BECMI Chapter 256 – There are kings and there are Kings
Grandmaster Sama’s one visible heavens-blue eye watched him like a hawk, all other presences in the room falling away as Gate Captain Tronsweyr blurred through the kata, faster than many of the eyes there could follow, and with a click and no hand upon his scabbard, sheathed his sword to finish and then bowed his head.
An elegant eyebrow rose just a twitch in response. “We will discuss your progress later, Rossus,” she said to him calmly, and his heart skipped a beat.
She had said he had made progress!
Equal parts enthralled and dreading her evaluation, he clicked his heels, and spun back to his king.
“You are dismissed, Captain,” King Brucall said thoughtfully, his expression rather eager himself to meet the fabled Sage of Swords who had resided in Siricil!
“My liege!” His heels clicked perfectly once more, he turned precisely and marched back out of the room, his heels ringing perfect cadence upon the stone.
It took only a gesture from him to make sure the doors were hurriedly closed behind him, giving those within privacy… and giving him the moment to wipe the sweat now dripping off his face.
“Captain?” Sergeant Dusicron asked him, like everyone else wondering why he departed from protocol. The expression on his face was a warning that he wasn’t just being foolish or rebellious.
“That is Grandmaster Sama Rantha, the Golden Hag. She might very well be the most accomplished swordsman in the whole world!” he managed in a hushed voice, instantly getting their attention. He was one of the best swordsmen in the whole army, with only the king and General Gostorn reasonably able to best him. “I spent six months training under her, and I learned so much, and barely anything at all from her…”
He had watched her pick up a dull practice sword and split an anvil with it. Take her hand and drive it through a bronze breastplate into the guts of the man behind it, withdrawing said guts of the pretentious and insulting arse and killing him almost instantly.
He had never seen her draw her Sword Tremble, only heard the two notes sound on occasion with nerve-crawling meaning, just before someone died rather horribly and quickly.
“Tell Lieutenant Nochtorn he has the gate. I, I have to go practice my katas. I think I’m out of practice…”
His fellow Royal Guards watched the Gate Captain march off, their eyes a bit wide at how distracted he looked.
Out of practice? He practiced his swordplay at least two hours a day, every day, like clockwork! He enthusiastically and constantly took on challengers, delivering lessons with cold precision and tireless energy for the task, undoubtedly the best sword instructor in the whole of the Royal Guard and army!
They watched him hurry off, like a nervous and ecstatic child, and wondered just how dangerous that woman actually was…
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Brucall was a tall human with rich blue eyes, the pale brown hair and skin of a High Delphan, handsome and proud of stature and build. He affected a mustache as a ruler, instead of the clean-shaven status of a Delphan soldier, and had a boyish charm and enthusiastic nature around himself that put those about him at ease.
He had been around powerful men and women his whole life, of course. His mother was the Empress of all of Delpha, succeeding his grandfather, and his father was the highest-ranking warrior general of Delpha’s armies. Their friends, rivals, enemies, peers, and acquaintances all tended to be monstrously strong and skilled humans, giving him direct exposure to the apex of human power and inspiration to reach the same himself.
He found himself at something of a loss at this moment.
The people outside of Delpha were far closer in manner and attitude to the commoners of Delpha. They didn’t aspire to the apex, they barely knew it existed, and were content to live out their lives in relative obscurity, thinking that reaching Levels into the teens was an extraordinary thing, a qualification for rare and mighty heroes, and not something that was expected of the truly noble and superior before they hit twenty years of age.
The son of an Empress? He had hit Twenty before his birthday of that many years, and added at least a Level every year since, through one means or another.
Of the three who stood before him, Sama Rantha was the only one whose name he knew. This King Antius and the Lady Edge might as well have dropped out of the sky for all he knew of them. But Sama Rantha? The Golden Hag of the arenas of Siricil? Acclaimed as the finest swordmaster in the world by many a Siricilan? Of course he knew of her!
He was aware that his father had even extended an invitation, along with a fortune in gold, for her to come to Vinndsvoll to train his family, perhaps even himself, and that the invitation had been turned down. Naturally a son of the Empress of Delpha could not be risked by sending him to Siricil, and really, martial weapons were not the true road to power, so the matter had quietly been dropped, especially when a couple too-pushy archmages were sent back to the Delphan Consulate with all their major bones broken and not healing. It had taken them more than a year and the best mundane healers in the Empire before those men could walk again, he had once heard…
He had often wondered what she truly looked like, and what his first impressions would be when meeting her. His father was the greatest warrior he knew, and he certainly didn’t expect to be overly impressed by a barbarian from outside the Empire.
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His first impression was that this woman would tear his father apart, and could rip him to pieces with her bare hands.
It was a sudden, vivid, and quite disquieting set of thoughts. From the utterly unafraid eye that met his own gaze, he also realized she could sense his unease, and his further impression was that it was quite proper and expected. He was simply not a threat to her, she had assessed him and dismissed him as a real danger, and if he tried anything, there would be rivers of blood!
He was not an honorless cad, even if she dwelled among the savages of Siricil. With those eyes and hair, she was probably a member of the many barbaric Urto tribes which spread across the north, gone south to make her fortune, even as the Siricilan Emperor Magni himself had done.
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And now she was here, in this courtroom, and his own Captain of the Gate had made the effort of acclaiming her as teacher and Grandmaster, in effect a very clear warning to his liege that this was an extremely dangerous woman, and to respect her at all costs… even to the point of breaking protocol.
Deferring to those at the apex had long been drilled into him, but what this woman was, was something that was beyond the mere apex.
It was extremely disquieting.
His gaze flitted over to his opposite number, all those thoughts passing through his thoughts in a breath or two.
This man looks like a king.
The impression was clear and solid, and hit like a hammer to the gut. That King Taravon ‘the True’ of Seacall was a singularly unimpressive fellow, having inherited the throne young and never receiving proper training or pushing himself, barely more skilled than a noble child, yet wrapped up in his royal status and thinking himself powerful because of it. Entertaining him was not difficult, but when a king did not exceed the power of an average member of Brucall’s own personal bodyguards, he had to admit to being unimpressed, high moral character or no.
THIS man was a warrior and a king. He had an aura drenched in blood and fire and tears, something that could not be mistaken, and the Sword that he wore gave off a feeling of valiant power that could not be hidden. His blue eyes were steady, his skin bronzed by outdoor life, his build tall and strong, but his features were too rounded and weathered to be a Delphan.
He just oozed kingship, however. Brucall found himself struck by a pang of envy for the other man, the first time that had happened since he had come to Eislas. King Antius looked wise, mature, energetic, competent, and clever all at once, and was completely at ease in the throne room of a rival monarch and peer.
The elfin gave him the most complex feelings.
A good head shorter than the two humans, her scarlet attire stood out like blood in a pool of ink. He knew and had met hundreds, if not thousands of wizards over his lifetime, and was quite familiar with how erratic and individualistic some of them could be, with monstrous levels of vanity over their appearance, skills, special magic, attire, and uniqueness that could readily explode into mini-feuds that were the daily drama of Delpha and the Imperial Court.
An elf… was not the equal of an Overmagus. That was writ in stone. Elves simply could not attain the raw level of power that a human could, although the fact that ALL elves could learn magic was certainly a strong fact in their favor as a people, especially in Delpha, making all elves members of the nobility. Elven Wizards in particular were quite rare, only hailing from true elven homelands, and effectively the highest nobles of the species in a magocracy like Delpha.
He was not getting that impression from her unnatural beauty and poise. He was getting an impression of blood and souls and if those Overmagi of his mother’s acquaintance on their great Council confronted her, those Overmagi were going to die!
It was a very unnerving position to be in. An Overmagus was an extraordinarily dangerous being. The Delphan Magical Tradition of Wishcrafting had ensured that all such men and women were superior beings both physically and mentally, and even if they were frighteningly independent and sometimes outright dismissive of the Empire’s authority, they were the solid bedrock and foundation of Delpha’s status, the real reason nobody in the world truly dared to contest Delpha’s status as the most powerful empire on Tera.
This elfin and her… unique appearance would not be out of place in that august and irreverent body of cantakerous wizards in the slightest, he was certain.
He made a simple wave, and Humbron quickly stepped forward to do his task. “Honored lord and ladies, I am Humbron, Castellan to His Royal Majesty Brucall. May I present to you General Gorstorn, Commander of the Royal Guard and General of the Armies of Aetla; Markoll the Farseer, Magister to the king; Tarna Elmbright of the Circles of the North, Druidess and Counselor to the king; and Counselor Olgmaithan, Ambassador Plenipotentiary and Advisor to the king.”
Each one of Brucall’s advisors bowed slightly to introduce themselves, and when all were done, received polite bows in return.
“Welcome to Aetla, my friends!” King Brucall said encouragingly, even daring to step down from his throne quickly to speak to this King Antius as an equal instead of a superior, avoiding a petty power play he was certain the other would not appreciate. “Given the impressive nature of your arrival, I assume your transit here was uneventful.”
Two sets of eyes turned on Lady Edge as one, making Brucall hesitate, wondering if he’d said something wrong.
“I am certain His Majesty’s hat will be returned on the way back,” the elfin said in a voluble accent that brought parades of coffins and falling rose petals to mind, completely unmoved.
King Antius turned back, his eyes holding the exasperation that Brucall understood all too well when dealing with wizards. His eyes flickered to the diadem the man wore, the understated power and wealth it indicated not lost on him. “Ah, yes, they do get heavy, don’t they?” he half-laughed, and received a chuckle and grin in response.
A hand was offered, clasped, grips tested, found to be strong and sure and callused, two swordsmen testing one another out. “Lady Edge’s servants can be mischievous towards anyone but her,” King Antius agreed. “Do you wish to continue talking here, King Brucall, or some place more private and at ease? I am sure you have many questions for us…”