemed almost predatory despite the
smile, and she looked like she was about to pounce.

Daneid
appeared to know the woman; he jumped to his feet, and accused
angrily, “You pirate scoundrel! When did you get here?”

The woman
hopped down to ground with a huff, and straightened as she
dismissively replied. “Pirate? You can't prove nothin'. I come
and go as I please, and I don't answer to you.”

From the
different angle, Pirogoeth finally figured out what was so off about
the ragged visitor; evidence in the form of a bushy fox tail,
protruding from where part of the shorts' backside had been sliced
off with what appeared to be a knife. The new line of sight also
allowed Pirogoeth to clearly see a pair of fox ears twitching
aggressively at the top of the woman's head.

She had
heard of such people, “chimeras” Torma had called them;
cursed with a partial animal form through either magic or influence
of spirits of nature. They were so rare that in most parts of the
world, like Bakkra, they were considered a myth, but Torma had
insisted chimeras were very real indeed.

Pirogoeth
wasn't going to doubt Torma's stories again.

“When
did you get here?” Daneid demanded.

“When
you weren't at your post,” the woman replied. “Whatcha
gonna do about it? I haven't broken none of your laws. Don't plan to
either. Though you could make me change my mind.”

“Is
that so?”

The woman
leaned on her toes to meet Daneid's eyes. “Yeah. If you're
willing to explain to your men tomorrow morning how you got all
scratched up, I'll fight ya right here and now. No skin off my teeth.
I'd be back out roaming free by this time tomorrow.”

Daneid's
silence was his only response.

“Otherwise,
why don't you go back home and leave this little girl alone?”
the woman then offered.

“One
of these days, wretch, I'll see you in a dungeon, and I'll laugh,”
Daneid growled, but apparently decided retreat was the better part of
valor. “My lady, be careful with this one,” he said in
parting to Pirogoeth, and disappeared into the night.

“Feh!”
the woman spat, keeping her eyes on the soldier as he walked away.
“You gotta be careful with the likes of him! Aramathean men
have some very loose definitions of consenting age, let me tell ya.”

Pirogoeth
really didn't get that sense from Daneid; while perhaps trying too
hard to be friendly, there hadn't been a particularly sexual vibe.
There was certainly some history there between the chimera and the
captain, though. Before Pirogoeth could formulate a question, the
chimera had grabbed Taima's wine, and chugged half of it straight
from the bottle.

The woman
frowned in distaste. “Feh! Aramatheans can't make a good brew
to save their lives. No bite at all.” She then set the bottle
back down and still without even giving Pirogoeth a sideways glance
said, “see ya girl. Watch out for the men around here.”

The
chimera then also vanished into the night, several minutes before
Taima returned to the scene, understandably confused to see Pirogoeth
alone. “Where did Captain Daneid go?”

How could
Pirogoeth answer that question truthfully in a way that didn't sound
insane? “He... apparently some business came up unexpectedly.
He had to leave.”

Taima
frowned. “Well, that's a shame. Phalanx have such difficult
jobs and little free time. Oh well, we can't let that ruin our
fun! Come on!”

And Taima
wasn't about to let Pirogoeth go without sampling all the fun
the party had to offer. The apprentice learned that she was as
unwelcome on the dance floor as Daneid, for similar yet different
reasons. After inadvertently striking a fourth person, Taima quickly
decided to find somewhere else Pirogoeth should be.

Not that
Pirogoeth fared much better at the games. Testing her strength had
been depressing. She fared little better in the sprints. And no
matter how much Taima begged, Pirogoeth steadfastly refused to
step into the wrestling circle.

She did
win a silver piece at a “guess your age” game...
though it was little consolation considering the game master offered
a guess of twelve. Pirogoeth was half of mind to shove the coin
straight down his throat for the indignity. Attempting to write it
off as just some crazy, blind, old man also failed when he correctly
guessed the next seven contestants within a year.

“You're
not that short,”
Taima offered helpfully after Pirogoeth declared she was done having
fun, and was going to return to her chambers. The apprentice had been
on a slow burn the entire walk to the tower, to the point where she
didn't even acknowledge the soldiers at the front gate through her
surly self-loathing.

“Yes
I am,” Pirogoeth grunted, refusing to be mollified. “I
look like a child. I've got no chest, my hips are non-existent, I'm
tiny, slight, with no curves or anything to make me look taller than
a twelve-year old girl.”

“It's
because the men who run such games have trained for years to spot the
telltale signs of Aramatheans as they age. For someone outside of the
empire from an entirely different stock, their accuracy plummets
drastically. It'd be like asking a horse tender to tell me details of
a breed they had never seen before.”

Both Taima
and Pirogoeth looked upward with a start, surprised to see Socrato
looking down at them from just inside the gate. While he didn't look
displeased, he didn't look exactly happy, either. Despite
Taima's assurances that they were doing nothing wrong, Pirogoeth
dropped her head guiltily.

“And
what are you so shameful about?” Socrato asked. “The only
thing you did wrong was not bringing your tome with you.”

Pirogoeth's
eyes jolted wide. She had been in such a hurry to show off her dress
to Taima that she had completely forgotten it on her bed.

“A
mage without a tome is asking for trouble,” Socrato reminded
her. “I expect you to be much more careful in the future. Good
night, girls.”

Pirogoeth
held back, waving Taima farewell. Once the servant girl had left
earshot, Pirogoeth spoke up. “Master, I saw something unusual
tonight.”

“I
presume you aren't talking about the eclipse.” Socrato said
warily.

Pirogoeth
nodded. “I saw a chimera in the town square. A fox-girl, in
fact.”

That rose
Socrato's eyebrows. “Did you? Chimeras generally draw
attention, especially when they don't want it. Odd that I heard
nothing about one arriving in Kartage.”

“Captain
Daneid claimed she was a pirate,” Pirogoeth continued.

Socrato
confirmed, “That is quite possible. Chimeras often wind up
pushed into that lifestyle by civilizations that find their presence
offensive, and even worthy of extinction. Quite sad, really.”

Pirogoeth
couldn't quite understand the casual dismissal. “But if she's a
pirate, why didn't Captain Daneid do anything? He seemed almost
scared of her.”

“Was
the chimera wearing a yellow bandana or scarf?”

Pirogoeth
eyes bulged at the random question. “How did you know that?”

Socrato
took a deep breath. “There are two types of pirate in this
world. The first are the ones that you hear about in stories and
rumor. Vicious, bloodthirsty scourges of the seas; thieves and
murderers. They are more nuisance than anything, for their numbers
are few and there is very little organization. They prey on vessels
that take unnecessary risks, and put themselves out of naval
protection.

Then there
is a second group, who call themselves 'pirates', but there's no
evidence of any actual piracy on their part. They are most noted for
having a yellow article, usually a scarf or bandana, that marks them
of this group. These pirates are very organized, as much as any naval
force in the world, in fact. They stay outside imperial waters, and
generally avoid conflict. At this point, we understand to leave them
alone, and they will leave us alone.

They've
established very powerful friends in all three major empires. I've
had magisters of the emperor himself order me to release any
gold pirate, as they are called, within twenty-four hours of their
detainment. Not that I've ever had reason to do so. The scant few
times one of their number has appeared in Kartage, they've done
nothing to warrant arrest.”

Pirogoeth
blinked as her mind wrapped around the information. “So if they
aren't criminals, and aren't really pirates... what do they
do?”

Socrato
reluctantly answered, “I don't know. And that's what troubling
to me. They're an enigma. And I really don't like mysteries.”
He waved off further questions or concerns. “But there is
little we can do about it, especially now. Sleep well, dear girl. You
have studies in the morning.”

Curiosity
didn't want her to leave it there, but a long day coupled with a lack
of sleep from the night before quickly caught up to her in the form
of a heavy yawn. At that point, her bed became much more appealing
than trying to learn more about pirates.

At least
she was going to sleep a lot better tonight, if for no reason than
she was amazed she was able to keep her eyes open long enough to plop
lifelessly onto her bed.

Day 61:
Further Up and Further In

Pirogoeth
became increasingly certain she would never quite “get”
ethereal magic.

It's not
that she didn't know how to channel such techniques. The
process was actually the exact same as any other type of magic. It
wasn't that she couldn't make the spells do what she wanted. She had
the technical details solidly down. It wasn't a tactical issue,
either. She knew precisely when and where ethereal magic could be put
to its greatest effect.

It wasn't
even a matter of breaking down what she had learned. She perfectly
accepted that the theory Torma taught her was nigh wholly incorrect,
that ethereal magic didn't have forms in the sense that material
magic did. It was a hodgepodge of spells that refused to be
classified in any conventional sense, and behaved in ways that could
not be easily predicted.

But there
was something she was missing that really brought the best out of
that particular school of magic.

“Ethereal
magic doesn't have the raw power of material magic,” Socrato
reiterated with the patience that she had come to expect when he was
actively teaching. “You can't sear an opponent to cinders with
an illusion. The power isn't in the spells themselves.”

Pirogoeth
had heard this, many times, and it didn't make sense.

“The
best way that I can explain the trick behind this school of magic is
that it is as much observation as it is misdirection. You need to
know how your opponent perceives reality, identify his tendencies,
his patterns, and shape a reality that conforms to that perception
yet bends ever so slightly in the direction you
desire.”

In the
time it took her to figure out all that, she could have razed
her opponent to cinders, taken what she wanted, and ripped apart half
of whatever building he was found in.

“Ethereal
magic is in many ways, an art of subtlety, and it's not best suited
for every personality. You know how to
do it. That really is the important thing. The rest will come to you
in time, I am sure. Would you like to move on to something else,
perhaps?”

“Could
we?” the apprentice pleaded hopefully.

Socrato
agreed with a nod. “These next lessons may even indirectly help
you understand ethereal magic better, come to think of it. Because
now the lessons get a little more advanced, we'll discover how
material and ethereal magic can be used in unison. But I do believe
that will require a new tome for you...”

His voice
drifted off, then he looked up towards the ceiling. “How do you
feel about another climb? I think it's time you got the chance to
access my personal library.”

On one
hand, Pirogoeth loved the idea of getting a first-hand look at
the veritable mountain of mystical items and books that her
master was said to possess. On the other... she was not looking
forward to the twelve floor climb to where said library was.

“Well...
I suppose we can use one of my shortcuts,” Socrato said,
noticing Pirogoeth's apprehension, and the relief that followed his
suggestion. He snapped his fingers, which appeared to be the trigger,
as the entry to the stairwell turned the telltale black that
Pirogoeth remembered from her arrival in the tower.

“Ladies
first,” he said, motioning for Pirogoeth to take the lead.

Pirogoeth
found this fairly unusual, but didn't argue, stepping through the
veil of darkness and popping into an open floor filled with wonder
and magic, quite literally.

Unlike the
public library several floors down, Socrato's private library was not
nearly as ordered. It wasn't cluttered or messy by any stretch –
that would have been exceedingly dangerous – but tomes were
shelved next to artifacts, scrolls tucked underneath tables that had
larger trinkets resting on the top. Pirogoeth had no doubt there was
an order to the seeming madness, but it was likely an order only
Socrato understood.

She
stepped forward, her body tingling as her mystic sense could
literally feel the mystical energies radiating from the
chamber. It was both intoxicating and frightening... that such power
was right in front of her, but she didn't dare actually try to
interact with any of it.

One very
large object caught her eye, a solid table made of obsidian. The
volcanic glass was extremely rare, extremely sharp, and extremely
brittle, and as such Pirogoeth had never seen it used to make a
table. She had seen old Daynish weapons made of the stuff, and they
were supposedly frighteningly damaging if unreliable... but never a
piece of furniture.

As she got
closer, she realized that what she thought was the base was actually
a hollow compartment with a ceramic interior, with sliding panels
that locked together to seal the top closed. Sensing that didn't have
any magical properties in and of itself, she toyed with said top
repeatedly, opening and closing it to try and figure out exactly the
mechanism that caused such a tight seal. She wasn't sure what to make
of it... what could such a thing possibly be used for?

Socrato
finally made his presence known, startling Pirogoeth. “That is
a supposed alchemical table, an item that I purchased when I was far
younger and far more foolish. I don't regret it... I think it was
good for me to finally abolish the idea of practical alchemy once and
for all.”

Pirogoeth
had heard of alchemy, had heard of some claims of people who had
transmuted metals like lead and iron into gold, but had never heard
of any concrete evidence that it had truly been accomplished.
“Practical alchemy? You mean it's possible?”

Socrato
shrugged. “In a sense. Through immense amounts of
experimentation, tremendous amounts of energy, and at great personal
risk, I discovered that it is indeed possible to alter the
fundamental properties of heavier metals. But doing so creates
something that you would be wise to never touch or try to handle. I
was ill for a good many days, and it took the healing of many of my
peers to pull me from death.”

He then
shook his head. “But to make gold from iron? That, I suspect,
will remain a flight of fancy for many, many years. The amount of
power needed to do so, and also make it fit to be used in anything,
is beyond anything short of the Coders themselves.”

He turned
away from Pirogoeth and the table, the memories tugging at him. She
figured that must have been a scary time, and let it go without any
further comment. Although the more she learned about the earlier life
of the venerable sage, the more she found herself intrigued by his
adventures, and thus found it difficult to bite her tongue.

“But
that's not why we're here, so let's not dwell on it, shall we?”
he declared. “I need to find a particular tome, and that may
take some time. Try not to touch too many things, if you would be so
kind.”

Socrato's
concern was warranted. Pirogoeth knew just enough about magical
artifacts and trinkets to be dangerous to herself and others. She
also knew this, and that very real danger was enough to keep her
curiosity from getting the better of her.

Her master
begin running his fingers along the shelves, muttering with
increasing annoyance as he did so. He abruptly yelped in triumph,
pulling out a book, only for his expression to turn into a snarl as
he grunted, “Wrong version. I want the sixth edition I made,
damn it.”

Socrato
crossed the room, passing in front of Pirogoeth, grumbling, “Did
I move it over here?” He continued with another round of
rummaging through bookshelves, rapidly growing irritated by his lack
of results. Finally he stopped and tapped his foot rapidly as he
drummed his index finger of his right hand on his chin.

Then with
a snap of his fingers, Socrato's face brightened. “How silly of
me! I put it on my desk last night because I knew I would need it
today.” He then crossed in front of Pirogoeth with a tired
sigh. “You'd think I was getting old with the way my memory is
falling apart.” Socrato stepped behind Pirogoeth to a
distressingly cluttered pine wood desk. Somewhere within that mess,
the sage emerged triumphant with a blue leather bound book, entirely
plain on the cover, as per Socrato's tendency.

“Here
we go. I prefer this version as it is one that I personally
transcribed with proper corrections that make it more effective than
the edition that preceded it,” Socrato said, handing the tome
over to his apprentice. “This is the Book of Life and Death;
and it is every bit as dangerous at its name implies. It possesses
many of the spells that define the magic arts of restoration and
decay.”

“These
are not techniques to
take lightly,” Socrato warned. “They are extremely
advanced, and most mages aren't fit to even try
to use them.”

Pirogoeth
understood that much. Torma had noted that while she had a book of
restoration spells, she was loathe to use them. “Torma had said
that healing spells scared her more than decay spells, which still
seems odd to me,” Pirogoeth admitted. “I don't understand
why.”

“Decay
is the natural order of things,” Socrato explained.
“Restoration is a rejection of that natural order, and mages
can feel it in their bones when they try. Unless you have absolute
domination of the tome you are channeling from, healing has a
tendency to steal your own life essence to help fuel the spell. It is
as unpleasant as it sounds. I am eternally grateful for the mages
that came to my aid from every corner of the world to restore my
health, for they no doubt paid for it with a bit of themselves.”

Making
someone else's arm rot didn't sound so bad after all.

“Restoration
and decay are examples of spells that have material and
ethereal elements. They are techniques that
draw their energy from beyond nature, like ethereal magic, but they
very clearly have effects that are physical in ways that ethereal
magic isn't.” Socrato had his apprentice's full attention. “Now
do you see how the lines blur? Magic is not something that is, or
ever will be, neatly defined.”

Pirogoeth
nodded. “I suppose so, though I suspect that I'll have an
entirely different opinion once I start trying to actually use these
skills.”

“Perhaps.
For now, get acclimated with this tome as always. But I would
strongly advise against attempting to channel any of them like you
have in all the other tomes I've given you.” Pirogoeth flushed
guiltily at the words, but Socrato waved off her worry. “Oh do
not be like that. I know you are exceptionally gifted with such
self-exploration, and you would probably be perfectly fine doing the
same here. But as the techniques get more complicated, the more it
would ease my mind for you to start playing around with them with my
supervision.”

Pirogoeth
nodded again. “Yes, master.”

Socrato
shooed her away, then called out to her as she started to leave. “Oh!
One last thing. Be sure to have your toga cleaned and ready by the
day after tomorrow.”

“Why
is that, master?”

“I
received word that a very important visitor should be arriving by
evening the day after tomorrow, one of considerable prominence that
demands formal and traditional attire. As a result, the usual dinner
buffet will also be a more traditional meal. I suspect our guest
would not care on either count, but it's a matter of appearances and
proper respect for a man of his station.”

Pirogoeth
couldn't help but note that Socrato hadn't mentioned exactly who
was coming. “Who is coming, master?”

“I'm
not really at liberty to say. You see, he is supposed
to be on orders to go straight back to the
First Capital, and he is somewhat bending those orders to stop here
to resupply. I'd rather not implicate him just yet. Now off with you.
Clean up and be ready for dinner in an hour.”

Pirogoeth
couldn't gossip about the news at the meal with Taima, and thus had
to wait until the pair were excused to their evening business. She
hurried Taima towards her chambers, pulling to a stop just short of
the door.

“Hold
on, one second. I want to try and change the color of the room,”
the apprentice said, realizing an opportunity to test her skills of
illusion. She focused on the room inside, changing its color. “Okay,
now you can go in.”

Taima did
so and squealed in delight. “Oh! You changed the color! I love
red!”

Pirogoeth
sighed in defeat. “It was supposed to be green...”
She had forgotten that she needed to influence Taima's mind first,
lead the servant girl's vision in the direction Pirogoeth wanted.
Lacking that, Taima latched onto a different color, either from
personal taste or from some other unexpected outside influence.

“Oh!
Now I see it!” Taima yelped. “How very clever!”

“Not
clever enough yet,” Pirogoeth grumped sourly, finally stepping
into the room and dropping the illusion so that Socrato's initial
blue once again commanded the room.

Taima
patted Pirogoeth on the shoulder warmly, “You'll get there!”
She then turned conspiratorial, and closed the door. “But
something tells me that what you wanted to talk about so eagerly
during dinner wasn't your attempts at decoration.”

“I
trust you know that you'll be working the day after tomorrow instead
of the buffet dinner.”

Taima
shrugged. “That happens from time to time. I'm sure that means
someone important is coming.”

“He's
done this before?”

Taima
nodded. “Though he's never been secretive about who or what the
matter of business is. I can only imagine who it might be. I wouldn't
worry about it terribly much. In less than two days, the secret will
be out.”

Pirogoeth
acknowledged this. Besides, she had too much on her plate to worry
about some secret event happening in forty-eight hours. Some of which
she should get to. “Well, I suppose it's back to study for me
then,” the apprentice said.

“Back
to the library?” Taima surmised. “Studying more history,
are you?”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “More current events now. I'm thinking Socrato
just wants someone he can debate with.”

“I
should return to help with cleanup anyway. Vargat says I don't have
to, but I'll have to get used to always being at work once I have my
own restaurant. Might as well get used to it now, yes?”

The girls
parted ways, each to their tasks, even as Pirogoeth's treasonous mind
continued to mull over the coming mystery in two days' time.

It was
going to be a long two days...

Day 63:
Important Guests

Pirogoeth
blamed her complete logjam of thoughts on the upcoming important
dinner. It was easier than concluding she was completely and
hopelessly stumped.

Socrato
had given her the day off from her magical studies, citing
administrative business that he needed to get done so that he'd be
able to devote the evening to entertaining their still secret
visitor. Pirogoeth decided to occupy her time with another attempt to
solve the conundrum created by the venerated citizens abusing their
power.

It seemed
better than letting her curiosity run wild... though the frustration
she was currently facing was probably a wash. She felt reasonably
caught up with all the twists and turns in the case, or at least as
much as she could hope to be without devoting years to
studying Aramathean law, and she could see now just why it frustrated
Socrato so.

It was
clearly and blatantly evident that the venerated citizens charged
were abusing their power and ruining the lives of others in order to
gain material wealth. While it was true that lower citizens should
have gotten the hint these venerated were bad news and to stay away,
that didn't excuse the fact that these venerated citizens were
destroying entire families in their lust for property and money.

And yet,
despite this wrongdoing – one of the citizens charged actually
went on record bragging about being untouchable – they were
using the law and bureaucracy as a shield in a way that was never
intended.

Every idea
she came up with, Socrato already had, and had run into the same
roadblock; that the schooling was not what was being traded, and so
long as the venerated citizens offered something tangible in
exchange, it was entirely legal. The quality of schooling, or lack
thereof, was “free”, and thus not something tradeable,
and thus not something that could be contested as fraud.

She
dropped her head into her hands and groaned. Why did she agree to do
this? Why was she still even trying?

“My
lady!” Taima squealed in excitement; Pirogoeth was able to hear
the servant girl charging up the staircase and into the library. The
noise startled both her and the librarian, who angrily hissed at
Taima to quiet down.

Taima did
settle herself, at least vocally. When she appeared in the room
Pirogoeth languished in, the servant girl was still shaking visibly,
like a tightly pulled harp string.

“Have
you been chewing Socrato's coffee beans again?” Pirogoeth asked
sharply.

Taima's
grin broadened until Pirogoeth swore she was half teeth. The servant
girl raised her arms and brandished two things; a bronze sash, and a
large envelope. “They finally came! The Registrar in Grand
Aramathea finally accepted the Craftsman's Writ, and I am officially
a lower citizen! I can wear this to dinner as a true citizen of the
empire!”

Pirogoeth
jumped to her feet, and threw her arms around Taima.
“Congratulations! One step closer to your dream!”

“I
try not to think about it as being ten years away,” Taima said.
“It's rather amusing that the only thing that is changing is my
official title. I'm now a chef, and not a chef's assistant, but I've
been doing that work and had those responsibilities for the last two
years anyway. But still... it matters to me!”

“And
it should!” Pirogoeth insisted. Then curiosity got the better
of her and pointed to the envelope. “And what is that,
exactly?”

Taima
replied, “Oh, that's the Writ itself. I don't particularly need
it, as I will be staying here working under Chef Vargat, but if I
wanted to get employment elsewhere I'd need it to prove that I am
actually certified to do what I claim I can. Another copy is with the
Registrar in Grand Aramathea that I can appeal to if this one is ever
lost or stolen.”

Pirogoeth
blinked. “So you need that as proof of your education?”

“Of
course. Did you think that people of the empire as a rule took a
citizen's word for it and just hired them?”

“I...
I'm not sure what I was thinking,” Pirogoeth admitted, her mind
churning as a thought bubbled in her head. She quickly dashed back to
where she was seating, rifling through one source after another
quickly to see if this most serendipitous idea was one that had been
argued.

She
squealed in triumph. It had not.

“My
lady?” Taima asked with curiosity. “What...?”

Pirogoeth
dashed back to Taima, and gave her a thankful hug. “No time. I
want to try and catch Socrato before I have to get all dressed up for
dinner. I'll see you later tonight.”

Taima
certainly wanted to know more, but Pirogoeth didn't give her the
opportunity, leaving in a rush, and the servant girl had her own
business to attend to that prevented her from giving chase. Which was
probably a good thing... Pirogoeth didn't want to have to explain
herself until she got Socrato's opinion.

Not
finding him in his public office on the first floor, she dashed madly
through the halls asking anyone she ran into if they had any idea
where Socrato could have been. The search proved to be unnecessary,
as Socrato was doing the exact same thing looking for her.

“Where
have you been?” Socrato demanded angrily. “I have been
looking for you for the last half hour!”

“Master,
I think I've found a solution...” Pirogoeth began excitedly.

The sage
cut her off. “Later! Right now, you must get changed and meet
me in the banquet hall as soon as possible.”

“But...
the evening meal isn't for another hour at least.” Then she
added tentatively, “Right?”

“The
schedule has changed. We're getting another 'guest' and as much as
I'd rather not, proper decorum would be to entertain and dine him
after such a distance traveled.”

This new
arrival was clearly announced with very little warning, as Socrato
rarely showed such visible annoyance otherwise. While a very adaptive
and pragmatic personality, that did not mean he liked deviations from
previously made plans.

“This
doesn't have to do with the secret guest you were planning to host,
does it?”

Socrato's
expression grew dark. “No, it does not,” he grumbled.
“And I suspect he will want to see you, specifically.”

Pirogoeth
was confused. “Me? Why me?”

Socrato
sighed. “I'll let you guess. Our visitor is an ambassador from
Avalon.”

Pirogoeth
snapped her eyes shut, her face twisted in anticipation of the coming
headache. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,”
Her master said tiredly. “Now get changed. The sooner we get
this ambassador in and out of my keep, the better the chances he
leaves with our dignity still intact. Quickly now.”

Pirogoeth
dashed as rapidly as safety would allow to her chambers, where she
immediately discovered one fairly significant problem: she had
forgotten Lanka's instructions on how to put the damned toga on.

She
experimented with different methods of wrapping the long, singular
length of cloth around her body, but it either didn't look right or
would fall open in very inappropriate ways, if not fall off
completely.

A knock on
her door made her squeak frightfully before Taima's voice from the
other side calmed her. “My lady? The Dominus sent me. He
thought you could use my help? But I don't know why?”

With a
heavy release of breath, Pirogoeth covered her chest with her right
arm as she cracked the door open with her left. “Oh Coders
thank you, I can't figure out how to put this accursed garment on.”

Taima
smiled broadly. “Just like an Avalonian princess.”

“I
will burn that toga clean off your body in the middle of you serving
dinner if you make another comment like that,” Pirogoeth warned
with a hiss.

Taima, of
course, had slung her pristine while toga across her frame, proudly
sporting her new bronze sash. “I understand, my lady. Now
please allow me inside and I shall properly instruct you on
traditional Aramathean dress.”

Pirogoeth
complied, and Taima began her assistance. “Firstly, let's get
you properly wrapped up. Sometimes, even when properly put on, the
toga can slip. I don't even have that confidence, and I've been
putting these things on for years.”

Taima
rummaged around for some linen that could service as a top. “The
trick is to have a wrap the same color as your toga, so that no one
can tell the difference unless they are looking very closely.
I don't think anyone will hold it against you, though, so this
should suit.” The servant girl held up a roll of white gauze,
intended for first aid purposes, after tightly wrapping it around
Pirogoeth's chest, and securing it in the back with a pin, Taima
moved on to the toga itself.

“Now,
watch carefully.” Taima started by folding the large rectangle
of cloth in half. “It really helps to have a second person
working with you to put these on anyway.”
She explained as she draped the section of material over Pirogoeth's
right shoulder. “Even with experience, an extra set of hands
makes this easier.”

She then
adjusted the front side of the cloth until it was the longer of the
two, then took it around Pirogoeth's chest, under her right arm, then
over the left shoulder, that part hanging to form the front side of
the “skirt”, then shifted the shorter side so that it
formed the back half.

“The
sash helps keep it together, somewhat,” Taima finished, tying
the brown belt around Pirogoeth's waist, “but it really is more
for show than anything. And all done! Now, I must get back to the
kitchen promptly. The time for dinner has been pushed forward, and
Vargat needs my hands.”

“Then
go!” Pirogoeth yelped, pointing animatedly at the door. “And
thank you again for your help.”

Taima
nodded, and made haste leaving, moving so quickly that Pirogoeth
could hear the servant girl's footsteps in the hall. It reminded
Pirogoeth that she had somewhere to be quickly as well, and
within seconds, she was charging right down Taima's same path towards
the banquet hall.

Socrato
gestured to her as she appeared, silently motioning for her to sit
next to him at the main table. “Still no word on our Avalonian
guest's arrival,” Socrato said. “Captain Daneid is
supposed to be sending word once the envoy is spotted. I hope he
doesn't run too late. Message via hawk from Helenus is that our
desired guest should be arriving on schedule.”

“Would
it be that much of a
problem if they both arrived at the same time?” Pirogoeth
asked.

“Our
wanted guest is one that should not share hospitality. He also would
not be pleased to see foreign entities imposing themselves onto
Aramathean territory on what he would consider trivial affairs... and
he has not exactly refined his diplomatic tongue.”

“You're
worried about one or both of our guests making a scene if in the same
room,” Pirogoeth concluded.

“Quite.”
Socrato gestured to a servant standing at the side of the door that
led to the kitchens. “Send in the appetizers once they are
ready. We may be here a while.”

Small talk
with her master was a very unnerving thing, Pirogoeth discovered. Not
because she wasn't used to such banter from a teaching figure... but
that the sort of things that Socrato deemed small talk was quite
frightening.

Like, “Did
you know that human skin melts at a little over one hundred and sixty
degrees? I didn't until yesterday.”

Or, “Did
you know it's possible to lower air pressure enough for your blood to
boil at room temperature?”

He
finished with, “And close your mouth, girl. It is most
undignified to chew with your mouth open.”

Any reply
Pirogoeth could have made was interrupted by the tower herald
appearing at the main entrance. “Dominus, our guest from Avalon
has arrived.”

Socrato
animatedly gestured at the herald to get on with it. “Yes, yes.
Very good. Send him in.”

The herald
nodded and disappeared momentarily. When he returned, it was with
proper pomp and circumstance, declaring with a hearty voice,
“Dominus, I present to you Cavalier Norman of West Snake
River.”

A tall yet
thin man appeared behind the herald, dressed in a royal blue vest
with silver lapels dotted with golden pins and red ribbons, and a
white full length dress shirt underneath, complete with ruffles in
the chest and sleeves that flared at the forearms before hugging
tight at the wristband. His trousers were the same color as the vest
with a silver stripe down the exterior of the legs and ended with
dutifully polished black leather boots.

He was an
older man, judging from his full head of gray hair, though not so old
that his face showed any significant wrinkles or a heavily receding
hairline. He moved confidently, more through the herald than
around him, an arrogance that came from a lifetime of
authority.

“Cavalier,
is it?” Socrato said. “Odd to see such a title from a man
representing the Republican Provinces of Avalon.”

“Not
all noblemen supported the crown during the revolution,” Norman
answered crossly. His voice was graveled, and laced with irritation.
He didn't want to be here, that much was evident.

This was a
good thing, Pirogoeth figured. Socrato didn't particularly want the
Cavalier here either. Perhaps it meant Norman would take one look at
Pirogoeth, shake his head, and leave without further theatrics.

There
would be no such luck. “Rumor has reached Caravel that you are
harboring a fugitive member of the deposed royal family here,”
Norman said with annoyance. “I would sincerely hope that is not
the case.”

“And
if it were?” Socrato asked.

“The
royal family, any who may live, are criminals in the eyes of the
Republic. Our response would be the same with any other high criminal
fugitive being harbored in a foreign land.”

Socrato
seemed more than willing to poke the Avalonian. “Oh, so you
mean bluster impotently for months, if not years, until the harboring
entity finally tires of your whining? In case you have forgotten
where you are, Cavalier, this is my keep. I will do as I
please, whether Avalon likes it or not.”

Norman
didn't respond verbally, though his slowly clenching fists spoke
volumes as to how he truly felt.

“But
you can return to Caravel, and inform your paranoid parliament that I
am harboring no one outside of a young girl from the Free Provinces
who I can assure you is no princess of any land.” Socrato
finished dismissively.

Norman,
not surprisingly, wasn't the least bit assured by Socrato's say so.
“I will be the judge of that, Dominus...” Then hastily
adding with what was the closest tone to polite he had offered so
far, “if I may.”

Socrato
gestured with an upturned palm to Pirogoeth, and said, “Apprentice,
do present yourself to our guest.”

Pirogoeth
made a sour face as she stood. She bristled at the distasteful
staredown Norman offered her, even though she should have found it a
good thing, really. The less this nonsense continued the better...
but it still wasn't nice to receive such a baleful eye.

“This
girl looks nothing like
Princess Viola,” Norman scoffed. “If you are going to
present a pretender to the throne, I think you should try harder.”

“Good!
Because I'm not trying to!” Pirogoeth finally snapped with all
the venom she could lace into her tongue. Implying her master was a
liar did not set well with her. “I'm sorry you came all this
way for nothing chasing some ghost that isn't, and never has, settled
here.”

Norman's
jaw set angrily. “Now see here, child. I have it on good ears
that a woman matching the rumored lost princess was seen here, taken
from the Free Provinces. So pardon me when your patron tries to pawn
off an obvious misdirection on me.”

Socrato's
temper started to boil, “Then your good ears aren't nearly as
good as you think.”

“I'm
not going to give you too many chances, Dominus. I will not accept
much stonewalling on this issue. Present to me this woman that my
sources have seen, and we can end this charade. If you think to
destabilize Avalon again with
this nonsensical rumor of a lost princess, we will...”

“Will
what?”

All three
heads whipped in the direction of the main entry and the source of
the voice. It was powerful and authoritative, and the man it belonged
to matched that voice admirably. He was not very old, Pirogoeth
guessed, maybe his early thirties, with rich coal black hair and an
equally lush if trimmed beard. Heavily muscled and imposing, he was
easily a foot and a half over her, and every inch of his frame was
packed with more muscle than it should rightfully be able to carry.

He was
dressed similarly to the Phalanx soldiers that guarded the keep,
though his armor was much more elaborate, with etched patterns across
the bronzed steel chestplate. The spear and shield on his back were
also decorated elaborately, notably the large ruby colored stone
embedded into the spearhead. His helmet, tucked under his left arm,
carried a plume of red with gold stripes, unlike the solid red of the
soldiers she had seen previously.

This man
was a member of the army. And even though Pirogoeth had little
knowledge of the indicators of rank, even she could tell it was very
high ranking member at that.

“Cavalier
Norman, allow me to introduce you to General Argaeus.” Socrato
said, his ire dissolved into nervousness. This was clearly the
intended guest, and judging from the very deliberate and loud
footsteps from the general, Pirogoeth sensed that his worry was
justified. Sparks were about to fly.

“You
seem to forget your place, Cavalier,” Argaeus growled,
menacingly. Every hint of his body language seethed aggression. “This
is not Avalon.”
The next three words were delivered with clear enunciation to
emphasize them. “This. Is. Aramathea. This is my
land. This is my home.
It is under my protection,
and you are currently violating that boundary. You are in no position
to be issuing demands or making threats. I, on the other hand... am.”

The short
sword dangling at the general's hip moved with a flash, the hiltless
blade's tip coming to a stop less than an inch under Norman's head
and in front of his throat. “For a self-admitted pointless
search of fantasy, you and your fellow Avalonians seem to put an
undue amount of time and effort into dispelling it.”

For once,
the Cavalier was content to be silent, though Pirogoeth doubted there
were too many men of enough courage to even attempt to muster a voice
in his situation.

The
general's voice lowered, but every bit of menacing power remained. “I
care little about what stones you overturn in Avalon. I also don't
care what city-states you turn inside out in the Free Provinces. But
your mad crusade stops at the borders of Aramathea from this point
forward. If the Dominus tells you no one by that description resides
in Kartage, that means no one by that description resides in
Kartage.”

The blade
danced subtly upward until it tapped Norman on the chin. “Unless
you wish to declare the Dominus, a venerated citizen of the First
Empire, a liar. At which point, I am terribly afraid I would have to
take offense. And rest assured, that would end very badly for you.”

Argaeus
lowered the sword, returning it to its sheath, his growl steadily
increasing in volume until he was at full bellow. “Now, return
to your hole in your swamp. Tell your Parliament that if your lost
princess resides here, she is beyond your reach. And impress upon
them that this will be the end of it. For if it is not, if
Avalonian boots tread upon my land again searching for anyone,
princess or pauper, without the expressed permission of the
Emperor... that the response will be my steel, and my army,
burning your filthy growth of a kingdom down until all that is left
is the peat moss!”

Pirogoeth
recoiled. She didn't dare air her thoughts, but if she had, it would
have been to remark on the nature of disproportionate responses. Then
she wondered if General Argaeus even had the authority to do
such a thing. A look in her master's direction, and the color drained
from his face in horror, told her that he even if Argaeus didn't, the
general had an authority close enough to it to make very little
difference in the end.

But it
seemed to work on Norman, at the very least. Even if the Cavalier
thought it was just bluster, there was no way he was going to test
that theory. “Very well,” he said slowly. “I will
deliver your words to the Parliament. Though I doubt they will be
intimidated into compliance.”

“If
they value their existence, they will,” Argaeus replied,
turning aside to allow the Cavalier to leave, which mercifully Norman
did, taking step behind the herald who would lead him out of the
inner keep.”

Once
alone, Argaeus's demeanor changed. He was much more reserved, even
friendly. “I apologize for that. This is not the first time
agents of Avalon have crossed into the First Empire. I have grown
tired of their incursions, both official and clandestine.”

He then
looked over the direction of Pirogoeth's right shoulder. Taima was
hovering in the doorway between the hall and the kitchen, holding a
tray of roasted duck, her poor knees visibly trembling from fright.
Argaeus waved his arm animatedly to beckon her forward. “Oh
come now, dear lady. I only bite mangy dogs of Avalon. Your Dominus
and his apprentice are no doubt hungry!”

Socrato
had regained his composure by that point. “Only if you would
join us, General.”

“Delighted
to, my friend,” Argaeus answered amiably, pulling forward a
seat across from them before sitting as Taima and the kitchen staff
began serving the main courses.

“I
was supposed to receive notice of your arrival,” Socrato said,
though it really was more of a question than a statement.

“I
ordered Captain Daneid to not report
to you when I saw Avalon's standard in the keep,” Argaeus
explained. “I knew that you would try to hide him from me if
you knew of my arrival.”

Socrato
sighed in defeat. “You know me too well at this point.”

Pirogoeth
stepped in, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Why would
they secretly poke around Aramathea? Surely there are official
channels they can work with.”

Argaeus
regarded her. “You must be the new apprentice, Pirogoeth. I
apologize for the lack of proper introduction, but sometimes
pleasantries can't always be properly exchanged. Anyways, they don't
bother trying to beseech our aid because they know they will be
rebuffed. Aramathea does not consider being born into the wrong
family a crime.”

“Even
if the youngest daughter of Avalon's royal family was
here, we would not aid them in her
apprehension,” Socrato added, “and they know it. Not that
it matters. They could tear this entire continent apart, and still
come up empty.”

“Why
is that?” Pirogoeth asked.

“Because
the Princess Viola is most assuredly dead with the rest of her
family. She would have been barely old enough to walk during the
Revolution,” Socrato said. “Where could she have gone?
The only reason that the myth has any legs is because supposedly no
one was able to find the royal bunker that she and her nursemaid
would have been hiding in. There's no other evidence, no signs that
anyone from the royal
family survived that midnight raid.”

“Personally,
my suspicion is that there is a rebel somewhere who knows exactly
where the child is. Her body at any rate,” Argaeus said between
bites. “I certainly wouldn't want to admit to killing a babe.
That silence gives the rumor legs.”

“Besides,
if there were a refugee princess out there, the first place she would
go is Domina Morgana's keep, who has given asylum to any
nobleman who has come to her gates,”
Socrato said with finality. “Even now, the Parliament dares not
impose their will on her lands, for they know it would be folly. She
has seen no one from the royal family.”

Argaeus
coughed loudly. “Enough gossip on foreign lands. So, if you
have a new apprentice, I trust you have heard from... what was her
name... your last one?” He looked up at Taima who had abruptly
appeared to refill wine glasses with a nod of approval.

Socrato's
eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Torma. And don't pretend you
didn't know that. She is still a journeyman, traveling through the
Free Provinces. She was actually the one who discovered Pirogoeth
here.”

“Did
she?” Argaeus said, giving Pirogoeth a warm smile. “Well,
if you pass muster with both her and the Dominus, you must truly be a
formidable mage in training, my dear.” Then to Socrato, he
asked, “Is there any timetable on her return?”

“I
suspect you will know better than I, General,” Socrato said
darkly. “As I suspect she will appear on your doorstep upon her
return to the empire long before mine. Oh yes... I know exactly how
familiar,” he coughed conspicuously after that word, “the
two of you got over her time as my apprentice. Though I admit that I
am surprised you are still pursuing news of her.”

Argaeus
grinned smugly. “Then you don't know quite as much as you
think, my friend. I asked for her hand upon her departure from the
empire.”

That got
Socrato's eyebrows to raise. “And your father approves of
this?”

“Not
his decision to make,” the general answered with a shrug.
“Though, yes, he does approve for the record. Torma is hardly
of mongrel stock or of low status, for what little it should matter.”

Socrato
nodded. “I suppose that's true enough.”

Pirogoeth
couldn't help but slip in a dangerous tease, “I think my master
is so used to treating any apprentice like a worm that he forgets
their station in life.”

It got the
desired effect; Socrato glowered in insult while Argaeus belted out a
burst of laughter. “I only laugh because I know that's not
true,” Argaeus said when Socrato's silent ire turned on him.

“And
I only say it because it's not true,” Pirogoeth added with a
smile.

Two could
play at that game, Socrato demonstrated; “Far too late to
prevent you getting mop duty in the hall arcana tomorrow.”
Pirogoeth cringed, even though she got the joke for what it was. She
was hardly upset with cleaning work, and had always taken those tasks
without any complaint.

Taima
appeared again, bearing a tray of sweet rolls, and a refill of their
wine. Remembering Taima's warning at the party about sugar and
alcohol, Pirogoeth asked, “General, out of curiosity, I was
told that there was a tradition within the army about eating lots of
sweets and strong wine...”

“Oh
yes, that stupid
thing,” Argaeus replied with a roll of his eyes. “Many
institutions have strange rituals that make very little sense beyond
building camaraderie. That is one of ours.”

Socrato
grinned mischievously. “Yes... do tell her your experience.”

Argaeus
laughed. “It is a bit of an encouragement to those who fail,
and a great many do. I dare say I vomited three times during that
little trial. I don't think it stunted my career growth any. My skill
with my spear and tactics weighed far more heavily than my stomach.”

And then
Argaeus's tone and expression turned grave. “There is a
reason I came here, Socrato. I think it is best we deal with that
business shortly.”

Socrato
nodded. “Pirogoeth, could you inform Chef Vargat to have
dessert prepared outside my lower study? I will get to it once I am
able.”

Pirogoeth
agreed, and went to the kitchen as Socrato and Argaeus took the
opposite path to the exit. After the apprentice relayed Socrato's
orders, Taima approached her, still in a daze. “That was
Socrato's secret guest?”

“Who
is he?” Pirogoeth asked. “I mean, outside of a general?
Because I sense there's more to him.”

Taima
nodded slowly. “Much more! General Argaeus is the son of
Emperor Macedon, and the Emperor's likely successor!”

That would
explain Socrato's panic at Argaeus's implied threat of war. And that
reminded her of her findings before all the drama at dinner occurred.
It was a perfect chance! “Could... you tell Vargat to have
dessert ready outside my chambers too? I just realized something I
have to do.” Taima nodded as Pirogoeth dashed away, hoping to
catch the two men before they reached Socrato's study and began their
private business.

It wasn't
a long trip, just across the inner keep, and she cut through the
court hall to save time. Nonetheless, she was just a shade too late,
the door to Socrato's study closing with a click five strides too
soon.

She
decided to wait, as this was an opportunity she simply couldn't miss.
The pair inside started talking in hushed tones, though she could
almost make out what was being said despite the door and their
attempt at quiet. Curiosity got the better of her, and she quietly
approached, pressing her ear against the door. If only they would
talk just a little bit louder...

“And
you're sure of this?” she abruptly heard Socrato say, as if he
had complied to her wishes.

Argaeus
did as well. “The company mages definitely sensed the ley lines
in the islands weakening. One of our scouting vessels... was nearly
lost to the Void. It's definitely closer than it's ever been.”
Pirogoeth's eyes bulged.

“Of
all the times I had wished my observations were wrong.” Socrato
said bitterly. “So... South Gibraltar.”

Pirogoeth
had heard of the islands in the South Forever Sea. They were sparsely
populated at best... there had been a surge of interest in potential
precious metals being found deep in the caves from the dormant
volcanoes that formed the islands, as well as trolls, thought long
extinct after the fall of the southern continents.

But once
that interest had faded, it returned to the mostly uninhabitable land
it had been before. While she doubted many would miss it, that it was
in danger at all was the troubling part. It meant that the Void was
indeed approaching. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the harsh
truth hit her hard.

The Void
was coming. No place was safe.

“How
long do we have?” Argaeus asked.

Socrato
answered, “The Void moves slowly. It could be another four
months before it reaches land, from what you're telling me on these
maps. That does not mean we can delay, though. The void
expands through regions rapidly once the energies from the Code
vanish completely.”

“I
will inform my father of your findings the moment I return to the
First Capital. It won't even be a month before we will have the
island cleared.”

“Do
so,” Socrato agreed. Then asked, “Were the gold pirates
also there?”

“I
was going to bring that up myself. Because they were. In force, in
fact. At least five ships, as they were anchored near the islands,
and perhaps more in open water. They weren't particularly cooperative
or conversational. The best my men could gather was that they had
business on the island, and were not inclined to share what that
business was.”

Socrato
hummed thoughtfully.

“You
don't think they have something to do with the coming collapse, do
you?” Argaeus wondered. “Because I'm not entirely certain
anymore.”

“Explain.”

“One
of the gold pirates vessels saved one of mine from falling into the
Void, drawing it away from dire water. Secondly, It would seem that
if the gold pirates had that sort of power, to collapse entire
regions, that they would have no doubt used it before this.”

“And
yet every time there is movement of the Void over the last sixty
years, the gold pirates are seen in force,” Socrato countered.
“That is not coincidence.
At the very least, they have information that we do not, and I do not
like it in the slightest.”

Argaeus
then nervously broached the obvious topic. “Dominus, once the
South Gibraltar Islands collapse, there won't be any way to hide the
truth. My father is going to want to know when we should inform the
public, preferably before it actually happens.”

“As
soon as he is comfortable with our findings,” Socrato said,
sounding intensely defeated. “I agree it needs to be before the
islands actually fall. The people will need to trust us in the coming
years, and that will be impossible if they think we have been lying
to them.”

“You
still think there's a solution?”

Socrato
didn't sound nearly as confident as his words suggested. “There
has to be. The Coders didn't grant some of us the ability to
manipulate the Code of the World if they didn't want us to...”

His voice
died off, as if he just realized how loudly he had been talking.
“Speaking of which... hold a moment, Argaeus,” he said
warily, then grabbed the door and yanked it open as Pirogoeth
staggered backward in a panic.

Socrato
made no attempts to hide his displeasure. “Apprentice, what
are you doing?”

She didn't
know if Socrato had some sort of arcane trick to detect falsehood, or
if experience simply gave him insight on how and why people lie. So
in a surprising bit of cleverness, Pirogoeth told a carefully edited
part of the truth. “I... I was waiting for your meeting with
the general to conclude. I... I had something I wanted to ask him.”

Her
master's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Argaeus
stepped in. “Well, I am here, and I think the general thrust of
my business is concluded. Details can be worked out shortly, my
friend. Come in, apprentice.”

She
nervously shuffled forward, still worried about being punished for
eavesdropping. She jerked when Socrato closed the door behind her,
and took his seat behind his desk. Argaeus was leaning against the
wall to her right just in front of the cabinet where Socrato was
known to keep a small mountain of paperwork.

“What
do wish to ask of me, my lady?” Argaeus queried, his voice
pleasant and disarming.

Pirogoeth
gulped back her nerves, took a breath, and said, “Is it true
that you are the emperor's son?”

Argaeus
nodded, though he seemed put off by the question. “One of five
children. Yes. I'm the second youngest, for what it is worth.”

“And
the only one of the five to actually accomplish anything of note in
his or her life,” Socrato sternly added. “You are indeed
looking at the next Emperor when Macedon passes away or retires.”

“Maybe,”
Argaeus countered.

Socrato
turned to Pirogoeth and asserted, “He will. Don't let his
attempt at humility fool you.”

“Then
you know about the venerated citizens who are fraudulently offering
opportunities of higher citizenship?” Pirogoeth asked.

Argaeus
nodded. “I am not familiar with all the details, as my
duties often take me away from the First Capital, but I do know of
the problem. It has bothered my father considerably, especially over
this last year. As I understand, as long as the fiends offer
something tangible, they can claim the education is free, and there's
little else that can be done.”

Pirogoeth
smiled. “But what if I told you they are trading
something tangible other than room and board?”

Socrato's
eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

Pirogoeth
turned to him and chirped sweetly, “The Craftsman's Writ and
the Writ of Mastery. Both of those are very physical things that
prospective citizens need to prove their worth or claim employment.”

Socrato's
eyes flared open in astonishment. “Of course! That's
brilliant!”

Argaeus
wasn't nearly as convinced. “I think that would be stretching
the definition of tradable goods a little thin.”

Socrato,
on the other hand, was already sold. He cheered, “Hah!
Considering how long those fiends have been able to defend their
illicit doings with careful word play and twisting definitions beyond
their original intent, it would be poetic justice for such tricks to
be their undoing!”

“But
how would that help matters? The problem from what I can tell isn't
that the venerated aren't issuing these writs; it's that the
prospective citizens are ill prepared and unable to pass muster,”
The general wondered.

Socrato
countered. “But if the writs were declared tradable goods, they
would fall under imperial trade oversight! The venerated would have
to demonstrate they are properly preparing their prospects, and that
would completely undermine their entire scheme!”

“Or
just mean another level of bureaucracy they'd have to bribe,”
Argaeus said sourly.

“There
are established ways that can
be countered,” Socrato said, undeterred. “But this...
this is the argument I needed!” He jumped to his feet with
speed betraying his age and lifted Pirogoeth off the ground in an
enthusiastic hug. “Brilliant girl! You're lucky you are so
clever, for I'll forgive your attempts at eavesdropping!”

He hastily
set her down, and shooed her off with a smile. “Now, best be
off. The general and I do have to finish our business. Off you go!”

Pirogoeth
was elated, and rightfully so, as she skipped back to her chambers...
at least part of the way. Then as the euphoria of her master's
approval wore off, the rest of the news she wasn't supposed to hear
sank in. And much like the source of that news, it sank her
enthusiasm and her mood, leaving behind an empty, lifeless pit in her
stomach.

By the
time she flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling for what
would prove to be a restless night, there was nothing left but that
gnawing pit of despair.

The Void
was coming, and no place was safe.

Day 66: A
Healing Touch

One of the
most underrated tendencies of the human mind was the ability to block
out uncomfortable or unmanageable truths, and bury them deep into the
back of the mind where they can't interfere with more benign worries.

Pirogoeth
discovered she had that ability, burying herself in her studies so
well that she didn't even stop to think about the news she had
overheard in Socrato's study. Socrato also didn't press her on the
matter, not even bringing up that eavesdropping the morning
following. Or the day after. Nor did he address it this morning,
either.

Instead,
he had something else to discuss.

“I
will be leaving for the First Capital today,” Socrato declared
over breakfast. “I should be gone no more than two weeks.”

“Oh?”
Pirogoeth said. Usually, her master declared even the most minute of
details long ahead of time. To make such a spontaneous announcement
of that scale was unprecedented. “Whatever for?”

“I
will be presenting your findings and my proposal to the Emperor,”
he replied. “No time like the present to repair the damage that
has been done.”

“I
haven't packed...” Pirogoeth noted.

Socrato
shook his head. “No reason to. You wouldn't want to come along
anyway. Boring, stuffy legal arguments. I wouldn't subject you to
that. My lectures are enough. Consider it a break, dear girl. A
vacation, if you will.”

She
thought about a vacation. Two weeks wasn't nearly enough time to...

Socrato
seemed to sense where his apprentice's thoughts were going.
“Considering all the drama surrounding you and lost Avalonian
princesses, it probably wouldn't be a prudent decision to leave
Aramathea, or Kartage specifically. I'm sure you miss home terribly,
and you'll have your chance to go back... but only when I can ensure
your safety during the trip.”

Pirogoeth
nodded, accepting her master's verdict on the matter. Meanwhile, her
mind was racing off in a different, and more guilty, direction. She
hadn't really thought about home or her family since her first couple
of days at Socrato's tower, and only thought about it now when the
prospect of a vacation had arisen. Contrary to Socrato's claim, she
didn't miss it all that much.

Did that
make her a bad person?

It was a
question she posed to Taima when they decided to spend that morning
window shopping in the bazaar after Socrato had officially departed
for Grand Aramathea. It was an otherwise wonderful day, an unusually
strong breeze coming off the sea cooling what would have been an
otherwise sweltering summer as it approached noon.

Taima's
reaction cooled the environment further. “I can't say I've
given much thought of home or my parents over the last five years.”

Pirogoeth
winced. She really should have given thought to Taima's strain
with her family before bringing up the issue. “Life in Bakkra
wasn't exactly easy for me, either. My parents weren't cads, true...
but the rest of the town wasn't exactly friendly to me.”

“Well,
I know those backwa...” Taima stopped herself from saying
'backwater', “places tend to have some perverse opinions about
mages. I can understand why you wouldn't miss it.”

Pirogoeth
shook her head, “No one had any idea about my magical talents,
not even me, until I was fourteen. I was bullied by my peers for
whatever reason they could think of. I've always been small... never
had much of a figure... never was strong or fast... never good at
talking to people... and all those things were excuses to treat me
like a mangy dog.”

Pirogoeth
continued her tale as Taima leaned in with concern. “When I was
younger, I would get abused on the playgrounds at school. I'd be
picked on during games, knocked down, tackled, kicked, punched,
bitten. I had my face buried in mud, spit on... one boy a year older
had his friends hold me down while he... urinated on me.”

Taima's
eyes bulged. “That's not just terrible, that's disgusting and
unsanitary!”

“I
was told it would get better when we were older, and that the abuse
of my peers was just part of growing up. That it would make me
stronger in the end. But it never really did. And it stayed that way
until...”

“Until?”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “During a lunch recess last year... some of the
girls in a higher grade attacked me. One of them picked up a rock,
and was going to throw it at me when...” the apprentice choked
up before finishing, “I... conjured fire, burning her face and
hair. Not badly... but it was enough to scare my schoolmates, and the
whole town at that.

I was put
in the stockade for a week while the mayor and the town elders
decided what to do with me. For once, I was lucky that our leaders
took forever to make a decision, because that gave time for the news
to spread to nearby city-states, and more specifically to Socrato's
previous apprentice, Torma. She was able to convince the mayor and
the elders that she could teach me how to control my power and that
no one had to be burned at the stake.”

Taima put
an arm around Pirogoeth's waist warmly. “Well, then I can
understand why you wouldn’t miss that mud hole. Let them live
in their barbaric ways.”

Pirogoeth
sobbed, “But... I feel like I should, and in way I do.
Why should the good parts of my home be cast aside and
forgotten because of the bad? What sort of selfish little monster
doesn't even give a second though to...”

Taima
silenced Pirogoeth with a more forceful hug that muffled any further
words into the servant girl's chest. “You are not a
monster, though I have no doubt you heard that said about you far too
many times. And you are giving second thoughts to those good
things, if you've been paying attention.”

She then
held Pirogoeth out at arm's length, and said, “The Dominus has
had you studying morning, noon, and night for over two months! What
time would you have had to think of anything else?” She
then looked across the cobblestone street, and said, “I know
what will make you feel better. Semi makes some wonderful almond
bread at the bakery across the way. Not as good as mine, of
course, but if I know you, you'll like it. Come on!”

They were
halfway across the street when a loud commotion interrupted them from
the north. A single cart, drawn by two horses had rushed past the
guards, who were now giving chase. A familiarity struck Pirogoeth,
like she should know who the horses belonged to... until she saw the
humongous man leading them. She couldn't place the name, but she
definitely remembered the large merchant that she had run into the
first day she arrived in Kartage.

She broke
free of Taima's hold, and sprinted to the cart as it was forced to
stop just short of the town square by the masses of people. She
arrived just as the Phalanx did, the soldiers angrily demanding the
merchant surrender.

“I
need help!” the large man shouted frantically. “My
brother is hurt! Please!”

Captain
Daneid intercepted Pirogoeth, but she would have none of it.

“My
lady, stand back...”

“Get
out of my way!” she shrieked. “He's frightened, and I'm
going to find out why!”

“He
could be dangerous, and Dominus Socrato would flay the skin off my
bones if you were harmed.”

“He's
a merchant,”
Pirogoeth growled, tapping into the training tome looped into her
belt for a surge of visible energy that she ignited into a harmless
flame, though Daneid didn't need to know that. “Now, if you do
not step aside this instant, I am going to try and confirm my
master's claim that skin melts at one hundred and sixty degrees.”

The
Phalanx captain reluctantly complied, deciding that the danger of
melted skin now was greater than the danger of flayed skin
later. He stood down, allowing Pirogoeth to pass, and ordered
the soldiers trying to force the merchant off of the cart to stand
down.

The large
merchant saw her, and also recognized her. “You... are the
Dominus's apprentice.”

“Yes.
I'm Pirogoeth. I'm sorry I don't remember your name.”

“Pierre,”
he said, his eyes repeatedly dashing towards the back of the cart,
that had been covered by a white sheet. “Is the Dominus
available? We need his help immediately. We were attacked by bandits
on the road, and Julian was wounded.”

Pirogoeth
rushed to the rear of the cart, ordering two of the soldiers to pull
back the sheet. Indeed, Pierre's brother was laying on a bed of
sheets on his side, his skin a deathly pallor, the side facing up
sporting a vicious puncture wound, with a shard of steel still
sticking through, blood soaked dressing wrapped tightly around it.

It was
remarkably good first aid, Pirogoeth noted, and no doubt the only
reason Julian was still alive. But he needed more complete attention,
and quickly. “Captain! Escort these men to the loading gate for
the inner keep. I need to get the proper tome, and I'll meet them
there.”

Pierre was
wary of those orders. “Why can't the Dominus aid us?”

“Dominus
Socrato is away,” Pirogoeth replied, fighting back insult. “I'm
going to be the best you can get.” Then she snapped to Daneid,
“Now, Captain!” She took off again into a sprint towards
the tower, Taima catching up in the process.

“What
is going on?” The servant girl asked.

“We're
about to find out just how well I've learned healing magic.”
Pirogoeth intentionally left out the “in five days” part
as she took to the steps in a full sprint, and only barely slowed
down through the interior halls of the tower.

“I'm
going to need to get myself a shoulder bag,” she grumbled once
she reached her chambers, flinging the door open and crossing the
distance to her desk in three strides. “I need to start
carrying all my tomes on me, that's all there is to it.”

Pirogoeth
grabbed the necessary tome of her desk, and turned to Taima who had
been waiting in the doorway. “Damn it... Taima, do you know of
a liquid called Norine Lavender? It would be in a red clay pot with a
brown stripe on the third row of shelves of the hall arcana, smells
like... well... like lavender. Can you get it for me?”

Taima
snapped her fingers with a smile. “Can do you better my lady.
Chef Vargat has some that he uses when the keep gets food from
foreign lands. How much will you need?”

Pirogoeth
shrugged. “Enough to test a piece of steel. Not sure how long
the piece is though.”

“I'll
grab a washbasin then. That should be enough.”

“Then
go. Meet me outside the loading gate as quickly as you can,”
Pirogoeth ordered as she grabbed a roll of linen gauze from a lower
drawer of her desk.

The girls
quickly parted ways, and Pirogoeth took as direct of a path as she
could to the gate used for large deliveries on the east side of the
inner keep. Unlike the front entrance, the loading gate was just a
single-door entry into the dry stock chamber, so small that Pirogoeth
was more than able to push it open herself even if the Phalanx hadn't
already been there and opened it for her.

Pirogoeth
was rifling through the pages of her tome, trying to commit to memory
all the spells she might need. Mending for deep tissue, assuredly,
but also toxin and disease purging spells as well. She just sincerely
hoped she didn't need to use all of them, as she suspected just the
mending spell would tax her horribly.

Daneid had
done as requested as well, and Pierre had nimbly backed the rear of
the cart to face the gate not even ten feet away, allowing her to hop
right in to tend to the wounded without having to break stride.

She was
now able to give the patient a closer look as Pierre hopped into the
back of the cart, clearly sick with worry. The metal stuck roughly
three inches out of Julian's side, was polished very well, and had
etching that she couldn't quite decipher from what little was
visible. That didn't set well with her. It could be runes that
carried any number of malicious intentions.

“He's
fortunate, as I don't think the blade hit anything vital. I'm going
to need to pull the metal out in order to heal it, but I don't want
to do that until I get the lavender I need,” she declared.

“What
for?” Pierre asked.

“Because
if this blade is poisoned or cursed, just healing the wound won't do
any good,” Pirogoeth replied grumpily.

“I
think it's a bit of stretch that it would be.”

“You
can think all you
want. I'd rather know.”

Pierre bit
his tongue, and she sensed he knew more than he was letting on. But
she had little time to press as Taima's voice drifted to her ears
from the dry stock room. She emerged seconds later in a brisk walk
holding a basin that hopefully held the Norine Lavender Pirogoeth
needed.

“My
lady! I have the lavender!” The servant girl shouted.

“I
need pliers!” Pirogoeth barked, holding out her hand behind
her. “Now!”

She wasn't
sure who pressed the tool into her hand, and really didn't care. She
was too busy moving on with her instructions. She shoved the roll of
gauze into Pierre's hands, and said, “I'll need you to hold him
down while I pull out the shard. Because it's going to hurt, I'm
sure. After that, you're going to need to unroll that, and apply as
much pressure on the wound as you can until I'm ready.”

Pierre
nodded silently, unwrapping a long length of gauze around his right
hand and forearm, then put both hands on Julian's shoulder and ribs.

Pirogoeth
took that as her cue. She clamped onto the exposed steel with the
pliers as tight as she could, then pulled. As she expected, Julian
jerked and howled in pain as Pirogoeth pulled out a five-inch long
narrow piece of very well maintained steel that tapered more to a
point than an edge. It wasn't like any weapon she had seen before,
but she was reasonably sure it wasn't any bandit blade.

She
couldn't give it much more thought, as time was of the essence, and
without that imposing piece, the bleeding would increase
significantly until healed.

“Taima!
Come here quickly!” She ordered. The servant girl complied,
bringing the basin over to where Pirogoeth could drop the shard of
steel into the liquid it held. “Tell me if it changes color. It
should only take a few seconds.”

Pirogoeth
then took a deep breath, and prepared herself for something she was
not going to find pleasant. She focused on her tome, opening the path
through her body, readying herself until she knew exactly what she
would need to channel.

“No
change, my lady.” Taima informed her.

Now she
knew what to do. “Okay, step aside, Pierre,” Pirogoeth
ordered. She took position, placing her hands over the wound, and
added, “Captain, Pierre, I may need you to catch me.”

“My
lady?” Daneid asked in concern.

“What
I'm about to do might drain me badly. It's possible I will black out
once I'm done. Just... try and make sure I don't crack my head open
falling out of this cart.”

She didn't
wait for them to argue further, focusing on herself and channeling
the spell she needed. As she expected, it did not flow easily, merely
a trickle that wouldn't have been able to mend a paper cut. She
demanded obedience, and the flow of energy increased reluctantly...
still not enough to heal the wound, but enough that it was showing a
tangible effect. Crackles of energy sparked off her hand, and it did
seem like the bleeding was starting to slow.

Pirogoeth's
vision blurred abruptly, and she shook her head to clear it. She set
her jaw, closed her eyes, and again imposed her will on the resisting
tome. She wasn't going to fail this man's life just because of some
uncooperative book.

Her sense
of hearing started to fail next, whatever Pierre was trying to say to
her reaching her ears a garbled, slurred mess of sound. Pirogoeth was
reduced more to working on instinct than what she could see in front
of her... which was fortunate because she couldn't see much.

The last
thing that she really remembered was being forcibly pulled away from
her patient, despite her slurred protests, before her vision
completely collapsed upon itself. Within that internal blackness,
time held no meaning. So it was hard for her to tell just how long
between that moment and when she started to hear voices from the
outside again.

I do
believe she is who we are looking for.

Do you
now? From what I have gathered, what you have is a meager talent
unable to maintain consciousness for a simple mending spell.

That
she learned to channel less than a week ago. Tell me, Morgana, how
well you fared the first time you tried such a skill on a real
person?

Your
pupil may be a swift learner, Socrato, but how can you be so certain
she has the type of talent we've been searching for?

I've
seen signs of her power to dominate, Augustus. I plan on making a
better observation in a more controlled environment, obviously, but I
do believe she will meet my expectations.

Or we
can continue our search and not hopelessly put all our hopes in this
waif of a girl. I could have another prospect easily enough...

Your
last apprentice tried to kill you and take control of your tower. I
think we've seen enough of your ability to judge character.

Augustus,
Morgana, enough. We do not have time for more searching. We do not
have time to keep scouring the continent. The Void approaches the
South Gibraltar Isles as we speak. Time is no longer our friend. The
both of you need to focus solely on your experiments and
observations. I will test my apprentice, and prepare her to my
fullest for the trials ahead.

I hope
you are right about this, Socrato.

As am
I, my friends. As am I.

Whatever
she had overheard had already started to fade from her memory by the
time her eyes started to flutter open. She desperately tried to
remember it, but the voices slipped through her fingers like water,
then dashed entirely when a cold wet towel was pressed against her
forehead.

Her eyes
flashed open, and Socrato's voice instantly said soothingly, “At
ease, dear girl. You are well. No doubt extremely tired, but well.”

Socrato?
Here? “How... how long have I been out? Has it... has it been
weeks?”

Her master
laughed lightly. “Not even half the day. Captain Daneid sent
word to chase me down after you collapsed. Poor man was at a loss
with what to do; thought you had killed yourself to save some damn
fool merchant who had gotten on the wrong side of some bandits.”

Her
attempt to heal Julian's puncture wound slowly came into focus again.
“Did I... did it work?”

“Yes.
Yes it did.” Socrato said in assurance. “He is
recovering, as are you. The only thing I would suggest in the future
is that with a wound that deep, you cast a cleansing for disease even
if nothing has tainted the blade. In this case, there was no harm,
but it's a simple enough spell to cast that can prevent some nasty
ailments down the road.”

Pirogoeth
nodded slowly. “I should have. I should have thought about
that. I also shouldn't have moved him so much once it was determined
what was wrong. And... Pierre was right that I wasted time testing
the blade... what were the chances that bandits would curse their
weapons, or even have the ability...”

Socrato
shushed her. “You were presented with a problem. You provided a
solution.”

“But...
it was a bad one. I
could have done better.”

“There
is no such thing as a bad solution. There may be better
solutions, but any solution that solves the
problem cannot be a bad one. One of our greatest failings as humans
is that we waste time and let problems fester waiting for the perfect
solution. You did not, you solved the problem to the best of your
ability, and there is one life saved for it.”

He smiled.
“I am very, very proud of how you stood up to the challenge,
and took the lead when I could not. If it eases your mind so you can
rest, I promise I will berate you for hours in the future about your
horrible missteps in this venture. But for now, rest. In the morning,
we will have a long talk with our merchant friends.”

That
reminded her of another detail she had almost forgotten. “I
don't think they were...”

He
silenced her again. “I don't think they were attacked by
bandits either. But that is an interrogation we can get into when
both you and the peddler are able to field such questions and
answers. Now. Sleep. I shall see you in the morning.”

Day 67:
Interrogations and Old Legends

“My
lady?”

Taima's
voice started softly, but with each appeal grew louder. “My
lady?”

It turned
out that the servant girl wasn't getting louder, but that Pirogoeth's
alertness was sharpening. The apprentice's eyes opened, and the
morning light caused her head to throb painfully, making her wince
and groan in protest.

“My
lady!” This time Taima was most certainly louder. “Coders'
thanks, you are awake!”

Pirogoeth's
head rung with each excited word. “Unfortunately.” She
tried to move her arms to rub the sleep out of her eyes, only to find
they were made of lead. Her legs were equally uncooperative.

Taima
noticed this, and yelped, “Oh! I was supposed to give you this
when you awoke!” Her hand slid under Pirogoeth's head, tilting
it up, and a steaming mug appeared under the apprentice's chin.
“Drink this. It's a fortified tea to help restore the energy
you lost. The Dominus feared you might still be drained when you
awoke.”

“Thoughtful,”
Pirogoeth muttered, opening her mouth and weakly grabbing the mug as
Taima assisted Pirogoeth in taking a pair of tentative sips. Despite
the steam, the beverage was not terribly hot, and Pirogoeth could
feel her vitality returning. A tingle began in her fingers and toes,
and the warming sensation quickly spread through the rest of her
body.

Breakfast
followed in the form of a bowl of porridge topped with bananas.
“Easier on the stomach, my lady,” Taima explained. “The
Dominus was really worried that you had overdone it. I am glad that
you are recovering.”

Pirogoeth
didn't realize just how hungry she was until she took that first
bite. At which point, anything Taima might have said never reached
her ears for the next three minutes. When the bowl was empty, she
looked up quizzically at Taima and asked, “What time is it?”

“About
an hour to noon, I would guess,” the servant girl replied. “I
was supposed to inform the Dominus when you felt up to questioning
the men you aided yesterday. Would you like me to do so now?”

Pirogoeth
nodded in silent confirmation as she went back to her tea. Even as
she struggled with consciousness last night, the inconsistencies
between what she had seen and what Pierre had claimed nagged at her.
There was something slightly off about it all, and she certainly
desired sorting it out. She was actually surprised that Socrato had
been waiting for her to start.

Taima came
back ten minutes later, the normally almond color to her skin paled.
She shuddered and said, “The Dominus says he will meet you in
the penitentiary. I don't know why the merchants are there, but
that is where the Dominus wants you to go. If you do not know the
way, I am supposed to lead you.”

With a
nervous bite of her lower lip, and pleading eyes, Taima added,
“Please tell me you know the way.”

Pirogoeth
didn't, but she wasn't going to ask Taima to take her somewhere that
the servant girl was obviously uncomfortable going. “I suspect
I can have one of the Phalanx show me the way. Besides, I'm sure Chef
Vargat will have no end of things for you to do.”

The
apprentice shooed Taima off with a hand as she finished the mug of
tea, and tested her recovering constitution by sliding out of bed.
The world swam for an instant, but righted itself quickly. Confident
that she could at least walk, she left her chambers, and to the main
exit where she could no doubt find a soldier to lead her to the
dungeon.

The only
things she really knew about Kartage's dungeon was that the entrance
was actually outside the keep proper, and that the facility
itself was underneath the sea floor nearly a half mile past
the shore. It made for a prison not easily escaped from, and even if
you did, your only way out put you in open terrain at arrow range of
the keep walls.

Pirogoeth
found an escort, who helpfully offered her an oil lantern, and he
took her west towards the river delta, and what at first glance would
have looked like a sealed storm drain with a latch, until the soldier
pulled up the grate and the stonework steps became visible.

She could
understand why Taima was unnerved by the place once inside and the
grate closed behind her. Even with the lantern, it was a dark, dank,
gloomy tunnel that bored ever deeper into the earth, and out towards
the sea.

Pirogoeth
was expecting to see signs of the ocean above, like dripping or pools
of water, but even once the tunnel expanded into the dungeon proper,
no such indicators occurred. She supposed that should have
been the expectation, as Socrato kept everything else in Kartage in
near pristine condition.

The large
hall she found herself in was a massive domed structure a hundred
yards to a side, with teams of Phalanx along the perimeter, and
especially flanking four of the five other exits to the dome, which
she figured were where the prison cells were located, and the fifth
was for prison staff.

She was
momentarily stopped by a line of Phalanx just inside the main prison,
but it didn't take much to confirm her identity and for the warden to
personally take responsibility. “Dominus Socrato is waiting for
you in Section Beta. I will take you there.”

Section
Beta was one of the four distinct “blocks” in the
dungeon, each with fifty individual cells for various people found
guilty of crimes in Kartage. “Though not even a third of them
are being used,” the warden noted as they passed Section Alpha.
“Crime in Kartage is well below the imperial average. There are
many reasons for that, I'm sure... but that sort of theory is a bit
beyond me and my pay grade.”

Pirogoeth
could think of a handful of reasons off the top of her head. She
suspected life in Kartage was well above the average standard of
living in Aramathea. And while populated, Kartage was hardly crammed
tight with people, keeping tensions down. And there was the entire
“venerated citizen who could probably incinerate any
disturbance with a stray thought” as well.

That last
reason was probably the most effective one.

Pirogoeth
crossed into Section Beta, and where the spacious dome turned into a
cramped hall flanked by black iron gates on both sides. A wrinkled
hand slowly reached through the bars of one gate, only to be slapped
back by her escort.

“Touch
her and lose the hand that does, worm,” the warden growled. He
explained when he noticed Pirogoeth's sympathetic look back, “That
man murdered his wife and child after the wife found him with another
woman. He then fled here where we apprehended him and are holding him
until his execution. I wouldn't feel sorry for him if I were you.”

They met
Socrato at the far end of the section, and the warden made his leave.
Socrato put his hands on Pirogoeth's shoulders and said, “Good
to see you up and about. You look well enough, I suppose. Though
probably still a bit drained, I'd wager.”

Pirogoeth
didn't try to lie, nodding in reply. The walk here had taken a bit
out of her.

“You'll
feel a bit under the weather for a while, I fear,” Socrato said
with sympathy. “Even when you have considerable experience
under your belt, healing magics will tax you more than any other. But
you will recover, I assure you.”

“I
was never one for walking anyway. That probably has more to do with
it than any lingering fatigue from spellcasting,” Pirogoeth
said with a tired shrug.

“Then
you feel you can properly question these men?”

Pirogoeth's
eyes flew open. “Me?”

“Yes
you. You're the one who was there. You have a much better idea of the
situation than I do. You're the one that treated them. Why not you?”

She took a
deep breath, and said, “Very well. If you think that is best.”

Socrato
then pulled her aside, and back five strides towards the exit. “We've
been keeping them separate, but I suspect they had plenty of time to
put together a collaborating story. Nonetheless, there are some
details you probably don't know that I need to get you up to speed
on.”

Pirogoeth
nodded in silent confirmation.

“First,
the shard of metal you extracted was a piece of an Avalonian rapier.
Those weapons are most commonly found in the hands of Cavaliers.
Which rather fits the time line established by the wound Julian
took.”

“They
encountered the Cavalier who visited us,” Pirogoeth surmised.

Socrato
nodded. “In addition, the merchants' cart had a false bottom.
Inside it was a cache of Reahtan weapons. I suspected that these two
dabbled in the weapon trade for some time, so that isn't particularly
much of a surprise to me.”

“Cavalier
Norman was someone who supported the
Revolution,” Pirogoeth said. “Julian and Pierre attacked
him!” She
quickly put together the rest of her theory, “Julian and Pierre
were running weapons for the royalists and they saw an opportunity to
take out someone the royal supporters would consider a traitor!”

Socrato
nodded, though he didn't seem convinced. “That... was a thought
I had as well as I put together the evidence. However... I fear there
is more to it. Unless they were completely lying about their origins,
they would have very little love for the royal family.”

Pirogoeth
remembered Pierre's miner stance and the tics that came with that
trade. While it could have all been an elaborately planned cover, she
doubted it very much. “Are you sure you want me to
question them?”

“I
am. I would recommend working on Julian first. As much as he makes
himself out to be the leader of the pair, Pierre is a far more
formidable mind than he makes himself out to be.”

Pirogoeth
nodded again in affirmation, then took a breath to steel herself.
“Which cell?”

Socrato
pointed towards the farthest cell on the right, and that prompted the
Phalanx stationed in front to open the gate for Pirogoeth to enter.
Julian was stretched out with his hands behind his head across a
threadbare cot that really wasn't much more than a stretch of canvas
over a metal frame.

“Comfortable?”
Pirogoeth asked darkly.

Julian
shrugged, but didn't move otherwise. “I've slept on worse,
though I must say I heard much better things about Kartage
hospitality.”

“Maybe
if you hadn't lied to me about how you were injured, we would have
been more accommodating.”

“Oh?
And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“You
were injured by a rapier. A weapon common among Avalon nobles. Which
interestingly enough, there was one visiting just a few days before
your arrival.”

Julian
dismissed the accusation. “Rapiers aren't wholly uncommon, and
bandits aren't picky where they get their blades.”

“Which
is another issue. I come from the Free Provinces. Bandits are a very
common threat up there. Bandits don't leave people alive. Much less
when wounded. You know who does leave
wounded? People who have been attacked and trying to flee. Like an
Avalon Cavalier you and your brother attacked.”

Julian
scoffed. “On what grounds would we want to attack a heavily
protected Cavalier?”

“Perhaps
it has something to do with the Reahtan weapons in a false
compartment in your cart? And why you claimed you wouldn't be back in
this region until fall? Give you plenty of time to supply the
royalist supporters and step back into your normal schedule before
someone gets curious.”

“The
Parliament pays good money to get Reahtan steel,” Julian
replied. “As do the royalists. Aramathea has never had a
problem with me and my brother moving those weapons as long as it
doesn't happen on Aramathean soil... and it hasn't.”

Pirogoeth's
eyebrows raised. “So you play both sides.”

Julian
again shrugged. “I have little love for the royal family. They
took me, Pierre, and my sister from our family, forced Pierre to mine
coal and iron, and my sister and me to work in the palace as slaves.
The king frequently raped my sister while there. So yeah, I wasn't
exactly crying twenty years ago when the gate ripped open and every
single one of that family was lined up and stabbed to death.”

The
merchant finally sat up. “But guess what, girl. The Parliament
wouldn't be any better to us. The only thing that has happened is
that Avalon has traded one oppressive hand for another. They're still
charging heavy taxes to fund their war of expansion into Daynish
lands. They still offer cartloads of tribute to that witch Morgana.”

He finally
showed an emotion, a disgusted scowl. “So yes. Pierre and I
like to make sure that the royalists have good equipment... and
happily take the 'long road' to Reaht to get weapons for Parliament
at the same time. Each day on the road is one less day Pierre is
working mines and one less day I'm cleaning chamber pots.”

Pirogoeth
closed her eyes as her lips curled in a frown. While enlightening, it
was an Avalonian matter, and had nothing to do with her or why she
was here. She wanted to know about their attack on the Avalonian
Cavalier, and wasn't going to tolerate too much more evasion. “So
then why did you attack Cavalier Norman?” She cut off Julian's
attempt at a denial with a scornful hiss, “And do not tell
me you didn't! I will not be lied to again. You will tell
me this instant.”

Julian
jerked stiff like a board in fright, and his eyes dilated. “We
didn't want him to report what he had learned. That the Princess
Viola wasn't in Kartage.”

Pirogoeth's
mind quickly skipped back to that first meeting... and how the
murmurs of the lost princess had started after her meeting
with those two merchants. “You!” she shouted accusingly.
“The two of you started that gossip!”

“It
wasn't hard,” Julian admitted. “The gentry in Aramathea
wouldn't know what the princess looked like, and the rumor that she
had fled into the Free Provinces wasn't new. It was easy to start the
talk, and let it spread to Avalon.”

“Why?”
she demanded. “Tell me!”

From the
next cell over, she heard Pierre say, “Your apprentice has
considerable power of persuasion, Dominus.”

Pirogoeth
whipped back to the cell exit, where Socrato had been watching her
quite intently. “Yes... that she does.”

“My
brother knows little beyond the superficial,” Pierre added. “I
on the other hand could tell you more, but I'd rather have some
privacy in which to do it. I'd rather not shatter his view of me too
much.”

“A
little late for that, I fear,” Pirogoeth snapped, considering
said brother was right in front of her.

“Oh,
I suspect Julian is aware of little else than your browbeating,”
Socrato said, still very deep in thought. “In fact, I think I
shall take you up on your offer, merchant. Your brother no doubt
needs some rest.”

Pirogoeth
turned back to Julian, and had to admit he did look oddly pale,
although she tripped on the implication that she had something to do
with it. “What... what happened to him? What did I do?”

“He's
dazed; a combination of your interrogation and recovering from his
wounds,” Socrato said. “Lay him back down, and follow me.
The warden's office should be private enough.”

Pirogoeth
found that harder than she expected. It wasn't so much that he was
resisting, but that every muscle in his body was stiff, like a puppet
with all its strings pulled taut. “Just lay down, peddler!”
she snarled in frustration.

That
got him to comply, along with a tired, “yes... I think I
need to lie down. I need rest.”

“Yes...
that you do...” Pirogoeth said, confounded by the merchant's
behavior and by Socrato's feeble explanation for it. She couldn't
give it too much thought, however, as she heard the door to Pierre's
cell open, reminding her that she was supposed to follow her master.

She had to
jog to catch up, the protest in her legs reminding her that she
wasn't exactly at peak condition herself. But she was able to fall in
step behind Pierre and Socrato as they left the cell block then made
a right towards the unguarded doorway in the domed central chamber.

The
warden's office didn't look particularly impressive, a desk, some
bare pine wood chairs, a cabinet for paperwork, and not much else.
But once the heavy iron door was closed behind the three, it was
certainly very, very private.

“Alright,”
Socrato demanded coldly, “Talk. What is this nonsense tying my
apprentice into some damned Avalonian myth?”

Pierre
looked far more at ease than he rightfully should. “The more
Parliament is spooked about a member of the royal family surviving
the revolution, the more resources they spend trying to ferret out
any rumors. That means fewer resources being spent crushing the last
of the royalist supporters not hiding in Tortuga.”

“That
is Domina Morgana's keep,” Socrato explained to Pirogoeth. “She
was beholden to the royal family, but did not support them during the
revolution. She has deemed her lands neutral territory, and has on
more than one occasion tossed a noble to the Parliament's mercies for
plotting against the current leadership.”

“And
the two of you decided I'd be an excellent breeding ground for
another rumor to keep your Parliament busy,” Pirogoeth growled
angrily.

Pierre
nodded. “You were, and are, wholly safe in the matter. Even if
they thought you were Princess Viola, they would not dare
anger The Imperial Aramathea by invading. It's a war they know
they wouldn't win. Avalon's military might is too spread out, too
small, and reliant on cavalry. The Aramathean Phalanx would rip them
to shreds, and both sides know it.”

“Then
why attack Cavalier Norman? And how would you think it would
succeed?” Socrato questioned.

Pierre
sighed forlornly. “That, I will admit, was more a confluence of
fortune than anything planned ahead of time. I learned of the
Cavalier's approach from behind us, and Julian and I set a trap to
break the axle of the lead wagon in his procession. That part
worked. The delay even lured the Cavalier out of his wagon. That
part worked better than expected.”

Socrato
was dictating Pierre's account with what Pirogoeth had identified as
his shorthand writing. “And what didn't?”

“The
cavalier was faster than I gave him credit for,” Pierre said
regretfully. “He avoided my attack, and had his rapier ready
quicker than I though he could manage. Julian... took the attack for
me. It was fortunate that they thought we were smarter than we were.”

“Why
is that?”

“The
cavalier couldn't conceive that it was a suicidal plan by just two
people. He guessed our charge had to be part of a larger ambush. As I
fled with Julian, Cavalier Norman was rushing all his people to
retreat as fast as they could go.”

Pierre
then turned to Pirogoeth, and said, “For what it's worth, that
will be the end of the matter for you. He'll report you are not
Viola, and Parliamentary interest in you will end.”

Socrato
set down his pen, and said sharply, “I will decide when
this matter ends, peddler. You attacked a diplomatic envoy on
Aramathean lands, and most notably lands under the auspices of
Kartage. I would suggest getting comfortable in my dungeon until I
can inform Avalon of your crimes.”

Pierre
shrugged out of his vest as he said, “No, I don't think I
will.” He then rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to his
shoulder, revealing a yellow armband. “In fact, I suspect
within two hours if I am not released, you will have someone appear
with notice from the Aramathean Senate demanding it. I suspect I'd be
able to get such arrangements for my brother as well.”

Socrato's
eyes flared, and his face turned red with rage. “You... you are
one of them!”

“The
Gold Pirates, as you call them, have interests on more than the seas.
We also have agents on the continent itself, beholden to no
particular allegiance other than the good of the world.” He
ignored Socrato's breathless huffing as he added, “My brother
is not one of us, though I strongly suspect he will be granted my
protections. I ask you not think too harshly of him. He thinks he is
protecting me.”

Pirogoeth
interjected. “When it's really the other way around, isn't it?”

Pierre
offered her a wan smile. “When he recovers... ask him about why
the lost princess story means so much to him. I think you'd find that
an interesting tale.”

“Well,
you'll have two hours at least,” Socrato said, his seething
anger still at boiling. “I think I'll just wait until your
claimed notice of release arrives. Until then, back to your cell.”

Pierre
shrugged. “As you wish. You can even have your soldiers drag me
back in shackles if it will make you feel better.”

“Don't
tempt me.”

“We
aren't your enemy, Dominus. I wish you would accept that.”

“Secrets
are the enemy of knowledge, and your entire piracy ring is steeped in
secrets.”

Pierre
flashed a glance in Pirogoeth's direction. “Secrets can also be
a necessary evil until your audience is ready to receive them. You
should know that better than most, right Dominus?”

“Phalanx!”
Socrato barked. “Take this man back to his cell this instant!”

The door
swung open, and Pierre didn't offer any fight, falling in line with
the soldiers as they disappeared from view. Socrato settled back into
the warden's chair, brooding and making no attempt to hide it.

“Master?”
she asked.

“There
is much you need to know, dear girl,” Socrato said with a
measured voice. “And one day, you will know them.”

“Master,
you're nothing like those pirates.”

“Aren't
I?” he asked rhetorically. “Because I am
keeping many things from you. Many things
that I don't think you're ready to know. Not yet.”

“And
I'm sure we'll get back to it once you return from your trip,”
Pirogoeth said, “unless you've forgotten you have a case to
argue in Grand Aramathea.”

“I
have not,” Socrato said, “but... your training also needs
to continue. I cannot abandon that.”

“This
is important, master. Far more important than just me.”

Socrato
looked up at her, and for a brief moment, Pirogoeth could see the
internal struggle in his eyes. “If only that were true, dear
girl. You have become far more important than you realize.” He
paused to think on his options, then said, “Perhaps... yes...
perhaps you are ready for that lesson. That's something that
could be done on the road...”

Pirogoeth
suspected she knew what Socrato was pondering, but asked anyway.
“Master? What are you getting at?”

“When
we return to your chambers, pack for a two week journey. You will
join me on my trip to the First Capital,” Socrato declared,
rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I'll have Taima pack up as
well. Poor girl hasn't been home for five years... and it'll give you
something to do while I argue for hours with a bunch of old men in
front of the Emperor.

“At
any rate, while I intend to sit here for the next two hours, there's
no reason for you to,” Socrato finished, shooing her off. “Go
and pack for your journey. If you see Taima, pass the word on to
her.”

Pirogoeth
bowed in acceptance of those orders, but wasn't quite ready to leave
the dungeon quite yet. She returned to Section Beta, passing by
Pierre, and stopping in front of Julian's cell. “How is he?”
she asked the guard.

“Well
enough,” Julian answered coldly. “Stiff as a board, but
well.”

Not
responding to Julian, she instead asked the guard, “May I speak
with him again?”

The
Phalanx nodded, and unlocked the door for her. Julian clearly didn't
like this development. “As I understand, my brother told you
everything you needed to know. You have no evidence any wrongdoing
occurred on Aramathean land, and you're not going to get any. Why
don't you just leave me be?”

“I'm
actually here because your brother wanted me to ask you something
else,” Pirogoeth replied, keeping her voice as
non-confrontational as possible.

“Did
he now?” Julian drawled darkly. “How considerate of him.”

“He
said the lost princess story meant a lot to you, and to ask you why
that was.”

Julian
shouted towards the wall separating him and his brother, “sometimes
that lout doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut!” He then
said to Pirogoeth, “I don't know why he didn't tell you himself
if he's so eager for you to know. She's his sister as much as mine.”

Pirogoeth
remembered Julian talk about a sister. “What is it about her?”

“Part
of the reason why the whole damn lost princess legend has lingered as
long as it did.” Julian said. “The story goes like this;
there was one person
who managed to flee the palace in Caravel before the Revolution rose
up on them. A woman. My sister. Who I warned to escape before we all
turned on the royal family.”

“But
why would your sister be targeted? You aren't noble, are you?”
Pirogoeth asked.

Julian
shook his head. “My sister wouldn't be the target. Her daughter
on the other hand...” He paused and abruptly changed topics.
“Tell me, what do you know about chimeras?”

Pirogoeth
blinked, and answered honestly. “Not much... just that they are
people with animal traits that are usually the result of some curse
or spiritual influence.”

“They're
a bit more common in Avalon than other places of the world, because
it's a popular curse for rich nobility to have cast on less than
faithful spouses. Illegitimate children of such wayward nobles are
born chimeras. The last king was probably the worst philanderer I
have ever personally seen. One of the girls he had his way with was
my sister.”

Pirogoeth
knew that from the first questioning. She could see where this was
going.

Julian's
tale wrapped up with, “That's what several witnesses saw that
cold winter night before the people rose up against the king. A woman
who was a maid to the royal family, running away with a child bundled
up on her back, a child about Princess Viola's age.”

“A
bastard child of the king,” Pirogoeth said.

“It
interests me because no one ever found where my sister went. She
didn't go north to Tortuga. She went south, towards Lourdis, where
our family once lived. I tried to pick up their trail whenever I was
in the area, but never had any luck. You wouldn't think it would be
so hard to find a red-haired woman with a fox-girl child...”
Julian's voice drifted off with a defeated shrug.

Pirogoeth
jolted. A memory of the lunar eclipse gathering, and a fox chimera
with red hair. But what were the chances of that? It was a silly
coincidence to consider, and certainly not something she was going to
offer to Julian, even if she felt it had any merit. It would be her
personal revenge for those two peddlers dragging her into this drama
in the first place.

“I'd
recommend not setting up any ambushes for Avalonian Cavaliers in the
future,” Pirogoeth said flatly, keeping her expression neutral
as she straightened out her skirt. “You'd probably have much
more to worry about than being in a dungeon cell.”

She made
her leave of the dungeon, sincerely hoping that Pierre's promise that
her involvement in the entire lost princess legend was done with. It
made for a halfway interesting tale, but had nothing to do with her.
She had far more important things to worry about.

Day 68: A
World Worth Protecting

Pirogoeth
only had one question once the trio took the road leading to Grand
Aramathea: “Why didn't we do this when you led me here from
Bakkra?”

The
apprentice was referring to the grand wagon that she, Socrato, and
Taima were sitting in, easily the size of the bedroom she had in her
home town. She had been a lucky child, as many homes in Bakkra
weren't large enough to have such a convenience as a bedroom.

And this
cabin was luxuriously supplied. The seats were brown leather with red
velvet covers. A broad pine table stained deep brown stood in the
center where food and drink could be provided during meals when the
procession stopped. It even had it's own bookshelf, albeit small.

It had
windows, with red satin curtains, for Coders' sake.

“When
traveling outside imperial boundaries, especially into the Free
Provinces, it's prudent to be unassuming,” Socrato replied. “In
these lands, however, we can travel with a bit more comfort. Besides,
hearing you grumble about walking amused me.”

The
playful Socrato had returned. Pirogoeth didn't like it.

Unfortunately,
Taima wasn't providing much of a distraction, staring out the window
to her left glumly. The servant girl had been lukewarm at the
prospect of going home, and had only complied reluctantly at
Socrato's insistence.

Pirogoeth
put a hand on her shoulder, still as unsure what to say now as he had
been the entire morning. The contact, however, was enough to draw
Taima's attention and a wan smile. “Perhaps I need to do this,
my lady. I'll... be all right. I'm sure. Besides, the Dominus is
trying to get your attention.”

Socrato
was indeed drumming his fingers on the table in front of him as
Pirogoeth turned her head back in his direction. “I trust you
didn't think this would be a pleasant trip through the Aramathean
countryside, dear girl. You've got lessons to attend to, and we might
as well get started on them promptly.” Pirogoeth wondered what
sort of magic they could safely study in such close quarters.

Socrato
expected that confusion. “What we will be studying here is
nothing like any magic you have ever experienced before. It is a much
more internal art, one only recently discovered, at least in terms of
human civilization. Today, you are going to learn how to scry.”

He turned
in his seat to reach for a book on the shelf behind him, which
Pirogoeth recognized as similar to her training manual. “This
will be a good one to start with. Late edition with little power. We
won't be able to delve so deep that you drown.” Pirogoeth was
fairly certain she heard a very quiet, “I hope...” escape
her master's lips as he set the sliver of a tome onto the table.

His voice
returned to full breath as he said, “I'm sure Torma talked to
you about the Code of the World.”

She
affirmed, “Yes. It was the rules governing magic as created by
the Coders themselves. But you've already demonstrated those rules
aren't as rigid as most mages are made to believe.”

Socrato
replied, “As is the Code of the World more complex. It means so
much more than just magic. Everything that makes this world, makes
people, makes us, is governed by the Code. The ley lines are
the vessel, the magic the language, that fuels this world and keeps
it alive.”

Socrato's
voice was laced with pride. “Tomes tap into that underlying
current, that is what makes the magic we use possible, and when I was
a younger man, I discovered that mages can ride that path in reverse,
allowing them to behold the Code of the World that the tomes access.
That is the art of scrying, and it has allowed mages no end of
insights since.”

“There
are two major factors as to how well an attempt at scrying will be,”
he explained further. “The power of the tome is one of them;
the stronger the tome, the 'deeper' into the Code it reaches, and the
more information there is to be found. Secondly is proximity to a ley
line, the closer you are, the clearer that information is.”

Socrato
then pointed at the tome in front of them. “This is a
particularly poorly made tome, so it's attunement with the Code is
not great; and we are steadily leaving Kartage, which sits right on a
powerful ley line, so I don't think it would be particularly
dangerous for you to attempt some beginning scrying.”

“What
are the dangers?” Pirogoeth asked.

“Mages
can delve too 'deep' into the Code. Without proper discipline and
mental resolve, you can literally lose your mind and soul in the
Code.”

“So...
death,” Pirogoeth summarized.

Socrato's
tone turned grave. “If only it were that simple. Your body
would still live, it is simply your mind that would be erased. You
would become a revenant, a walking dead. It is not a pleasant thing
for those close to you to witness.” He choked up from a long
buried memory. “I... I lost one apprentice that way. Even if
there was no soul left in his eyes, it was not easy to kill him.”

“And
you want me, an
apprentice under your tutelage for barely two months, to try this,”
Pirogoeth said warily. Taima's attention was fully ensnared at this
point, and she offered a comforting arm to her friend, while her eyes
bulged in fright like Socrato had just revealed he was a creature
from her nightmares.

Socrato
said reassuringly, “As I said, there is very little danger in
these circumstances. This would be equivalent to wading out into
waist deep water. Yes, you could drown if everything went wrong, but
if we held ourselves out of anything that might do us harm,
there would be no advancement in the world.” He tilted his
head, his voice understanding. “If I did not think you were
capable of this, I would not ask it of you. I made a terrible mistake
with the apprentice I lost all those years ago, letting him go
farther than I should have let him, and it is not a mistake I have
any intention of repeating.”

Taima
never questioned Socrato's decisions, so the fact that she was
airing her reservations spoke volumes to her concerns. “My
lady... I... I don't like this. I don't want you to get hurt.”

“I'll
do it,” Pirogoeth said with more bravery than she actually
felt. She sensed a desperation in her master's actions, that not even
he was entirely certain he was doing the right thing. But he wasn't
wrong either. She wasn't going to improve as a mage by taking the
safest path. And he obviously needed her to improve.

Socrato
clapped his hands once. “Excellent! A word of warning, however,
scrying can be very difficult and very exhausting. You are literally
fighting the flow of energy to its source, and that is not easy. It
requires a tremendous amount of will...”

At that
point, he drew a ritualistic knife from his pocket, not even three
inches long at the narrow blade with a pin point tip and a black
handle. “And a little bit of blood helps.” Socrato
finished, carefully gauging his apprentice's reaction.

Pirogoeth
had heard and read about blood rituals, and that they were not
considered acceptable practice for mages in the current day.
Mostly because they involved using someone else's blood. And
since other people generally liked keeping their blood, the
most common way to get that blood was through extraordinary
violence and some macabre sacrificial rites. “Unless you're
expecting me to cut Taima or yourself, I don't have a problem with
it,” Pirogoeth finally answered.

“It's
hardly anything grotesque,” Socrato assured, handing the knife
to Pirogoeth. “Nothing more than a slight prick of the index
finger of your dominant hand. Magical energy tends to flow easily
through blood, and is a remarkable catalyst for magical energy.
That's why ancient mages sought blood for their spell casting. For
this, your blood will amplify your inherent powers for your scrying.
In addition, the pain I've found helps keep me aware of my own body.
You might not even need it in this case, but no sense risking it
here, right?”

She
readied the knife, and asked, “What else do I need to do?”

“First,
you must channel the tome normally. As the energy begins to flow, you
use your energy to
move your spirit upstream. If it works, you will see into the Code of
the World itself.”

Pirogoeth
inhaled, closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the task. It
also helped her to draw blood from her finger, as she might have been
more hesitant to do so had see been looking. She chided herself for
being silly about a little bit of blood, even if it did sting,
then opened her eyes and focused on the tome.

The tome,
like the training manual she possessed, fell into complete obedience
without even the slightest bit of pressure. And yet, even with the
tome's cooperation, trying to move “upstream” was indeed
every bit as hard as Socrato claimed. She felt like she had barely
moved along the path and sweat was already building on her brow.

Her
breathing began to labor, and she still wasn't sure she was making
any significant progress. Then the tome jumped, as if an unseen hand
picked it up a fraction of inch and then dropped it. At that point,
Pirogoeth hit a mental wall of force that broke her concentration and
stole her energy.

Pirogoeth
was vaguely aware of Taima's distressed appeals to her, forcing her
body and lips to move enough to pat the servant girl on the arm
reassuringly and slur tiredly, “I'm okay... just a little worn
out...”

“Give
her some water, Taima,” Socrato said. “She might be a
little thirsty.”

Pirogoeth
was thirsty, in fact, likely due to sweating like a roasting pig.
Taima pushed a cup into her hand, and helped her bring it to her
lips, though that last part was a bit unnecessary. The water helped
cool her, but didn't do anything about the exhaustion.

“So...
did you see anything?” Socrato asked as Pirogoeth's breath rate
returned to something approximating normal.

Pirogoeth
shook her head weakly. “I... hit something. It felt like... I
ran into a wall at full sprint.”

Socrato
nodded, his expression amazed. “Impressive that you clawed that
far on your very first scrying attempt. You reached the ley line
barrier. It's really not so much a wall or a barrier as it is the
point where the mystical energies become so dense that it feels
like something solid to those foraying into those depths.”

“And
I'm supposed to be able to punch through that?” She grunted.

“As
you build your own mental strength, yes,” Socrato confirmed.
“It takes time and repeated effort. But I am now certain you
are more up to the task. In fact, I would bet that you'll crack that
barrier before we even reach the First Capital.”

Pirogoeth
said, “I'm glad you have confidence in me.”

“Dear
girl, it took two months
of experimentation for me to reach the ley line barrier,”
Socrato replied. “My confidence is born of experience.”
He glanced out the window, then pulled on a string behind him just to
the left of the bookcase. A tinny bell chimed, and a small panel of
the wall above the bookcase slid open to reveal the back of the
driver's head.

“Yes,
Dominus?”

“Could
we make a stop here? I think my apprentice could use a dash of air
and an opportunity to stretch her legs.”

The driver
complied, and the trio inside the cabin could feel the wagon slow and
eventually jerk to a stop. Socrato stood first, able to extend to his
full height thanks to the cabin's high ceiling, then helped Pirogoeth
to her feet while Taima steadied her.

“I
know you think this is a bad idea,” Socrato said, “but it
honestly will help to move around a bit. It won't be any long hike, I
promise.”

Pirogoeth
knew for a fact that her master's definition of a “short walk”
was more than a bit different than hers, but in this case, the
distance was not far, and she had to admit that the sea air
revitalized her a little. While they were still on the coast of the
Southern Forever Sea, the air here was drier and cooler, and as they
approached the edge, Pirogoeth discovered why. They had been steadily
ascending, and what had been a delta and flood plain around Kartage
had become a tall cliff face.

“This
is called the Sapphire Cliff,” Socrato said, taking a deep
breath himself. “You can't see it from here, but it's due to
the cobalt salts that have been exposed from ages of erosion, those
salts as they wash out to sea also tint the waters.”

Pirogoeth
was not entirely fond of heights, but gathered the courage to look
down. As Socrato had described, the ocean was a deeper blue than she
had ever seen water reflect. Such an odd and simple thing, but so
entrancing nonetheless.

“This
is the first such colored cliff that we will see on the road to the
First Capital,” Socrato continued. “These cliffs rise
steadily, and the further we go, different salts stain the waters,
red, green, yellow, silver, and even gold. And at the top, where
quartz and diamond sparkle upon the cliff, you will find Grand
Aramathea, the First Capital. We'll try to take the boardwalk into
the city so that you can see it for yourself.”

Taima
chirped with glee. “That would be amazing!”

Socrato
turned his eyes down towards Pirogoeth, who was still peering over
the edge. He coughed to get her attention, then flashed her a warm
smile when she looked up. But his eyes were grave and dark despite
the turn of his lips as he said brightly, “It's a beautiful
world, and worth preserving in any and every way we can. Do you not
agree?”

Pirogoeth
instantly knew what he was talking about. He hadn't discussed her
eavesdropping during General Argaeus' visit, and Pirogoeth had fooled
herself into thinking that he didn't know exactly what she had
overheard.

There was
no fooling herself anymore. He knew she knew about the
encroaching Void.

“Anyway,
I was already delayed leaving Kartage, so we can't dally,”
Socrato declared, turning full about abruptly, and gesturing for the
two girls to follow him back to the wagon. “Let us press on.”

Pirogoeth
fell into step, her mind churning. Was that why Socrato was pushing
her so hard? Did he think there was something she could do to
stop the coming Void?

If so, she
wasn't about to disappoint him. If he wanted her to scry that tome by
the end of their trip to Grand Aramathea, then by the Coders, that
was exactly what she was going to do.

Day 74:
Family Matters in the First Capital

As the
days passed she was feeling a lot less sure about that determination.

While she
was able to reach the ley line barrier more easily, and wasn't
requiring hours to recover between attempts, she still hadn't made
any headway actually pushing through the barrier and it didn't seem
like she was getting any more successful at it with each attempt. She
would hit that point and would immediately be jolted out of her
scrying trance.

“It
is immensely frustrating, I know,” Socrato said with sympathy.
“There's no real sense of progress when it comes to this step.
One day, you'll be trying to push through with all your might with no
feeling you're getting anywhere... the next you're through and you're
immersed in the Code of the World.”

Pirogoeth
nodded with a tightly set jaw. She could either choose to take him
for his word and keep trying, or disregard her master and give up.
The latter didn't seem like an option that would accomplish anything.

The wagon
steadily slowed, and Socrato picked up the training tome they had
been working with and returned it to the shelf. “I do believe
you have earned a day's rest, dear girl, for I suspect we are nearing
our destination.”

Once the
cart stopped, Socrato stood. “I will be needed to confirm our
arrival and plans with the Phalanx guards. I should not be long.”

He didn't
even bother closing the side door behind him; confirmation of his
intentions. The reality seemed a little different, as it was at least
five minutes before he returned to the wagon, grinning and quite
pleased with himself.

“Sorry,
ladies,” the venerable sage said happily. “It took longer
than I expected to get boardwalk access.”

Taima's
eyes brightened. “We can take the boardwalk?”

Socrato
nodded. “It will take us closer to where I need to go as well,
as I need to get to the Imperial Quarter as soon as I can. I am told
the Emperor has been awaiting my arrival.” He then slid over,
and tapped on the left side of his seat. “Pirogoeth, you will
want to sit here. It will give you the best view.”

She
complied, sitting down as the wagon lurched forward and took a hard
turn to the right. The feel of the movement also changed as they
moved from the cobblestone of the road to the wood planks of the
boardwalk.

“Because
Grand Aramathea is situated on a high cliff face, shipping from the
sea can be difficult,” Socrato explained. “Thus the
boardwalk was created. From the docks at sea level, it is a gradual
incline with broad turns to allow for large shipments to come
through. That's why getting access can be difficult, depending on
what boats are loading or unloading. You should be able to start
seeing it right about now.”

Pirogoeth
pushed open the curtains, and took sight of what was before her.

The first
thing she noticed was the cliff face, shimmering and glimmering like
Socrato had claimed, the quartz and salts making what looked like
tiny flashes of rainbow color across the cliff. The second thing she
noticed was the several wooden ramps extending above and below, two
separate boardwalks, in fact, the one they were on for unloading
goods into the city, and the other for loading goods for shipping to
other places.

Which led
to her final observation, being the city itself. As they were already
on the top level of the boardwalk, with only a very slight incline,
the whole of the city slid into the profile of her vision. Buildings
of alabaster stucco, likely made from the same white material of the
cliff, dominated the edge of the city and the face, topped with white
ceramic shingles stacked like scales. People crossed in front of
those buildings and houses in a bustling street with a fortunate rope
mesh to prevent accidents.

Something
just out of the line of sight prompted her to recklessly stick her
head out the window and nearly get brained by a supporting post of
the boardwalk. A second attempt, not quite as far out, allowed her a
safe, better view of what she was trying to see.

It was
certainly a grand palace, with six towers of white stone taller even
than Socrato's in Kartage, and a dome in the center, in front of a
pearl and gold arch that Pirogoeth suspected was their destination.
Two statues, at least fifty feet tall, of Aramathean Phalanx Soldiers
flanked the arch, their shields held in front of them with spears
raised, as if they themselves were defenders of the gate into the
city.

“Welcome
to the First Capital, dear girl,” Socrato whispered into her
ear. “Grand Aramathea, the largest city left in the world, the
hub of the continent's trade, and the pot where cultures from around
the world, even places long since gone, meet and mingle.”

“Over
half a million people call this city home,” Taima said as
Pirogoeth stuck her head back into the wagon. “Not all of it is
this pretty.”

Socrato
nodded in acknowledgment. “It is true. The Lower Quarter is not
nearly as affluent, and the Foreign Quarter is hit and miss when it
comes to fabulous display. But the Higher Quarter and Imperial
Quarter tend to be what visitors remember most.”

“But
this part is breathtaking,
I will give it that,” Taima said. “I never had the
opportunity to come out onto the boardwalk for the fifteen years I
lived here. It's unfortunate that it's for official business only.”

They came
up to the arch, and Socrato stood again. “Official
identification is never done,” He said. “I shall return.”

Pirogoeth
moved back to her original seat in the wagon, and gave Taima a gentle
shake. “Are you going to be all right?”

The
servant girl shrugged. “My last memories of this city were
filled with angry yelling and being told I wasn't welcome any longer.
I haven't been back for five years. How could I be 'all
right'?”

“Are
you sure you want to do this?”

“I'm
going to have to at some point. As much as I love Kartage, there
won't be many opportunities for me as a chef there, and I'd never
dare compete with Chef Vargat. My best career
choices as a higher citizen would be here or in the nearby
city-states. I can't ignore my family forever. And this way... I have
support, right?”

Pirogoeth
nodded emphatically. “Right!”

Socrato
reappeared, closing the door and settling into his seat. “And
there we go. Next stop, the Heart of the Empire; the imperial palace
of Grand Aramathea, and the Senatorial Amphitheater.”

The palace
and the amphitheater were part of the same building, the dome they
had seen earlier actually only half of one, with an open air end on
the north side. The towers were part of the palace, and the palace
itself was underground.

“It
was designed that way centuries ago,” Socrato finished his
lecture as the wagon finally pulled to a stop at the roundabout in
front of the main doors of the palace. “After the Aramathean
army stalled the Daynes in their great conquest nine hundred years
ago. It is meant as the last bastion for the empire. No matter what,
the Emperor will not abandon Grand Aramathea.”

Straightening
the shoulder of his toga, Socrato prepared to depart yet again. “This
is my stop, ladies. Feel free to enjoy the sights and sounds of the
largest city in the world. I only ask that you return by sundown. I
do not envision needing more than this evening to present my case,
and would like to depart back for Kartage by first light tomorrow.”

Pirogoeth
was surprised by that, due to her crash course in Aramathean
politics. “Doesn't it usually take weeks for the wheels of
bureaucracy to turn?”

“As
this is solely an executive matter, the only thing I need to do is
convince Emperor Macedon to declare an edict. That is a much quicker
path to action, and one that I do not anticipate needing too much
time to sway him on.” He hopped out of the wagon, gave final
instructions for the driver, and dutifully made for the palace
entrance.

Said
driver, dressed in his finery of a foreign born layman, appeared at
the doorway, and asked, “Where specifically would you like to
go, my ladies?”

Pirogoeth
nodded in deference to Taima, and the servant girl took a nervous
breath before declaring, “Lower District, housing number 4550
on Vestige Street.”

The driver
bit his lower lip. “Going to need to get directions for that, I
think.”

Taima
stood, hopped out of the wagon, and moved to the front, gesturing for
the driver to follow. “And I'll give them to you. Let us
proceed.”

Pirogoeth
shrugged as the driver looked at her. No doubt that was a very
unusual request for him to handle. He took it in stride however.
“Very well, my lady. You lead, I shall follow.”

“No
one's ever called me that,” Taima said with a giggle. “I'm
not sure I approve.”

“Now
you know how I feel!” Pirogoeth shouted out, jumping out of the
wagon, and briskly catching up to the others. “No sense me
being the only one back there,” she said when she dropped down
next to Taima.

It was a
much different perspective from the front of the cart, with a much
wider field of vision. Pirogoeth could see just how large of a city
Grand Aramathea was. She had thought Kartage was big, but this made
Socrato's keep look like Bakkra. Houses extended to the horizon, the
streets filled from edge to edge with people and carts and wagons,
though helpfully delineated so that the traffic flowed smooth...er.

“Midday
is always a busy time, anywhere in
the First Capital.” Taima said. “Though there never
really is a point where the activity is what you or I would consider
slow, either. And it's another two miles to get where we want to go.
Still sure you want to stay up here?”

“This
bench isn't uncomfortable,” Pirogoeth replied.

“No,
it's not,” the driver added. “Dominus Socrato knows how
to treat his staff, I'll give him that. Most wagons like this gave me
nothing but bare wood to sit on. Maybe a
leather cover, if the master was being nice.”

There was
a major roadway that separated the Imperial Quarter from the Lower
Quarter, and there was a stark difference upon crossing that street.
The white stucco vanished, replaced by neutral wood. Thatch and tar
shingles replaced the stonework on the roofs. Some houses were
painted different colors, but they were a distinct minority.

It's not
that the homes and businesses were shanties or wrecks, they were
still of higher quality than most of the houses in Bakkra, but there
was a definite drop in quality upon the changing the quarter, and
that somehow managed to tweak Pirogoeth's sensibilities more than the
level of squalor that was common back at her home.

It was one
thing that everyone lived in a certain degree of discomfort. But she
couldn't imagine being able to live in a city where she could see how
much better others lived simply by looking across a single street.

“Turn
right here,” Taima ordered, pointing to the intersection she
was looking for.

Now fully
into the Lower Quarter, Pirogoeth could see some signs of very poorly
constructed or neglected buildings, but they were mercifully few in
number, and two of them were even being restored as the wagon passed
by.

She also
became aware that they were drawing more and more attention, though
understandably. Surely a good many people were wondering why such a
fine wagon would be touring through their part of town. She began to
worry that Taima's parents would think she was showing off.

“Stop
here at the guard post. Tell them who you are and that you will leave
by sundown,” Taima instructed. “The lady and I will go
the rest of the way on foot.”

Concern
diffused.

“Please
tell me it's not a long walk,” Pirogoeth pleaded.

Taima
laughed, “Not even two blocks. You'll be okay.”

Pirogoeth
was not nearly as amused. “Good.”

It wasn't
very long at all, especially as on foot they were able to use
narrower walking paths rather than the wider roads for carts and
wagons. Their trip ended at a simple house painted white with tar
shingles. Certainly not a hovel, and well above the mean for the area
they lived in. Taima hesitated at the edge of the street across from
her old home, until Pirogoeth bumped her with her shoulder. “We
need to be back by sundown, remember?”

Taima
nodded, steeling herself, and took heavy deliberate steps as if doing
so would keep her legs from scampering the other way. Pirogoeth fell
in step a stride behind her, close enough for Taima to know she was
there, but no so close to be crowding.

By the
time Taima reached the door, there was no more trepidation, and she
rapped sharply on the door three times. There was silence at first,
and Taima cringed. “There might not be anyone home at this
hour.”

Instead
the door whipped open, to reveal a caramel skinned woman with
chestnut hair flecked with gray. There was a long, pregnant moment as
Taima and the woman both stared at each other, then finally Taima
said weakly, “Hello... mother.”

That broke
the tension, and Taima's mother threw herself onto her daughter with
a smothering embrace. “My baby... my baby girl! It's been...
it's been ages! Oh, Coders' blessings! My baby... my baby...”

Taima was
stunned catatonic by the response. She was no doubt expecting
something much colder. The servant girl nervously returned the hug
until the dam of emotions burst, and both women were weeping openly.
“Oh, mother, I am so sorry it's been so long... I didn't know
how I would be received...”

She was
shoved to arms length, the older woman's jaw set, even as her cheeks
glistened with tears. “No matter what you do, no matter where
you go, you will always be my daughter, and you will always
be welcome. How could you ever doubt that?”

The
embrace resumed as Taima choked out, “I don't know.”

Pirogoeth
smiled happily and took a step back, trying as hard as she could to
not impose. Ironically that movement only drew attention to herself.
Taima's mother straightened to ask, “And who is this exquisite
young lady?”

Taima's
response was one that showed she had forgotten about her friend's
existence. “Oh! This is Pirogoeth, Dominus Socrato's mage
apprentice. I am accompanying her and the Dominus on business with
the Emperor.”

The older
woman's eyes widened in amazement as Pirogoeth said, “Your
daughter has been the best friend I've ever had, madam,” and
offered a respectful bow. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Taima's
mother skipped in front of Pirogoeth, then bowed so low that
Pirogoeth was afraid the woman would fall over. “Please, my
lady, I am Demetra. I am honored by your presence.”

She then
snapped back and hissed to Taima fearfully, “I have nothing
clean or ready to entertain such a guest! Your brother has been
ill and I've been away from work to tend to him!”

Pirogoeth
interjected, “Madam Demetra, I come from the armpit of the Free
Provinces. Rest assured I am not some prim and proper noblewoman. I
have slept on straw and bathed in muddy water. If anything, your
accommodations are likely an improvement from most of my life.”

Demetra
still looked a bit fearful. “But...”

“You
said your son was ill?” Pirogoeth added. “Do you know
what is wrong? I might be able to help.”

Demetra
smiled. “Nothing but the sniffles that pass among children. I
wouldn't trouble any mage for something so trifling, but it is sweet
of you to offer.” She took a defeated breath. “Well... if
you are certain that I can provide suitable hospitality, come inside.
Best not to keep making a scene. Your father should be home within
two hours.”

The
interior of Taima's childhood home was comfortably furnished. Nothing
elaborate, but enough for everyone to have a place on sturdy oak
chairs, and a bright red rug across the pinewood floor. The house
even had a separate kitchen and dining room, a second floor, and an
interior bathroom with a tub for bathing.

It made
her wonder what Aramathean higher citizens expected from people they
visited if this wouldn't be enough.

A bench
padded with pillows at the north of the living area seemed a good
enough seat for Pirogoeth. Taima settled down next to her while
Demetra took one of the many chairs. “Since you are associating
with mages, I take it your schooling has gone well?” Demetra
asked.

Taima bit
her lip and nodded. “I think so, yes.”

Pirogoeth
refused to let Taima shy away from any potential praise. “She
completed her tasks for lower citizenship last month, and did so with
honors, as I am told. She amazes everyone with her work at every
meal.”

“And
you're being cared for?”

Taima
sighed. “Yes, mother. Dominus Socrato is not one
of the fiends that have been terrorizing laymen for
money and land. I have been cared for, I have been trained well, and
I will achieve what I set out to do.”

“I
understand your worry, Madam Demetra,” Pirogoeth added, “but
if the Dominus has treated me,
a foreigner with nothing but respect and care, I think you can expect
the same for people of your empire.”

Tears
again began to form on the older woman's eyes. A breath later, a
sound emerged from the stairs from the floor above, and a young boy's
voice called out. “Mother? Who are you talking to?” The
boy that slowly shuffled down the steps had all the features of a
proper Aramathean, lean and trim, but it seemed natural for his
frame.

Taima
choked up again at the sight, jumped to her feet and dashed to her
brother as he made it to the ground floor. “Suqa!” she
squealed happily. “You were barely up to my waist when I left!
Now look at you!”

The boy
looked up at the woman who had hugged him, and the recognition seemed
to send a jolt of energy into him. “Taima? Taima! You're back!
You're back! Are you staying? Are you staying for good?”

Taima
shook her head, visibly saddened as her brother's face fell. “Just
for the day, I am afraid. Dominus Socrato is a busy man, and he can't
dally here very long.”

“Who's
she?” the boy asked, pointing at Pirogoeth.

“The
lady,” Taima put
emphasis on the title, “is an apprentice mage under the study
of the Venerated Socrato. I would suggest showing her the respect you
never showed me.”

Suqa did
exactly that, bowing as Pirogoeth stood. “Greetings, my lady.
I've never met a mage, so I don't know how to properly treat one.”

“Oh,
like any other per...” she said warmly as Suqa straightened.
Damn it, he was taller than she was by half a head. “How... how
old are you, if I may
ask?”

“Ten.
My father says I'm tall for my age.”

Pirogoeth
turned her head so that Suqa didn't see her bitter glower.
Ten-year-olds were taller than she was.

Demetra
had taken the opportunity afford by Suqa's entrance to gather some
appetizers, water and crackers with cheese. “I apologize for
the meager fare, but I am not a cook by trade, and I still have to
get dinner started.”

Pirogoeth
grinned deviously, a fact that was not missed on Taima. “But we
know someone who is...”

Taima
shook her head violently, aghast at the very implication. “I
wouldn't dare impose on my mother's kitchen.”

Demetra
groaned. “Daughter, please impose. I beg you.”
A light of inspiration crossed the woman's face, and she smiled
deviously. “In fact... who wants to make a big surprise for
your father?”

Suqa and
Taima didn't need to be sold. Whatever their mother was planning,
they were all for it. “Suqa, you get back to bed. I know you're
almost well, but I still want you resting one more day.” When
the boy tried to protest, Demetra added with a warning finger,
“besides, if you're down here and not resting when your father
gets home, he'll know something is afoot. So up to bed you go. Now,
daughter, you and the lady come with me. Show me what you have been
learning in Kartage.”

Pirogoeth
was not much of a cook. She wasn't terrible, having helped her
mother for several years back home, but to see Taima at work was
remarkable. The servant girl had no fewer than six things going on at
the same time, yet still knew exactly what her two helpers were doing
and how far along they were. Taima was a flurry of activity, always
on the move, juggling all the tasks with grace.

Pork that
had been smoking since the morning turned to stuffed cabbage rolls
and roasted chops with a light gravy made from its juices. A
vegetable medley with seasoned oil... perfectly browned bread
rolls... and the eggs Pirogoeth beat became part of a dessert called
'tiramisu', though Taima was wary of it.

“Traditionally,
this dessert only uses the yolks. The egg whites might affect the
flavor, but there wasn't much for it,” Taima explained. There
hadn't been enough eggs to use the yolks alone, a fact Taima only
realized once she had already finished the biscuit dough.

“Somehow,”
Pirogoeth retorted sarcastically, “I think we'll all be able to
choke it down.”

Demetra
looked out the kitchen window, and giggled childishly. “Your
father is coming. Both of you, in the corner!”

Pirogoeth
and Taima tucked themselves into the southeast corner of the kitchen,
where they'd be out of sight unless Taima's father, Dophici, were to
actually walk into the kitchen. The front door opened, and they heard
a hearty call, “Dearest! Oh my... something smells remarkable!”

Demetra
stepped out of the kitchen, putting on her best face for the show.
“I'm just about done with dinner. I think it's gone very well.”

“How
is Suqa?”

“Resting.
He's well over the worst of it. I think he'll be ready for his
schooling tomorrow. Did you stop by Metricles?”

“I
did. He says to take as long as you need nursing our son back to
health. Business tends to be slow this time of year, apparently.”

“It
is. Everyone has bought their summer shoes, and won't be needing much
else until they start to buy their winter clothes. All the work is
mending, and I'm not much help for that.”

Dophici
laughed at that. “More use than you think, love. He'll be glad
to see you back, don't doubt that. Anyway, I'll rouse the boy and let
you finish dinner.”

He took
the steps to the upper floor as Demetra returned, giggling with their
successful conspiracy. “Splendid so far. Now... be ready for
when I call you, daughter.”

Taima
nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

Demetra
starting bringing out the trays Taima had prepared and had gotten to
the main courses as Dophici and Suqa came back down the stairs.
Taima's father exclaimed, “That looks spectacular, love!”

Suqa
stifled a giggle as Demetra said, “I'm glad you like it.”

At that
point, Dophici noticed the settings. “Why do you have so many
chairs out?”

“Oh!
I had been cleaning during the midday, and put them there to get them
out of the way. I must have forgotten to put them back in the living
room.”

Taima's
father chuckled. “Even your forgetfulness is charming.”

“Ewwwwww!”
Suqa moaned, presumably because his parents shared a moment of
affection.

The
scratch of chairs moving across the pine floor told the girls in the
kitchen that the family had taken their seats to eat. Almost
immediately, Dophici exclaimed, “Love, this is amazing! Did the
hands of the Coders come to you this afternoon?”

“You
could say that,” Demetra said, “Perhaps you should see
for yourself.”

That was
Taima's queue, and she crossed the kitchen, into the door, and took
one step into the dining room. “Hello... father.”

The next
sound Pirogoeth heard was Taima's grunt as her father nearly
swallowed her in his embrace. “My girl! My sweet girl!”
His voice broke from the sobbing he was trying to hold back. “You've
returned! Look at you! You've grown so much. Like a spitting vision
of your mother when she was your age!”

Taima
tried to talk, but likely was still out of breath from what had been
a suffocating bear hug.

Her father
took that silence as to continue. “You look well. You look
healthy. That is the best news I have seen in years,” Dophici
said, his voice dropping from his earlier astonishment. “Oh, my
dear girl... not a day went by that I hated myself for our last
words. Your grandfather would have been so ashamed of me that day. He
had told me that he only wanted two things from me; that I be happy,
and choose my path through life without regret. I should have given
you that same advice. Please, forgive this failure of a man who does
not deserve to be your father.”

“Only
if you forgive me for being stubborn just as long.”

“Dears,
the food is getting cold,” Demetra said with playful chiding,
“I don't think you want Taima's hard work to go to waste. I
think Taima's friend should come out now too.”

Pirogoeth's
introduction to Dophici went almost exactly like her introduction to
Demetra; a moment of insecurity, worry, and eventually acceptance as
Pirogoeth assured him she wasn't anybody that would be insulted by
such middle-class surroundings.

And while
Taima would deny it to her deathbed, the tiramisu was divine.

The
evening went by far too quickly for Taima's taste, as was apparent as
the sun crept into the window. “We promised the Dominus that we
would be back at the Emperor's Palace by sundown,” she said
regretfully. “I wish I could stay longer.”

“We
are all at the whims of those higher than us,” Dophici said
sadly. “And you still have much to learn and farther to go.
These last ten years will fly, I promise you, and then you will
return to this city, with silver at your waist, having attained
heights your mother and I could only dream of.”

“And
even if by some disaster you don't, our home and our hearts will
always be open,” Demetra added.

Taima
hugged them both fondly, the tears flowing again. She spared an
embrace for Suqa as well. “In five years, maybe you'll join me
in Kartage, and I'll show you around!”

Her
brother nodded animatedly. “I'm gonna be a dressmaker!”

Pirogoeth
had to fight back a laugh, not because of Suqa's declared intent, but
because she found herself picturing him as Lanka's new apprentice on
Socrato's suggestion. Would that be a blessing or a punishment... and
for who... she wondered.

Taima
forced further partings to be short. The last thing she wanted to do
was disappoint the Dominus by being late. They left the house, their
steps becoming longer as the distance increased.

Taima
wiped tears from her eyes, and said, “I heard that little laugh
of yours, and I know what you were thinking. Why would you want to
see my brother suffer as Lanka's layman?” They both laughed now
knowing that their minds went to the same horrible place. Taima
regained her composure first, and smiled warmly at her friend. “Thank
you, my... Pirogoeth. For being there.”

Pirogoeth
slipped an arm around Taima's waist. “Whenever you need my
help, I'll do anything I can, Taima.” They stayed like that
until they returned to the guard post.

The driver
looked up from the book he had been reading. “Ready to return?”

“Have
you been waiting here this whole time?” Taima said, distressed
by the idea that she would have compelled the driver to sit in that
spot for hours while she entertained herself.

The driver
shook his head. “Oh no, I figured you'd be no few hours, so I
amused myself with some of the shops across the street there. Found a
splendid little trinket for my little girl back home. Never out of
sight of the cart, of course, so I could see if you were returning.
Such is the life of a wagon master.”

“Well,
we will hold you no longer. We must return to the palace, and try to
make as good of time as possible.”

At least
the traffic in the late evening was slower, though there were still
an astonishing number of people out and about. “Grand Aramathea
is a city that never sleeps,” said Taima. “The evening
and night hours often are the only opportunity shop keepers get to
tidy up their stores and stock up for the next day.”

“Ships
sail into port at all hours too,” their driver added. “The
oceans are fickle, and all it takes is an uncooperative wind to slow
your arrival until well past sunset.”

Fortunately,
there were no winds to slow Socrato's wagon, and they arrived back at
the palace with time to spare. So much time that they actually had to
wait for Socrato's meeting with the Emperor to conclude before they
were allowed into the palace.

Dusk was
upon them by the time Socrato emerged. The fruits of labor were quite
clearly successful by the triumphant look on his face. “You
young folks may not understand how exhausting talking for hours can
be,” he said, “but the rewards are worth it. The Emperor
has agreed to the wisdom of our apprentice, and will submit the edict
tomorrow at midday.”

Pirogoeth
grinned broadly, and Taima threw her arms around her in excitement.

“We
even worked out a good many details as to how the new Governor of
Education Trade will operate. Several promising names, policies, time
well spent. We are both pleased. Anyway, we have lodging waiting for
us in the Diplomatic Suite. Let us be on our way, so we can get some
rest and make the return trip by first light.”

The
Imperial Palace was much what she expected... had much of it not been
underground. The style and design was similar to what she knew from
Kartage, save for a lack of windows. Pirogoeth shivered from a
surprising chill, which was in contrast to the normally hot summer
air that she had become accustomed to.

“An
interesting side effect of the construction of the palace,”
Socrato said, noticing his apprentice's reaction. “Being
underground keeps the interior remarkably cool, even during the hot
months of the year. It's rather refreshing.”

The place
they would be staying was not far from the entrance, just a single
left turn off of the main hall, and once inside, Pirogoeth learned
why Taima's parents had been so worried about insulting her with
their accommodations.

She had
thought her quarters in Kartage were luxurious. She had been
mistaken. The suite was a mansion in its own right. Blue marbled
floors accented brilliant white stucco walls and a map of the
continent painted onto the ceiling of the central room. It even had a
damned fountain, made from granite and sculpted in the form of
an impressively built male holding a plate where the water bubbled
and flowed down to the basin.

A naked
male. And impressively built in... many ways. Pirogoeth turned
bright red, and Socrato chided her. “We really need to dash
those western sensibilities you got living in the Free Provinces,”
he said disparagingly, correctly guessing the source of her
discomfort. “That is a genuine Viviendo sculpture, and they are
works of art. Try to be respectful.”

“Oh,
I think she respects it just fine,” Taima said with a teasing
bump of her elbow to the apprentice's side.

Pirogoeth
forced down the color of her cheeks as Socrato rolled his eyes.
“Hormonal young women. I'd chide you more fiercely if I didn't
think I was just as bad when I was your age.”

Pirogoeth
circled around the fountain, trying very hard to ignore that the man
in the sculpture had some very well constructed buttocks as well. A
semicircular table made of the same stone flanked the fountain, and
four large bowls rested on it, overflowing with grapes, oranges,
pomegranates, apples, bananas, lemons, limes, and figs. That table
sat in front of a comfortably padded bench covered in bleached
leather, with backing long enough for all three of them to be able to
lay their full lengths on with room to spare.

Socrato in
fact did just that, lounging with only his feet dangling over the
end, groaning in relief as he grabbed a handful of grapes and began
snacking. “Finally off my feet.” He said between bites.
“The two of you feel free to pick a room, and I will take
what's left.”

There were
in fact four rooms, two on the north side, and two on the east side.
All were lavishly furnished with canopy beds with silk covers that
were every bit as comfortable as they looked. Each room even had a
desk, carved from white marble, which at this point Pirogoeth had
decided was just unnecessary extravagance.

Taima
pulled open one of the drawers underneath the desk table, and chirped
in triumph. “Hah! Perfect!”

Pirogoeth
blinked. “What?”

Taima
pointed at the chair to the desk, mercifully made of stained mahogany
wood rather than marble, and ordered, “You. Sit.”

The
apprentice complied, and Taima pulled out a sheet of wood pulp paper,
an ink quill, and a long white pen. “You helped me approach my
parents, and now it's my turn to help you. You are going to
write your parents a letter, and in the morning, I'm sure Socrato
will be happy to take a detour to have it posted.”

A letter
to Bakkra would not be cheap. She began to protest. “But...”

Taima
silenced her. “Hush. You write. Now.”

“Very
well.” Pirogoeth surrendered, dipping the pen point into the
ink well. She looked up at Taima. “And thank you.” She
brought the pen to the paper, and found she didn't need to think much
about what she had to say:

Dearest Mother and
Father,

I apologize profusely
for taking so long to write this. My life has become very busy since
Dominus Socrato has taken me under his wing. If I have worried you, I
am so very sorry. But I am safe and I am well.

Life in Kartage has
been the most amazing thing to happen to me. Every day, my knowledge
grows, and my confidence in myself grows with it. I've already
learned so much in just two months, and I'm only beginning to scrape
the surface of what there is to know.

This world around us is
amazing, and I'm glad I've had the chance to see it. I've met so many
amazing people, and done so many amazing things. Coders, I am sitting
at a desk in the palace of the Emperor of Aramathea as I write this.
I helped change a law today, Mom and Dad. I've made lives better, and
it's a wonderful feeling.

I've even made friends
here. Don't laugh, dad, because I know you are. Taima's become my
best friend here. She wants to be a chef, and has been working in
Kartage for the last five years to make that dream come true. She's
helped me in so many ways, and I wish I knew how to thank her
properly. I wish you both could meet her.

I thank you so much for
making this possible, for letting me spread my wings and leave the
nest you worked so hard to give me. You may not have thought it was
as much as I deserved, but it was everything I could have asked for.
I miss you both, and I hope you are well. I hope to come home again,
but I can't promise when that will be. Until then, stay safe and I'll
see you again.

With love from your
daughter,

Pirogoeth

Day 78: A
Glimpse Past the Wall

The road
back to Kartage meant that Pirogoeth's training resumed, and it was
as frustrating as the first leg of the journey. She slammed her left
fist down in frustration while sucking on the index finger of her
right, staring balefully at the irritatingly helpful tome that
graciously let her slam her head on the ley line barrier time after
time after time.

“Think
of it this way,” Socrato offered. “You're not very
tired.”

This was
true. She was more angry than tired. But what good was getting
stronger if it wasn't accomplishing anything? She kept repeated the
mantra that this was normal, like Socrato insisted through the entire
process, but it was getting increasingly harder to keep that close to
heart with each failure.

“Pirogoeth.”
Socrato barked sharply, grabbing his apprentices attention. “Keep
your focus and still your anger. A level state of mind is the most
important factor if you are going to scry successfully.”

That was
easier said than done. Her jaw was so tense that her teeth might have
been fused together at that point. She wasn't used to going nowhere,
despite her master's claims she was making progress. She could feel
Taima's hand on her shoulder, but the words her friend was saying
didn't register in her mind.

Pirogoeth
reasserted control, forcing back her boiling anger. Even if Socrato
was wrong, succumbing to rage wasn't going to accomplish anything. If
she was going to succeed, and she was going to succeed, she
needed to settle her emotions. She took long, steady breaths, holding
them a second before exhaling, as if doing so would gather the anger
and push it out of her body. The angry red in her face dulled to
pink, then vanished altogether. Her hands eased and her jaw loosened.
She opened her eyes slowly, her eyebrows unfurling.

The
meditative relaxation technique didn't work completely, but it was
good enough for her to be able to tersely say, “Again.”

Socrato's
eyebrows raised. “So soon?”

Pirogoeth
shrugged. “Might as well. I don't feel drained, and I might as
well give it another go before my finger heals up entirely.”

He
extended one hand in acceptance towards the tome. “Then by all
means.”

“Are
you sure about this, Dominus?” Taima asked nervously.

Socrato
nodded. “She doesn't look strained. No harm in letting her try
again. If you wish, you can keep an eye on her for any signs of
distress like I am.”

Pirogoeth
pricked open the scab on her finger again, closing her eyes and
focusing once more on the helpfully troublesome tome. She brushed off
the surge of energy, steadily and slowly working backwards until she
was more within the book than her own body. The only sensations were
the sounds of her own breathing, and the slight pain in her right
index finger. The rest of her world became black, instinct and the
feel of the magic energies pushing against her all the only evidence
of where she needed to go... up to this point, everything had been
just as it had been every other time.

She hit
the wall, exactly where she expected to. Here, the pressure was like
a hurricane gale, and it was far harder to keep her focus and
position. The sound of her breathing was gone, the prick of her
finger fading. She probed the wall, trying to find something, a
portion of the flowing power that was a little weaker or slower, a
“crack” in the wall that she could exploit.

And this
time, she found it.

The
difference wasn't much, a momentary lag in the power that rushed in
front of her. But it was all she needed to finally, after days of
frustration, to push through... and see the Code of the World.

It was
magnificent yet also simple, a network of power that ripped right
through her and spread throughout the world. She couldn't see very
far, the edge of her senses barely reaching the compressed power
underneath Kartage, but that alone was nigh overwhelming. She could
feel a butterfly landing alight onto a flower to the north. Hear the
clop of horseshoes on the road leading to the keep. Taste the grass
being chewed by sheep west of Grand Aramathea. It was a tidal wave of
sensation from every living thing within her range.

She forced
those those things out, simply for the sake of her sanity,
remembering her master's words. She could lose herself within the
Code.

It was
surprisingly easy to reassert her own ego, considering the power
rushing through her... perhaps Socrato was right that getting in was
the hard part. From her restored perspective, she could sense exactly
where the amalgamation of energies were flowing. To the very edges of
her scrying vision, everything was strong. Had she not known that far
to the south, on the southernmost islands of the Gibraltar
Archipelago, the ley lines were steadily weakening, she would never
imagined anything was wrong.

This
portion of the scrying was not nearly as interesting as the one
before. There were no vibrant colors, no rich smells, or anything
else that tickled her senses. It was easy to leave this behind, and
return to her body where Taima and Socrato were almost hovering over
her with concern faces that turned to relief and excitement when the
realized she was alert.

“What?”
she said crossly.

Socrato
laughed, and clapped twice. “Spectacular! After two hours, I
figured you had done it!”

Pirogoeth
blinked, and turned to the window to her right, where the light
definitely was more consistent with late evening than the late
morning when she had begun her attempt. “How... how long was I
scrying?” She asked in shock.

“Goodness,
about seven hours!” Taima whimpered, her eyes welling with
tears. “You had me worried sick!”

Pirogoeth
hugged Taima reassuringly as Socrato sighed. “I tried to
explain to her you were fine, and that time flows differently for
those who are scrying, but she would hear nothing of it. Coders, I
one time wound up scrying and didn't return to myself for three days.
Mila had initially called the undertaker, thinking I had died in my
sleep until the poor man noticed I was still breathing.”

Pirogoeth
grumbled, “Of course you wouldn't mention that before,”
closing her eyes shut as she imagined tying the old sage to the top
of the wagon for the rest of the trip. But in doing so, she found
something else... an image, like the after glow on her retinas after
accidentally looking directly into a bright light. But instead of a
shapeless blob... this was a distinct image, it was definitely not
natural, a mess of squares and lines that could not have been formed
by chance. She jolted, her eyes snapping open in surprise, then
quickly closing them again to try and commit what she had seen to
memory, but by then, the ghostly image was gone. “Master! I...
saw something! Just now! In my eyes...”

Socrato
nodded, reaching inside the shoulder of his toga, and withdrawing a
small slip of folded paper. “I know. You saw this...”

On the
paper, when folded open and set on the table, revealed a carefully
inked series of squares, just like the one Pirogoeth had just seen.

“What...
is that?” Pirogoeth asked.

“I
call it the Scryer's Mark,” he answered. “Anyone who has
successfully scryed has seen this image burned into their eyes for a
short time afterward. But as to what it is, I do not know. I don't
even know what it could be.
It matches no rune from ancient times, and is far to precise too have
been from any mortal hand of that time, either. It is the Coders'
work, to be sure... but that is all I can say for certain.”

Pirogoeth
couldn't be entirely certain, but as she scrutinized the mark
Socrato had presented, the more she was convinced it wasn't exactly
the same one that had been etched into the back of her vision.
“This one is slightly different than what I saw. Not by much...
but it was different.”

Socrato
nodded. “That is likely. Marks from my peers also had subtle
alterations, whether that is because our memories were not wholly
keen, corruptions created by our power, or actual differences in the
mark is of some considerable debate.”

He pushed
aside any more questions with a happy declaration. “But now is
not the time for such musings! We'll have plenty of opportunity as
you delve even further into this art, as we get into more powerful
tomes closer to places of power.”

Pirogoeth
groaned. One victory simply met an entirely new struggle.

Day 97: A
Much Needed Respite

And those
struggles were really starting to weigh on her.

It wasn't
so much that Pirogoeth was having trouble learning the material...
but that there didn't seem to be any end to it. The weeks started to
bleed into each other, five days of new techniques, then two days of
review. Five days of new material, two days of review.

The
schedule and pace was more tiring than the actual effort involved, a
cumulative fatigue of mind and body, to the point that her eyes
opened to the morning light, then immediately slapped shut, groaning
and wishing she had the power to turn the sun back.

Taima
knocked on her door, and had to knock again because Pirogoeth really
didn't want the day to start. But that wasn't Taima's fault, and
Pirogoeth bid the servant girl enter before a third knock.

The
aspiring chef was far too happy for Pirogoeth's sensibilities.
“Pirogoeth! Are you still in bed?” She chirped.

“No,”
Pirogoeth snarked back, throwing her right arm over her eyes, “I've
mastered the art of illusions. I've actually already woken, dressed,
and even took a morning bath in the spring, and am waiting for you
outside Socrato's private dining room, laughing while you speak to
something that isn't really there.”

Perhaps it
was a sign of Pirogoeth's improving ethereal magic that Taima needed
a moment's thought to dismiss the idea. She then yanked Pirogoeth's
thin summer blanket off, and warned, “I have a cold pitcher of
water outside. Don't make me use it.”

Pirogoeth
snarled grumpily, but complied, crossing the room to her wardrobe,
dropping her nightgown on the floor in front of it, picking out a set
of training clothes, and preparing herself for another day of hectic
learning.

“Goodness...
you do look terrible.”
Taima sounded concerned as she gathered up the thin gown to deposit
it outside the door for the laundry servant.

“Then
I look as I feel,” the apprentice said testily as she finished
wrapping up her chest, then stepped into her underwear.

“It's
no wonder!” Taima said with sympathy. “The way the
Dominus has been pushing you. Even I spare myself a day of rest a
week.” She then cheered right back up and said, “But, we
do what we must, no?”

Pirogoeth
sighed softly, adjusting her shirt so that the padded sections fit
properly. “I suppose. Lead on.”

“Oh,
I'm afraid I can't this time,” Taima said with a bright smile.
“Things to do.”

Pirogoeth's
eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What is my master up to this
time?”

She
grinned. “Can't tell you.”

The
apprentice grunted in annoyance. “Of course not.”
Pirogoeth pulled the laces of her boots tight, gave another warning
glare at Taima, stepped outside her chambers, noted there actually
was a pitcher filled with water sitting next to her gown, and
took her time reporting to her master. Not entirely due to
reluctance, as the stairs were grueling even under ideal energy...
much less when in a state that was only loosely described as “alive.”

Upon
reaching her destination, she put on the best face she could. Socrato
was pushing her for a reason. The Void wasn't going to care if she
was tired. The Void wasn't going to stop just because she had a tight
schedule. She pushed open the door, quite pleased that she was able
to do so without grunting from exertion, and bowed respectfully.
“Good morning, master,” she said with as bright a voice
as she could muster.

Socrato
leveled an appraising glare at her, and forced the air out of his
lungs. “That was almost convincing, girl. Sit down. Eat. I have
something that might help you wake up.”

The sage
saw right through her act. She shouldn't have been surprised. “I'm
tired, but otherwise fine.”

“No
you're not,” Socrato corrected dourly, even as his face turned
regretful. “You've been dragging ever so slightly more every
day, and it's my fault. I'm pushing you too hard. You should not
suffer due to my impatience.”

“But
master...”

He held up
his hand to silence her, a servant appearing with a metal carafe,
pouring a deep black liquid into a ceramic mug in front of her as
another servant followed with their breakfast. As the servants
retreated, Socrato spoke before she could. “Your entire summer
shouldn't be spent with your nose buried in studies and practice. As
important as those things are... you need your rest time as well.

“Captain
Daneid will accompany you and Taima to the Gold Coast, merely a
couple of hours west of here by horse. I have a summer cabin on the
beachfront that I rarely use, as I've had little reason to do so
since Mila passed away. I will expect you back in three days.”

“Then
maybe you should join us!” Pirogoeth offered happily, her
spirits immediately bolstered by the idea of a short vacation.

Socrato
shook his head. “Oh, this break is as much for me as it
is for you. It will give me time to prepare my next lessons for you
and attend to keep matters that I had been neglecting. The world
continues to move, after all. You'll leave as soon as you are
packed... I suspect your two escorts have already done so. Although,
I think you should take Taima for one more stop.”

The sage
handed over a brown leather pouch, tied at the top with tanned
leather cord. From the weight, Pirogoeth figured there was more than
a small handful of coins.

As she
began to open it, Socrato chided her. “No, no, no... You are to
give that to Lanka, and she will know if you've tampered with it
beforehand. Tell her where you are going, and she will do the rest.
Once she has taken her share, then you can have the rest.”
Pirogoeth knew why Socrato issued that stipulation. The coins were no
doubt gold, and Pirogoeth would feel horribly guilty if she knew just
how much was about to be spent on her and Taima.

She
finished breakfast quickly, because she didn't want to keep anyone
waiting. With a reserve of energy she didn't think lingered in her,
she scampered down the stairs, and dashed to her chambers. She took
out a small pack, as three days wasn't going to require terribly
much, and hastily gathered the lightest clothes she had and three
sets of undergarments.

Folding
them tightly, she managed to wedge all the articles of clothing into
the pack just as Taima came knocking. “Gold Coast!” She
squealed in delight. “Oh, Pirogoeth, my friend, you are in for
a delight! Sun, sand, the ocean breeze...”

“I
take it you've been there?” Pirogoeth asked.

Taima's
grinned. “Oh yes. At least once a summer, though staying more
than one day was out of the question with my stipend. To have three
days? Bliss!”

“So,
how long did you know about this?” Pirogoeth asked curtly.

Taima
winced. “Only since last night. Socrato ordered me not to tell
you. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

Pirogoeth
forced herself not to grin. Well, two could play that game, and
Pirogoeth knew exactly how. “Socrato wants me to stop by
Lanka's before we leave. I think I need proper swim wear.”

Taima
didn't even try to hide her jealousy. “Oh, lucky little minx. I
stole a peep at some of Lanka's summer wear before she could catch
me. It's exquisite.”

Pirogoeth
hurried past her friend, if only because she couldn't keep her grin
from cracking any longer, and didn't want Taima to see it. “Best
not to keep the Captain waiting. I doubt it's going to be a vacation
for him.”

At first
glance, that seemed to be the case, as the Phalanx captain was
waiting just outside the inner keep doors in full armor. “Our
horses are ready to depart when you give the word, my ladies. We can
either go to the stables or have them delivered to us, on your word.”

“We
won't trouble anyone to bring them to us.” Pirogoeth's tone
said it was not up for debate. “Besides, I have one stop to
make at Lanka's Clothiers before we go.”

“Understood,
my lady. Do you wish to take the lead?” Daneid said
respectfully with a bow.

“Yes,”
Pirogoeth answered, doing exactly that and allowing Taima and the
captain to fall in behind her.

“So,
you're going to be on duty the entire time as our escort?”
Taima asked, genuinely saddened by the idea.

Daneid
laughed softly. “For the trip? Yes. I will serve as your
official Phalanx escort. But the Gold Coast has its own Phalanx unit
that keeps the peace. Once we arrive, I will be as free to enjoy
myself as the two of you.”

“Oh!
That's a relief!” Taima said with one of her pleasant smiles.
“One does not simply go to the Gold Coast and not have fun!”

“The
people who live there do,” Daneid corrected.

Pirogoeth's
eyebrow rose, and she turned her head in her companion's direction.
“People live on the beach?”

Taima
amended, “Not on the beach directly, but there is a
settlement just north of the coast, it's a very popular trading post
with goods from all over the continent. There's a strong settlement
of people who hail from Pallentia, another continent that fell into
the Void many years ago. The cuisine there is so very unique... I'd
love to learn more about it, but it can be so very expensive!”

“It's
not cheap even on a Captain's salary,” Daneid noted. “I
rarely spend more than one night because I know if I did I'd lose
half my savings. Fortunately, it's so close to us that short visits
are tenable.”

They both
stopped cold several feet away from Lanka's shop. Even the Phalanx
captain, a man trained for war, dared not cross that
threshold. Pirogoeth rolled her eyes. “Coders take you both,
she's not going to tear you asunder walking into her shop.” The
apprentice stepped inside, glaring at her two companions, who had
only inched forward warily.

And
initially, Pirogoeth's assessment appeared correct. The famed master
tailor appeared on the sales floor with a pleasant smile. “Ah!
If it isn't little Pirogoeth, come back again. Oh, how wonderful it
is to see you, my dear! I trust that Dominus of ours hasn't been
pounding your brain to mash in his dogged pursuit of whatever he
seeks at any given time.”

That
assessment changed once Taima crossed the threshold. Instantly, the
sales floor dropped ten degrees, and Lanka's eyes narrowed. She
pointed at Taima, and said icily, “Oh, I remember you. You
hover outside once a week, salivating like a dog staring at a chop. I
don't suppose you plan to drool on my carpeting now.”

Pirogoeth
tugged on the hem of Lanka's skirt. “I am here to buy
something.” She jingled the coin pouch Socrato gave her. In a
quieter tone that only Lanka could hear she added, “For the
both of us... but don't tell her yet.”

Lanka
clenched her eyes shut tightly; whether trying to compose herself or
playing along with the ruse wasn't entirely clear. “Yes.
Business is business, as your master likes to say. Very well. What is
it you need?”

“We
are heading to the Gold Coast for three days. I need something
suitable for beach and swimming wear.”

Lanka
clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh! The Gold Coast! Splendid!
Don't you worry, child. Come with me! I think I have just the thing
that will suit you!” She then stole a withering, baleful glare
at Pirogoeth's companions. “I have a log of every single thing
in my store and where it is. If even one thing is missing or
out of place...” She then made a swift slashing motion across
her throat to emphasize the threat.

“You
could be nicer to
potential customers.” Pirogoeth said once they pushed through
the curtain separating the back from the sales floor, trying very
hard to keep her voice as pleasant as possible to avoid raising the
master tailor's ire.

Lanka
huffed. “So I am told. But you start treating the customer too
nicely, then they start to think you exist for them. With their silly
demands and requests that are either not plausible, horribly
impractical, or vomitously ugly...” She shuddered. “My
master was a complacent toy. I will not be. Even if it means my
business is limited to those who have earned my respect.”

With a
snap of her fingers, her mood flashed to happy again. “Swimming
clothes! Yes! The Pallentians had developed a wonderful material that
proved to be fabulous for watery adventures. Fortunately, that
knowledge did not die with their continent, and the rubber material
is now grown and extracted in the marshes near the Gold Coast, in
fact.” She was rustling through racks and shelves, “It
truly is an amazing material. It is very elastic, which allows for a
snug fit over many different body shapes and sizes, very breathable,
which is handy in hot, humid air like you'll find on the coast, and
takes to color astonishingly well.”

She then
whirled about with the articles she had been looking for and cheered,
“Like this!”

Pirogoeth
wasn't sure she'd call them “clothes.” She wasn't even
sure “undergarments” were a suitable description. One was
what amounted to a narrow tube colored in a jagged blend of rainbow
colors seemingly at random, maybe six inches wide if she was being
generous, and a matching bottom that she wouldn't have wanted to wear
in the privacy of her own chambers, much less in public. “No,”
she said simply, aghast. “Absolutely not. You could try to
force that onto my dead body, and I would come back to life and kill
you.”

Lanka
clicked her tongue distastefully. “We simply must break
you of those western sensibilities. But sadly, that cannot be done in
one day. Very well... let's see if I can't find something more modest
for you.”

More
modest turned out to be a very relative thing. Pirogoeth was used to
swimwear made of cotton or linen that doubled her weight upon contact
with water. There was nothing in Lanka's collection that came
close to matching that.

She
eventually chose a single piece suit of the rubber material Lanka was
so enthusiastic about, though “distressingly unflattering”
by her estimation. Pirogoeth figured having her arms and all but the
top quarter of her legs bare was daring enough, and it wasn't like
she had anything to flatter, anyway. It was dark blue with a random
clutter of bright green streaks, which at least complimented her skin
tone well enough.

Lanka
sighed. “If that is as far as you will go, it will have to
suit. Change and I'll have it packaged for you.”

Pirogoeth
complied, and emerged with the swimwear wrapped in paper and tucked
under her arm. Lanka followed shortly after, and gave a scrutinizing
look towards her merchandise on the sales floor. “Very good,”
she eventually said with reluctant approval. She then lowered her
eyes on Taima, who cringed frightfully. The clothier then pointing
authoritatively at the back room. “You. Follow me.”

Taima
gulped. “W... why?”

“Because
I am to supply you with some swimwear as well, and I doubt you wish
to disrobe here.”

Taima's
eyes flew open. “Me? Getting... swimwear?” The servant
girl asked with timid awe.

“Yes.”
Lanka reiterated with a roll of her eyes. “The apprentice mage
here purchased something well below her budget, and there is money
for something for you. Now march unless you want those funds wasted.”

Pirogoeth
swore in the time it took her to blink, Taima was gone through the
curtain. Seconds later, Lanka audibly shared Taima's enthusiasm. “Oh!
A lady with taste! Brilliant!” the clothier squealed
delightfully before both voices lowered below what Pirogoeth could
clearly hear.

Pirogoeth
noticed Daneid standing “guard” outside, and stepped into
the front doorway. “She's probably not going to bite you,
especially when you're armored.”

“Proper
duty, my lady,” Daneid said simply. “And I am
on duty for the time being.” He then
admitted sheepishly, “Besides, that woman is scary. Rumor has
it she was the Dominus's mistress at one time. I wouldn't dare cross
her if I can avoid it.”

Pirogoeth
smirked, partly because she knew it was more than rumor, and partly
because it amused her to see a powerfully built and highly trained
fighting machine terrified of a tailor. Then she decided his fear was
actually of Socrato rather than Lanka, and found herself a bit
annoyed by that.

She
decided to bore herself looking around the sales floor rather than
potentially get angry at their armed escort for reasons that not even
she could really fault him for instead. Why wouldn't Daneid be
intimidated by no doubt the most powerful mage on this side of the
world?

The voices
from the back room began to escalate again, but in the form of
squeals and croons rather than anything coherent. At least Taima and
Lanka were getting along...

The
servant girl emerged several minutes later, grinning from ear to ear.
Lanka was equally pleased. “Oh, how rare it is to find people
with such good taste!” the clothier crooned happily. “If
only you could share some of that gift with the apprentice mage
here...”

Pirogoeth
bit her tongue grumpily as Lanka jerked a thumb in her direction.

The tailor
gave partings with a happy wave. “Enjoy the Gold Coast,
girlies. It is breathtaking. I tend to take a few days in the spring
and fall, when the tourists aren't as numerous and the air is a
little cooler. Tell your Dominus that he should suffer some free time
himself once in a while.”

“We
will!” Taima said with an animated wave farewell. “And I
promise I'll order all sorts of dresses when I have the money!”

Lanka
laughed. “Oh, I think we can come to an arrangement, indeed.”
She handed the coin pouch back to Pirogoeth, which the apprentice
noticed wasn't nearly as light as she was expecting it to be.

She looked
up at Lanka questioningly, and the clothier nodded in confirmation.
“I've taken my rightful share. Don't you even question that.
Scurry along now, children. There's fun to be had, and the longer
you're here, the less you're there.”

The pair
were quickly shooed out of the shop, and Daneid led them at a brisk
pace to the north stables. It was a sturdy construct of gray stone
bricks with tiled ceilings over the horse stalls and a canopy over
the various wagons and carts stored there.

Pirogoeth
had been expecting a most unholy stench as they approached, as that
had been her experience with stables in the past, but Kartage
maintained theirs well. It certainly wasn't meadow fresh by any
measure, but the smell was remarkably tolerable.

She had
expected horses to be brought out, and even Daneid seemed to think
that had been the case, as he stepped out to the street where the
girls were waiting. “Apparently, we're getting one of the
Dominus's wagons.”

The wagon
followed, but as far as Pirogoeth could determine, it was exactly the
same one that she had taken on the trip to Grand Aramathea. “How
many wagons does Dominus Socrato have?”

“Four.”
A woman's voice from the driver's seat declared. She was a young
woman of large stature, and no doubt needed to be in order to handle
the reins of the three horses that led the wagon. Yet for that size,
she seemed to have a pleasant personality. “I am Bittiri, and
I'll be your driver.” Bittiri held out a hand that seemed to
devour Pirogoeth's, even if the grip was light enough to not cause
any pain. Bittiri was at least six feet tall, and about as many feet
wide, literally casting a shadow over the mage apprentice.

“Well,
folks, load up! I'd rather like to make the Gold Coast before
evening,” the driver barked after making acquaintance with all
three passengers and taking their luggage to load into the back
compartment of the wagon. “Would you like the front seat,
Captain?”

“I
would, yes,” Daneid answered, climbing into the driver's bench.
Though having such a lookout position was very unlikely to be
necessary, he was going to follow proper protocol. Pirogoeth allowed
Taima to climb into the wagon interior first, then the moment they
were both settled, the wagon jerked forward, and the trip began in
earnest.

The road
was as much north as it was west, which matched what she knew about
the general geography of the continent, and compared to the other
journeys she had taken while under Socrato's tutelage this one indeed
was very short. Afternoon had barely set in by the time that the
wagon pulled to a stop. “We have reached our destination!”
Bittiri bellowed, signaling two the women inside the cabin that it
was safe to disembark. Daneid opened the door for them, and helped
both girls down to ground level.

Pirogoeth
was surprised by their surroundings. There didn't seem to be a beach
in sight, the dense forest in all directions blocking any sort of
view of anything past a hundred feet or so. There was a graveled path
to the south that seemed to lead to a bright dot at the end, but that
was the only other exit than the road to the east.

“The
beachfront is that way,” Daneid confirmed, “but I figure
today could be best spent settling in. We'll have two more days to
enjoy the sand and the town.”

Pirogoeth
nodded. “Surprised to see a forest here, is all.”

“This
is about as close to the border of the Free Provinces and eventually
Avalon as you can go and still see civilization,” Daneid
explained. “Much of this area is undeveloped and more temperate
than the rest of the Empire. You see similar landscapes as you go to
the northern and eastern parts of the empire as well.”

“It's
the Dominus's vacation home, as I recall,” Taima added. “It
wouldn't surprise me that he'd desire a more secluded place.”
Pirogoeth acknowledged that made sense, and that brought her
attention to the cabin itself.

There we
actually two distinct parts to the cabin in front of her, one that
was quite obviously older than the other. That part, made of very
obviously aged dark pine logs, was in stark contrast to the section
behind it, which was of a lighter and less weathered wood. Socrato
had clearly added to the original cabin, most likely for more space,
as the older section had not been very large.

The front
door was to that older section, and while it definitely looked age
beaten, the interior did not. It was not lavish, but certainly
comfortable, with leather furniture in the form of chairs and futons;
a diamond patterned carpet in stripes of red and orange decorated the
polished wood floor, and a red brick fireplace. A kitchen and dining
room formed the remainder of the original cabin, which Pirogoeth knew
from experience would not have been their original purpose.

Taima
pointed to above the fireplace. “Look! That must be the Dominus
when he was younger!”

Pirogoeth
followed Taima's gesture, to a portrait of indeed a younger man, with
very thick brown hair and smooth facial features, the crooked smile
betraying the man's identity. Pirogoeth could see why Socrato had
earned unwanted favor from the women of his day. He had been rather
handsome in an unassuming way. “It's hard to imagine the
Dominus as someone younger, even though he must have been, huh?”
Taima remarked.

Pirogoeth
shrugged. It wasn't hard for her at all. People start young, they
age, and eventually die. The details might vary, but it was a
constant of life.

She turned
towards the renovated wall that separated the older from newer
section, when an abnormality caught her eye. One of the planks that
formed the doorway was actually from the older section. It was so out
of place that it must have been intentional.

She
approached it slowly, trying to piece together what must have been
special about this particular piece of wood, and she finally figured
it out once she got close enough to see the notches carved into it,
at increasing heights, with the letter “S” and increasing
numbers.

“This
isn't just Dominus Socrato's vacation home,” Pirogoeth deduced.
“This was his birthplace.”

Taima and
Daneid examined Pirogoeth's discovery. “It very well could be,”
Daneid acknowledged. “I had heard that he had grown up in the
outskirts of the empire, unlike most venerated citizens that had
their upbringings in major cities. It would make sense.”

Pirogoeth
found a new appreciation and kinship for her master with that
discovery. She liked the idea that he could have had simple origins
like hers: growing up off the beaten path, with an exceptional gift
that granted them a greater destiny. Maybe he knew that... and had
seen a little bit of himself in her.

It was a
warm and fuzzy thought that she decided to cling to.

She led
the other two into the addition to the cabin. The bedrooms and
washrooms were there, six of the former and two of the latter. Most
of the bedrooms were largely void of any individual decoration and
plainly furnished, though two carried notches in their door frames
very similar to Socrato's growth marks from earlier, marked with an
“X” and a “C.”

“Xavier
and Corinth, Dominus Socrato's sons, no doubt,” Daneid
informed. “I served under Corinth during my early training.
Very much like his father: stern and demanding when on duty, friendly
and playful when off.”

The two
bedrooms to the end of the hall, however, still had some personality.
The one to the left, like the others, hadn't been used in some time,
judging from the dust in the corners that missed cleaning efforts.
The burgundy blankets, sheets, and pillowcases were far different
from the white on the previous four beds, and was at least double the
size. A large wardrobe covered nearly the entirety of the west wall,
and a panoramic window that opened onto a covered deck filled the
south.

On the
east wall, over the bed, was another painting, this of Socrato in a
formal toga with a silver sash, and an Aramathean woman with long
chestnut hair and dressed similarly. A chain of laurels wrapped
around their arms and where there hands were linked. They were both
visibly happy; the woman's smile could have lit the room itself.

“That
has to be Mila,” Taima said. “The older staff only had
the kindest words to describe her. The Dominus didn't allow any
visitors, unless on strict official business, for a month after she
died, I'm told. I wish I could have met her.”

Pirogoeth
looked across the hall to the final room. She had a couple suspicions
that she didn't want to air publicly to the other two out of respect
for Socrato's wishes. She pointed across the way and said, “I'll
take that one. Could one of you be a dear and bring my luggage to the
doorway?”

Daneid
complied as Taima decided to claim her room. “This is obviously
where the Dominus stays, so I won't be here. Time to make a choice
myself.” Taima picked one of the unmarked plain white rooms.
Daneid chose the one across from her, the one with Corinth's growth
notches.

After
that, Daneid led Taima to the market that was nearby so that she
could purchase food for their stay. That allowed Pirogoeth to enter
the final bedroom on her own. Both of her suspicions were immediately
confirmed upon opening the door. Unlike the others, the hinges barely
creaked as the door swung open, suggesting it had been used much more
recently. And like Socrato's bedroom, it had a personalized flair,
violet colors on the bed and the curtains, with a massive wardrobe on
the west wall.

This was
where Lanka went on her vacations as well.

Pirogoeth
still wasn't entirely certain what to think about the relationship
Socrato and Lanka had, one that his wife supposedly approved of to
the point that Lanka bore both sons that Socrato and Mila raised as
their own.

But
Pirogoeth found enlightenment at the sight of a small painting,
leaning against the wall on top of the wardrobe, and the empty hook
above the bed where it normally would have rested. Pirogoeth
recognized both subjects right away, Lanka and Mila, embracing and
grinning playfully towards the viewer.

She picked
it up off the wardrobe to give it a closer look, curiosity as to why
it wasn't hanging taking control of her actions. Lanka took it off
for a reason, and that reason was found on the back. There, written
carefully in faded blank ink, was a message:

My dearest Lanka. Thank
you for everything. You have been a friend, a lover, and the closest
thing to family I have ever had. Every joy I experienced, every smile
and every tear of happiness, is because of you. And when the end
finally comes, I will meet you across the Void at the land of the
Gold Sunrise. You are, and always will be, my first love.

Love and blessings from
Mila.

Pirogoeth
smiled at the sentiment, and the deep emotions they invoked. They
were all a family of their own, no matter how unconventional it may
seem. That's why it worked, she supposed, despite all the pitfalls it
could have created, all the jealousy it could have spawned. Three
people who all loved each other in their own ways, and accepted them
for what they were.

There was
a beauty in that, Pirogoeth decided. She set the painting back where
she had found it, and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
She then picked up her luggage with a grunt and slid it one door down
to the room next to Taima's. If they asked, she'd just say she didn't
like being that far away from everyone else... or maybe didn't like
the color or the way the sun shone through the window.

Even if
Socrato claimed it wasn't much of a secret, that didn't mean
Pirogoeth shouldn't keep it.

Day 98:
Golden Sand

As
Pirogoeth expected, her abrupt room change hadn't even raised an
eyebrow. She hadn't even needed to provide a reason. This was a time
for relaxation, not nosing around, after all. The morning was spent
with a “simple” breakfast, at least by Taima's reckoning.
This meant a king's feast for a normal person. Hashed potatoes with
sausage, peppers and onion, thick strips of bacon, porridge with
mashed banana, and coconut milk.

“Now
I see why the people of the tower look so well fed,” Daneid
remarked candidly as he wiped his mouth clean with his forearm. “I
might just have to assign myself tower detail once in a while.”
Taima visibly blushed at the compliment, and turned away so that the
captain couldn't see her reaction. She then stole Pirogoeth an
apologetic look that confused the apprentice mage. Was Pirogoeth
supposed to feel insulted for some reason?

She
decided to shift the topic towards their plans for the day. “So...
are we going to the beach or the town first?”

“Oh,
most certainly the beach!” Taima declared. “You simply
must see it as soon as
possible!”

“I
concur,” Daneid agreed. “The Town of Gold Coast isn't all
that much different than other trading outposts within the empire.
The coast itself, however, is fairly unique.”

Pirogoeth
decided to follow their suggestion. “Very well. I suppose we
should change?”

“Best
to do that at the beach,” Daneid suggested. “They have
dressing halls there so that you don't have to walk the entire way
there and back in your swimwear.” Pirogoeth acknowledged that
was handy. And had the added benefit of minimizing her time spent in
that horrific rubber sleeve.

“So,
anyone want more to eat?” Taima asked. “Or should we go?”

The
consensus from the other two was “go.” They went their
separate ways to gather their necessities, swimsuits and towels in
satchels, and Taima even brought some oil, for tanning presumably.
Pirogoeth honestly had no idea how the bronze servant girl could get
much darker.

“For
you, silly!”
Taima replied when Pirogoeth had posed that question. “We're
gonna try and get some color to your skin!”

Pirogoeth
doubted that very much. She could spend hours in the summer sun of
Bakkra, and unless she had a proper hat for shade, the only thing she
got was a nasty red sunburn. Fortunately, she had anticipated such,
and had packed a wide brimmed straw hat precisely to avoid that
scenario.

The
apprentice didn't have much experience swimming. There was a
moderately sized pond near Bakkra that children occasionally dipped
in, but that was while wearing linens and wool that effectively
doubled in weight after just a few minutes, making long term swimming
parties tiring. It didn't help that it was a dingy, muddy watering
hole with clumpy brown clay and dirt that smeared your clothes and
made them near impossible to clean.

So the
sight of the Gold Coast as the forest gave way to the beach was
indeed a new experience for her.

She had
never seen a coastline like this... and she quickly understood how it
got its name. The sand in front of them was a vibrant and almost
metallic yellow, glimmering in the sunlight. The water was crystal
clear to the point that by the horizon it was near impossible to tell
where the water ended and the sky began.

“Breathtaking,
isn't it?” Daneid teased, as Pirogoeth's jaw dropped
animatedly.

The only
problem with the beach was the number of people present. Pirogoeth
estimated at least a hundred others lounging, swimming, or walking
across the sands. “Awfully busy, isn't it?” Pirogoeth
asked.

Daneid
scoffed. “Hardly. At the height of summer, you're lucky to find
a patch of empty sand to sit down on.”

“Still
no reason to waste time claiming our territory!” Taima cheered,
grabbing Pirogoeth's wrist. “Let's go change! Quickly!”

Daneid
laughed and declared, “I'll likely be waiting for you outside
the changing cabin.”

The
changing cabin rested just off the beach front, on sturdier ground.
It only resembled its namesake in that it was four walls of logs
stacked like a cabin, with a door facing away from the beach. It
didn't even have a roof, and the entire structure was open air.
Pirogoeth figured it made sense; if you were going to the beach in
the rain, it really didn't matter when you got drenched.

Inside,
the cabin was split into stalls separated by thinner wood planks that
could be closed with a sliding curtain. Pirogoeth entered one and did
so, then dropped her satchel onto the ground at her feet and stepped
out of her shoes. She knelt down, grabbed the edges of the bag and
pulled, releasing the tension in the draw strings and revealing her
towel and swimsuit inside.

It also
contained one of her tomes, Pirogoeth having taken her master's
advice to heart and making sure she had at least one of the books on
her person at all times.

She
reluctantly lifted the form fitting garment, eying it with distaste.
She hastily undressed and tugged the damned thing on, grabbed her
towel, crammed her clothes into the satchel, then dashed out of the
cabin before embarrassment could catch up to her... only to slam
headlong into Daneid, who didn't even have to take a step back to
absorb the impact and catch her from falling over.

“Easy,
my lady,” he said with a smile. “I understand you're
eager to experience the beach, but let's wait for our other friend,
shall we?”

The
captain's words were only the second thing that settled in
Pirogoeth's mind. The first was a memory of the statue in the
Diplomatic Suite made flesh. True, Daneid was wearing thin red
trousers that covered the essential bits, but they left little to the
imagination, and he was wearing precious little else. Pirogoeth's
cheeks went bright red, and she had to swiftly turn away before he
looked more closely. She straightened the brim of her hat as much to
square it on her head as to hide. She just had to make a fool
of herself at least once on this trip, didn't she?

“Oh!
Am I interrupting something?” Taima teased, drawing Pirogoeth's
attention, and restoring the pink glow to the apprentice's cheeks.

Pirogoeth
should have expected something like this, considering how Lanka had
been so pleased with herself after Taima had been provided for.
Taima's swimsuit was in two separate pieces, a black and purple
jagged pattern top with strap that went over her left shoulder, a
band around the back, and joining in a v-shape that somehow managed
to stay on while covering the barest minimum for modesty. The bottom
half was no better, with leg holes that went from the crotch to the
hip, leaving the full extent of Taima's legs bare. True, the servant
girl was also wearing a sarong... but Pirogoeth saw little purpose
for a skirt that was practically transparent, simply coloring
Taima's legs with a hint of violet hue.

Daneid
coughed in surprise, but regained his composure quickly. “Not
at all, my lady.”

Taima
offered a skeptical smile. “Could you go on ahead and secure us
a good spot, Captain?”

“Absolutely,”
he replied, taking the lead as the two ladies hung back.

Taima eyed
Pirogoeth's choice in swimsuit, and shook her head. “That is
what you chose?”

Pirogoeth
cast an angry glare back and growled defensively. “What about
it?”

“You're
not going to get any attention
from the fine men here wearing that.”

Pirogoeth
again blushed brightly. “Good!” she said forcefully. “I'm
not looking for that attention anyway!”

Taima
shook her head again, and sighed. “Sometimes I forget the age
difference between us.”

“It
has nothing to do with that!” Pirogoeth protested. Although it
was true that Taima being five years older than her rarely was
brought up, and that Pirogoeth herself never particularly gave it any
thought. “I don't... I don't like people looking at me.”

Taima
didn't say anything, but she stopped, and Pirogoeth could feel her
friend's gaze. “My... peers... liked to tease me about looking
like a boy,” Pirogoeth explained. “During the summer, the
girls would steal my blouse and force me to chase them around the
school, saying that a boy like me shouldn't be wearing girl's
clothes. It was... humiliating.”

Taima
hugged Pirogoeth at the shoulders. “Well, no one is going to
confuse you for a boy here. I promise you. Do you want to go back?”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “We're supposed to be relaxing. I'm... going to
relax, even I have to force myself to do so.”

Taima gave
Pirogoeth's shoulders a squeeze, and led her the rest of the way
where Daneid had claimed them some prime real estate about twenty
feet from the water line. There, they set down their towels and
Pirogoeth took a seat on top of hers.

Taima
flicked off her sarong with a flourish, and said, “I'm going to
take a quick dip to test the water. I'll let you two know what I
discover!”

“You
don't want me to join you?” Daneid asked.

Taima
shook her head. “Keep the lady company for the time being, will
you?” Taima then flashed Pirogoeth a conspiratorial wink and a
smile before she took off in a light jog towards the water line.
Pirogoeth still had no idea what her friend was trying to imply until
she noticed Daneid slide over to her side.

Oh.

Oh no.

Taima
actually thought she fancied the Phalanx captain? Sure... the man was
hardly unattractive, but he was at least in his mid-twenties
if she had been informed correctly. Surely there were far more
Aramathean prospects that caught his eye.

Daneid
himself looked anxious, his head whipping about in all directions,
his upper body contorting to look behind him several times. For a
moment, Pirogoeth wondered what was wrong, until she remembered the
last time that he had been in such close proximity.

“I
don't think any fox-girl chimeras are going to charge you from
behind, Captain,” Pirogoeth said teasingly. “She'd be far
too easily seen.”

Daneid
sighed, silently acknowledging he was being silly. “I know...”

“If
anything, she'd burrow from the sand below to get you.”

The
captain stiffened, and glanced downward towards his feet. “I
wouldn't put it past her,” he growled warily. Another tired
sigh followed. “Damn girl shouldn't have a quarrel with me. If
she should be harassing anyone, it's my brother.”

Pirogoeth's
right eyebrow lifted in silent question, and Daneid surrendered
further details. “My brother is a news writer for the town
criers in Grand Aramathea. He told me that he had an excellent lead
on pirate activity in the city. At the time, I was a Line Lieutenant
for the First Army, and he convinced me that helping him expose said
activity would be a quick road to a promotion.”

He growled
from the memory. “Story goes that he had gotten on the good
side of this chimera... I don't even remember her name at this point.
It was seven years ago, and I was far more interested in revealing
the pirate haven that my brother suspected was somewhere in the city.

“He
gives me a location, and tells me to apprehend her just after
nightfall. I guess just after nightfall means something a wee bit
different from my brother, because when I burst in... I caught them
being... 'intimate'.

After a
great amount of embarrassment, I apprehend the girl, and drag her to
the stockade. He didn't tell me she was a damned Gold Pirate. One day
later, she was freed, and I was 'promoted' and reassigned to the
Second Army guard post in Kartage.” The bitter emphasis he put
on “promoted” suggested to her that he didn't consider it
so, even if it was technically a jump in rank.

“I
take it being in the First Army carries more prestige?”

“It's
the best and the brightest soldiers of the empire, trusted to guard
the First Capital,” Daneid explained. “My promotion to
Captain here in terms of prestige was a lateral move at best. In
addition, Grand Aramathea had been my home. I took great pride in
defending my home town.”

Pirogoeth
frowned in sympathy. “I'm sorry. That's horribly unfair.”

The
captain exhaled once more, though this one was a much more pleasant
sound. He dropped his head on his hands, eyes out to sea. “Oh...
I've realized it's not that bad.”

Pirogoeth
followed his line of sight, just as Taima surfaced from a dive,
swishing her hair to fling water away and her hands wiped over her
eyes. She noticed the attention she was getting, and waved
enthusiastically.

Pirogoeth's
jaw dropped while smiling, and her eyes twinkled delightfully. “You
like Taima!”

Daneid
dropped his head. “I had been trying to pick your brain the
night of the Lunar Eclipse to see if you could put in a good word for
me when that damned chimera interrupted. But... perhaps it's for the
best you don't.”

Pirogoeth's
eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why on earth would...?”

Daneid
gestured out into the water. “While she may have another ten
years in Kartage, there's no guarantee I will be stationed
anywhere near the keep any given year. While I haven't been
reassigned in years, that doesn't mean I won't ever be.”

Pirogoeth
punched him in the side, and the meager blow at least got his
attention. “How about you don't put the cart before the horse?
Maybe you'll get reassigned and you'll be unhappy. But if you do
nothing, you'll always be unhappy.”

Daneid
didn't answer, his head lifting again to see Taima frolicking in the
water, determined to give him and Pirogoeth space. The silly,
unwitting girl... Pirogoeth slapped Daneid on the shoulder, and
pointed out to sea. “March!”

Daneid
cracked a smile, and snapped a lazy salute. “Yes, my lady.”

Taima was
confused to see Daneid stand and start walking towards the water, she
rushed out to meet him, and while Pirogoeth couldn't hear exactly
what was being said, the facial expressions were sufficient
translation. Taima's look of surprise, Daneid's nervousness, followed
by a warm smile that Taima returned. She pecked him on the cheek, and
they returned with arms around each others' waists.

Pirogoeth
was smiling more broadly than either of them. “So, did you two
sort out some things?” she asked sweetly.

Taima
dropped down to Pirogoeth's left as Daneid settled down next to
Taima. “I'm still not certain how he was able to get such an
infatuation considering how little our paths crossed... but we'll see
where it goes. I'll be honest, I thought he was interested in you.”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “Look at you. Then look at me. You actually
look like an adult. I don't even look like I should be out alone.”

Taima
rolled her eyes. “For the last time. You do not look
like you're twelve.”

A voice
interrupted them sweetly, coming from behind. “Excuse us?”
All three turned to address the source; an Aramathean couple,
probably in their forties, dressed “suitably” for their
culture in swimsuits quite possibly wrought from Lanka's hand. The
woman had been the one to speak first, but the man was the one to
take over.

“We
didn't mean to intrude,” he said nervously, overlooking
Pirogoeth to focus on Taima and Daneid. “But when we saw you
both...”

The woman
cut in to save her partner from talking further. “We just
thought it was so wonderful to see young people adopting a foreign
child. We hear so much about how children in Avalon are in need, so
to see the younger generation taking one in warmed our heart.”

Taima and
Daneid's eyes bulged, then they both turned in fear towards
Pirogoeth. The apprentice's eyes went unfocused, her expression
wholly unreadable. However, below the surface, fire began to stir,
amplified as she reached into her satchel, and found the tome she had
tucked into an interior pocket.

A ball of
fire ignited on her left palm, and that compelled her friends to
action, Daneid putting on a friendly face as he gently led the pair
away with an improvised tale on his “adoption” of the
apprentice mage while Taima frantically shook Pirogoeth's shoulders
and whispered soothingly in the younger girl's ear, desperate to calm
her before she smelted the golden sands into golden glass.

Pirogoeth
had at last dispelled the fireball harmlessly by the time Daneid
returned. Taima looked up at him, then worriedly at Pirogoeth. “So...
shall we... cool off? The water is wonderful.”

Pirogoeth
didn't verbally agree, but didn't need to be dragged out into the
water either. Not being a particularly strong swimmer, she didn't
dare go much farther than chest deep, but it was enough to experiment
with some shallow dives.

Kids
didn't dive at the watering hole outside Bakkra. There was nothing to
see but mud. The Gold Coast, however, was an entirely different world
under the water level. The sand was just as vibrant, and mussels,
clams, and even smaller fish shared the shallows with her. She
emerged, gasping for breath, and again caught sight of an immaculate
blue horizon, not even flecked with the slightest bit of cloud cover.

In the
back of her mind, she knew the Void slowly crept forward, but for the
first time, it felt as far away as it really was. She had time... the
world had time... she wasn't going to do anyone any good
burning the candle to nothing before she was ready to do anything.

Pirogoeth
needed that reminder.

They were
able to avoid the worst of the sun that way, settling back on their
towels for lounging as it waned into the afternoon. Taima presented
some jerky and some light wine from her satchel that served as a
quick mid-day meal.

Taima then
went to work covering Pirogoeth in tanning oil. The apprentice would
not have called the experience pleasant. She felt filthy, like
covered in a thin grime, that didn't go away even as it dried. She
tried her best to hide her discomfort, but wasn't successful.

“You'll
thank me later,” Taima said as she leaned back then closed her
eyes like she was taking a nap. Pirogoeth somehow doubted that, but
leaned back, closed her eyes, and found yet another world she hadn't
noticed.

There were
other sensations that she had overlooked with all the sights. The
hiss of the breeze coming off the ocean, and the feeling of it
against her skin. The background chatter from other beach goers. The
calls of various birds overhead. The crashing of the waves as they
hit the coastline. The salty smell of the sea air. Pirogoeth found
them all strangely relaxing, a massage for her senses. Tension she
didn't realize she had started uncoiling and leaving her body. She
felt like she was about ready to fall asleep...

Then Taima
nudged Pirogoeth in the side. “You might want to turn over.
Don't want to look uneven.” With a grunt of exertion, Pirogoeth
rolled over onto her stomach, resting her head on her arms.

From this
position, she became more aware of the sand underneath her towel, a
surface that felt something between solid and fluid. With a bit of
wriggling, it conformed to her body shape comfortably. So very...
comfortably...

Taima
nudged her again, and the apprentice mage growled angrily.

“Pirogoeth...
we should be getting back to the cabin for dinner,” Taima said,
gently shaking her friend by the shoulders.

Dinner? It
was barely past... Pirogoeth's eyes flashed open, and found that the
sun was much lower in the sky than it should be. She had fallen
asleep. The apprentice pushed herself up, then slid her knees out
from under her, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“I
hadn't wanted to wake you, I've never seen you so relaxed,”
Taima said in apology. “But I was worried you might burn, and
we do need to be heading back. Daneid's no doubt waiting for us at
the changing cabins.”

Pirogoeth
was disappointed she had dozed off, losing several hours of beach
time. Taima bumped her playfully and said, “You didn't miss
much. Merely Daneid clumsily trying to lay out what we should do in
town tomorrow. It was fairly useless planning, as I already know.”
Pirogoeth's eyebrows rose questioningly, but Taima refused to let her
in on the secret. “You'll learn when he does. Not before!”

The
apprentice mage frowned angrily, but knew that Taima wouldn't be
intimidated by any theatrics. So she resigned herself to being
surprised, and spent dinner and the rest of the evening in pleasant
company before retiring to her room for the night.

As she
laid down into her bed, she only hoped the oil had worked as Taima
claimed... otherwise, her two companions would have to deal with a
very sore and reddened mage for the rest of their stay on the Gold
Coast.

Day 99:
Chance Meetings and Curry

The first
thing Pirogoeth did upon waking was dash to the bathroom, and the
mirror mounted on the west wall. The apprentice sighed in relief when
she was distinctly not sun-scoured, though Taima would no doubt be
disappointed that the oil and the sun had only managed to apply a
barely visible kiss of bronze to Pirogoeth's skin.

Personally,
Pirogoeth considered that a success.

She
returned to her room to dress, then took the hall to the original
section of the cabin. Daneid was already at the dining room table
when Pirogoeth emerged, and waved in greeting. Taima stuck her head
around the corner of the kitchen, and frowned, not impressed by her
friend's skin tone. “Hmm. Maybe I used too much oil.”

Pirogoeth
shook her head. “This is about as dark as I get. I'm never
going to pass for a good Aramathean.”

“I
tried, at the very least,” Taima replied with comic dismay
before she laughed and pointed at the dining room table. “Sit.
I'm almost done.”

Breakfast
was not particularly robust that morning, porridge, two slices of
toast fried in beaten eggs and dusted with sugar and cinnamon, and
orange juice. Pirogoeth then felt horribly guilty that she now
considered that meager, when she would have considered that a morning
feast less than a year ago.

Neither
her nor Daneid dared ask, though their faces must have given them
away, because Taima answered with a coy smile, “Don't want you
to get too full. You're going to want a healthy appetite for lunch!”

Well, that
was a clue at least. Daneid confirmed, leaning in to say quietly,
“there is an abundance of diners and restaurants open during
the summer in the Town of Gold Coast. Which one was so good that it
impressed Taima... that I couldn't say.”

“She
could be doing some scouting,” Pirogoeth replied, smiling
innocently as Taima gathered the dishes with a warning eye. “Perhaps
something she hasn't had before or wants to try and replicate.”

Daneid
nodded. “That's a very strong possibility.”

Taima
rolled her eyes at the not-so-secretive discussion. “You'll
find out. Now make sure you're all dressed and ready, because I'm
leaving in the hour with or without you.”

Pirogoeth
only needed to go back to her room to get her satchel, making sure
she had put her tome back in there after late night study before
returning to the front of the cabin.

Taima took
up the rear, holding her satchel over her right shoulder, completely
empty. When Pirogoeth attempted to ask why, the cook cut in before
Pirogoeth could even speak. “A girl always needs an
empty bag for when she goes shopping,” Taima said defensively.
“Surely even northern girls know that.”

Pirogoeth
tapped her satchel, and said, “I think Socrato would sear the
skin off my bones if I left my book behind.”

Taima
nodded in acceptance. “That is true enough.” She then
said to Daneid, “I hope you are ready to be bored to tears,
good Captain.”

He
shrugged indifferently. “It's something I'm no doubt going to
have to get used to. Might as well start now.”

Pirogoeth
winked. “I think he's a keeper, Taima.”

Taima
shook her head, and flipped her wrist to beckon her friends. “Let's
go. There's much to see in town, and I want to have time to see it
all.”

The path
to town started in the same way as the path to the beach, only once
the forest broke, they walked northwest parallel to the coast until
the dirt road branched away and turned to cobblestone. It was another
half hour and up a steady incline to the outskirts of the Town of
Gold Coast.

It was
nothing like Kartage, with merely a single wooden barricade that
didn't even look like it could withstand a stiff breeze, much less
anything of consequence. Like the other Aramathean cities she had
experienced, it was divided into distinct sections, in this case, a
bazaar, residences, and permanent shops.

“Due
to the relative warmth year round, and the presence of the Northwest
Great Trade Line nearby, the Town of Gold Coast is pretty well
frequented and a lot of trade occurs all year, mostly from Avalon,
but occasionally traders from the Free Provinces as well,”
Daneid said as they entered the city proper, presenting
identification to the Phalanx on guard at the gate.

“We'll
go to the bazaar first,” Taima declared, turning to the east
with little warning, causing Pirogoeth and Daneid to lose a stride
and having to jog to catch up.

The bazaar
didn't look too much different than what she had seen in Kartage, but
that wasn't much of a surprise. While the area had been settled by
refugees from Pallentia and Tanzibar, they were the ones that mostly
held permanent shops rather than temporary booths in the bazaar.
There was definitely more of a western feel here, judging from all
the pale and lightly tanned faces that littered the roadside.

But as
Taima admired some silver Avalon jewelry, one face in particular
stood out from the rest... mostly because it pushed its way into
Pirogoeth's line of sight. “Hey!” a female voice shouted
over the ambient noise of the bazaar, though Pirogoeth paid it no
mind until it followed up with, “Blond haired boy!”

That got
Pirogoeth to stiffen, then a hand grabbed Pirogoeth by the shoulder
and pulled her violently full about, turning Pirogoeth face to face
with a girl she never thought she'd see for some time. Her name was
Patilla, one of the cadre from Bakkra that had not exactly taken
Pirogoeth's existence kindly.

“Coders,
it is you!”
Patilla said, both surprised and angry. “I was wondering where
you had run off to months ago. I was telling the others that
Aramathean witch ate you.” Pirogoeth didn't respond to the
obvious jab. “Nothing to say?” Patilla snarled, shoving
Pirogoeth down to ground. “Cicia still
doesn't have shoulder length hair because of
you!”

Daneid
stepped in between them as Taima tried to help Pirogoeth to her feet.
“Get out of my way!” Patilla shouted at Daneid, trying to
force herself around him with another shove.

He instead
stopped her cold with a firm grip on Patilla's arm. “Man or
woman, if you assault a Phalanx Captain, you will not like the
consequences. Guards!”

Pirogoeth
brushed off Taima's assistance. “Stand down, Captain. It's all
right.” She then turned her head to where three armored Phalanx
were rapidly approaching. “Guards, you may return to your
posts.”

Pirogoeth
should have been surprised that all four military men complied
without resistance, and Daneid even released Patilla. But she was far
too annoyed even to wonder why Patilla did not take advantage of her
freedom, instead slowly backing away from Pirogoeth with what looked
like confused terror. All that mattered to Pirogoeth was that she
made her message clear, and she did it as menacingly as she could
muster.

“If
you dare touch me
again, I will do far more
than sear your hair,” She hissed quietly, the background
chatter muting as she did so. “I suspect you are with your
uncle to help him with his booth. I'd suggest you get back to it and
leave me in peace. As far as you are concerned, the two of us never
crossed paths. Understood?” Patilla nodded vigorously, her
knees visibly trembling.

Even
Daneid and Taima seemed spooked by the aura Pirogoeth was projecting.
No wonder it was rattling someone who would consider herself
Pirogoeth's enemy.

“Go,”
Pirogoeth ordered flatly, and Patilla took that as permission,
scrambling and stumbling across the street and two booths east before
literally diving behind the booth counter and peeking over the blood
red tapestry in fright.

It was
only then that Pirogoeth noticed the fear in her companion's eyes.
“What?” she asked crossly.

That
startled them from their collective haze, and they shook themselves.
“Nothing,” Taima said. “Just remind me never to get
on your bad side.”

Pirogoeth
smiled, and chuckled warmly, which served to dispel the remaining
tension. “I don't think you have anything to worry about that.”

“I
don't understand why you didn't want that girl to get what was coming
to her.” Daneid said, throwing a cold glare in the direction of
Patilla's booth. “She attacked you and got aggressive with me.
That should have earned her a few days in the stockade.”

“It
wasn't worth it,” Pirogoeth replied, her expression and voice
haughty. “She's a bully, and a pretty pathetic one at that. She
can't hurt me, either physically or emotionally, and I know that now.
I've dined with a general and been a guest of an emperor. I've
realized how insignificant she really is. Dragging her off to the
stockade would mean she still had some impact on me, even if small.”

Pirogoeth
hoped they believed that. While sending Patilla fleeing in terror had
felt like a triumph, it had been a fleeting one. In truth, she just
wanted to get as far away from the bazaar as possible. All those
memories of her childhood were bubbling up, and it was all she could
do to keep from crying. In truth, she hadn't wanted Patilla arrested
because it reminded her of all the times she would tattle on
her tormentors, only to have them treat her worse for it.

Fortunately,
the event soured Taima as well. “I think now is as good of a
time as any for lunch, then we can shop in the storefront.”

“I
agree,” Pirogoeth said confidently. She was impressed at how
well she was keeping her composure.

“Then
lead on, my lady,” Daneid said to Taima with an extended arm
down the road. “As you seem to know what we are doing and where
we are going.”

That Taima
did, as she walked with purpose, weaving through streets of the
residential district, and to the storefront where the citizens of the
town did their business. Pirogoeth noticed that, unlike Kartage,
which had a rather uniform style, the Town of Gold Coast had a myriad
of architecture and design unlike anywhere she had ever seen. There
were the usual stucco houses that Pirogoeth recognized, but she also
saw more wooden frames and vibrant colors like red and orange, with
sharply steeped roofs made from straw and tar and trimmed with black.
Others had domed ceilings and columns, trimmed with silver and gold.

“Pretty,
isn't it?” Taima said, as she followed Pirogoeth's eyes. “The
cultures in this area have remained very distinct, rather than
melting together like you see in the rest of the empire. I rather
like seeing such individuality remain.”

“Some
would say that those who cling to old ways stubbornly weaken the
empire, and that they should accept that they are in a new place and
should adapt,” Daneid added.

Taima shot
him a cross look. “And some would say that just because you are
part of an empire doesn't mean you should be required to abandon
everything that makes you unique.”

They then
both appealed to Pirogoeth with their eyes, as if she had a
tie-breaking vote. The apprentice mage refused to cater to either of
them. “Leave me out of this,” she said with a swift shake
of her head.

Any
comment Taima might have had was interrupted by her squeal of
delight. “We're here!”

“Here”
was a wood panel building, the planks stained so dark as to be near
black. Lighter wood, painted red, formed the trim along the exterior,
and as Pirogoeth gave them a closer look, the trim was actually
carved in a serpentine form, along the corners, up to the arched
roof. She and Daneid took several steps backward so that they could
see where the tails led... to the very top of the roof, where a
copper colored coiled dragon with emeralds for eyes lifted it's head
with a tongue of sculpted fire.

“Well...
that's certainly
elaborate,” Pirogoeth commented.

Taima
beckoned them forward again. “This is Radi's House,”
Taima explained. “Chef Vargat would recommend this place to me
frequently, but when it costs a month's stipend for one meal here...
well... I think you can guess how many times I've been here. If you
let him, Vargat will talk your ear off about their curry!”

Pirogoeth
felt stupid asking, but she had to. “What's... curry?”
When Taima looked astonished, the apprentice added angrily, “I'm
not the most worldly person! I you already know this!”

Taima
grabbed her by the wrist. “Well you are about to learn! Come!”

She was
pulled through the main doors and into a kaleidoscope of color. The
wall were mostly purple, but arches of yellow and red
occasionally flared around pieces of wall art and were accentuated by
hanging lamps casting the surroundings in a warm yellow hue. Golden
statues of dragons and finely sculpted men, thankfully clothed,
served as the columns that held up the ceiling of the truly large
dining room. It had to be nearly the size of the main dining hall in
Kartage. It was certainly garish, yet... it really seemed to work.

A young
woman, who couldn't have been much older than Pirogoeth, approached
them, with a dress that shimmered like it was encrusted with
emeralds, and gold trim that looped over her left shoulder and under
her right, and tied with a bronze sash around her waist. Her black
hair was pulled up into a bun and held there with a single thick,
long hairpin, and chocolate brown eyes that complimented her copper
skin tone very well.

“Good
afternoon, sir and madams,” The girl said cheerfully. “Welcome
to Radi's House. I am Patri, and I will serve you today. Will it just
be the three of you?”

Taima
nodded. “Yes, dear. Would you happen to have any window seating
available?”

“We
do, if that would be your preference.”

“It
is.”

Patri
nodded amiably, then bowed in respect. “Then follow me.”
The windows of Radi's House were open air, but with broad awnings off
the exterior to keep out rain. The table itself was as colorfully
decorated as the rest of the establishment, large red diamond
patterns splayed on the cream background, and even the chairs were
painted a dark red.

Their
waitress brought a large clear carafe, filled with what looked like
tea... but with crushed ice pieces visibly floating on the surface.
Three crystal glasses were set down in front of them, and Patri
dutifully filled them with the liquid that should not be. “I
can't say I've ever had ice cold tea before.” Pirogoeth said,
eying her glass warily.

“It's
not popular in Kartage, no,” Taima admitted. “Chef Vargat
finds it not suitable for his palette, but for me, on a hot summer
day like this one, it's a blessing.” She punctuated that
statement by promptly drinking half her glass in one go.

Pirogoeth
took an experimental sip, and winced at the unexpected sweetness that
hit her tongue. It wasn't bad... it just wasn't much like the
hot tea that she had gotten accustomed to. A second sip went down
easier, and she began to taste the tea itself despite the sweet. It
was refreshing, Pirogoeth gave it that, but it certainly
wasn't something she was going to want to drink every day.

“Do
you know what you wish to order?” Patri asked.

Taima
seemed to know what she was doing, so Daneid and Pirogoeth deferred
to her. The aspiring cook didn't disappoint. “We'd like your
red duck curry, if we could.”

Patri
bowed in acknowledgment. “Excellent choice, my lady. Would you
like any appetizers?”

“Shrimp
rolls, if we could.”

Again,
their waitress bowed. “It will be as you desire.”

Patri took
her leave, and Taima's composure abandoned her, the servant girl
giggling animatedly and drumming her fingers against the table in
anticipation. “Oh, you are both in for a treat. Actually,
Captain, have you had curry before?”

Daneid
nodded. “Not often, and certainly not from here, but what I've
had was tasty enough.” He asked Pirogoeth, “how do you
and spicy foods get along? Sometimes curry can have an impressive
bite.”

Pirogoeth
shrugged. “We'll find out.”

Taima
rolled her eyes. “I can assure you that she's had food with
just as much kick before. What Vargat makes in the tower can be just
as eye watering as any Pallentian dish.”

Daneid
held up his hands in surrender. “I do beg your pardon. I just
know that exploding out of both ends isn't a pleasant experience.”

Pirogoeth
clenched her eyes shut, her lips curled in disgust, “Nor does
it make for a pleasant mental image, thank you.”

Taima was
also revolted by the thought. “Yes. I agree. On... both counts.
Can we change the subject, please?”

Daneid
attempted to, though wound up stepping in something more dire. “So...
I bet you were surprised to see someone you knew here in town.”

Taima's eyes flared in fright, silently warning Daneid
not to press any further. He seemed confused by Taima's body
language, and rightfully so, as Pirogoeth was determined to brush it
off without showing her nerves.

She said
with a dismissive shrug, “Bakkra often collects its tradable
goods as sells them at market as a collective. Her uncle is the one
tasked with selling those goods. It's not a huge surprise that he
would find himself here at the height of summer. This town does
seem to be a large trading hub.”

“She
seemed awfully agitated. I take it you weren't friends?”

Pirogoeth
clenched her teeth, and let the mask fall slightly with the annoyance
in her voice. “No, we weren't. And I'd rather not discuss it
further.”

That
was the hint Daneid needed to back off. “Understood.”

There was
a fairly uncomfortable silence until the appetizer arrived, at which
point they were too busy eating to try and add awkward conversation.
Pirogoeth found the shrimp rolls nothing short of delicious, the thin
rice wrapping complimenting the vegetables and shrimp inside, along
with a slight hint of chili spice to give it flavor.

Of course,
she thought that Taima and Vargat did better, but that could very
possibly been personal bias.

Within
minutes of the trio finishing their appetizer, the main course
arrived in the form of a broad bowl on a single tray, along with
slightly smaller bowl of white rice that had a unique aroma, one that
she hadn't smelled before.

“Jasmine.”
Taima said, noting Pirogoeth's nose hovering over the rice bowl as it
was set down. “Pallentian cuisine adds oils from other plants
like jasmine as they dry their rice. It does
add to the flavor as well. But this
is what we are here for!”

Pirogoeth
examined the entree as an ivory plate was set in front of her, as
well as a fork and spoon. To be perfectly honest, it did not look
particularly appetizing. It looked more like a soup than anything,
with a thick red sauce flecked with onion, red pepper, zucchini, and
evenly sized cubes of roasted duck meat.

It would
explain why the plates had a raised upper lip, at least.

Taima
began parceling the rice as their drinks were refilled, then got to
distributing the curry. Once on her plate, it somehow looked much
more edible, as the sauce had been hiding the fact that it was much
more robust than first looks suggested.

Taima was
quick to start eating, having swallowed her first bite before
Pirogoeth had even picked up her fork. The servant girl threw back
her head and moaned happily. “I wish I could make
this...”

Pirogoeth
paused, fork in hand, and asked, “Why can't you?”

“The
chefs here keep their recipes and their methods secret. Most elite
chefs do, in fact. I can make curry... just nothing like this.
Coders, Vargat was right, this is amazing.”

Daneid
exhaled sharply, having started himself. “Definitely has a nice
kick, but not too much. Very good indeed. I guess you really
do get what you pay for.”

Pirogoeth
finally got the opportunity to share the experience. The fiery flash
was immediate, and it certainly got her attention, putting some color
to her cheeks, but as Taima said, it wasn't particularly hotter than
what she had already gotten used to from the months in Kartage. And
once that initial kick died, the other flavors began to shine; the
vegetables, the duck, and what she identified as ginger, giving it an
added tang at the end.

“Wow,”
the apprentice mage finally assessed. “That is
good.”

Taima
enthusiastically agreed, “Isn't it?”

A fine
dinner, with good company, helped Pirogoeth push aside the turmoil
that the morning had stirred up. After paying their bill, Taima
resumed shopping, this time in the brick and mortar shopping
district. It was an enthusiasm Pirogoeth didn't particularly share,
she discovered. Shopping bored her more than anything... which was
apparently one of many ways she was not “normal.”

She didn't
want to say anything about it as the hours dragged on
painfully slow, she really didn't want to look like she was
complaining. Nonetheless, she no doubt looked incredibly relieved
when Taima announced they were returning to the cabin for dinner.

The
evening meal was a relatively simple affair, pork chops in gravy, a
tossed spinach salad, stuffed pita with lamb and spinach, and a
fortified red wine. It suited Pirogoeth just fine, a laid back dinner
just before she settled in for some light studying.

So she was
a bit surprised as evening waned to have Taima knocking on her door.

The
servant girl wore a broad smile. “Get your shoes on. We're
going back into town!”

Pirogoeth's
eyebrows furrowed. “Whatever for? By the time we get there
it'll be almost nighttime.”

“I
know! We don't want to be late!”

“Late
for what?”

Taima's
grin refused to crack. “You'll see! Just hurry, we're going to
want to find a good spot!”

Taima
turned full about and left as Pirogoeth stuck her head through the
doorway and demanded loudly, “A good spot for what?”

“The
fireworks show in town,” Taima said. “The Town of Gold
Coast holds one at the end of every week during the summer.”

Pirogoeth
knew what fireworks were. Traders would occasionally bring them in
during the late summer, little knickknacks that didn't even impress
child Pirogoeth, much less the adolescent Pirogoeth now. “I'll
stay here. You and Daneid have fun.”

Taima
literally pushed her way in. “No. You're coming with. Get your
shoes on!”

“Why?”
the apprentice mage said darkly. “Do you plan to annoy me until
you get your way?” Taima's broad grin was all that was needed
to answer that question. Pirogoeth grumbled in annoyance to herself
as she forced her feet into her boots and tightened the laces. She
had just gotten nice
and comfortable.

She made
no attempt to hide her frustration either as she stomped into the
front of the cabin. Daneid had that same knowing grin as Taima, and
that managed to irritate Pirogoeth more.

Pirogoeth
willingly took the rear of the procession as they began the hike back
into the town they had already left, getting increasingly dour as
the sun dropped further to the horizon. But once they reached their
destination, Taima led the party along the perimeter, off the road
and onto the grass.

They
weren't the only ones there either. A large throng of people were
assembling at the top of a decline to the north of town, into a
valley and a dried up, grassy flood plain that stretched for miles.
In the center of that plain, along the banks of what remained of the
water, Pirogoeth could barely make out tiny dots of people in the
rapidly fading light.

“Is
that where the fireworks are going to be lit?” Pirogoeth asked
with an annoyed frown. “We're not going to be able to see
anything from here.”

Pirogoeth
didn't like the knowing grin Taima and Daneid gave each other. “You
obviously have never seen real fireworks,” Taima said.

Pirogoeth
was about to demand what that meant when a hissing roar reached her
ears and drew her attention back to the flood plain. A single finger
of fire rapidly cut a jagged path towards the stars, before it burst
into a flower of purple sparks with a loud crack.

The mage's
mouth opened in surprise, and Taima nudged her. “That was just
the test rocket.”

Dusk
turned to night, followed by a symphony of color that nearly turned
it back to day. Hundreds of fireworks were launched, in a bevy of
colors to match the rainbow, sometimes individually, sometimes in
clusters, some just small plumes others with bursts that nearly
covered the whole of the visible sky.

It was
such a delightful display that so exceeded her expectations that her
earlier annoyance was forgotten. When the final barrage faded into
the night, and the crowd began to disperse, Pirogoeth admitted it was
a far better cap to their time on the Gold Coast than she had planned
to spend it.

For
tomorrow morning, Bittiri was scheduled to return, and take the three
of them back to Kartage and to the normal daily grind.

Day 100:
Black Arts; Black Book

There was
one truth about vacations that Pirogoeth learned once hers was over.
They don't actually revitalize a person. If anything Pirogoeth felt
more exhausted
over the prospect of returning to her studies,
especially when the tower of Kartage appeared on the horizon. She
knew she had to, she knew it was vital work, but it still wasn't easy
to see the walls of the great keep coming closer after the days of
rest that now felt far too short.

The sun
was at its apex as the wagon pulled to a stop outside the doors of
the inner keep. Taima and Pirogoeth offered partings to Daneid as he
left to report to his unit quarters, and the two girls prepared to
return to their duties in the tower.

At
least... until the Phalanx guard stopped Pirogoeth at the front gate.
“Orders from the Dominus, my lady. You are to use the side
entrance to the lower keep.” He anticipated her next question
by adding, “I don't know why, Apprentice, nor is it my place to
ask. Just that you are to use that entrance.”

Pirogoeth
knew why (it was the one that had a shifting portal), but not
the reason for that why. Just what could the old man have planned for
her this time? She was rather worried, considering he had
three days to think about it.

Taima
looked worried, probably for the same reason, but Pirogoeth waved off
any concern. “I'll be fine. The coot hasn't killed me yet.
Don't see any reason to think this will be any different.” She
bowed respectfully to the guard, and said, “I know the way, and
I'll attend to the Dominus's order immediately.”

Pirogoeth
followed the perimeter of the tower to the side entrance that led to
the lower keep. She nodded to the pair of Phalanx standing guard,
expecting to see the black curtain of the shifting spell as they
opened the door. Instead, there was just a stairway down. “The
Dominus is waiting for you in the lower keep,” the guard to the
right of the door said, his features unreadable. “I do not know
why.”

Pirogoeth
dismissed the grip of unease that was trying to clench her stomach.
She had never actually been to the lower keep before; there
were no stairs that connected it to the ground floor; and this was
the only entrance she knew of that actually went there. If it was
referenced at all, it was in hushed tones, and no one could ever say
what exactly Socrato did in those depths. Pirogoeth never had the
courage to ask, either. She knew the way of the mage occasionally
went down some very dark roads, and had not been eager to pry.

It looked
like she was going to find out regardless.

Unlike the
other stairways within the tower, the steps to the lower keep were of
old solid gray stone, and much more naturally spaced. The stones used
to form the arched walls and ceiling were made of the same material,
and certainly looked older than the rest of the tower. It was quite
possible wherever this was existed even before Kartage did. The path
was well lit at least, with magical candles every ten feet that
burned with a clean and unnatural white light. That trend continued
when the stairway ended into a long hall made from the same old
stone.

Ten feet
into the hall Socrato was waiting, his features grim. “I
honestly had to think very long and very hard about what I am about
to instruct you on,” he said, “for this is a very
dangerous field of study, very dark and very disturbing.”

Pirogoeth
didn't like the sound of that.

“But...
I suppose it is something I must get out of the way, and I might as
well do it now just so I can know if you are one that can be trusted
with the deepest secrets I've learned of the magic ways.”
Socrato offered a tired, apologetic smile. “You've learned so
very quickly... and honestly, if you do not pass this trial, you can
consider my tutelage at an end.”

“Master...
I...” Pirogoeth stuttered.

“It
would be no fault of yours. You would be a journeyman in your own
right, much like Torma before you. She never even got this far.”
Socrato dropped his head, his voice ashamed. He obviously didn't want
to do or say any of this. “I am... not a young man, Pirogoeth.
I do not delude myself that I have too many more years left. I can't
waste it on someone who isn't the one that can fulfill the dire task
in these coming years.”

Pirogoeth
inhaled slowly and deeply. “I understand, master.” And
she did. If the Void was truly coming (and there was no doubt it was)
and he had a theory on how to stop it, her personal feelings could
not be taken into account if she wasn't up to the challenge. She
fought back the clenching of her stomach. “Let's not waste
time, present me this challenge, and I will do my best to meet it.”

Socrato
again gave her an apologetic smile. “Such a brave young lady.
Very well... follow me.” He turned about, waited for Pirogoeth
to fall into step, then explained, “in case you were curious,
this is what remains of a fort of Damathine, one of the ancient
empires from days long gone. About forty years ago, it became the den
of a particularly loathsome witch who pursued some very dark arts. I
had Kartage constructed on top of it in the hopes that history would
forget this place ever existed.”

“And
we're down here... why?”

Socrato's
grim expression returned as he leveled his eyes in her direction.
“Because you're about to show me what you know of the very dark
art this witch pursued. It's something that can be very disquieting
for anyone who might stumble upon it.”

“Awfully
unfair to test me on a school of magic I've never studied or
practiced.”

“Oh,
you have, even if you don't realize it,” Socrato corrected.
“Twice at the very least in my very presence, and no doubt
more.”

There was
a moment of confusion as Pirogoeth tried to think of what he could
possibly be talking about. But she dropped the thought; having
learned that once he started speaking in such a vague manner that her
answer would soon be coming anyway.

“Pirogoeth!”
a familiar voice screeched. “Is this your idea of revenge?”
The pair had turned into a nondescript room with torches mounted
along the walls for lighting. In the center of the room was a cage,
like for a dog, holding Patillia prisoner.

Pirogoeth's
eyes widened in shock, flabbergasted at what she was seeing. “What...
is she doing here?”

“Regardless
of your wish to not press charges, the law pertaining to assaulting a
Phalanx officer, even off duty, is fairly strict,” Socrato
explained. “When I learned of it, I had her transferred here.
She will be more than suitable for your test.”

Patilla
and Pirogoeth's response was identical and simultaneous. “Test
for what?”

Socrato
took a deep breath, and said sternly to Patilla, “young lady,
the crimes you have committed to my apprentice are beyond what I am
willing to enumerate. You will be contrite and apologize for
them.”

“I
most certainly will not apologize
to that little monster!” Patilla screeched, shaking the case
angrily. “And if I get the chance, I'll rip her hair out!”

Socrato's
voice grew dark. “That was not a request, woman. You
will be contrite, whether you like it or not. Preferably not,
actually... as the test is for my apprentice to make you
apologize.”

“What?”
Pirogoeth said. “How...”

Socrato
scoffed. “This girl's mind is simple. Base. Barely sentient...”

Patilla
protested. “Hey!”

“Her
will would be easily bent, dear girl,” Socrato said, ignoring
Patilla. “You more than have the power. Don't you want
her to apologize for the pain she's caused?”

Pirogoeth
gulped nervously. Of course she would love to see that.

“Then
make her. Every tome
has that ability buried deep within, though not expressed. Channel
the raw, unfocused power of your tome, and use that power to amplify
your will. I promise that it is something you have already done
unwittingly.”

The hand
clenching her stomach was only tightening its grip. “I... can
do that?”

“Absolutely,”
Socrato assured. “This meager minded sot will not offer much
resistance.”

“Like
hell I will you wrinkled pervert!” Patilla howled. “I
won't give you any pleasure, I'm a lot more distinguishing than the
little boy here that you've no doubt gotten to excite you...”

“Silence!”
Pirogoeth bellowed angrily at Patilla. “You will not
disparage my master!” Patilla,
surprisingly, complied, her mouth instantly snapping shut as she
turned her head to face the now angered Pirogoeth. The apprentice
approached the cage, building in power, as she snarled, “Forget
apologizing to me. I don't care what
you say about me. But you will apologize
to my master for your slander!” Patilla cowered, stumbling
backward to the opposite end of the cage. “Now!”
Pirogoeth demanded.

Patilla
gulped, stammered, lips flapping loosely, and managed to form enough
words to say, “I... I am sorry, sir. I won't... behave that way
again.”

Socrato
nodded. “While wonderful, apprentice, the purpose of this
exercise is to bend her to your will, not mine. I
must insist you proceed.”

Pirogoeth
really didn't want to escalate things further. “But...”

“It
is imperative.”

Socrato
rarely ever was so coldly insistent. This was clearly very important
to him, and it was apparently vital to her future training. And to be
honest; being so assertive had felt good. Seeing Patilla
afraid of her... it had been a rush.

“Try
pulling back on the rage. It's an easy way to trigger your power, but
it's not necessary. I want to see just your force of will. Know what
you want, then take it,” Socrato advised, his posture and eyes
scrutinizing her.

She
followed her master's instructions, drawing into her tome, feeling
the power bubbling but without any expressed purpose. She gave it
one. Pirogoeth snapped, “Patilla! Look at me!” Her old
tormentor nervously turned her eyes on Pirogoeth. “Come here.”
With trembling knees, the girl stepped forward, more shambling then
walking. The terror in her eyes honestly disturbed Pirogoeth.

The
apprentice could remember that look; it was a look Pirogoeth knew had
etched her face more than once. But that empathy was fleeting.
The pain took over, the desire to subjugate Patilla taking over. “You
will apologize to me for all you have done. Understand?”

Patilla
nodded frantically. “Yes, Pirogoeth. I am so very sorry.
I should never have participated in hurting you. You weren't
the monster. I was. Whatever penance I need to undergo to earn your
forgiveness, I will do it.”

Pirogoeth
had heard some pretty fake apologies before, most often after she had
tattled on the antics of her abusers. This should have sounded
fake as well. There was every reason to believe this was also a lie.
But... it wasn't. It was certainly over the top, but it felt entirely
earnest. Patilla meant every word.

Socrato
also was convinced. He nodded approvingly, a grim expression on his
face. “Yes... very good. Very well done indeed apprentice. But
I think you can go further still.”

“Further
still?”

“Yes.
You can do more than make her apologize. Now, make her like
you.”

“I
can't do that!” Pirogoeth sputtered.

Socrato
disagreed. “Of course you can. You've already shown the ability
to manipulate her feelings.”

“Making
someone apologize for past slights is one thing,” Pirogoeth
replied. “Making someone like me is entirely another.”

Socrato
scoffed. “Why? What difference are the specific feelings
involved?”

“Perhaps
can't wasn't the right
word. I won't.”

Socrato
became stern. “This is not the time for a values
discussion. This test is the limit of your power, not the limit of
your moral compass.”

“This
is wrong.”

“Of
course it is. That's why we are down here. Mages must
occasionally do things that are wrong. We
have to push the lines
of what is acceptable. There is more at stake here than one pathetic
whelp of a woman.”

Pirogoeth
stiffened, and her eyes broadened in shock at the casual disdain her
master was showing. But the emotionless mask cracked in the process,
and she could somewhat get a read on what was underneath. He was in
turmoil. He didn't like this any more than she did... but he was
desperate. Something about this entire test was of vital importance,
it was a question that he needed an answer to, and quickly.

She closed
her eyes, and fought back her own disgust. Her master needed an
answer.

She would
give him one.

“Patilla!”
she barked, focusing her willpower on her target. “You will
like me. I will be
your only friend from now on. Am I clear?”

The young
woman visibly jerked, like she had been unexpectedly jolted by an
electric shock. If that hadn't been unsettling, when Patilla focused
again, something... was off. She didn't look right. There was a glaze
over her eyes, and her motions were slightly sluggish. Patilla's
voice turned airy, and her lips curled in an unnatural smile. “Of
course, Pirogoeth. To be honest, I never really hated you anyway.
Mari was the ringleader, really. The rest of us followed her lead.
Had I known how amazing you truly were, I would have never sided with
her to begin with!”

Pirogoeth's
skin literally crawled at the admission. Again, it sounded earnest.
Too earnest. Whoever this woman was now, it wasn't Patilla.
She looked at Socrato with increasing discomfort, and asked, “Master?
What... have I done? What is going on here?”

Socrato's
initial response was to open the cage, and allow Patilla freedom. The
girl immediately raced to Pirogoeth, stopping and looking down on the
apprentice mage with an unnerving smile of adoration.

Socrato
had moved behind Pirogoeth, leaning forward to catch her ear. “Good.
Very good. Now go further still. Make her love you. Make her a
slave to your every word.”

“What?”
Pirogoeth yelped, aghast.

“You
heard me. Push your power to its limit. She is already prepared to
worship the ground you walk on. Make
her. Make your wants and needs hers. Dominate her so completely that
nothing else exists other than to please you.”

“What?
No! Absolutely not!”

“Do
it!” Socrato hissed.

“I
can't! I won't!” Pirogoeth bellowed back. She spun around to
face her master and screamed, “If this is what I must do in
order to continue as your apprentice, then I refuse!”

Socrato
grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her violently. The mask had
finally fallen to reveal the frenzy in his face and voice. “This
is not an option, Pirogoeth! I must know your limits!”

He stopped
himself, as if he himself realized what he was doing. He released
her, took several steps back, and gathered up his rampant emotions.
With a deep breath, he tried to explain himself better. “The
Art of Domination is a very rare, very sinister skill. Those few who
have that power are extraordinarily dangerous. Pirogoeth... I need to
know just how powerful you are. If you do not show me...” His
hands ignited in magical fire, which highlighted the pools of
moisture forming on his cheeks. “If you do not show me, I will
have to assume the worst. I... I will have to kill you here.”

Pirogoeth
recoiled, the hand around her stomach at full clench. The tension in
the chamber was so high that she could almost drown in it. She turned
back to Patilla, who seemed oblivious to the environment, still
smiling with that distant expression. “Will... will I hurt
her?”

Socrato
shook his head, “No. Your tormentor is beyond pain.”

Patilla
looked beyond a good many things. “How can I?” Pirogoeth
asked. “I... I don't want this. I'm sorry, master. But I can't
do what you want me to do.”

Socrato
heaved a massive sigh of relief. “And that... is what I wanted
to hear.” His entire body was shaking as he approached Patilla,
and said warmly, “Young lady, do you remember the way you came
in?”

The girl
blinked slowly twice, and nodded.

“Then
leave the same way. Tell the nice men standing guard that they are to
watch you until I retrieve you.”

Patilla
turned her head to Pirogoeth, as if waiting for permission, which
Pirogoeth provided with a nod. Without further word of any sort,
Patilla walked through the doorway with an empty smile.

Socrato
offered a nervous explanation. “I am deeply sorry. One of my
colleagues had an apprentice who turned a great number of her tower
against her and tried to take her life. I had to know not just the
depth of your power, but how far you were willing to take it. I will
be able to restore her to normal after our business is concluded.”

Pirogoeth wasn't entirely certain, but she thought she
heard her master add under his breath, “Mostly.”

The
venerated sage took a slow, deliberate breath. “Magic, at it's
core, is the power of denial. Material, the denial of natural law.
Ethereal, the denial of reality. Decay and Restoration, the denial of
life and death, respectively.” He then leveled solemn eyes in
her direction. “And Domination, the denial of free will. The
darkest of magical arts. To take not just a life, but the utter
annihilation of the self. And as loathsome as it is, it is also an
art you will learn.”

Pirogoeth
shuddered, “I'd rather not.”

“I'm
sure. But it is through knowledge that you defeat the evil that lies
in the hearts of man, not ignorance,” Socrato advised. “Don't
worry, that is a skill
we will refine at a later date. For now... I think you are ready to
learn the whole purpose I have for you.”

Pirogoeth's
eyes widened in anticipation. She knew the overall goal of her
training, but that had only been through some ill-advised
eavesdropping. He had never openly discussed the details, and she was
eager to finally be privy to the elder mage's endgame.

“Come
with me,” he said, taking his leave of the chamber. “We'll
take a shift... even if there was another
way to get up there, I wouldn't be keen on a hike to the top of the
tower from all the way down here.”

The top of
the tower? Socrato never let anyone up there.

The black
curtain of a shifting spell dropped right where she expected it to.
Socrato crossed first, disappearing into the inky ether, and
Pirogoeth followed. The somewhat familiar moment of total blackness
was followed by her first look at Socrato's inner sanctum.

This was
the very top of the tower, judging from the open air deck all around
her in a circle. It was both remarkable and plain, while the
chessboard pattern of granite and onyx stone was lovely, there were
few furnishings along the perimeter, couches and chairs of drab brown
leather, and a single desk strewn with books along with what looked
to be charts of some sort that she couldn't clearly see from her
position.

The bronze
ceiling was also retractable, as a full third of it had been drawn on
itself, no doubt so that the large silver telescope could peer out
into the sky, though she wondered what her master had hoped to see in
the middle of the day. “I had been stargazing last night,”
Socrato explained, noticing his apprentice's line of sight. “Forgot
to pull the top back down. My mind was... lost on other things, as
I'm sure you could guess.”

Pirogoeth
nodded. She had figured that reaching the decision to do what he had
done today had not been an easy one. “How many of your students
have you... needed to... deal with before?”

Socrato
smiled wanly. “Mercifully, none. You're the first I've ever
deemed worthy of reaching that point. What I need is over here. Come
along.” The floor was actually a series of four descending
steps that circled the observatory, and at the bottom, the telescope
raised off the ground by iron chains, and the floor literally opened
up into a six foot wide porthole with a plain metal staircase
descending into a lower chamber. “I... have a lot of secret
hideaways here.” He said simply. “For good reason, I may
add.”

“I
don't doubt you,” Pirogoeth replied, accepting his gesture for
her to go first.

The lower
chamber actually wasn't poorly lit, only seeming so from outside it
in the observatory. Though the light wasn't coming from any candle or
torch or even electrical source, but from wisps of pale white energy
dancing in the air like fireflies. “What... is this?” She
asked in awe, reaching out her hand to touch one of the wisps, the
ghostly thread winding through her fingers playfully before
fluttering away.

“You
may have already guessed that Kartage rests on one of the primary
gathering points of ley energy in the world. As a result this entire
region is already rich with magic. And it gathers even more densely
in the presence of that.”

'That' was
a magical tome, sitting on a marble podium ten feet away; near
entirely black save for blood red trim and an image on the front
cover that resembled an eye. But even from the distance, Pirogoeth
could feel it wasn't a typical tome. There was something very
different about it.

“It
is an ancient relic, predating even the oldest of civilizations,”
Socrato said. “I believe it, and others like it, are artifacts
from the Coders' very creation of this world.”

Pirogoeth
was surprised by Socrato's close presence, jolting as the older mage
displayed a book similar to the one on the pedestal, of the same
color and eye-shaped image, but in green as opposed to red. Socrato
tucked his tome into a pocket inside his toga, and turned her
attention back to the red trimmed one. “It was serendipity that
I learned of this particular item in the gallery of a fellow
venerated citizen several months ago.”

The
admission clicked several pieces together in her head. “This
was the item you had those two merchants acquire.”

“Indeed,”
the venerated sage nodded.

More
pieces fell into place. “And you dominated your peer when he
came to you demanding its return.”

Socrato
paused before reluctantly admitting, “I am not proud of it, but
it had to be done.”

“Why?
Don't you already have one?”

“It
wasn't for me,” Socrato corrected, “but for the one that
I found worthy of my task. For you.”

Pirogoeth's
skin went clammy at the idea of possessing that overwhelmingly
powerful tome. “I think that thing would vaporize me.”

“This
isn't a tome in the way you think of it,” Socrato said. “Not
even I have to power to demand the power of one of these artifacts.
But one thing I have discovered I can do with it is scry, and very
effectively. It was scrying through my artifact that allowed me to
sense the weakening of the ley lines within the South Gibraltar
Islands.”

He put a
hand on Pirogoeth's back, and gently applied enough pressure to coax
her forward, guiding his apprentice towards the podium despite her
reservations. “Come now... just give it the attempt. I won't
even ask you to offer blood for it,” Socrato encouraged. “At
the very worst, you'll have no success. I assure you.”

Pirogoeth
shot him a glare. “Pardon me if I don't immediately take the
word of a master illusionist at face value anymore.” It was an
unfair shot, and she knew it. Socrato had done a good many things
that irritated her, but he had never lied to her about the dangers of
something.

At least
her master didn't take offense. He grinned playfully instead, and
quipped, “No, you really shouldn't. But fortunately for you, I
am not a master of anything.”

“Is
that right?” Pirogoeth said flatly.

“Of
course,” he replied. “For to master something is to have
nothing else to learn, and I can assure you I learn more every day.”

Pirogoeth
really didn't need wordplay right now.

“Now
come on... quit dawdling,” Socrato prodded, both verbally and
physically with a poke to her upper back between the shoulder blades.
“After what you've gone through, this is
the easy part.”

Pirogoeth
exhaled sharply. “We're not going anywhere until I give it a
shot, aren't we?”

“The
day's still young, and I don't eat all that much lately, so I'm good
until late evening. How about you?”

“How
many of your students have wanted to paint the walls with your
intestines?” she grumbled as she stomped one step forward.

“Oh,
all of them at some point,” Socrato replied candidly. “That's
how I know I'm a good teacher.”

Pirogoeth
paused to offer one more irritated glare, before finally grasping
both sides of the podium and staring down intently at the ancient
tome in front of her. Inhaling slowly, she let it out at the same
time she pushed her will onto the tome...

Only to
literally be thrown backwards five feet by what felt like a
concussive force, and saved from a nasty fall by Socrato catching
her.

“Well...
that's a reaction I
wasn't expecting,” Socrato quipped, the humor in his voice
gone. “Perhaps we should rethink this.”

Pirogoeth
pushed herself away, angrily focused on the tome, and a Scryer's Mark
burning in her retinas. She blinked repeatedly to clear it away, and
snarled. She had felt something in the tome, a sense of disdain. It
didn't respect her, and made its dismissal clear.

“No,”
Pirogoeth retorted, this time taking deliberate strides to the tome
and grabbing the podium. It was personal now.

“Stand
back, master... just in case it tries to throw me further this time.”
This time, Pirogoeth was ready for the wall of force, and she refused
to let it blow her back. She pushed forward mentally, though with no
discernible success. She hadn't even felt herself leave her body. The
wall of power was dense, imposing, and unyielding.

Exhaustion
finally set in, and Pirogoeth had to give up the fight. She staggered
backward, panting heavily from her exertions, brushing off Socrato's
concern. “I'm just tired. That is not a very cooperative tome.”

Socrato
pointed up, and said, “I beg to differ.”

Pirogoeth
followed the gesture, to where the black book was levitating off the
podium, the pages flipping as if by an unseen hand. The wisps of
energy floating about was drawn into a ball above the tome, forming a
Scryer's Mark above.

“Fascinating.”
Socrato said thoughtfully.

Pirogoeth
guessed, “This sort of thing has never happened to you, I take
it?"

“No,
that it has not. The artifact is reacting to you in ways I have never
seen before.” The sage nodded to himself, and said, “Yes,
I do believe the task of unlocking its secrets is yours. Now take it
and follow me. There's still more to discuss.”

The book
didn't resist being picked up, at least. Pirogoeth was able to tuck
it under her arm without incident and fall in step behind her master
again as they continued down the lower section of the inner sanctum
and into a hallway.

She
quickly decided this hall was far too long to be directly underneath
the observatory. “Okay, we can't possibly be in the tower.
Where is this place?”

“Underneath
the observatory,” Socrato confirmed. “You are dealing
with a skilled illusionist after all.”

With a
snap, Pirogoeth discovered that there was now light, and that she
hadn't moved much more than ten feet, now inside a circular room with
a mahogany desk flanked by bookshelves. A large globe was in the
center of the room on a silver axis and stand, clearly made during an
age where there was more than one continent, as Tanzibar and
Pallentia were still in their old glory.

“Nothing
is ever simple with you, is it?” Pirogoeth asked.

The old
mage was unrepentant, his smile broad and playful. “I find
constant practice keeps my skills sharp.” He quickly turned
serious, stopping in front of the globe and setting into a slow spin
on its axis. “As you know, the Void has been a creeping,
unstoppable, insatiable blight on this world. It has consumed most of
the world already, and has begun encroaching on this last sanctuary
as well. The South Gibraltar Islands are just the start, you know it
as well as I.”

Pirogoeth
nodded in silent confirmation.

Socrato
allowed himself to sound hopeful. “But... what if there was a
way to stop it? What if artifacts like the ones you and I hold are
the key to discovering the knowledge of the Coders themselves, and
with that knowledge, stopping this collapse?”

The
apprentice said nothing, but her interest was definitely piqued
further.

“My
fellow great sages and I believe that could be the case, and we have
pooled our efforts towards a study that spans a continent and crosses
political bounds to that one task. Kartage wasn't constructed here on
accident, as I already told you. It is a major convergence point for
the ley lines, as is Tortuga in the Northwest of Avalon, and in
Damask, the keep maintained by the Dominus Augustus on the Island of
Donne under the auspices of Reaht.

While we
have learned much, there is one place missing, and we feel that if we
had someone working there as well, that our efforts could yield more
and greater fruit.”

He stopped
the globe's rotation with a finger, and traced his finger upward and
to the right towards his target, a tiny finger of land jutting out
into the Eastern Forever Sea. “The Northeast, the peninsula of
Kuith, where it is my hope you will eventually set court and join us
in our research.”

He looked
at her with the reluctance of a man on his last hope. “I cannot
force your cooperation even if I wanted to, but I must insist as
strongly as I can that this duty is beyond the highest importance.
Greater than any war or empire... or any life.”

Pirogoeth
crossed her arms as the entirety of what he was suggesting began to
sink in. A Domina... her... a veritable ruler of a keep like
Kartage. But it was on damn near the other side of the continent.
She'd likely never go home again...

“Say
I agree to this insane idea,” she said with far less emotion
than she was really feeling. “What then?”

“For
now? You learn under my tutelage. I will be as swift as you are able
to learn and retain. Once you are ready, I will supply you with as
much money and resources as I can. Fortunately for you, Kuith is in
the Free Provinces, unlike the other three, and you should be able to
integrate your keep into the sparsely populated region easily
enough.” He paused only to breathe. “You will need to
learn more than magic as a result. Management of a keep is not easy,
even if it is your only task. That too, I will teach you as best as I
am able.”

“'It’s
an honor,' Torma said,” the apprentice grumbled quietly. “'A
true blessing,' she said. 'To have drawn the interest of someone so
grand and wise,' she said.”

“Oh,
all lies, to be sure. This will not be an easy road. The purpose I
have for you is one that even the most gifted of mages would find
daunting. It will push your will and your mind as far as it can go,
then beyond.”

Pirogoeth
knew she couldn't wrestle with the offer very long, mostly because
she really already knew her answer. It had to be done. “You're
lucky, Dominus. For I accept this challenge.”

The
tension in her master's frame melted away, and he clapped once
happily. “Splendid! Then tomorrow we will get right back to
work. Time is not necessarily our friend, and the sooner you are
prepared for your new position, the better the continent will be for
it.”

Pirogoeth
nodded, accepting the tiring study that would be in her future. For
the sake of the people she cared for, and even those she didn't, she
had to.

Other works by Thomas Knapp

The Broken Prophecy

The Sixth Prophet

For
more information, visit http://www.tkocreations.com

Other works by Fred Gallagher

MegaTokyo: Volumes 1-3

MegaTokyo Omnibus Vol. 1

Available from Dark Horse Comics

MegaTokyo: Volumes 4-6

Available from DC Comics

For
more information, visit http://www.megatokyo.com
or http://www.megagear.com