Valor: Chapter 2

Michael looked himself over in a mirror. His armor was polished, and he had new gauntlets as well. His sword was polished to a shine and razor sharp, and just as new as the gauntlets. He’d spent part of the morning learning its balance, and practicing.

He also now had a shield, which was something he hadn’t much experience with. It had the crest of the Niels house on it, matching his tabard; an amber-tinted yellow with a black lion, reared up and facing to the left.

“How goes the planning?” came a voice from the door, and he saw his mother standing there. He smiled lightly… how diminutive she looked now, her years weighing her down. At the same time, since his father died, although she had mourned more than anyone, she seemed… almost refreshed. Released, perhaps, was a better term.

After all, she was no longer matron of the estate; that fell to Solomon’s wife, Phillipine. So his mother was left to spend her remaining days relaxing, only having real power over her unmarried daughters, of which two remained.

“It goes well,” Michael said, moving to sit at small table within his chambers. “Solomon has offered to assist with some funds.” He laughed slightly. “I imagine the idea of me being out of his hair for good is combating heavily with his sense of, ah, frugality?” It was a far nicer word than ‘greed.’

His mother smiled. “You know that Solomon does love you, yes? He just followed in your father’s footsteps rather directly, and it hurts him to see you stepping out of them.”

“I suppose,” Michael said, rolling his shoulders. “And you, mother?”

“And me?” she repeated, thinking for a moment… “I think you are too young to remember your grandfather, but you remind me of him very much. Believe it or not, for a brief time, your father wasn’t much different… don’t give me such a look! Your mother doesn’t lie to you. The problem was at the time, this family was not rich enough to afford their only son taking off for his ideals.”

Michael gave a quick snort, adjusting in his seat. “Forgive me mother, but it’s hard to see father in that light.”

“He had to grow up quickly,” she said calmly, “and he always had the best for his children at heart.”

“And no one else.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Michael realized a moment later than he should have that he had overstepped himself. His mother walked over and, as if he wasn’t a grown man wearing platemail armor, slapped him across the face.

“Michael Niels, you won’t speak ill of your dead father, not while I still draw breath. Your father was not a kind man at times, I’ll afford you that, but he did what he could with what he could, and when you made clear your devotion to Yewmark,” she gestured sharply towards the window, “I assure you it wasn’t the stunt that almost cost Solomon his hand that convinced him to do it. As I said, the same fire that burns within you once burned within him. If you are to be a Lord, though, you’d do well to learn to temper it.”

“Forgive me mother,” Michael said, keeping his gaze on the carpet. In truth, he did regret saying what he had. “It was just a moment of… youthful arrogance.”

“Well you are not young anymore, Michael,” she said, and with a wag of her finger made him feel just as much guilt and shame as she had when he had been in shortpants. “You’ve been on this earth for twenty-four years. Old enough to be above such boyish rebellion.”

She shook her head, making a ‘tsk tsk’ sound, and then tilted his chin up. After leveling a disapproving glare into his eyes, she smiled and then pat his cheek. “You are a good boy Michael, and your father would be proud of the man you’ve become. He was proud, even if he never said it. Of you and Solomon both.”

“I truly am sorry mum,” he said, and then moved to stand and hug her. It was somewhat awkward in the armor, but he managed regardless. “I suppose the preparations are just… taxing me.”

“Well, leave some to William and Gustav!” she said after breaking the hug, patting him on the chest. “They are both smart boys. If you are truly worried about finances, I will even convince Solomon to help, or perhaps Stephanie? It’s unbefitting for a lady to worry herself with math, but your sister has always taken to it.”

The thought of asking his second youngest sister for help did not strike him as a good one, even if she was probably better at it than he. “I’ll be fine mother, I promise.”

“You had better be,” she said, and then turned and left the room. Hardly the visit Michael had expected from his mother, but perhaps just the visit he had needed.

“What was your name again?” Gustav asked, somewhat perturbed.

“Perry Tresbos, sir.”

“And… why?” Gustav asked, looking back to Michael, quizzically.

A slight frown crossed Tresbos’ face, and William flushed somewhat, while Michael reddened. “Perry is a bowman who has rode with the Yewmark guard for the last four years, and he’s a hell of a shot, even on horseback.”

“That doesn’t quite answer my question,” Gustav stated rather simply, not really sure why Michael was getting upset.

And yet, he was. “Gus, agh… look, we’ve discussed this. I know you are against bringing more people than we have to, but Perry has volunteered to assist us for no more than his usual salary, no more than 30 silver a day.”

Gustav grunted, and looked at Tresbos again. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Mister Tresbos,” Gustav added, which prompted a (promptly ignored) mutter from Michael, “I just suppose I don’t see much purpose for a cavalry archer in a swamp.”

“I can fight off of my horse as well, sir,” the man said as respectfully as he could.

“Gustav,” William interjected before Michael could start in again, “as I understand it, Mister Tresbos will also be acting a sort of guard captain while we three, and your friend Elias, go into the dungeon. After all, we won’t be able to bring all of our supplies into it.”

Gustav’s face contorted, and he grumbled, but nodded. “Very well! Welcome aboard Mister Tresbos.”

It was already more people than Gustav wanted. Not only was Tresbos joining them, but so were a few workers from House Niels and a couple of villagers from Yewmark, the latter two only assisting so far as helping to bring supplies to the swamp’s edge.

            At the very least, they were finally leaving. Although Gustav had known some preparation would be needed, he had clearly underestimated how meticulous Michael was in such manners. To finally be leaving Yewmark, and heading south to the Taskurr… as far as he was concerned, it was a godsend.

            Sensing Michael’s hostility, though, he rode a few strides ahead. Michael was riding upon a well-kept red horse he called Perimor, the most impressive looking beast of the bunch. Two mules pulled a cart with their supplies, while Tresbos rode a fast-looking black horse, leaner than Perimor, but just as experienced seeming.

            William’s horse was light gray and one that he had purchased from the Niels stables, while Gustav’s was a dark gray horse on loan from the Royal Academy. His was, in a way, the least experienced to such long travel there… but they weren’t aiming for a rapid pace regardless, having to let the mules keep up.

            Riding up alongside him, William leaned over. “Gus, perhaps you shouldn’t be so hard on Michael’s hires…”

            “Hrrm!” Gustav snorted. “It simply seems needless to me. I’ll admit this to being my plan, but we’ve yet to even look over the land ourselves, or clear the dungeon. What good are all these supplies if we are overrun immediately?”

            William cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve seemed rather confident about this, and I feel Michael shares your confidence.”

            Gustav merely grunted.

            “Do you believe we’ll fail?” William pressed.

            “Of course not,” Gustav said, his voice rising above a whisper, and drawing a glance from Michael and Tresbos behind them. He cleared his throat before lowering his voice again. “No, I don’t. But we don’t know what to expect, and some of these are barely more than peasants with any experience in dealing with petty thieves, let alone orcish raiders.”

            “And I suppose you have experience?” William inquired somewhat bitterly.

            Gustav shot him an irritated look. “No, but I can shoot fire from my hands, amongst other things.”

            “There is only so much magic within a mortal frame, Gus.”

            “I know that, William. I do have… some basic training, mostly in using a knife.”

            William seemed somewhat surprised at that, and then remembered… “aah, huh. Kept up on that, did you?”

            Gustav cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

            William shook his head. “Bladed weapons in general are frowned upon by most Clerical Orders except in the most extreme of circumstances.” He reached down and gripped the handle of his mace. “This should handle any problems I come across that God and the Light cannot assist me with.”

            Glancing down at the heavy, flanged mace, Gustav couldn’t say he saw how that was any less violent, and said as much to William. William merely smirked. “It is far easier to survive a broken bone than a severed limb.”

            “Given what we are going after, I’m not sure we want them to survive.”

            “Perhaps not,” William admitted, “but God doesn’t allow for such distinctions, and small though the chance may be, if an orc has an opportunity to change his ways, I must at least give him the option.”

            “I hope you won’t mind that I wouldn’t do the same,” Gustav said uneasily. The idea of beating a creature as fierce and violent as an orc, then allowing it to live, to one day strike back at you… it seemed like madness to him.

            “If they surrendered, would you accept their surrender?”

            “Of course,” Gustav lied. He’d found, in recent days, that was becoming easier and easier to do. In some ways, he missed the old William. Gustav was no criminal, but he considered himself realistic. If someone would kill him, or if he felt they would not accept his surrender were the positions reversed, he’d kill them. End of story.

            If there was one thing he’d learned, being both different and a bit of a runt, if you were getting into a fight; hit first, and hit last. William used to be of a similar line of thought, though that was clearly not the case any longer.

            William’s gaze said that he wasn’t sure whether Gustav was lying or not… and Gustav was okay with that. “Reluctant, of course. Suspicious, certainly. But I’m not an animal William.”

            That seemed to be enough to sate William… and it wasn’t a lie, either. Gustav supposed he could accept surrender from an orc, if only because it was so unlikely, if it did happen, he would be curious to see how it turned out.

            As they rode on, Gustav supposed he had been somewhat harsh on the man who was only trying to help. He was so used to the relative seclusion of his lab, and his only other encounters being with those of other mages, that he found himself gravitating away from most normal, non-magical folk. Michael and William being exceptions, of course, though William wasn’t non-magicial, to be fair. In fact…

            They had been riding for several hours. William had never come this far south before, and even though the sun was starting to sink in the sky, the temperature seemed to be a bit warmer than it had earlier. The very air seemed to taste different, it felt. Were they closer to the sea? He imagined they must be.

            “Will, a question?”

            William jumped slightly, provoking a laugh from Gustav. “Sorry, lost in your thoughts?”

            “Aye,” William laughed. “What can I help you with Gus?”

            “A personal curiosity, though… one I will understand if you don’t wish to answer.”

            “I can only try,” William responded, smiling.

            “What’s it like, casting magic, for you?”

            William blinked, and then, after a moment, realized what Gustav meant. Although William was not as skilled in magic as Gustav was, he used Divine Magic, drawn from the heavens, while Gustav drew from his own energy, or that of the world around him.

            “What’s it like? How do you mean?”

            Gustav shifted in his saddle. “I mean, I suppose… what do you feel? What goes through your mind, your soul, your body?”

            William’s brow furrowed. “Per… haps if you say what you feel with yours, I can better answer.”

            Gustav laughed. “Fair enough. Let me think…” he paused, picking his words. “It varies from spell to spell, of course, but in general… after I’ve cast the spell, mind you, my body feels somewhat cold. As if a cold wind is cutting across me, ignoring my robes. It seems to chill my very spirit. But… my fingertips, my eyes, my tongue, and my mind, they all seem electrified. I feel such a heat within them. My mind whirls for a moment, and then whatever I’m hoping to focus on, I see it, hear it, sense it with such steel-like focus…” he took a breath, shaking his head. “It’s, admittedly, almost addictive. We’re taught early on not to feed off that, because the chill we feel is fairly literal… the magic drains us, but because all that energy seems shift to our mind, we don’t feel it as deeply.”

            Though Gustav spoke of it rather casually, almost excitedly, it honestly sounded somewhat horrible to William. The Asarian Church, or at least, St. Lennin’s Monastery, had never given a firm stance on how to handle the arcane. The impression William had gotten, however, was that though a holy man should never dabble in it, for fear of compromising a spirit that rightfully belonged to the Lord, an arcane mage could still be a good man.

            “I think I see what you’re saying,” William said, and thought for a moment. He laughed slightly. “I’ll do my best to explain, though I fear I’ve never really given it much thought. It’s very… flowing, I suppose. Almost as if a wave of liquid warmth is filling my center. I feel more conscious of all things around me. In a way I’m not sure I understand, I feel both lighter and heavier… as if my body is slowing down my spirit.”

            “Fascinating,” Gustav said.

            “It is?”

            “Oh yes,” Gustav nodded excitedly. “I’ve never studied it exclusively, but there are some who are very interested in the difference between Arcane and Divine magic. Especially when you think of long ago days, where there were more gods than ours… there are theories that Arcane magic only became prominent due to the ‘spill-off’ of the death of the old gods.”

            William’s eyes widened. “I’d never heard that before.”

            “Theories, of course,” Gustav added quickly. “I mean no offense, but as you may imagine, higher church officials don’t wish to delve too deeply into the connection between our respective magics.”

            “I suppose I can see that,” William said, and started to say something else, but stopped himself. It was the sort of thing he wasn’t supposed to talk about.

            Gustav saw that, and nodded. “It does raise some questions about Void magic, I’ll give you that,” he said, before taking his horse a few steps away, leaving William to stew.

            Void magic… drawing from the literal voids left from the death of the old gods. It wasn’t evil, per se, but many saw it as… unholy. Even if the old gods were enemies of the One True God, they were still beings of great power, and worthy of respect, even in death. To essentially draw power from their divine corpses seemed wrong. It didn’t help William that Asarianists believed that, with time and devotion of their followers, even the old gods could be absorbed into the Holy Triune.

            He shuddered, and put a hand to his cross, and looked down at it. The wooden cross he was now holding in his hand, a sign of not only his graduation, but his faith, was intricately carved, and dyed red, same as the cross embroidered onto his tabard. By His holy power, I will protect His sovereignty over the Earth, his thumb moved over the horizontal bar of the cross, and from the Heavens above, his thumb slid to the top of the cross, to the depths below, it then slid down the length of the cross, hallowed will be His name.

            He took a deep breath, and whispered “amen.” But as he looked at the cross, he wondered… where did the void of the old gods fit into all that? Were they merely left to be as meat for the vultures of the mortal realm to pick clean? How did they fit into God’s plan?

            A dangerous question, William thought, and decided to think of it no more. Unlike Gustav, unraveling the mysteries of the universe didn’t seem exciting to William, but induced a feeling more akin to dread… and he felt he’d have quite enough of that in the days to come.

            “Truly, we’d assist you further sir…”

            “But the idea of entering these swamps is terrifying.”

            Michael laughed heartily. “No worries, men, I understand.” Scanning the area, Michael pointed to one spot at the base of a broken oak tree, and another near a large stone. “My last request is if you can help us hide some of the supplies until we’ll need them. An extra thirty silver to you both regardless,” and without hesitation he dug into his coinpurse and doled out the coins.

            The two men nodded in appreciation. “We’ll do our best m’lord!”

            “Yes we will. Best of luck on your quest, sir.”

            “Thank you both, and may you get home safely.”

            The two men set out, along with the other three workers, to begin burying parts of their cache. Tresbos came riding up, having scouted the swamp’s edge.

            “Master Michael,” he said, offering a small salute. “I see a stonework path leading into the swamp, but at your order I didn’t follow it in. From what I can see, though, it’s rather shoddy.”

            Michael nodded. “I imagine stonework in a swamp would need frequent maintenance. Anything else?”

            “Nothing I could see,” he said. “Swamps are quite thick, and though I saw what may be a few other paths into them, they still looked somewhat overgrown.”

            “Thank you Perry,” Michael said, smiling. Gripping Perimor’s reigns, he rode over to the small, makeshift camp that had been set up in the last hour, glancing down at Gustav.

            “Do you know when your friend will be here?” Michael asked, somewhat concerned. “The longer we spend out here, the more time our enemies will have to see us.”

            Gustav grumbled something Michael couldn’t catch, but said “I don’t, no. I sent another letter to him two days before we left, saying when we planned on being here, but I have no way of knowing if he received it.”

            Michael sighed, and nodded. He knew why Gustav was irritated. He had wanted to leave as soon as possible, to try and catch his Elven friend while he was still patrolling the swamp. He surely wouldn’t have spent the last week and three days milling about in the swamp.

            “Very well,” he said, already forgetting he had shown he had understood, and rode back over to the cart. Gustav and William had been bonding somewhat over the trip, and though he supposed that was understandable, it made him feel… put out. But then again, William barely knew Tresbos and the others, and Gustav didn’t know them. Meanwhile, they all knew Michael rather well, and seeing as how he wasn’t as quiet as William nor as… grumpy as Gustav, he supposed they were all more at ease speaking to him.

            He slid off his saddle and then tied Perimor to the cart. He trusted Perimor to not run off for any reason, but he wasn’t so foolish to forget he was dealing with an animal. Indeed, he’d thought about bringing dogs along as well, but was convinced they’d be more trouble than they were worth. If we send for a second group, perhaps then.

            Tresbos dismounted his own horse. “The mage didn’t give a good answer, I take it?”

            Michael frowned slightly. “No, not particularly. Not an unexpected one, though.”

            Tresbos sighed. “What’s the plan if this elf doesn’t show?”

            Michael looked towards the swamp. The trees quickly began to thicken, and the whole thing just began to look that much more foreboding as the sun went down. They were sitting on a slight rise now, and you could see where pockets of trees seemed thinned out in the distances. Remains of old forts? More recent camps? Or simply open water?

            “I’m tempted to make a go of it anyways,” Michael said bluntly. Tresbos opened his mouth to speak, but Michael brought up a hand. “Tempted, and not foolhardily. We’d move slow, and not go too deep. But we have the supplies to at least stage some raids into the swamp, and could perhaps carry off some sort of bounty, or assist some locals we may find.”

            “Supposing they want it,” Tresbos said. “The mage says that elves live in these swamps, yes? Hardly seems like they’d want help from a bunch of a short-lived humans.”

            “Desperation can make for strange bedfellows Perry” Michael said with a grin, provoking a startled laugh from the cavalryman.

            “Too true, sir. Any instructions?”

            “We’ll set up camp nearby,” Michael started, motioning to the clearing where Gustav and William were already setting up, “once we bury the bulk of the supplies. Sean and Rigby will be heading back to Yewmark. After that, I suppose we’ll take watch in shifts, perhaps two to a shift? I’d want either you, I, or William during each of those shifts.”

            “Of course sir,” Tresbos said with a nod. “Shall I take the second watch? I’ve done so before, and I’m used to splitting my sleep.”

            “The second is yours, Perry,” Michael said with a grin.

“Very good. As for now… should we help the workers bury the supplies?”

            Michael paused, and then looked over. While the peasants were making good progress, another pair of hands couldn’t hurt. He grabbed another shovel from the cart. “I’ll help them out Perry. You keep an eye on the forest, hmm?”

            “Yes sir,” Tresbos said, saluting once more and then getting back onto his horse, bow at the ready. As Michael went to assist, he found himself appreciating the cavalry archer’s presence more and more. Sure, it was more of an expense, but the man was clearly worth it.