Lamentation

The fur-clad man was a shaman. He had been sent for from the distant northern mountain Cansod. Cansod was both the mountain and the god the Seabreaker’s people had made of it. It is known for its wild ranges, ferocious beasts, and the quality of its ore.  The shaman led with his shaky steps up and into the throne room. Guards were dressed in black and grey uniforms to indicate their mourning. They were stone as the procession passed. The only sound was the rasp of the old man’s steel staff on the marble, the pace too slow to click a heel.

The doors of the throne rooms were thrown open, and the morning splashed across the room. The throne had been removed from the dais, and in its place sat the sarcophagus of King Illian Searif Seabreaker, the first of his name. The shaman stepped aside and motioned to Ignatius, “The room is yours, Crown Prince.”

Ignatius turned his attentions to his uncle’s ragged face. Sarrin’s loss was painted in deep lines. “Uncle,” Ignatius spoke, “you may.”

Sarrin strode into the room while everyone else watched. Tears rolled down his face in a slow, tired fall. The sound of his step echoed, seemingly through the entire city. His face passed through the repeating shadows of the windows, and he stopped at the foot of the dais. He reached out and up, setting his hand gently over the breast of his brother’s image on the sarcophagus. He held for a moment, then collapsed in sobbing grief.

Ignatius took the shaman’s shoulder, “Perform the rights in private. I will collect my Uncle.” He walked to Sarrin and gently picked him up. And if I were to give Ignatius a single description, I learned it in that moment. His greatest attribute is grace, and he deserves to be king.

All eyes watched Ignatius help his noble Uncle from the throne room. All but mine. I watched Patient Sail, knowing the next move was his.

Grief

The city was woken by the sounding of mourning bells. After years of infirmity and poor health, the king of the Grazian Empire was dead. Massive bell towers in the palace shook with dower thunder. The sound pulsed the sad news to the furthest reaches of Grazia’s urban sprawl. Though it had been expected for some time, a dark mood fell upon the city. Though I take no pleasure in it, people in mourning ask few questions. The passing of a king made it all the easier to move undetected in my observations.

I had made myself into one of Sarrin Seabreaker’s estate guards that day. I managed to convince the quartermaster to attach me to the family’s palanquin for the procession down to the palace. We waited in the courtyard for over an hour, the front door to the mansion flung open. It remained a dark and unchanging maw, an unnerving image. I will always think of it when considering Grazian grief. When at last Sarrin led his family from within, he was withered and pale. Though he still stood tall and monstrously large, his brother’s passing had drained him of anima. He wept silently for everyone to see. His tears rolled off his cheeks to stain the grey tunic he wore. No words were exchanged as the family took their place in the palanquin.

Patient Sail was more stoic than his father, but clearly disturbed. I’ve no reason to believe the boy was close with his regal uncle, but who is not rocked when faced with the grief of a parent. How inconsolable they seem and helpless you are left to feel in the wake of their need. It was painted across the boy’s face, his gaze immobile from his father’s despondency.

The procession moved through silent streets. Haunted faces looked down at the grey and black parade as it passed. The markets were quiet and the houses of trade were closed. Few dared the streets, uncertain of what would come next without their king. Though I had at first sensed hope, almost anticipation, rising with Ignatius’ ascendency it was now lost in sadness. For generations, the Seabreaker kings had brought prosperity to the people of their empire. But it seemed all that coin could only purchase a sense of loss.

Black cloths draped down from the towers of the palace as we arrived. Ignatius and his mother stood waiting the arrival Sarrin’s family. Behind them, an ancient man in thick furs stood leaning on a staff of tempered steel. It was this man who came forward, shambling against his staff as he crossed to meet the palanquin. Sarrin Seabreaker rolled himself out into the courtyard, his gaze fixing on  the aged man. The square was silent save the tap of the staff against the stone.

The fur-clad man reached Sarrin, and offering a sad smile, placed a hand on his arm, “He’s been called back to the mountain, Sarrin.”

“Thanks be to Cansod.” Sarrin replied weakly.

Consent

I marched from the courtyard, following the young prince. As he went up the spiral stairs to the main floor, I changed my disguise and became a serving girl, beneath notice. Patient Sail made his way out of the palace, and I became an errand boy whose path just happened to coincide with his. Though there were rooms for the in the palace, Sail's father Sarrin chose to keep his family in their own estates. We spent an hour making the way up from the palace and through the markets. Patient Sail strolled and perused the goods in the market. He was warm and genial with the merchants, but also aloof. He plodded along with casual curiosity, eventually making his way up to the Estate district.

Sarrin Seabreaker had built high walls around his complex. No surprise, with his being the Admiral-General of the Grazian navy. The gate was an ornate image of a mountain printed with anchors and swords, which the guards swung open to allow Patient Sail to enter. I had to employ more stealthier and more athletic means of ingress. I raced around to the far side of the wall and scaled it. From there I leaped to the rooftop and crawled my way along to a window which looked down on the mansion's lobby. I arrived just in time to see Patient Sail cross the threshold.

Sarrin Seabreaker met his son in the entry. Sarrin's a massive man. If not for his careful grooming and colorful dress, he could pass for a bear. He smiled down on Sail as the boy came in, then drew the bastard sword he wore on his hip. The thing rasped as Sarrin drew it, the sound seeming to draw out the guardsmen hiding in alcoves throughout the lobby. They too drew weapons, a cadre of 4 men including Sarrin closed in on Patient Sail. 

The boy looked at the four faces coming at him and was unfazed. He coolly eased into a combat pose as a slight golden glow began to come off him. The first guard came on, a solid thrust of his blade. Sail leaned away from the blow and caught the man's wrist. With a twist, he disarmed the guard and claimed his weapon. Sail spun the man around and kicked him into the wall to collapse. 

The other two guards took up side-by-side positions and moved in slowly. I was impressed with how calmly the boy moved about the room. His superior footwork cost the guards their position, lining them up to come one by one. Sail pirouetted in his attack, the edge of his blade catching the guard of his opponent. The twisting blow spun the weapon from the guard's hand with a ring. It shot up into the air. As the guard watched his sword fly from his hand, Sail delivered a forward kick to his chest. The blow drove the guards together and out of the fight in a crumpled heap. As they fell, Sail caught the descending sword and faced his father. All three of his would-be assailants groaned with ache to punctuate the scene.

Father and son paced one another. Sarrin's form was unusual for the size of his blade, but his technical prowess was clear from every line of his body. They traded a few cautious blows, trying to bait one another. Both father and son had gleeful smiles; clearly Sarrin had been handling Sail's instruction personally. Sarrin raised his blade and bellowed his attack. His huge sword fell in a deadly arc for Sail's head. The boy got a blade up to parry the blow, but it would smash his guard. As Sail met the blow, he side-stepped. His parry only suggested Sarrin's attack fall slightly to the left, leaving the father over-committed. As Sarrin's weight shifted, Sail dropped his parrying blade and spun behind his father, the edge of his second sword at the man's throat. Sail spoke, "He said yes, father." He dropped the second blade and freed his father.

Sarrin beamed at his son with pride. He scooped him up in a gigantic embrace, "Of course he did, my son! I am not surprised but I am very proud of you, Sail."

"So I may go then? When Ignatius is crowned?" Sail's tone was full of hope.

"You will still need to get permission from one more person." Sarrin chastised gently.

"Who is it this time, father? Have I not proved myself yet?"

"To me, clearly. But you must get the consent of your king. And Ignatius will be your king. You will speak with your cousin, and if he allows it, you will go on your quest." Sarrin put his arm around his son and led him deeper into the mansion, and I decided I had pried quite enough for one day. 

Games

I decided I would follow the boy to his class with Talnad Sot. While I was not impressed by the Grazian academic and his myopic world view, I was fascinated by the package which the boy had given him. I took the guise of a messenger boy carrying a package for the High Mage to gain access to the palace. Once there, I became a serving page, circumnavigating any questions about who I was, or what I was doing there. A quick change into a house guardsman got me through the courtyard, where I took position near a stone gameboard. Pieces had been laid out in preparation for Patient Sail’s instruction. It was some regional strategy game, mimicking the movements of various units on the battlefield.

Talnad Sot arrived in a huff, pulling at the sleeves of his robes in frustration. Some imagined slight to his honour had him in a fit of consternation. He immediately set out an hour glass and began counting how late Sail would be. The scholar puffed and paced for a quarter of an hour before his pupil arrived. He had a stringed instrument strapped to his back, and he smelt of the sea. He beamed before his teacher, “Good morning, Master Sot!” he waved.

“Good afternoon is more like it! Where were you, Sail?”

“Just taking in the sunrise from my little perch. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Any other son in this entire empire would have long lost the privilege of my tutelage, Patient Sail. Be glad you’re a prince.”

Patient Sail shrugged and smiled at his teacher, “Shall we play, Master?”

“I’d rather you started by addressing your mysterious package for me, Patient Sail. I have waited a full season for your ruse or scheme to come to fruition. Let us be done with it first so you may focus on your lessons.” He said.

“Master, please. The package has waited this long, and I so enjoy our games.”

“You never win, Patient Sail.”

“Is that what I was supposed to do?” He flashed a toothy grin and sat down at the table. Talnad Sot gave an exasperated sigh and sat down opposite his charge. He gestured to Sail to make the first move. The boy studied the board, and set his opening move.

“Same as always, Sail. At least you’re consistent in some regards.”

“There’s something comforting about the familiar, Master.”

Talnad scanned the board and moved a piece from his back row to the fore, “Easy to anticipate, Sail. You demonstrate such imagination as you pluck that thing on your back, but none for matters of real consequence. You are fortunate Ignatius will bear the weight of the crown.” Patient Sail smiled and placed his piece in response.

They traded moves back and forth for the next ten minutes in silence. I could see that Talnad Sot was confident in his position, pushing for a swift victory. His game was a rehearsed schedule of movements, mechanical and precise. Patient Sail was much more lackadaisical, in both his body language and his movements. He yawned and stared off. It seemed a foregone conclusion, to a casual observer, that the boy was going to lose the contest. But I was no casual observer. The boy had Sot’s pieces in traps which he chose not to spring. His posture, his breath, the gaze in his eye; each a piece of a carefully constructed mask. The boy was playing the game for aesthetic goals, not strategic ones.

As the pieces cleared the board and its game neared a close, Sail spoke, “Master, when Ignatius is crowned, I wish to go on a quest.”

The scholar looked down skeptically, “A quest? Why would you do that? You have all you need here, Sail.”

“There is much I must learn, and more that I must do. I can no longer hide in these walls, Master Sot.” He placed a piece and revealed to Sot the trap he’d laid. Talnad looked quizzically at the board, taken by surprise. He maneuvered out of the first stage of Sail’s endgame. I could tell the boy was playing his teacher to a different end now.

“You have not yet mastered many things here in Grazia, Patient Sail. Your royal cousin is much more advanced in scholarship and diplomacy. These are skills you  will require, should Grazia one day be your kingdom.”

The boy claimed Sot’s piece, revealing the second stage of his stratagem, “I need your consent to go. My father says I must be able to convince you of my worth. Master, if I win this game, will you tell him I can go?”

Sot harumphed at the notion. Patient Sail had left an opening for his key piece in play, a piece of bait which would deliver the game to him, should his teacher take it. I knew the academic would go for it. His victory here would be a victory over the thorn Sail’s education had been for him. “Very well.” He moved in on Sail’s final trap, and folded his arms in self-satisfaction.

The boy did not look up from the board as he made his move. He swept in to claim the threatening piece, and subsequently trap Talnad Sot’s side. The scholar blinked dumbly at the board. Sail simply stood up and bowed, “Thank you for your teachings, Master. I know it did not look like it, but I was paying attention. The package is a gift. Good bye.” He walked through the courtyard and back into the palace.

I watched Sot unwrap the package, disbelief painted in obvious strokes across his face. The package had several ledgers in them; complete estimates of supplies and materials for the entire Grazian military for three months. The ledgers were immaculately written and clearly meticulously calculated. Sot reached into a bag and produced his weekly reports. He flipped through the pages and found one to compare. The numbers must have been accurate, because Talnad Sot turned to watch the boy enter the palace. His jaw was slack in shock. I am glad that I was there to bear witness to the game. It would have been a shame if no one ever told this story.

Journal Entry

I knew it would be an interesting time to arrive in the Heart of Fortune. The immanent demise of a king is always a time of change and uncertainty, but these Grazians seem to be weathering it well. There’s great anticipation around the rise of Ignatius, the Crown Prince, to the throne. Though the Grazian Empire has an inflated sense of itself, this seems born out of ignorance of the distant corners of creation, and not arrogance. They assume that Ignatius will inherit a massive task, but there are bigger, less organized empires in this world which would present a much more daunting prospect.

I have been able to move through the city with relative ease. I’ve not had to call upon my gifts much to perpetrate my little rouses here. The mundane measures I’ve acquire have held up well. There are many tools in my disguise kit which are completely unknown here. All for the better, given the clandestine nature of my inquiry here. I would not go so far as to claim the Grazian are an easily deceived people, but they choose the see the best around them. Good for them that they should see through such rose-colored shades. It is not my intent to offend, but they are so well pacified by the wealth they harvest that they are far less suspicious of intentions than they might otherwise be. I hope they do not wake one day to find that faith abused and their lives ruined.

What I’ve observed of the Grazian military seems appropriate for the empire it oversees. Though I’ve not done an in-depth investigation, Grazian arms seem mostly mundane, with back up from mage cadres installed into some battalions. Their High Mage, a wielder of ice and cold, impressed me as powerful enough to deserve the title, though he appears to have done little to advance the development of magical talents in the city. Perhaps the Seabreaker kings see magic as a potential threat, and so do little to foster its development. Their conventional units appear well-drilled. If the master-at-arms who oversees Ignatius’ swordsmanship is an indication, Grazian soldiers are professionally trained and competent on their own. Ignatius may even have talent sufficient to graduate from our introductory program, where he one of our people.

As much fun as it has been to lackadaisically gather information, I believe it has come time to focus my research more intensely on the boy Patient Sail. He appears to be a candidate, and I must say that I approve of his mystique. It seems the boy knows that he does not truly belong among the mortal and mundane world of the Grazian empire and its trading wealth. His tutors are disappointed with his apparent lack of discipline for academics. He is dismissed as lacking the spark for leadership. He prefers to experience the world rather than to drive an agenda. I believe he is simply waiting for the right moment. I do not know what game he plays, but I can tell he is toying with his teachers and supervisors. There is a whimsy about his behavior. Many seem to feel this indicates that he lacks the seriousness required for rule. It is my hope that an emphasis on enjoyment will temper the boy’s relationship with power.

I suspect that I will have to apply my own gifts more strenuously, but it is time I began to observe the child more directly. I need to see just how his die has been cast.

Storied

It is imperative that young mages explore the world to test their might. One can study and practice all they like, but without experience, they will not have the fortitude for real conflict. It is a practice which the Seabreaker Kings have never really understood, but I appreciate King Sinal’s consent to the exercise. Grazian mages almost never quest beyond the borders of their realm. Little wonder then that the Heart of Fortune has never produced a true High Mage.

You find it chilly in here? My apologies. In my old age I often forget myself. It is so much easier to allow my ice to flow than it is to constrain it. It is time, I think, for younger hands to hold Grazia’s magical reigns. Sinal’s coming demise is a sign of that. I’ll not abandon the city, but it is best of Ignatius finds himself a new High Mage. If nothing else, it is best for a young king to establish his own administration. I’ll assist with the change, but I’m certain the realm will be in good hands with Ignatius.

Been talking with Dim, have you? He’s always too eager to show what he knows. Perhaps I’d be the same if I had his intellect. Yes, Patient Sail is an adept, though it is impolite to speak about someone in these matters. Better to speak with the young man himself, though the trick in that may be catching him! He is ever off to some new excitement.

I spoke with his father about his talents once. I thought the boy might benefit from training with the mage corps. But I was told that such things were not for the Royal Family, and that his education was well in hand. That the child is not already a hero of the city leaves me wondering if his abilities are not being wasted. Still, I suppose there is some plan at work for him. As high-born as he is, he’ll never escape the machinations of politics.

But still, just imagine the quest that boy might undertake, the story his life might make. It could be glorious.

Insight

Ah, yes, good to see you once again! I do so appreciate both your service and your company. My studies prevent me from attending to these chores. Kingdoms often wait in the balance of my work, as you know. Well, not my work alone, but you've seen how my peers come to me for consultation. Yes, well, fine, perhaps I should be a tad more humble about it, but I've every reason to be proud of my accomplishments.

My work of late goes well, and thank you for inquiring. A friend of mine has asked me to craft a hypothesis on the long-term effects from repeated force-healed with the Ragatha domain. I do hope he hasn't gotten himself into trouble. He has been known to, experiment, in the past.

Sadly, the King’s condition deteriorates rapidly, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Men grow old and die. This is true even for the greatest of wizards. But I understand Ignatius to be a dutiful, intelligent, and thoughtful boy. He has been raised to be king, and so he shall. Not that that makes him the best or most interesting child of his generation.

Interesting? Yes, I suppose I did tease you with that. Well, Ignatius’ cousin is an intriguing young man. I’ve not really gotten to know him well. I've really only seen him while entertaining for the court. But even there, you can see how aloof and distracted he is. That’s his reputation, at least. But I know better.

The boy hides in plain sight, and he’s done so with appalling ease for one so young. There are things which he cannot hide though, things which not everyone can see. But, if you’re gifted with magic, and if you look closely, you will see the spark he holds inside. He’s an adept of Salsae. They are born, seemingly at random, with magic inside them. That magic can be channeled through the host’s body, making them stronger, faster, more agile, and even more resilient than mortal men. But only I, Dim, the simple house mage and scholar, seem to have noticed.

Oh, damn you cunning little bastard! I should not have told you of Patient Sail’s power. It is at least impolite to out him so. Please, forgive the vanity upon which you so deftly played. Keep Sail’s secret. It is not yours to reveal.