Sederan Tales

The morning brought with it the early hustle and bustle of a large school of magic, along with the awkwardness of five people sleeping outside on campus. Rex was the first awake. She slowly disentangled herself from Asher’s arms without waking him, then sat up, leaning back on the small bench behind her. The fire had gone out, leaving her much colder than she was the night before. She pulled her knees up close to her and wrapped her arms around them.

The oddest thing, in her opinion, wasn’t simply the news that she had heard; it was the fact that she had believed it so easily. Now, having calmed down, the news seemed less like a curse and more like a missing puzzle piece. She had always been an exceptionally talented Rexelian, but it had never wavered with her being in the right (or wrong) mindset, as most other mages dealt with. Even though she was the top of her class, and had been her entire life, she still had a vast well of untapped potential. And how did her parents know before birth that she would grow to become a Rexelian?

And then there was the matter of leaving. While she implicitly trusted her sister’s warning, she knew it wasn’t quite believable. But she couldn’t leave without warning the elders. She also couldn’t leave without explaining her departure. And who would oversee the town guard?

She glanced down at Asher’s sleeping body. He had always been understanding. But how understanding would he have to be for this? Rex didn’t know the extent of her experimentation, so she assumed the worst.

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Asher, Arlia, Katelain, and Petra were gathered around the campfire near the Rexelian women’s dorm. The sun had long since set, and most of the Rexelians had turned in for the night.

Katelain had explained to them that the school was no longer safe, and that Rex would likely be going back with them. Asher was initially irate at this news. Anger led to accusations, but accusations gave way to questions, and answers finally made room for concern, which was the feeling held now by all four of them.

All of the questions and conversations had since passed, however, and the group had sat in silence for about half an hour.

Asher got up and took a seat next to Katelain. “So when do we leave?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“As soon as possible,” Katelain said. “I realize there are some things to wrap up first, but we have some important things to get to.” Asher seemed content with this, although he was definitely not excited. “I noticed you said ‘we,’” Katelain said.

Asher nodded. “I’m coming with you.”

Katelain nodded without looking at him. “I’ll leave that decision to you and Rex.”

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“No, no, no,” said Rex, waving her hands to show her disapproval. She was addressing a Rexelian student standing next to her in the training grounds. “Stance is everything,” she said. “There is no force without resistance, and you have to be prepared for that.”

“I’ve never had a problem before,” the student whined.

Rex shook her head. “Well, not with rocks!” she said, motioning toward some small boulders on the far end of the practice grounds. “You’ve never been up against an opponent who was fighting to reach you. When a target pushes back, that creates force, and you never know how much there’s going to be until it hits you.”

Asher, who was leaning against a tall wooden post, took a few steps toward them. “I’m probably going to regret this,” he said, “but try to knock me down.”

Asher instantly began running straight at the student. The student’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he quickly raised his hands and pushed toward Asher, sending an invisible shockwave of concussive force. Both of them fell over backwards.

Asher quickly jumped to his feet in one graceful motion, unfazed. The student clumsily got up and groaned.

Rex stood with one foot placed firmly in back of the other, her knees slightly bent. She raised her hands dramatically and then pointed down toward her feet, then shot the student a look that suggested that she would hit him if he didn’t practice this. The student sighed, assumed the stance, and resumed his practice against the boulders.

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“It’ll take about five days to reach Crater Lake,” Alenard said, pointing west at a crossroads in a densely wooded area where his group was stopped. “The trees will thin out once you get out of the these woods and there will be more towns.”

“And what’s your plan?” asked Katelain.

“We’ll reconnect with Djinly and fill her in on everything that’s happened,” Alenard responded.

“You’re sure you don’t need me here?” Petra asked.

Bertram shook his head. “We should be fine. Any questions I can’t answer can wait until you get back,” he said.

“Thank you,” Katelain said. She then turned to Petra. “And thank you, for coming with me.”

“I’ve been wanting to learn more about Sederan magic anyway, and I hear Crater Lake is the best place to do that,” he responded.

“We’ll meet up at the Prince’s Gamble in two weeks,” Alenard said.

“Alright,” Katelain said. “I’ll have Rex with me when I come back. See you in two weeks.”

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Katelain awoke to some minor commotion next to her. The sun had just risen, but Petra and Bertram were already up. Each had picked over the clothes from the attackers the night before and found something to wear over their distinctive Ardellian military outfits. They had also found a stream and filled a pot with water.

“Well,” Alenard said, “we’re all still alive. That’s step one toward a good partnership!”

“Petra, I have to know,” Katelain said, still slightly groggy. “Why do Ardellians hate Sederans so?”

Petra sighed. He did not turn to face her.

“Good morning, Katelain,” Bertram said patronizingly.

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The pair of former lieutenants stayed well outside of town until long after dark, their men gone ahead of them to deliver the bad news and gather up a few days’ worth of provisions. The hours were mostly silent as the weight of their decisions began to sink in. Two entire lives’ worth of aspirations, gone in a day.

After the moon had risen, they decided it would be safe to go and wait for their support—probably the last support they would see for some time. As they neared town, Bertram’s curiosity compelled him to speak.

“So what now?” Bertram asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Petra responded. “Lay low for a few days, maybe find a small town to start over.”

Bertram nodded silently. He hated not knowing where he was heading. He turned over various scenarios in his mind. He had always been a soldier, save for the time he was training to be one. He had no other trade. He was at a loss as all of the scenarios he constructed in his head ended badly.

Bertram sighed heavily and slumped his shoulders. “But what will we do?” he asked.

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The bloodied pair managed to reach the outskirts of town without being seen. Only after they stepped outside of town and paused underneath the last lamp post did they feel comfortable talking.

Katelain looked over at Alenard. “How did you—”

“A woman in armor practically invites me into her bed without any coaxing,” he answered. “I knew something was wrong. She kept asking me back to her room, but I convinced her to head to mine. You saw what happened after that.”

Katelain shook her head. “Of course they knew. It’s not like this was a covert operation. I suppose there was only so long it could go on.”

“Did we find anything of value?” Alenard asked, pulling out the pouches he had grabbed. “Looks like only coins in mine.”

“Anything of high importance would have been elsewhere, seeing as this was a trap,” Katelain said, pulling out what she had found on Boese. She opened a larger pouch to produce few documents, rolled tightly and tied together. They must have been directly related to the trap for him to be carrying them on him. Katelain carefully untied the scrolls and rolled out the documents. She studied the first page for a few moments before shifting through the rest of the pages.

“What is it?” Alenard asked.

“Dossiers, on both of us,” she said. “Looks like they knew you served the Deleons.”

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The Velveteen Satchel was just as busy as it had been two nights ago. Patrons were already beginning to show their drunkenness and more eyes were falling on Katelain and Alenard, who were seated at a table in the corner. Katelain had once again donned her black dress and Alenard’s lute was resting nonchalantly by his chair, which raised the intrigue (although their good looks certainly helped too).

One of the serving maidens stopped by their table with a faint smile on her face. She motioned behind her, to the makeshift stage area next to them. The pair got up and settled in quickly in the performance area. Katelain leaned back against the wall while Alenard began to weave a tapestry of notes and a haunting melody. The din of the tavern was reduced to a whisper in a few seconds.

Katelain scanned the bar looking for her mark. Immediately, she made eye contact with an intense-looking man in his late thirties. His light brown hair was cropped so short that Katelain could barely make out what color it was. The man was obviously very physically fit and knew action. A quick glance at his shirt revealed that it was actually a light brigandine plate, decorated in black and red. The mark, Boese, was a military official. This had to be him.

Boese stared right at Katelain in an unnerving sort of way. Not in the lustful way she was used to, but in a cold, harsh sort of way. She shuddered lightly and moved her gaze elsewhere.

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The Prince’s Gamble was already gearing up for a wild night, even though the sun was only just starting to set. The serving maidens had absent looks on their faces, mentally preparing for the onslaught that every night brought. A few travelers were eating early meals and sharing a few drinks, some holding close conversations, some laughing and joking loudly, and some trying not to be seen.

Katelain and Alenard sat at a table in the corner, facing the large room, with a large glass of mulled wine and a tankard of ale accordingly. Both sat in silence, sipping their drinks and observing the rest of the tavern. There had not been much talking since Alenard’s story earlier.

Katelain had always been slightly intimidated by the Prince’s Gamble. She had been an Omenian all her life, so she’d grown up studying death, but physical violence was a completely new—and terrifying—concept for her. She managed not to show any fear, of course. Every Omenian knew that fear was the first step toward giving in.

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The next morning, the dark-haired woman awoke as early as the sun had risen. She wiped her eyes and stretched her arms up in the air for a moment, but quickly, quietly climbed out of bed and reached for her over-sized satchel. She pulled out a simple black skirt and blouse and some rugged black leather boots and put them on. She then gathered up her belongings in her satchel and made a hasty exit without looking back.

She stepped across the hall and knocked quietly on the door across from hers. After a rather leisurely amount of time had passed, she heard some groggy footsteps coming toward the door. The door opened, revealing the troubadour from the night before, completely naked and not bothering to hide behind the door.

The woman rolled her eyes. “By Omenus, Alenard, do you have to do that? Don’t you know how to treat a lady?”

“I reckon you can ask her how I treat a lady,” Alenard said, pointing toward a young woman asleep in his bed.

The woman looked at the lady in Alenard’s bed. Her eyes got wide for a second, then she narrowed them and looked sternly at him. “This is not a game,” she scolded.

“Easy, Katelain,” Alenard said. “She was so drunk I doubt she remembers much from last night.”

“Well that’s a hefty risk to take!” Katelain said, putting her hand on her hip. At that, the woman in the bed stirred and moaned softly.

Alenard sighed and looked down at the floorboards. “Well, now you’ve done it,” he said before closing the door on her.

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