Chapter 41. To Ashams
A neigh echoed across the empty sky, making Sael look up.
There, descending through dusk like a falling star, was a pegasus.
He watched it approach from where he sat in one of the castle's gardens. This one was open to the sky, surrounded by high stone walls on three sides with only a single archway for entry. Flowering vines crawled up the stonework, their blooms releasing sweet fragrance into the cooling air. A fountain burbled in the center, water cascading over carved figures he didn't recognize.
He didn't remember this garden and thought it might have been new at first, but then again, he hadn't been here in centuries. The Ducal family had certainly made dozens of changes to the grounds over the generations and this could have been built two hundred years ago for all he knew.
The pegasus touched down in the courtyard beyond the garden wall with considerably less grace than its approach had suggested. Sael heard the clatter of hooves on stone, followed by heavy breathing; both equine and human.
Richter looked up from the documents he'd been reviewing. Koleen paused mid-sentence in whatever story he'd been telling about his early days at the Academy and his study of Sael.
A moment later, a young man stumbled through the archway.
He was drenched in sweat. His hair plastered to his forehead. His riding leathers dark with moisture. His legs shook as he walked, and he gripped the archway's edge to steady himself before forcing himself upright.
Sael felt a pang of sympathy.
Pegasus riding...
He remembered learning it himself, back in his youth. How sore he'd been afterward and his entire body had ached for days. Regular horse riding was exhausting enough: the constant adjustment of balance, the grip of your thighs, the way your lower back took the impact of every movement. But pegasi added an entirely new dimension to it.
Literally.
They moved in three dimensions instead of two. Banking, diving, climbing. Your body had to compensate for forces that ground-bound riding never involved. The core strength required was immense. The way you had to lean into turns while simultaneously gripping with your legs and adjusting for altitude changes, it was quite often brutal.
Sael had always privately suspected it was at least ten times more exhausting than regular riding.
Not an official measurement, of course. Just his own intuition from experience. But now he wondered if anyone had actually studied it. Measured the physical toll comparatively. Monitored heart rates, muscle fatigue, energy expenditure.
He should look into that later. It would be interesting to confirm.
The young messenger staggered forward a few more steps, then caught sight of Richter. He immediately straightened despite his obvious exhaustion and dropped into a deep bow.
"Your Grace," he gasped.
Richter set his documents aside and stood, his expression concerned. "Easy, lad. Catch your breath first."
"Your Grace, I—"
"Breathe," Richter said firmly. "There's no rush that's worth you collapsing in my garden."
The messenger tried to straighten further, swayed slightly.
"Sit down," Richter added. "And get some water in you before you try to speak."
The young man looked around, probably searching for a waterskin he'd left with his pegasus or forgotten entirely in his rush. His hands went to his belt, patting at empty loops. Nothing.
Sael glanced at the fountain.
He reached out with his awareness—just a touch, gentle—and [Pull]ed.
The water responded immediately. It lifted from the fountain in a smooth, spherical mass about the size of a melon. Droplets that tried to escape were drawn back in, held by his will. The surface tension perfect, the shape exact.
He adjusted the temperature next. Cool, but not cold. The human body absorbed water better at certain temperatures after physical exertion. He'd read that somewhere—or had he tested it himself? Didn't matter. The knowledge was there. He dropped it to precisely that point.
Then he extended the orb toward the messenger's head.
The young man jerked back with a startled yelp, his eyes going wide.
The water hovered there, perfectly still except for the faintest shimmer across its surface. Waiting. The messenger stared at it. Then at Sael.
Sael smiled at him.
"Please," he said. "Have a drink."
The young man blinked. Looked at the water orb again. Then at the Duke, as if asking for permission.
Richter gestured with one hand. "Go on."
Slowly, the messenger leaned forward.
He opened his mouth and hesitated. 'How exactly did one drink from a floating sphere of water?' he might have been thinking.
Sael made it easier. He extended a tendril of water from the main mass, guiding it toward the young man's lips like a living stream.
The messenger's eyes widened further, but he didn't pull away. The water touched his mouth and he drank. The orb shrank as he pulled from it, the water flowing steadily into him in a way that would have been impossible with a normal waterskin.
When he finally pulled back, gasping, nearly half the orb was gone.
He stared at what remained, floating there in front of him, still perfectly spherical.
"Thank you," he breathed.
The young man seemed satisfied; his breathing had steadied, color returning to his face. Sael guided the remaining water back toward the fountain, letting it merge seamlessly with the flow.
"Jeremy," the Duke said. "I apologize for the sudden task. I know how exhausting that flight must have been."
The young man straightened immediately, despite the obvious tremor still in his legs.
"Your Grace, it was an honor," he said. His voice was steadier now, though still a bit breathless. "Truly."
Richter smiled at that.
"Did you get it?"
Jeremy's hand went to his chest, patting at a leather satchel strapped across his torso. He fumbled with the buckle for a moment—his fingers still shaking slightly from the exertion—then pulled out a folded piece of paper.
He held it out to Richter with both hands, like it was something precious.
"Lord Harryns put his personal seal on the authorization, Your Grace, as per your request," Jeremy said.
Richter took it, turning it over in his hands. The wax seal caught the fading light: deep, wine red, pressed with an intricate design Sael couldn't make out from where he sat.
The Duke's expression shifted.
"Excellent work," Richter said. "Truly excellent."
Jeremy's chest puffed slightly at the praise.
Richter folded the paper carefully and tucked it into his jacket, then turned his attention back to the young messenger.
"You may go now, Jeremy. Head to the castle's kitchens and tell them I want you fed. Whatever you'd like. Drinks, too." He paused. "And afterward, go to the Golden Hare in the city. Tell the proprietor that you're there on my word. He'll give you their best room for three days."
Jeremy's eyes widened. "Your Grace, I—"
Richter reached into his pocket and produced a coin. He flicked it toward Jeremy in a smooth motion. The young man's hand shot up and caught it mid-flight and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at his closed fist. Then, slowly, he opened his palm.
"Ah!" He gasped as he realized it was a Draco coin.
Jeremy looked up, his eyes wide and glistening.
"Thank you, Your Grace," he said. He turned to Koleen, bowing. "Headmaster."
Koleen waved a hand dismissively. Then Jeremy turned to Sael.
He bowed deeply.
"Master Sael," he said.
Sael inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Jeremy straightened, clutched the coin in his fist like he was afraid it might vanish, and turned. He walked back through the archway with considerably more energy than he'd entered with. His steps were still unsteady, but there was a spring in them now.
The sound of his pegasus neighing echoed from the courtyard, followed by the clatter of hooves as Jeremy led the creature away toward the stables.
Silence settled over the garden.
Richter turned back to Sael. He reached into his jacket, pulled out the folded paper, and walked over.
He held it out, his posture respectful.
"Archmage," he said.
Sael took it, nodding his thanks.
The wax seal broke easily under his thumb. He unfolded the paper, smoothing it against his knee.
The handwriting was quite neat.
By the authority vested in me as Guildmaster of the Merchant Association of the Northern Realms, I, Sael Harryns, do hereby certify that the bearer of this document, Master Sael of Hel, has been granted full partnership status within the Merchant Association at Gold Rank.
As a Gold Rank Partner, Master Sael is entitled to all rights, privileges, and protections afforded to members of equivalent standing, including but not limited to: free passage through all territories where the Association maintains diplomatic relations, the right to conduct business and investigations under the Association's banner, access to Association resources and contacts, and the right to request audience with ruling authorities on matters of continental importance.
All guards, governors, officials, and trading posts within the sovereign territories of Ashams, Qahris, Nemathi, Suvar, and all other lands where the Association operates are hereby notified of Master Sael's status and are expected to extend all courtesies and assistance as they would to myself or my direct representatives.
This partnership is granted in perpetuity and carries my personal seal and guarantee.
Signed and sealed this day by my hand,
Sael Harryns
Guildmaster, Merchant Association of the Northern Realms
5th of Pointbreak, year 400 ABY.
Below the signature was the seal he'd seen on the outside. Up close, he could make out the details: a merchant's scale balanced perfectly, surrounded by intricate knotwork.
Sael stared at the name.
Sael Harryns.
He looked up at Richter.
"Named after you," the Duke said, reading his expression. "According to his family, one of his ancestors was a merchant whose caravan traveled under Pointbreak's protection, centuries ago. You saved his life during a bandit attack, apparently."
"Hmm..."
This was a reflective hmm.
There had been... many of those, over the years. Pointbreak had escorted dozens of caravans. Maybe hundreds, during their march toward Cair Natel. And bandits were common enough on the trade routes that saving someone from them had become almost routine.
He tried to remember specifics, but the memories blurred together. So many faces. So many grateful merchants thanking him...
"Menelaus," Richter said.
Sael blinked.
Menelaus.
The name pulled something forward in his mind. A face. Young, dark-haired, with a scar across his jaw from where a bandit's blade had nearly killed him. Sael had cauterized the wound, stopped the bleeding, kept the man alive long enough to get him proper healing.
"Ah," Sael said. "That young man?"
Richter nodded.
"He was so grateful," Sael continued, the memory settling into focus now. "He insisted on naming his son after me. I tried to talk him out of it, actually, and told him it wasn't necessary." He paused. "He didn't listen."
Koleen laughed.
"Well," the Headmaster said, still grinning, "it became a family tradition after that. Every second generation, one of the children of the family head is named Sael. To maintain the tradition."
Oh. That was... flattering, certainly. But also strange. He'd never asked for that kind of remembrance. Never expected it. The idea that his name had been passed down, carefully preserved, intentionally carried forward by people he'd never met—descendants of someone he'd helped once and barely remembered—was...
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He wasn't sure what to say to that, but he had to say something.
"I see," he said finally, hoping that would suffice.
And it seemed to, since neither Richter or Koleen pressed on the subject, which allowed Sael to look back down at the paper.
He could have gone without this, of course, and cross the border anonymously, slip past the guards and use magic to obscure his presence, to move through the territories undetected. It wouldn't have been difficult.
But if Aldric had accomplices—and the chances of that seemed high, given how Corruption worked—then anonymity would only get Sael so far. He'd need to ask questions. Investigate. Potentially deal with multiple Corrupted individuals across different locations.
Doing that while trying to remain hidden would be... inefficient. At best.
And if things escalated—if he needed to confront the dragon himself, or deal with governors, or navigate the political structure Ozyarathes had established—then having legitimate authorization would make everything considerably smoother.
It was the practical choice. The one that acknowledged he wasn't just hunting one rogue mage anymore. He was potentially dealing with a spreading infection that could have already taken root in multiple people across an entire kingdom.
Authorization meant access. Access meant information. Information meant he could actually solve the problem instead of just reacting to it.
Sael looked up at Richter.
"Thank you," he said. "This will help considerably."
Richter's expression relaxed, some tension Sael hadn't noticed before easing from his shoulders.
"I'm glad," the Duke said.
Sael tucked the authorization into his inventory.
"With this," he said, "we're ready to depart."
Richter nodded, glancing around the garden. "Good. Though I wonder where Ilsa and Orion have gotten to."
Koleen checked the position of the sun, now dipping toward the horizon. "They were supposed to be joining us here quite soon, weren't they?"
"They were," Richter confirmed. "I told them to meet us in this garden before dusk."
"I see," Sael said.
He slipped his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing against something smooth. He pulled it out: a full-sized sheet of parchment, completely blank. The material had a faint shimmer to it, subtle enough that most wouldn't notice unless they knew what to look for.
He held it out to Richter.
The Duke took it, turning it over in his hands. His brow furrowed slightly as he examined it.
"This is...?"
"A Correspondence Parchment," Sael said. "Empty, for now. But functional. It'll be quite useful for communication."
Koleen's head snapped up. His eyes widened as he stared at the parchment in Richter's hands.
"Is that the thing Aldric secretly invented?" he asked.
"Yes," Sael confirmed.
The Headmaster leaned forward, squinting at the parchment like he could divine its secrets through sheer intensity of observation.
"I found it quite fascinating," Sael continued. "So I studied it. Found out how it worked. And made some myself."
Koleen's mouth fell open.
"You replicated a magic this complex after mere days?"
Sael tilted his head slightly, considering.
"It wasn't as complex, once one learned how it worked," he said. "The underlying principles are actually quite elegant. The difficulty was in the discovery, not the execution."
He paused, then added, "Would you like me to explain?"
Koleen's eyes lit up like a child offered their favorite sweet. He opened his mouth, already leaning in—
A pointed clearing of throat interrupted him.
They both turned.
"I understand your passion as mages," the Duke said dryly. "Truly, I do. But perhaps the timing would be a bit... inadequate?"
He gestured toward the archway.
Sael followed his gaze and saw them approaching: Ilsa and Orion, with little Margaret walking between them.
Behind them, another figure walked between two guards. Bound.
"Robin?" he said, surprised.
He turned to Richter. "I really did forgive the assassins from last time. There was no need to arrest them."
Richter looked equally surprised, his brow furrowing as he watched the group approach.
"I released them," he said slowly. "Both the fox and the human. I don't understand..."
The group drew closer, and Sael could make out the details now.
Ilsa wore practical traveling clothes: leather reinforced with a few pieces of armor at the shoulders and chest. A sword hung at her hip, and a round shield was strapped to her back.
Orion had opted for traveling robes, dark blue with subtle silver embroidery at the hems. Eirwyn was disguised as a simple walking stick in his hand, the transformation so complete that most people would not suspect a thing.
Margaret was speaking to them both in a low voice, her hands gesturing as she gave what appeared to be final advice. Sael caught fragments: "...don't forget to..." and "...when you encounter..." and "...remember what I told you about..."
And between the guards, bound and muzzled, was Robin.
The fox-eared young man's hands were tied in front of him, and a leather muzzle covered the lower half of his face. His ears were flattened against his head, and his tail—Sael noticed he wasn't bothering to hide it now—hung low behind him.
But as soon as his eyes found Sael, they widened.
Robin dropped to his knees the moment they were close, despite the bindings and the guards trying to keep him upright. He knelt there in the grass, his head bowed.
Margaret reached them first, slightly out of breath.
"Oh, Grandpa Sael," she said, "I was picking flowers at the southern garden when I saw this young man at the gate, begging to see you. The guards arrested him on the spot, and he let himself be arrested without any resistance, despite showing a Silver rank adventurer's badge. Which made me curious."
She gestured at Robin, who remained kneeling.
"So I asked for him to be brought to me. And he told me his story. About your history together. About what happened. And, well..." She laughed. "Knowing you, I thought you might want to see him."
Sael walked over to Robin and crouched down in front of him.
The young man's eyes followed him, hopeful and anxious at once.
Sael reached out and carefully unfastened the muzzle, pulling it away from Robin's face.
"Hello, Robin," he said.
Robin's face broke into the widest grin Sael had seen from him.
"Good evening, Lord Archmage!" he said, his voice bright with enthusiasm. "It is such an honor to see you again! I was hoping—well, I was really hoping—that you might—"
He caught sight of Richter and Koleen watching, and his ears perked up even more.
"Oh! Your Grace!" He bowed his head toward Richter as much as he could while kneeling. "And Headmaster! Good evening to you both as well!"
Sael looked at the guards. "You can untie him."
They hesitated, glancing at Richter.
The Duke nodded. "Do as he says."
The guards moved forward and began working on Robin's bindings. The moment his hands were free, Robin rubbed his wrists and straightened up, though he remained kneeling.
"What are you doing here, Robin?" he asked.
Robin brushed off his clothes first, then looked up at Sael.
"Well, sir," the fox said, "ever since my last contract, I've been out of a job. And I'm quite sure the contractor avenue is now closed to me."
Sael tilted his head slightly. "Why is that?"
Robin met his eyes directly, his gaze steady and honest.
"Because I gave away the person who hired me," he said simply. "People refuse to trust me now. In my line of work, trust is rather essential. Without it..." He spread his hands. "I'm unemployable. Which means I can no longer maintain my and my sister's standards of living. I can't safely adventure anymore, not with my condition. And I can't work as an independent contractor either."
Behind him, Ilsa's hand had drifted to the hilt of her sword. Not drawing it, but resting there. Her eyes were hard as she watched Robin, her jaw set. She didn't trust him, that much was written clearly across her face.
Richter's expression had cooled considerably as well. His posture had shifted, becoming more rigid. One hand rested on his hip, near where his own blade would be if he were armed.
Orion stood slightly behind Ilsa, his gaze moving between Robin and Sael, waiting. Watching for Sael's reaction.
Margaret, meanwhile, had a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth, like she was watching something mildly entertaining.
Sael studied Robin for a moment.
"I could heal you," he said. "You could go back to being an adventurer."
Robin shook his head slowly, deliberately.
"I would no longer like to be an adventurer, sir."
Oh?
Margaret's smile widened just a touch, clearly amused by the whole situation.
Sael kept his expression neutral. "What did you want?"
Robin clasped his hands in front of him.
"...Adventuring is quite a dangerous business," he said. "Even for a Silver-ranked adventurer like myself. And while my only skills are for violence..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I consider it a safer prospect to... perhaps work in your service, sir."
"My service?"
"Yes, sir. I could be your personal aide. Run errands. Handle correspondence. I can shoot quite well—bow, crossbow, thrown weapons. I'm proficient in reconnaissance. I can read and write in four languages. I'm trained in basic alchemy and poison identification. I can cook, maintain equipment, navigate by stars, track targets across difficult terrain, and I'm reasonably good at negotiating with difficult people."
"I'm also," he added, "very good at not asking questions when it's inappropriate to do so."
Margaret let out a soft laugh.
Sael looked at Robin thoughtfully.
"But what about your sister?" he asked.
Robin's ears twitched slightly.
"She'll be attending an expensive girls' college in a few days," he said. "I'm the one who has to pay for it. Which is, if anything, even more motivation for me to secure stable employment as quickly as possible."
He paused, then added, "So I ask again, sir. Would you consider it?"
Sael studied him for a moment. "Do you know where I'm going?"
Robin shook his head once. "No, sir. But it's of little importance. I adapt quickly. And with a person of your caliber there, I'd be in considerably less danger than if I returned to adventuring." His tail swayed once. "Also, truthfully, I suspect anywhere you're going is likely to be interesting. And possibly profitable, depending on the circumstances."
The honesty of it was almost refreshing.
Sael considered.