12-06-2024, 05:57 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-06-2024, 08:14 PM by frenzied67.)
Rare this far south, Bolloren had been struck by a blizzard on this last month of winter. Though the winds had howled like some titanic beast that had striven to drive all the heat out of the palace, the morning dawned clear and magical. Through Leachelle's window the world had been transformed to a pristine white wonderland where all the old scenery had been made innocent and clean looking. A new world, a young world carpeted in playful fluff. For only the second time in her fifteen years, there had been a snow that had not melted within hours of falling.
Her spirit was buoyed at the transformation of the capitol, gravity had only the most tenuous hold upon her as she dressed for her first day of leading a class of relic crafting. Though she was still but a student herself, she had mastered the crafting techniques for both organic and inorganic magic nodes. Leachelle herself would be graded on how well she passed on her knowledge of preparing and fastening a magic node into a setting to Ungathered students. This snow made her confidence swell almost beyond the bounds of her physical being. This was going to be the best day ever! Unfortunately she had not been able to share her joy with her father Ovellam, the staff claimed he had been called away before sunrise by the king.
Bundled up in her doe skin, sable lined great coat and matching mittens, Leachelle had set off for work early. She had wanted to enjoy her walk, in the fresh wonderland Bolloren had transformed into. Only a few children and horse drawn carts had beaten her to the snow. The kids skirmished with lofted snowballs or patted snowmen into being, their delighted cries tugging at Leachelle's own joy. The horses breath bellowed great plumes of fog as they crunched through the crust covered roads, their mincing steps proving they too were as unused to this type of weather as Human's were. Opening the door to her class was when all the magic was stolen from Leachelle, she was greeted by an all too familiar voice.
"Well, well, if it isn't the skinny princess." Taleen Haughten declared with a forming sneer.
As usual the platinum blond girl had two of her co-conspirators flanking her, and their smiles took on a predatory cast. Though Taleen and her interactions were few and far between since Leachelle had been Gathered, the blond girl had many adherents. A few times a week Leachelle, mostly in passing, would have to deal with Taleen's faithful who never let an opportunity pass to remind her of their animosity. Tall spindly Phinder Tugg and his shock of brown curly hair sat on Taleen's right, he liked to glare then check to see if he had won any approval from his blond master. Gorsche was a new addition to Taleen's cronies, a muscular but average sized young man with a very broad mouth. He had bleached his hair so that it looked like he had a blond tonsure at the top of his pate.
All through the class the trio sabotaged the lesson plan, talking over her, casting doubts upon Leachelle's assertions, and eventually resorting to a near assault on her person when they tried to hook her dress with a hoist that was in the classroom. The nightmare of her day was reflected in how she found Bolloren once again changed on her walk home. The roads and walks had been trampled into a gray slurry that was difficult to navigate and hideous to view. The padding of snow on top of buildings now seemed patchy and skewed after mostly melting. The long daggers of icicles had turned into vestiges of themselves, little toddler finger sized spikes that dripped their misery on to pedestrians below. The city had cut the viscera out of winter's gift in less than a day, making a hell scape out of so much promise.
The cutting cold that had felt so enervating that morning seeped into her bones while walking home, bringing shivers and wretchedness. Three ladies of the palace staff met her at the door. One began to dab at Leachelle's boots, drying them before water was tracked into King Uldarnan's home. Another young staffer helped Leachelle peel off her mittens, the third had a tray of mulled cider. The cinnamon and brandy seemed to spread heat through her chilled body from the first sip, like liquid salvation. Father should be home now, maybe he will have an idea of how I can regain control of my class. Thanking the three young women, the apprentice magister began taking the nearest stairs to the north western portions of the palace.
Even though Leachelle was now in the palace, the memory of being mocked in her own classroom played and replayed in her mind. The entire class had laughed when Gorsche had lowered the hooked chain of the hoist behind Leachelle's back, then had attached that hook to the lower hoop of her dress. She had felt the tug when trying to walk, demonstrating three differing types of files used in shaping settings for a relic. At that point, Phinder had ran to the hoist and began to work the windlass, raising the hook. Leachelle had looked ridiculous trying to hold her dress down and remove the chain from her clothing. Echoes of the laughter still made her ears and face burn with the shame. Her leadership trials were already in a tailspin, and she was terrified of the weeks to come.
A long time ago Leachelle would have darted for the solace of her bedroom, her safe place from the worlds slings and arrows. Now she tried to hide her disquiet as her boots echoed up and down the marble floor and gilt edged hall paneling. While exchanging a curtsy in passing with a young noble lady on the third floor, Leachelle felt mortification when the girl's eyes had flashed to her magister guild pin. Only two years into her job and she was already failing so miserably making her unworthy of her title. That shame was hard to hide, hard to conceal with her oft practiced neutral face. Father please be home, I need your help more than ever! There had been a time where that unspoken plea would have been directed to her mother. The stairs up the next flight never seemed longer.
Turning into the third hall heading west, where the walls were light blue, the molding dark blue, the picture frames and display stands inlaid in silver, and the marble floor had bluish whorls, Leachelle noticed two guard officers walking her way. Heads together, they seemed quite intent on their conversation; their eyes flicked to her and then off in less than a heartbeat. They were the out of place element in the palace, making the young magister stare. Rarely was there a military element above the ground floor, except in times of emergency. Did the blizzard cause more problems than just dumping a large amount of snow on us? What could be another reason for the soldiers visit? Through her father's close association with the military, Leachelle had been privy to many security discussions.
Officers always talked about campaigns, and more often than not, those military matters were about foreign wars and not associated with Bolloren at all. Still, she had not heard of any wars going on. Not that the Gachtler or Faelora had not started something this last summer past and the word was just now reaching the Human world here in the south. Could that have been the reason behind her father leaving so early this morning? Why would a far off war require his attentions though?
".... cavalry will be useless in Oldbeard, especially in this weather," one declared to the other as she was passing.
"We'll need them if this campaign starts taking more time than we think...."
What campaign are they talking about? Leachelle wondered after her ears ceased to pick up on the guard's talk. Bolloren was practically surrounded by Oldbeard Forest. What was happening? Turning into the slight recess that held the door to her and her father's suit of rooms, Leachelle had to shy back when that door opened and the threshold was filled with two more officers. Older men with higher ranks than the two men in the hall. Though their eyes widened as hers did, the surprise mutual, their salutes to her magister's pin was immediate.
"Pardon us, miss," one said as they parted to allow her entry. Hesitantly she stepped in to find their living quarters a hive of activity.
The main room of their quarters was a large eye shaped oval, with an area for dining next to a carpeted area with sofas and chairs to the dining tables in the room's east. The western portion of the main area held her mother's paintings and sculptures, most of which she had made herself; a miniature art gallery. Five families could live in the main room without any friction from close proximity. Four other apartments adjoined the main living/dining area, before each door was a series of three marble steps and a marble landing that was round. In the north east was Ovellam's circular bed chamber. As with all four rooms, the space was half the size of the main living area.
Across the room in the south west was her father's study, a place that was part library, part laboratory. Leachelle's quarters were in the north east across from the family library and music room. Mother's now silent piano was surrounded by the books she had shared with her husband and daughter. Ovellam was directing servants into packing items into travel trunks and duffel bags even as he was stuffing rolled maps and papers into a water proof cylindrical case at the table. This had happened before. Leachelle's heart fell as a selfish part of herself realized her father would not be acting as her advisor.
That part of her psyche fell silent as her other fears reared up. He was taking to the field which meant danger. Only battle drew Ovellam out of Bolloren, though there had been occasions when he had been sent to straighten out the politics of some towns and villages that served the capitol. Having seen officers in their place meant it had to be war, and not a local diplomatic event. Now I understand why mom cried when he left to serve.
She crept forward a few steps then stopped to study her father, wanting a mental picture in case this was the last time she would see him. In the last two years he had slimmed down from the three hundred plus pounds he had weighed, but he had not come close to the slenderness he had when mother had been alive. In exchange, his once dark hair had become even more peppered with white, and he had stopped wearing his short cropped beard; that had lost all color. How can he be so calm and in control, Leachelle wondered as he directed a man in palace livery not to pack his good cloaks, I would be terrified. He even laughed, finding the exchange with the staffer humorous as the man returned the clothing to his room. Still smiling he turned and caught sight of her near the threshold.
The way his smile grew caught at Leachelle, only a great joy in the heart could be expressed that freely, that readily.
"My little leaping lilac lily, come here," he said opening his arms. Ovellam greeted her in the mornings, every morning with a hug, and every night when he came home he met her with the warmest embrace. If he heard her sob when she flew into his arms he did not make a comment. He just folded his arms around her and held on tightly. That secure hold did not change one iota as she hid her tears in his red silk coat. Only when Leachelle had gained control of her emotions and laid her cheek against his chest did his grip lessen a little. "I guess you know what's going on?"
Before answering, Leachelle intensified her own hug.
"I know you're riding off into danger again. What is going on?" Before pushing her an arms length away, Ovellam sighed heavily. His gray eyes probed his daughters face for a few moments, the space between his eyes creasing a little at what he found.
"It is the Sauri. They came out of their swamps and met up with their forest cousins. Together they raided Halems Court a few days ago, this is a small village four days south of here. Over two hundred people were killed." His mouth twisted with distaste for the loss of life.
"This is bigger than them hitting a few farms isn't it?" Leachelle's question made fondness and pride vie on his face for a few seconds.
Letting go of her forearms, Ovellam half turned away. He called out to the staff bustling around their living quarters, before directing his attention back to her query.
"Okay that 's enough! Please load this on the carriage when it comes around! Make sure the whole bundle is wrapped against the weather, it will be wet and miserable enough without me wearing clothing that has sucked up all the rain that falls in the south! I thank you all for the help you have given me! This is much bigger than some raids. The tribes are riled up for some reason and they are blaming us. King Uldarnan wants us to end this quickly, but the Sauri are nigh impossible to pin down. These upright lizards know the woods, they are not going to stand still to meet us. Not unless we get real lucky that is."
Ovellam's shoulders slumped a little as he talked, like a man who was weary even before his labors had started.
"You are not going to be able to end this quickly, I take it?" His smile had a wincing quality to it.
"I've played this game before. It will take months before we catch up to one of their bands. If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more. If we kill enough of them right off, then they will either melt away back to their swamps, or they will sue for peace and list their grievances. Their demands are always bizarre as all get out, they never seem to understand that each city is it's own government. They think all of us humans are one people, monolithic and unified. So if Lansee in western Tanbril stole their fish, they would consider raiding Bolloren's territories as teaching Lansee's people a lesson.
That was not just the Sauri's view of the three magic using races, many of the tribal species viewed Humans, Faelora, and Gachtler each as monolithic races. Gobesh and Giants were just as confused about how the three civilized races were structured, even though they had many 'nations' with their own people.
"How do you usually come to grips with the Sauri?" she asked pulling out a silver inlaid chair of white wood from the matching table. She had to hold the top and middle hoops of her skirt so they would flex rather than crumple when she perched on the seats edge. Ovellam handed his map case to his assistant who was helping the palace staff haul the trunks and bags out.
Leachelle's question made him think for a few moments, his distant eyes turned inward to view memories. Ovellam grimaced slightly before relaying his answer.
"A decade ago we trained to fight in smaller units. We could break our forces up, but remain close enough that the leading units could be reinforced in minutes. We could scour a larger section of the wilderness which increased our chances of finding the tribes, then we would be able to coalesce and deal with them." She read the regret on his features and realized her questions were brushing upon something her father was not liking.
"A decade ago? How are the guards training differently now?"
Leachelle did not like how wan Ovellam's smile was, but he did reach over and squeeze her slender shoulder; one of the ways he demonstrated he admired her sharp mindful questions.
"They aren't training differently. What is happening is that King Uldarnan listened to the wrong advisors. I have to ride out with green troops and inexperienced officers, and use the troops of the towns and villages where we maneuver. I am not getting any help from experienced veterans. His Highness believes he has to conserve his experienced soldiers to defend the city. I'm not even allowed to command veteran relic wielders." That answer sent chills down Leachelle's spine, her father was going into increased danger since he was not surrounded by soldiers who knew what to expect. "How about you, Leaper? What has your heart feeling down?"
One thing about her parents, living and dead, they had always been attuned to Leachelle's emotional well being. She did not know how Ovellam knew about her bad day, but he had somehow sensed she was low. But my problems are so small and petty compared to his! How can I burden him now, he has so much more on his shoulders than I could ever handle? Grasping his forearm, feeling the embroidered leaves of the roses stitched out in thread under her fingers, she looked up at her father.
"I wish I could go with you and watch your back out in the field," she said, avoiding her problems to address his.
Ovellam's eyes widened for a moment, as if he were viewing the Burning Spirits pit of torments, before they softened into his expression of fondness.
"Be careful of what you wish for. I dread the day you start combat training with the relic you will bond with. If your magic relic manifests like mine, then you will live a life time fighting, breaking things with the army instead of creating. While I would feel safe under your protection, my wish for you is to become someone who builds things, whose abilities help make people's lives better." Shortly after that conversation, Ovellam had to leave. His job required him to liaise with the guards and make sure they had the equipment they would need. He stated the first battle his soldiers faced would be requisitioning enough food, clothing, weapons, and ammunition they would need in the field.
Leachelle sat for a long while in the silence of their apartment wondering about her father's upcoming battle with the bean counters, then the solitude of her situation struck her. No one was around, no life existed in this great big oval space. Not even the fires crackling out heat alleviated the sheer emptiness in and around Leachelle. After a while she realized she was overdressed, still in her mink lined coat and mittens. The act of shedding her outside clothing felt like an exercise in loneliness, a form of movement that lacked meaning. When the servants brought her dinner, Leachelle wanted them to stay, wanted any contact she could get. They just set her table, laid out her food, then cordially sought her pardon before leaving.
Mother, what do I do? Father has gone to fight again, and I am failing in my tasks. I thought to soar oh so high, but my wings are broken and the ground spins closer and closer. The problem with talking to the dead was they did not answer. The mental images she held of Inagred Gueardan were beginning to fade, no longer an anchor of solace Leachelle could cling too. After picking at her food for over an hour, the quietude began to weigh overly heavy. So Leachelle resorted to a coping mechanism she had sworn she was too old for. She went to bed early, huddling under her blankets as she had as a child. Instead of safety, instead of comfort, she found her worries. Her class laughing at her. Her father turning and walking for the door, his fate uncertain.
Hours dragged by bringing her the torment of that hook raising her dress' hem, Taleen cackling uproariously leading the class in their mockery of Leachelle. She rolled about fruitlessly, mussing her bedding till it tangled with her limbs. Hours of watching Ovellam's pained wince, "I've played this game before. It will take months before we catch up to one of their bands. If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more. If we kill enough of them right off, then they will either melt away back to their swamps, or they will sue for peace and list their grievances." Over and over, the torments of the Burning Spirits keeping her from the sleep she needed to face her next day.
Again she held up the channeled wood chisel, "What do you think this is used for?" she had asked her students. With hooded eyes and sneering lips Taleen answered.
"Maybe you can make some breasts, you haven't seemed to grow any of your own." All those snickers had grown into full blown laughter. Father's shoulders sagged from all the responsibilities he shouldered. Over and over the images brought her pain, keeping Leachelle from formulating a plan or tactic she could use to regain control of her students; or even fill the emptiness of her living quarters.
Dammit, I need solutions! I need sleep! Leachelle was fatigued, so tired that her thoughts were muzzy and disjointed, her round room of silver and blue overly quiet with the late hour. Her body writhed slowly with the disquiets haunting her. No solution hove to in her mind, just another haunting vision of her father. "I've played this game before. It will take months before we catch up to one of their bands. If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more." She did not even have the spirit to scream into her pillow, instead frustration started to sting her eyes with tears.
Just like that, the clearest image of her mother appeared behind her eyes, a memory from long ago. One of the rare times Inagred had chastised Leachelle, her perfect face twisted with disapproval.
"Listen to your father, he is trying to teach you how to be a good person, and you're acting like all the other brats that live here!" Shocked, Leachelle tried to hold onto that image of her mother, so many details of that face she wanted to cling to. Yet all she could grip was the ire filled blue eyes seeming to look down on her. In Leachelle's efforts to grip that memory, she stopped rolling about.
"If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more."
At first her father's words seemed like interference with her efforts to bring her mother's image back, then their importance began to dawn on Leachelle. This is how father deals with his enemies! These are tactics! How can I apply this idea to my problems? Leachelle wondered how she could put the "fear" into Taleen, knowing that if she figured that out, she could salvage her class. This idea felt like she had been put on the right path, clarity chased the fog from her thoughts. Possibility beckoned her on, the solution was at her... finger (yawn)... tips....
Servants in the king's livery throwing her curtains wide brought Leachelle out of her sleep. Morning light streamed in, from a sky that held clouds dark with the promise of rain or snow. I fell asleep. Thank the Lords of Light and Life! I'm tired but I think I can come up with a plan before I leave for work. With a smile the plump older woman attending her finished pouring hot water into the washing basin then moved from Leachelle's room, the sounds of her breakfast being laid out came from the outer chamber. She moved over to her wardrobe and began to pick through her scores of dresses, most of them displaying colors from the purple spectrum, each waiting for her consideration.
Here we go, Leachelle decided, finding a dress that did not sport any lace, and the periwinkle embroidered daisies made the outfit seem no nonsense. Something she could work in or possibly brawl in. How am I going to put the fear into Taleen today? she mused as she washed her face. Her purple and pink pajamas were flung onto her tossed bed, as she dressed with determination, everything would be cleaned and made up for her by the time she came home. Scenario after scenario was concocted, then discarded. At the lonely table in the main room, she ate with more gusto than her evening meal. Between bites of toast and boiled eggs an idea did hit her, and she was shocked at the daring it would require. The repercussions could even prove disastrous to her career. Lords of Light and Life, give me an alternative, she begged; nothing else presented itself to her troubled thoughts.
Walking to the workshop classroom was not as carefree as the morning before. Not only had most of the snow gone, except for the dirty gray heaps of piled snow and forlorn snowmen with drooping faces, the whole city of Bolloren seemed gripped in a soggy chill. A city as uncertain as one of its daughters wondering if her course of action would be the right one. Before her classroom door, Leachelle paused, still in two minds if her gambit should even be tried. It was bold, too bold for her usual approach to life. Yet it was the only recourse she could see. If only there was no chance that her students would turn her in for abuse. Mother, watch over me, Lords of Light and Life, watch over me, I need thy aid now, she prayed trying to put steel in her spine. Opening the door felt like she had set herself careening down the steepest of hills, towards disaster.
Feeling as if she were gripping false determination Leachelle marched into the old shop. The interior of the combination shop and classroom was dominated by a large circular wooden work bench. All her students were seated around that circle of scored and scorch marked wood. More benches lined the north, west, and south walls, but those stations had drawers and racks that held the tools and paraphernalia of the subject she was to teach; those work stations were even more scarred and stained than the central one. An office space, with open rectangles where windows should have been, took up the east side. A small box like desk was in that office, but Leachelle's only use for that space was the coat rack near the useless door. Any one could enter that place through the large empty window spaces in the wall. The large hoist with its dangling hooked chain sat between the office and the round bench, five feet from either feature. A series of tracks on the ceiling would allow that hoist to be positioned almost anywhere in the facility.
Taleen, Phinder, and Gorsche with his Gobesh grin seemed delighted when Leachelle swept confidently into the shop, they perked up in their seats near the hoist in the northern part of the class. The twelve other teens, her students, looked expectant, as if they were certain they would be entertained.
"Good morning, class," Leachelle said walking toward the table while stripping her mittens off. No one returned her greeting, but grins broadened throughout the room. Her own smile felt false in the face of all that ridicule waiting to come her way. Tossing her mittens onto the bench between a girl her own age, and a burly man a few years older, Leachelle's hand dipped into her pocket and pulled forth her relic level wand, her second training relic made of stained maple wood.
All those smiles vanished into wide eyed uncomprehending looks when tendrils of power lashed out from Leachelle and her wand. Taleen was hoisted out of her chair by her hair, more feelers of magic gripped the blond girl by her ankles stretching her out in thin air, another lash gagged the scream of pain and terror that almost tore the air from the beautiful blond girl. Some students fell out of their seats as they scrambled back, Gorsche gaped helplessly at Taleen, but Phinder's hand darted for his vest pocket.
"If you pull your talisman I will rip her hair out by the roots," Leachelle threatened Phinder, her face a mask of malevolence. Inside Leachelle a three front war waged with her emotions. Fear of the repercussions that could fall her way, fear of how easy the violence came to her, and the exhilaration she found in her capacity for violence; the power it made her feel.
The tall curly crowned fifteen year old boy licked his lips, his eyes switching between Leachelle and the girl he followed like a pup; his shaking hand moved away from any of his pockets. She spread her cold gray gaze onto the rest of the students to make sure they knew her threat was for them as well. She had their complete attention. With a circular motion of her wand, the leashes of magic holding Taleen alternated, spinning the girl until she was held upside down in midair. Leachelle advanced upon her victim, secretly reveling in the fear she found in the girl's pale blue orbs. "Before us lie several choices," she started, amazed at how steady her voice was. Standing inches from Taleen's gaping face, she could hear whimpers escaping the gag of magic.
Raising the wand up next to her own face, Leachelle made sure her nemesis saw and realized that her relic was more powerful than the talisman Taleen herself carried. "You can report me for this assault on your person, which is legally your right... well it is the right of every one of you students to report me." She spread her look around to make sure they all knew this message was not just for the terrified blond. "Sure I will be removed from teaching, but during the investigation the disruptions you brought to my class will be revealed. I will remain a magister, but you, you will be kicked completely out of the program. Now you can choose this course if you want, but the alternative is this. You learn what I have to teach."
Still staring into Taleen's streaming eyes, Leachelle felt more than noticed the palpable change in the room. Her words seemed to be reaching receptive ears, at least among the students not trussed up and dangling in the air. "You don't have to like me, but you stop sabotaging my class. You will learn the proper way to prepare and affix a magic node to an item making them into relics, and advance to the next phase of becoming a magister. I will do that for you despite how you feel about me. In six weeks we will be done with each other, and that will be it," she said backing away from Taleen and looking once again around the learning facility. Eyes were still wide, but the fear was gone from everyone but the three who had tormented Leachelle since puberty.
Using the magic from her wand, the red faced girl was once again spun about til she was upright but still hovering several feet up. The tendrils that gripped Taleen shifted to hold the girl around her torso rather than suspending her by her mussed platinum tresses. Sobbing silently was all her old enemy could do, while tall poofy haired Phinder all but wrung his hands with the anxiety he was exhibiting. Gorsche was introspective as he spread his looks between Leachelle and Taleen. Though he had bleached the top of his hair blond, he did not look as enamored of Taleen as he had at the beginning of class.
Dropping the magic gagging Taleen, Leachelle faced her one last time. "Do we have a deal, student Taleen?" Unnable to use her voice from her sobs, the blond nodded with eye water and snot forming droplets off her upper lip. Doubts about the violence she was using still threatened her commanding demeanor, yet she still lowered Taleen and released her from the skein of power. My gambit isn't through, she admitted shaking on the inside, wondering how Taleen was going to respond to her assault. "I understand that what I did to you was an affront, if you declare the necessity of satisfaction you could challenge me to a duel."
This produced multiple gasps throughout the room, and the mood returned to mass tension. Gorsche tilted his head and studied Leachelle as if seeing something he had never expected. Phinder put his arm around Taleen, attempting to console the weeping teen. For her part Taleen turned her face around and down, not wanting to make eye contact; unwilling to choose this third option. She only savagely shook Phinder Tugg's arm off of her after Leachelle turned her attention to the rest of the class. It worked! I "put the fear" into her! That jubilant thought wavered then fell away to fear and disappointment when Taleen grabbed up her coat while heading for the door, Phinder slow to copy her. Burning Spirits take me! She's going to tell on me!
Wide mouthed Gorshce just pulled his stool back up to the large round bench. What do I do? Leachelle was certain her enemy was about to leave and go report this incident to the guild, yet her victory also sang in her veins; heady with the power of the whole exchange. "Can anyone remember the difference between a stone chisel and a wood chisel?" she asked as the rest of the class began pulling their stools up, seats that would not have been out of place in a tavern. As Leachelle was finding out that she would have to repeat parts of yesterday's bungled lesson, Taleen and Phinder hesitated at the door. The tall boy whispered at Taleen, gripping her by her shoulders. He seemed to be urging her to leave. Again his hands were shook off, before Taleen led them back to their stools. The girl cried through the entire class, Phinder and his unwanted attentions agonized nearby.
Her spirit was buoyed at the transformation of the capitol, gravity had only the most tenuous hold upon her as she dressed for her first day of leading a class of relic crafting. Though she was still but a student herself, she had mastered the crafting techniques for both organic and inorganic magic nodes. Leachelle herself would be graded on how well she passed on her knowledge of preparing and fastening a magic node into a setting to Ungathered students. This snow made her confidence swell almost beyond the bounds of her physical being. This was going to be the best day ever! Unfortunately she had not been able to share her joy with her father Ovellam, the staff claimed he had been called away before sunrise by the king.
Bundled up in her doe skin, sable lined great coat and matching mittens, Leachelle had set off for work early. She had wanted to enjoy her walk, in the fresh wonderland Bolloren had transformed into. Only a few children and horse drawn carts had beaten her to the snow. The kids skirmished with lofted snowballs or patted snowmen into being, their delighted cries tugging at Leachelle's own joy. The horses breath bellowed great plumes of fog as they crunched through the crust covered roads, their mincing steps proving they too were as unused to this type of weather as Human's were. Opening the door to her class was when all the magic was stolen from Leachelle, she was greeted by an all too familiar voice.
"Well, well, if it isn't the skinny princess." Taleen Haughten declared with a forming sneer.
As usual the platinum blond girl had two of her co-conspirators flanking her, and their smiles took on a predatory cast. Though Taleen and her interactions were few and far between since Leachelle had been Gathered, the blond girl had many adherents. A few times a week Leachelle, mostly in passing, would have to deal with Taleen's faithful who never let an opportunity pass to remind her of their animosity. Tall spindly Phinder Tugg and his shock of brown curly hair sat on Taleen's right, he liked to glare then check to see if he had won any approval from his blond master. Gorsche was a new addition to Taleen's cronies, a muscular but average sized young man with a very broad mouth. He had bleached his hair so that it looked like he had a blond tonsure at the top of his pate.
All through the class the trio sabotaged the lesson plan, talking over her, casting doubts upon Leachelle's assertions, and eventually resorting to a near assault on her person when they tried to hook her dress with a hoist that was in the classroom. The nightmare of her day was reflected in how she found Bolloren once again changed on her walk home. The roads and walks had been trampled into a gray slurry that was difficult to navigate and hideous to view. The padding of snow on top of buildings now seemed patchy and skewed after mostly melting. The long daggers of icicles had turned into vestiges of themselves, little toddler finger sized spikes that dripped their misery on to pedestrians below. The city had cut the viscera out of winter's gift in less than a day, making a hell scape out of so much promise.
The cutting cold that had felt so enervating that morning seeped into her bones while walking home, bringing shivers and wretchedness. Three ladies of the palace staff met her at the door. One began to dab at Leachelle's boots, drying them before water was tracked into King Uldarnan's home. Another young staffer helped Leachelle peel off her mittens, the third had a tray of mulled cider. The cinnamon and brandy seemed to spread heat through her chilled body from the first sip, like liquid salvation. Father should be home now, maybe he will have an idea of how I can regain control of my class. Thanking the three young women, the apprentice magister began taking the nearest stairs to the north western portions of the palace.
Even though Leachelle was now in the palace, the memory of being mocked in her own classroom played and replayed in her mind. The entire class had laughed when Gorsche had lowered the hooked chain of the hoist behind Leachelle's back, then had attached that hook to the lower hoop of her dress. She had felt the tug when trying to walk, demonstrating three differing types of files used in shaping settings for a relic. At that point, Phinder had ran to the hoist and began to work the windlass, raising the hook. Leachelle had looked ridiculous trying to hold her dress down and remove the chain from her clothing. Echoes of the laughter still made her ears and face burn with the shame. Her leadership trials were already in a tailspin, and she was terrified of the weeks to come.
A long time ago Leachelle would have darted for the solace of her bedroom, her safe place from the worlds slings and arrows. Now she tried to hide her disquiet as her boots echoed up and down the marble floor and gilt edged hall paneling. While exchanging a curtsy in passing with a young noble lady on the third floor, Leachelle felt mortification when the girl's eyes had flashed to her magister guild pin. Only two years into her job and she was already failing so miserably making her unworthy of her title. That shame was hard to hide, hard to conceal with her oft practiced neutral face. Father please be home, I need your help more than ever! There had been a time where that unspoken plea would have been directed to her mother. The stairs up the next flight never seemed longer.
Turning into the third hall heading west, where the walls were light blue, the molding dark blue, the picture frames and display stands inlaid in silver, and the marble floor had bluish whorls, Leachelle noticed two guard officers walking her way. Heads together, they seemed quite intent on their conversation; their eyes flicked to her and then off in less than a heartbeat. They were the out of place element in the palace, making the young magister stare. Rarely was there a military element above the ground floor, except in times of emergency. Did the blizzard cause more problems than just dumping a large amount of snow on us? What could be another reason for the soldiers visit? Through her father's close association with the military, Leachelle had been privy to many security discussions.
Officers always talked about campaigns, and more often than not, those military matters were about foreign wars and not associated with Bolloren at all. Still, she had not heard of any wars going on. Not that the Gachtler or Faelora had not started something this last summer past and the word was just now reaching the Human world here in the south. Could that have been the reason behind her father leaving so early this morning? Why would a far off war require his attentions though?
".... cavalry will be useless in Oldbeard, especially in this weather," one declared to the other as she was passing.
"We'll need them if this campaign starts taking more time than we think...."
What campaign are they talking about? Leachelle wondered after her ears ceased to pick up on the guard's talk. Bolloren was practically surrounded by Oldbeard Forest. What was happening? Turning into the slight recess that held the door to her and her father's suit of rooms, Leachelle had to shy back when that door opened and the threshold was filled with two more officers. Older men with higher ranks than the two men in the hall. Though their eyes widened as hers did, the surprise mutual, their salutes to her magister's pin was immediate.
"Pardon us, miss," one said as they parted to allow her entry. Hesitantly she stepped in to find their living quarters a hive of activity.
The main room of their quarters was a large eye shaped oval, with an area for dining next to a carpeted area with sofas and chairs to the dining tables in the room's east. The western portion of the main area held her mother's paintings and sculptures, most of which she had made herself; a miniature art gallery. Five families could live in the main room without any friction from close proximity. Four other apartments adjoined the main living/dining area, before each door was a series of three marble steps and a marble landing that was round. In the north east was Ovellam's circular bed chamber. As with all four rooms, the space was half the size of the main living area.
Across the room in the south west was her father's study, a place that was part library, part laboratory. Leachelle's quarters were in the north east across from the family library and music room. Mother's now silent piano was surrounded by the books she had shared with her husband and daughter. Ovellam was directing servants into packing items into travel trunks and duffel bags even as he was stuffing rolled maps and papers into a water proof cylindrical case at the table. This had happened before. Leachelle's heart fell as a selfish part of herself realized her father would not be acting as her advisor.
That part of her psyche fell silent as her other fears reared up. He was taking to the field which meant danger. Only battle drew Ovellam out of Bolloren, though there had been occasions when he had been sent to straighten out the politics of some towns and villages that served the capitol. Having seen officers in their place meant it had to be war, and not a local diplomatic event. Now I understand why mom cried when he left to serve.
She crept forward a few steps then stopped to study her father, wanting a mental picture in case this was the last time she would see him. In the last two years he had slimmed down from the three hundred plus pounds he had weighed, but he had not come close to the slenderness he had when mother had been alive. In exchange, his once dark hair had become even more peppered with white, and he had stopped wearing his short cropped beard; that had lost all color. How can he be so calm and in control, Leachelle wondered as he directed a man in palace livery not to pack his good cloaks, I would be terrified. He even laughed, finding the exchange with the staffer humorous as the man returned the clothing to his room. Still smiling he turned and caught sight of her near the threshold.
The way his smile grew caught at Leachelle, only a great joy in the heart could be expressed that freely, that readily.
"My little leaping lilac lily, come here," he said opening his arms. Ovellam greeted her in the mornings, every morning with a hug, and every night when he came home he met her with the warmest embrace. If he heard her sob when she flew into his arms he did not make a comment. He just folded his arms around her and held on tightly. That secure hold did not change one iota as she hid her tears in his red silk coat. Only when Leachelle had gained control of her emotions and laid her cheek against his chest did his grip lessen a little. "I guess you know what's going on?"
Before answering, Leachelle intensified her own hug.
"I know you're riding off into danger again. What is going on?" Before pushing her an arms length away, Ovellam sighed heavily. His gray eyes probed his daughters face for a few moments, the space between his eyes creasing a little at what he found.
"It is the Sauri. They came out of their swamps and met up with their forest cousins. Together they raided Halems Court a few days ago, this is a small village four days south of here. Over two hundred people were killed." His mouth twisted with distaste for the loss of life.
"This is bigger than them hitting a few farms isn't it?" Leachelle's question made fondness and pride vie on his face for a few seconds.
Letting go of her forearms, Ovellam half turned away. He called out to the staff bustling around their living quarters, before directing his attention back to her query.
"Okay that 's enough! Please load this on the carriage when it comes around! Make sure the whole bundle is wrapped against the weather, it will be wet and miserable enough without me wearing clothing that has sucked up all the rain that falls in the south! I thank you all for the help you have given me! This is much bigger than some raids. The tribes are riled up for some reason and they are blaming us. King Uldarnan wants us to end this quickly, but the Sauri are nigh impossible to pin down. These upright lizards know the woods, they are not going to stand still to meet us. Not unless we get real lucky that is."
Ovellam's shoulders slumped a little as he talked, like a man who was weary even before his labors had started.
"You are not going to be able to end this quickly, I take it?" His smile had a wincing quality to it.
"I've played this game before. It will take months before we catch up to one of their bands. If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more. If we kill enough of them right off, then they will either melt away back to their swamps, or they will sue for peace and list their grievances. Their demands are always bizarre as all get out, they never seem to understand that each city is it's own government. They think all of us humans are one people, monolithic and unified. So if Lansee in western Tanbril stole their fish, they would consider raiding Bolloren's territories as teaching Lansee's people a lesson.
That was not just the Sauri's view of the three magic using races, many of the tribal species viewed Humans, Faelora, and Gachtler each as monolithic races. Gobesh and Giants were just as confused about how the three civilized races were structured, even though they had many 'nations' with their own people.
"How do you usually come to grips with the Sauri?" she asked pulling out a silver inlaid chair of white wood from the matching table. She had to hold the top and middle hoops of her skirt so they would flex rather than crumple when she perched on the seats edge. Ovellam handed his map case to his assistant who was helping the palace staff haul the trunks and bags out.
Leachelle's question made him think for a few moments, his distant eyes turned inward to view memories. Ovellam grimaced slightly before relaying his answer.
"A decade ago we trained to fight in smaller units. We could break our forces up, but remain close enough that the leading units could be reinforced in minutes. We could scour a larger section of the wilderness which increased our chances of finding the tribes, then we would be able to coalesce and deal with them." She read the regret on his features and realized her questions were brushing upon something her father was not liking.
"A decade ago? How are the guards training differently now?"
Leachelle did not like how wan Ovellam's smile was, but he did reach over and squeeze her slender shoulder; one of the ways he demonstrated he admired her sharp mindful questions.
"They aren't training differently. What is happening is that King Uldarnan listened to the wrong advisors. I have to ride out with green troops and inexperienced officers, and use the troops of the towns and villages where we maneuver. I am not getting any help from experienced veterans. His Highness believes he has to conserve his experienced soldiers to defend the city. I'm not even allowed to command veteran relic wielders." That answer sent chills down Leachelle's spine, her father was going into increased danger since he was not surrounded by soldiers who knew what to expect. "How about you, Leaper? What has your heart feeling down?"
One thing about her parents, living and dead, they had always been attuned to Leachelle's emotional well being. She did not know how Ovellam knew about her bad day, but he had somehow sensed she was low. But my problems are so small and petty compared to his! How can I burden him now, he has so much more on his shoulders than I could ever handle? Grasping his forearm, feeling the embroidered leaves of the roses stitched out in thread under her fingers, she looked up at her father.
"I wish I could go with you and watch your back out in the field," she said, avoiding her problems to address his.
Ovellam's eyes widened for a moment, as if he were viewing the Burning Spirits pit of torments, before they softened into his expression of fondness.
"Be careful of what you wish for. I dread the day you start combat training with the relic you will bond with. If your magic relic manifests like mine, then you will live a life time fighting, breaking things with the army instead of creating. While I would feel safe under your protection, my wish for you is to become someone who builds things, whose abilities help make people's lives better." Shortly after that conversation, Ovellam had to leave. His job required him to liaise with the guards and make sure they had the equipment they would need. He stated the first battle his soldiers faced would be requisitioning enough food, clothing, weapons, and ammunition they would need in the field.
Leachelle sat for a long while in the silence of their apartment wondering about her father's upcoming battle with the bean counters, then the solitude of her situation struck her. No one was around, no life existed in this great big oval space. Not even the fires crackling out heat alleviated the sheer emptiness in and around Leachelle. After a while she realized she was overdressed, still in her mink lined coat and mittens. The act of shedding her outside clothing felt like an exercise in loneliness, a form of movement that lacked meaning. When the servants brought her dinner, Leachelle wanted them to stay, wanted any contact she could get. They just set her table, laid out her food, then cordially sought her pardon before leaving.
Mother, what do I do? Father has gone to fight again, and I am failing in my tasks. I thought to soar oh so high, but my wings are broken and the ground spins closer and closer. The problem with talking to the dead was they did not answer. The mental images she held of Inagred Gueardan were beginning to fade, no longer an anchor of solace Leachelle could cling too. After picking at her food for over an hour, the quietude began to weigh overly heavy. So Leachelle resorted to a coping mechanism she had sworn she was too old for. She went to bed early, huddling under her blankets as she had as a child. Instead of safety, instead of comfort, she found her worries. Her class laughing at her. Her father turning and walking for the door, his fate uncertain.
Hours dragged by bringing her the torment of that hook raising her dress' hem, Taleen cackling uproariously leading the class in their mockery of Leachelle. She rolled about fruitlessly, mussing her bedding till it tangled with her limbs. Hours of watching Ovellam's pained wince, "I've played this game before. It will take months before we catch up to one of their bands. If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more. If we kill enough of them right off, then they will either melt away back to their swamps, or they will sue for peace and list their grievances." Over and over, the torments of the Burning Spirits keeping her from the sleep she needed to face her next day.
Again she held up the channeled wood chisel, "What do you think this is used for?" she had asked her students. With hooded eyes and sneering lips Taleen answered.
"Maybe you can make some breasts, you haven't seemed to grow any of your own." All those snickers had grown into full blown laughter. Father's shoulders sagged from all the responsibilities he shouldered. Over and over the images brought her pain, keeping Leachelle from formulating a plan or tactic she could use to regain control of her students; or even fill the emptiness of her living quarters.
Dammit, I need solutions! I need sleep! Leachelle was fatigued, so tired that her thoughts were muzzy and disjointed, her round room of silver and blue overly quiet with the late hour. Her body writhed slowly with the disquiets haunting her. No solution hove to in her mind, just another haunting vision of her father. "I've played this game before. It will take months before we catch up to one of their bands. If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more." She did not even have the spirit to scream into her pillow, instead frustration started to sting her eyes with tears.
Just like that, the clearest image of her mother appeared behind her eyes, a memory from long ago. One of the rare times Inagred had chastised Leachelle, her perfect face twisted with disapproval.
"Listen to your father, he is trying to teach you how to be a good person, and you're acting like all the other brats that live here!" Shocked, Leachelle tried to hold onto that image of her mother, so many details of that face she wanted to cling to. Yet all she could grip was the ire filled blue eyes seeming to look down on her. In Leachelle's efforts to grip that memory, she stopped rolling about.
"If we don't put the fear into them with that opportunity, then we will have to chase them around for several months more."
At first her father's words seemed like interference with her efforts to bring her mother's image back, then their importance began to dawn on Leachelle. This is how father deals with his enemies! These are tactics! How can I apply this idea to my problems? Leachelle wondered how she could put the "fear" into Taleen, knowing that if she figured that out, she could salvage her class. This idea felt like she had been put on the right path, clarity chased the fog from her thoughts. Possibility beckoned her on, the solution was at her... finger (yawn)... tips....
Servants in the king's livery throwing her curtains wide brought Leachelle out of her sleep. Morning light streamed in, from a sky that held clouds dark with the promise of rain or snow. I fell asleep. Thank the Lords of Light and Life! I'm tired but I think I can come up with a plan before I leave for work. With a smile the plump older woman attending her finished pouring hot water into the washing basin then moved from Leachelle's room, the sounds of her breakfast being laid out came from the outer chamber. She moved over to her wardrobe and began to pick through her scores of dresses, most of them displaying colors from the purple spectrum, each waiting for her consideration.
Here we go, Leachelle decided, finding a dress that did not sport any lace, and the periwinkle embroidered daisies made the outfit seem no nonsense. Something she could work in or possibly brawl in. How am I going to put the fear into Taleen today? she mused as she washed her face. Her purple and pink pajamas were flung onto her tossed bed, as she dressed with determination, everything would be cleaned and made up for her by the time she came home. Scenario after scenario was concocted, then discarded. At the lonely table in the main room, she ate with more gusto than her evening meal. Between bites of toast and boiled eggs an idea did hit her, and she was shocked at the daring it would require. The repercussions could even prove disastrous to her career. Lords of Light and Life, give me an alternative, she begged; nothing else presented itself to her troubled thoughts.
Walking to the workshop classroom was not as carefree as the morning before. Not only had most of the snow gone, except for the dirty gray heaps of piled snow and forlorn snowmen with drooping faces, the whole city of Bolloren seemed gripped in a soggy chill. A city as uncertain as one of its daughters wondering if her course of action would be the right one. Before her classroom door, Leachelle paused, still in two minds if her gambit should even be tried. It was bold, too bold for her usual approach to life. Yet it was the only recourse she could see. If only there was no chance that her students would turn her in for abuse. Mother, watch over me, Lords of Light and Life, watch over me, I need thy aid now, she prayed trying to put steel in her spine. Opening the door felt like she had set herself careening down the steepest of hills, towards disaster.
Feeling as if she were gripping false determination Leachelle marched into the old shop. The interior of the combination shop and classroom was dominated by a large circular wooden work bench. All her students were seated around that circle of scored and scorch marked wood. More benches lined the north, west, and south walls, but those stations had drawers and racks that held the tools and paraphernalia of the subject she was to teach; those work stations were even more scarred and stained than the central one. An office space, with open rectangles where windows should have been, took up the east side. A small box like desk was in that office, but Leachelle's only use for that space was the coat rack near the useless door. Any one could enter that place through the large empty window spaces in the wall. The large hoist with its dangling hooked chain sat between the office and the round bench, five feet from either feature. A series of tracks on the ceiling would allow that hoist to be positioned almost anywhere in the facility.
Taleen, Phinder, and Gorsche with his Gobesh grin seemed delighted when Leachelle swept confidently into the shop, they perked up in their seats near the hoist in the northern part of the class. The twelve other teens, her students, looked expectant, as if they were certain they would be entertained.
"Good morning, class," Leachelle said walking toward the table while stripping her mittens off. No one returned her greeting, but grins broadened throughout the room. Her own smile felt false in the face of all that ridicule waiting to come her way. Tossing her mittens onto the bench between a girl her own age, and a burly man a few years older, Leachelle's hand dipped into her pocket and pulled forth her relic level wand, her second training relic made of stained maple wood.
All those smiles vanished into wide eyed uncomprehending looks when tendrils of power lashed out from Leachelle and her wand. Taleen was hoisted out of her chair by her hair, more feelers of magic gripped the blond girl by her ankles stretching her out in thin air, another lash gagged the scream of pain and terror that almost tore the air from the beautiful blond girl. Some students fell out of their seats as they scrambled back, Gorsche gaped helplessly at Taleen, but Phinder's hand darted for his vest pocket.
"If you pull your talisman I will rip her hair out by the roots," Leachelle threatened Phinder, her face a mask of malevolence. Inside Leachelle a three front war waged with her emotions. Fear of the repercussions that could fall her way, fear of how easy the violence came to her, and the exhilaration she found in her capacity for violence; the power it made her feel.
The tall curly crowned fifteen year old boy licked his lips, his eyes switching between Leachelle and the girl he followed like a pup; his shaking hand moved away from any of his pockets. She spread her cold gray gaze onto the rest of the students to make sure they knew her threat was for them as well. She had their complete attention. With a circular motion of her wand, the leashes of magic holding Taleen alternated, spinning the girl until she was held upside down in midair. Leachelle advanced upon her victim, secretly reveling in the fear she found in the girl's pale blue orbs. "Before us lie several choices," she started, amazed at how steady her voice was. Standing inches from Taleen's gaping face, she could hear whimpers escaping the gag of magic.
Raising the wand up next to her own face, Leachelle made sure her nemesis saw and realized that her relic was more powerful than the talisman Taleen herself carried. "You can report me for this assault on your person, which is legally your right... well it is the right of every one of you students to report me." She spread her look around to make sure they all knew this message was not just for the terrified blond. "Sure I will be removed from teaching, but during the investigation the disruptions you brought to my class will be revealed. I will remain a magister, but you, you will be kicked completely out of the program. Now you can choose this course if you want, but the alternative is this. You learn what I have to teach."
Still staring into Taleen's streaming eyes, Leachelle felt more than noticed the palpable change in the room. Her words seemed to be reaching receptive ears, at least among the students not trussed up and dangling in the air. "You don't have to like me, but you stop sabotaging my class. You will learn the proper way to prepare and affix a magic node to an item making them into relics, and advance to the next phase of becoming a magister. I will do that for you despite how you feel about me. In six weeks we will be done with each other, and that will be it," she said backing away from Taleen and looking once again around the learning facility. Eyes were still wide, but the fear was gone from everyone but the three who had tormented Leachelle since puberty.
Using the magic from her wand, the red faced girl was once again spun about til she was upright but still hovering several feet up. The tendrils that gripped Taleen shifted to hold the girl around her torso rather than suspending her by her mussed platinum tresses. Sobbing silently was all her old enemy could do, while tall poofy haired Phinder all but wrung his hands with the anxiety he was exhibiting. Gorsche was introspective as he spread his looks between Leachelle and Taleen. Though he had bleached the top of his hair blond, he did not look as enamored of Taleen as he had at the beginning of class.
Dropping the magic gagging Taleen, Leachelle faced her one last time. "Do we have a deal, student Taleen?" Unnable to use her voice from her sobs, the blond nodded with eye water and snot forming droplets off her upper lip. Doubts about the violence she was using still threatened her commanding demeanor, yet she still lowered Taleen and released her from the skein of power. My gambit isn't through, she admitted shaking on the inside, wondering how Taleen was going to respond to her assault. "I understand that what I did to you was an affront, if you declare the necessity of satisfaction you could challenge me to a duel."
This produced multiple gasps throughout the room, and the mood returned to mass tension. Gorsche tilted his head and studied Leachelle as if seeing something he had never expected. Phinder put his arm around Taleen, attempting to console the weeping teen. For her part Taleen turned her face around and down, not wanting to make eye contact; unwilling to choose this third option. She only savagely shook Phinder Tugg's arm off of her after Leachelle turned her attention to the rest of the class. It worked! I "put the fear" into her! That jubilant thought wavered then fell away to fear and disappointment when Taleen grabbed up her coat while heading for the door, Phinder slow to copy her. Burning Spirits take me! She's going to tell on me!
Wide mouthed Gorshce just pulled his stool back up to the large round bench. What do I do? Leachelle was certain her enemy was about to leave and go report this incident to the guild, yet her victory also sang in her veins; heady with the power of the whole exchange. "Can anyone remember the difference between a stone chisel and a wood chisel?" she asked as the rest of the class began pulling their stools up, seats that would not have been out of place in a tavern. As Leachelle was finding out that she would have to repeat parts of yesterday's bungled lesson, Taleen and Phinder hesitated at the door. The tall boy whispered at Taleen, gripping her by her shoulders. He seemed to be urging her to leave. Again his hands were shook off, before Taleen led them back to their stools. The girl cried through the entire class, Phinder and his unwanted attentions agonized nearby.