Loopbreaker

“Tell him,” Stenson said when only the three of them remained in the tent.

“Feels kind of wrong to share my secret but I won’t argue,” Kels sighed.

Francis watched as the young man took a deep breath and let it out, a serious expression replacing his constant cheerful one.

“I have a Legendary skill… it gives me a boost to everything I practice.”

“Just say the name,” Stenson said.

Kels snorted and shook his head. “If it weren’t you, I’d say something ugly but since it is… my skills name is Physical Fast Learner. I gain physical skills at five times the normal rate.”

“Holy….” Francis found himself unable to finish his comment, jaw hanging open as he stared at Kels.

He has the same skill that I have almost!

“That is how he has managed to become the warrior that he is,” Stenson said. “It is also why I do not risk him often. His potential is… greater than most. If the fool continues to obey and does not make some of the mistakes I did, he will surpass me long before his hair turns gray like mine did.”

“And then what, you’ll expect me to carry on your legacy?” Kels asked. “I mean, it’s bad enough everyone already thinks you’re training me to marry your daughter.”

The general blew a raspberry and then frowned. “You and I both know she would not agree to that.”

Francis watched as the pair chuckled and studied them, trying to figure out what he was missing, but neither man commented further.

“So in a hundred years, you’d be what?” Francis asked.

“He might be a grandmaster if he stays at it and we survive this war,” Stenson replied. “Still, to achieve that at his age is exceptional. I believe we have discussed how some individuals acquire skills that significantly alter the course of their lives. I found him doing things boys his age shouldn’t be able to. His father was very protective of him and after assuring the man I had no ill intentions, I enrolled him in the Spires.”

“And ever since that ill-fated day I’ve been labeled as this man’s protege,” Kels said. “Though it could be worse. I’d probably be the best woodworker in the kingdom by now otherwise.”

“How… how does one acquire a skill like that?” Francis asked, still having not shared the truth about him having a similar one.

“Fate, the gods, luck, no one knows,” Stenson replied. “Some are born with it. Our records and history indicate that it almost exclusively occurs in those born within the first three of a family. Perhaps there have been one or two outside those first three born within the past two thousand years.”

“And that’s why the first three are the only ones given a place in the kingdom,” Francis muttered.

“Perhaps you will change that,” Kels said. “For a ninth son to have what you do and to change the current path we are on in this war, it will send ripples through what some believe is a–”

“Stop.” Stenson’s tone and glare cut the knight off. “We both know what kind of problems will come if anyone catches a whisper of you speaking that way.”

“Why is it so bad to talk about?” Francis asked.

Both men remained silent and finally the general broke first. “The other kingdoms–”

“Don’t believe that, I know,” Francis finished.

For the briefest moment, an eyebrow rose before the older man’s face returned to its stony expression. “Ours is not like that. We have fought, bled, died and killed to keep a system which focuses on a few. If you wish to continue this discussion, we will need to return to my tent. There are stronger wards in place to prevent… prying ears from hearing things that shouldn’t be heard.”

“Well, I’m done here,” Francis said. “Besides having somewhere else to go, I’m not going to gain any more points in my skills.”

“And here I was hoping to have more fun,” Kels teased.

“Oh, to be young and have two arms,” Stenson said.

Francis and Kels looked at each other, neither laughing until the older man gave a slight grin.

***

“Sit, please,” Priscilla said, motioning to a chair near hers.

Francis moved toward the offered seat, his eyes studying the place the mage called her home on the battlefield. It was filled with luxurious rugs, paintings, multiple tables, and chairs. He could see there was another section tucked away behind more tent flaps.

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A hint of smoke and the scent of incense filled the air, but Francis could also detect multiple threads of magic surrounding the tent, unlike any other he had been in.

This thing has way more wards and who knows what else than Stenson’s.

Pricilla sat in an ornate, padded chair with red fabric and what looked like green gems lining the outer edges before dark, black wood provided the frame. Francis’ chair was a little smaller and less ornate, featuring only silver and gold trim around the edge of the fabric, rather than gems.

“Drink?” she asked.

He shook his head as Priscilla motioned to the bottle near her half-filled crystal glass.

A pair of blue eyes sparked as she stared at him. She had a slight smile on her face that looked almost playful, but Francis knew it hid power and danger behind it.

She shrugged and picked up her cup, taking a drink and licking her lips with her tongue before setting the glass down.

“I wonder, Sage Francis, if you could tell me exactly when you acquired this gift from the gods you have.”

He felt the presence of something settling on his mind. There weren’t threads that he could see, just an overwhelming aura and force that tried to ply its way inside his head.

[ Mental Resist Successful ]

Her face didn’t react, but he did, leaning forward and shaking his head.

“Do you always try to use a spell on someone you’ve invited to visit?” Francis asked.

Slowly, Priscilla moved her head up and down. “Call it a test. Those who are worthy to be in here need to possess a certain level of power. It appears you do. Now then, will you answer my question?”

“I remember the day well,” Francis replied with a grin.

As he spoke tiny threads, similar to the ones he watched the queen use on the platform, except thicker and radiating more power, began to wrap around him.

Wanting to prove a point, he flared against it, fighting with his skill, watching as the mage winced, leaning back in her chair before scowling.

“The gods do not like it when you pry with something they have given,” Francis growled. “I would be careful of what you try to cast on me lest you find yourself on the wrong side of their favor.”

Both pupils flared with a magical power and Francis watched as the woman’s fingers twitched.

A standoff took place as he glared at her. The face Francis had practiced on Derrek many times was unwavering, and Pricilla looked like a predator, ready to pounce and attack.

“You… have a very nasty ability,” she said slowly. “For the gods to have granted you that and the other is… a sign of their favor.” Pricilla’s tone changed with those last five words, and the light in her eyes faded. “Forgive me, and may the gods forgive me as well. I have seen many attempts to rise to power, claiming things they are not worthy of. It would appear that you are.”

He waved his hand at her words. Leaning back in his chair, Francis studied her face and he believed it was the look of well-practiced penance. “So if you believe that, how does what you wanted to talk about change?”

Priscilla smiled and sat upright. “You seem very familiar with a game most don’t learn for many more years and even more alarming is that you are the ninth son. Landon would be… surprised to find out that such a thing has come from his bloodline so late in life. I wonder how your father would feel if it were your brother, Michael is it, who had your gifts.”

Francis’ hand gripped the wooden arm and for a moment, he wondered if it would snap under the force he held on with. “I wouldn’t worry about what my father thinks or use my brother as something to bargain with. Threats do not bode well with me, and I remember those foolish enough to do so.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “Do you realize who I am?”

Francis nodded, leaning forward, mimicking the smile he had seen his father wear whenever he was about to do something evil. “I would ask the same question, Priscilla Obsterano. Mage bound to the throne. One who was there at the signing of the Concord. Bound to act to save the King but not required or forced to lend aid to this battle unless you wish it.”

Francis paused a second, glaring at the mage before him. “You don’t know what I have been shown and know. And before you do that,” he said, watching her eyes light up immediately, “remember that if your spell fails. I’m right here, and no one will make it in time to save you. I’m the one who waded deep into the army and slaughtered them as an offering. I’m the one who returned covered in their blood. I am also the one who told the King to act, saving even more lives.”

Francis paused, watching the struggle Priscilla seemed to be experiencing due to his words. He could sense a buildup of power inside her that felt like it wanted to escape.

With one last prepared card to play, Francis struck. “And I know that there are many who would prefer if the king lost this war.”

Her arm twitched slightly, yet no threads came as her face paled. Her eyes widened as the light within dimmed slightly.

“What… what do you know?” Pricilla asked, her voice sounding weak.

Francis wanted to laugh but Stenson had warned him not to. There was a fine line he was walking and the older man had given him advice for this moment. Francis could only push so far before she pushed back and if he said something that didn’t ring true or went against what she knew to be true, Francis’ status as a true Sage who saw things would vanish like the dew under the hot sun.

“Not all things will be shared,” Francis said, “but if you want knowledge, you must be willing to answer some things for me. I won’t tell you if you lie but I will know. Just as I am aware of Avelis and her current plans for the Spire. She loves to use the same trick of forcing people to speak and share things they would most likely not want to. I could talk about those god-awful, ugly purple couches. Her room also makes this place pale in comparison due to the gaudy art and trinkets she displays.”

A slight opening appeared in Priscilla’s lips as her jaw loosened, not enough to be considered a true gape, but Francis could see that his words had struck a chord.

“Stenson could have–”

“Stenson has never been in her room,” Francis replied, cutting her off. “You know that. I know that. Do not toy with me, Priscilla. Either attack me and see what happens or dismiss the magic you hold ready to unleash. I will not play your game, nor will I be some puppet you think to yank my strings around and make me do your bidding. I may be young but know that the one who sits before you has seen things that would make most people in this kingdom beg for the sweet embrace of death.”

Seconds ticked by in silence and then the light vanished from her eyes.

“Good. Now then, tell me,” Francis said. “One chance. Lie and when we are done, know that I will give you no inclination of whether I know it or not. Also know that if you attempt to cast a spell at my back while I leave, you'd best make sure it is more than a simple one of fire and that you pour every ounce of magic you have into killing me because trust me, you won’t make it out of here alive if you do.”

The way she had been sitting this entire time shifted. Her shoulders sagged just slightly, and her proud, stiff back became a little bent.

“I… I will answer truthfully,” Priscilla said.

“We shall see,” Francis replied.