Ventus Cursor (04)

As soon as I'm out of view I pick-up my stride even more, and race for my personal sanctuary. I'm almost jogging by the time I'm back to my suite of rooms. I shut the door with a satisfying snick and just slump over with my back pressed into the ancient, sturdy wood.

At least, I'm not haunted. I glance longingly at my bed covered with the quilt my mother pieced together with her own hands. I can take solace in the fact that even if today was terrible and unexpected, I will at least sleep tonight.

There is something just absolutely marvelous about being alone in your own space. Sliding into my room is like a boat slipping into a harbor. I never feel this safe anywhere else.

Probably because I painstakingly warded these rooms myself. No assassin would enjoy any of the wicked surprises I developed. I smile a metaphorical greeting, and reach out to run my hands over my wards. "Hello, my lovelies," I murmur and receive a welcoming thrum. It took much recasting to turn them into a shimmering gossamer impression of candlelight and shadows. Nearly undetectable, it's to date my best work.

The jacket I decided against this morning is still strewn over the back of my favorite reading chair, and Aegin sent someone up to start a crackling fire in the hearth that fills the room with the robust aroma of hickory.

I trail over to my workstation that still holds the maps I had referenced before setting out. I left them all a mess, strewn and folded like broken bird wings. I should never have agreed to this, I think again. When father and Pru contacted me fortnight ago to tell me the spies had discovered the Nephilim had an Ascerian, I felt it was a stupid idea from the start. Except, I had assumed that the girl would be well-treated. Why would a kidnapped girl ever agree to help us willingly? I thought it was a waste of my time.

Nonetheless, I am the sword at the end of my sister's arm. I must go where she directs me. Although I hid it, I was not particularly happy to charge into the Nephilim territory playing the rogue.

Now that I know what happened to her in that place, after meeting this girl; I'm even less willing to acquiesce to forcing her compliance. Even if my father and sister demanded it from me.

She may be older than I expected, but Verity still seems like a child. A proud one who won't compromise even for her freedom.

I need to write to Pru. She'll know what to do, I'm sure of it. Especially about the coming of age ceremony, saints help me if that happens before Pru arrives. I've no idea even where to begin. She always has some clever answer to snap out of thin air when I'm in a real pinch.

Which I am, more often than not, to be honest.

Plus, my sister loves me. Unlike most families, we actually get along just fine. 99% of the time I don't even mind being her lumbering sword oaf of a brother. If I truly balk at a plan, Pru will find a way so it's more palatable. She knows I wouldn't complain if I didn't truly have a reason to disagree with them.

I'm sure she'll listen... At least 80% sure, this time.

I frown at the maps as I trace my fingers along the borders of my mother's, and now my, estate. Nestled like a golden diamond pointed right between the East and West Aberrat mountain ranges that intermittently frame the southern border of Tlantian, the seat of my dukedom will be the first to bear the brunt of the opening salvos of the Century War.

I have a year. I have only a single year to get everything set to rights before our nearest neighbors - the likes of the Nephilim, Hardanians, Beuforts, and Lizaln - come to tear hunks off of our weakened flesh when the Century War begins.

My mother's people will spill their blood first to protect our country. As the only Tlantian land border, it has always burned during the Century War; yet, the last war pushed us past the mountain range to the very heart of our territory. It is not the small towns and hamlets on the other sides of the mountains this time that will need defending. My fingers find the neutral zone automatically - tracing decimated, cracked borders after centuries of a retreat as slow and rotting as the deadwood trees.

This time it is will be the major cities that fall. Tens of thousands of civilians will likely be killed. Our largest border city, Red Peak, is right at the tip of that diamond with well over a million souls. As the southern most point of the country, the neutral zone between us and the Hardanian border is not even 5 kilometres across.

The Hardanians, the berserker race of ethnic purists with their iron mines, night vision, and superior musculature have been growing increasingly bold, and they have the whelping rate to do as they please. With their crowded cities and overpopulation, they are itching to throw their spares at our border and claim our sparsely populated lands.

It's an open state secret, the Queztal have been in a steady population decline for at least 500 years. Most families are lucky to have even one child. It was considered a miracle when I was born so late in my mother's life.

Even more than our lands, the Hardanians possess an indescribable hysteria to come-up and orchestrate a mass genocide against the Beast-Kin who are under Tlantian protection.

Most of the humanoid races are purists, and consider us ethnic traitors to the humanoid races who live without the benefit of fur and fang, claw and wing. It has set us apart for all of recorded history. A hatred with no rational that I can identify.

For a long time, my people were strong enough and populous enough to do as we pleased. The magic has always run strong in us. And there are many a sword-singer in the royal line (although most sang air or water and not blood like I do).

The Quetzal have welcomed Beast-Kin to our lands and hearts, since before the first Century War a millennium ago. My people would rather dive head-first into the final abyss than betray our compatriots. To me, simply being a Beast-Kin is a manifestation of the wonders of magic in physical form.

The religious fanatics to the south consider the Beast-Kin cursed by the gods to wander the world without magic. Personally, I think that's a point lacking any logical sense. Considering my own brand of magic is to drink the blood of my enemies, absorb their power, and be haunted by the remnants of their devoured soul... I'm going to say Beast-Kin got more lucky than not to miss out on the joys of magic.

As the Southlandian Duke, I hold dominion over every province south of the river. My people will expect me to fight on the battlefield until death before giving up our territory. But what on earth am I supposed to do in this situation? Even if I die miserably in a battle I can never win I won't be able to hold out for even close to 90 days.

It will be a moral dilemma, regardless. Do I hold as a 'guest' this girl who only wants freedom or do I release her and condemn my people to slaughter?

There has to be something this girl Verity wants or something I can offer her in exchange.

If my mother's Lowlands fall, then the longer Tlantian border behind it won't stand a chance. We'll lose the sum whole of the Southern provinces until the Quentalian river that runs between the East to West Sea dividing the Northern Provinces from the Southern Lowlands.

Worse is the real reason I was sent to find her.

My people are dying. In droves.

A season ago, a merchant ship sailed into harbor and brought with it an unseen passenger. Soon, a strange, insidious illness began to spread through our largest port. There are plague protocols in place for a nation like ours where three-quarters of our border faces an ocean or sea, and yet it still spread all the way to the Quentalian where my father was forced to close the bridges and seize the boats to protect the south. We're lucky the river is as wide as a large lake. The only reason the three bridges are even possible is the smattering of islands littering the river.

The last word I received was that 1 in 7 are dying in the capitol every day.

Even after so many months have passed, there is no sign of a cure or even a basic understanding of how to manage it. It is the worst for the sorcerers, the magic unleashes within them, uncontrolled, and violent, and drains their life-force dry before their immune-system can launch a response.

Part of the reason my father banished me south to my ancestral seat in the Lowlands. I'm particularly at risk as both a basic sorcerer and a sanguine-swordcrafter. My talents are... hungry... to say the least and always just on the brink of escaping my control on a good day.

Only two things can save my people now: a cure or a ward stone.

Two impossible to find tasks.

The ward stones have been lost since the 2nd Century War 800 years ago. If I can find even a single stone, I'll be able to ward the narrow gap in Red Peak and push forward with even a weakened army to seize enough neutral territory to gain some breathing room for my descendants. I won't need to leave a single defender on the land border this way. I'll be able to seize the lands past the mountain with abandon.

If I only manage to find the cure, even if I found it tomorrow, I would still watch my mother's lands burn when the Century War arrives. Too many of the Quetzal have died, and my father refuses to break the covenant by asking the Beast-Kin to help us fight against a race like the Hardanians where capture would mean a brutal death.

But I cannot hold the border with just the South. And the North is already too weakened to fight.

I pick-up a pen and begin an explanatory introduction to my sister. I'll send a bird tonight, and hope it can intercept her. However, before I even dash off a few lines. There is a tap on my door.

I still. This is highly unusual. Usually, I'm given some time to process and decompress when I first arrive. I open the door sensing Aegin on the other side.

"Aegin, what...?" I begin, but I can see the tiny orange bird balanced loosely on his upraised fist.

"My lord. There is urgent news from the capitol." My heart seizes. The little orange bird is known as a Ventus Cursor, and is the swiftest, rarest messenger in the entire fleet of messenger and signal birds. One is only sent when the word is urgent.

And dire.

The bird flits to me nonchalantly and lifts a leg for me to receive the message. Once I do, I can feel it settle up on my increasingly demagnetized hair waiting until I release it - in case I require a return.

I read the message twice. Unbelieving. Tears swim up into my eyes, and a sob breaks from my throat.

"Master Shade," Aegin reaches a steadying hand to my arm. "What news is this?"

"My father... my father is dead. The sickness overtook him quickly - he died in just three days." My father is... was... a powerful sorcerer, I'm not surprised.

"And Pru..." I shudder. "Pru is also stricken. Unconscious, and fading. It is written it is unclear if she will last the night. I am forbidden to return to the capitol." I let the thin piece of rice paper that bears such heavy news fall from my fingers, flutter in the air, and vanish under my reading chair. Pru's magic as an illusionist is weak and manifests mainly in the artistic arts. Why would she be so ill?

"Who is the sender?" Aegin asks quietly.

I clear my throat. Battling for control, as I feel my magic seesawing wildly. "My father's head chamberlain, Bastien. A plan is in place for the continuance of government. Each of the heads of the key departments is being flown by airship to Loch-la-Lain. The isle castle at the heart of the Quentalian will be used as a Quarantine zone. Each department head will live in isolation with their pilot. Those that survive the next 10-day period will continue South and join us here in the Lowlands. All but the head royal physician, who will stay with my sister."

For however long she still lives.

I can't say the words.

"My Lord Shade, your orders."

My Lord. I'm the direct heir to the throne, and Aegin adjusted his mindset immediately. Much faster than I could even process. It is hard to believe this is real. It's so distant, it's not concrete for me yet. In my mind, I was just thinking of my father alive and Pru well. I was writing Pru only a moment ago hoping she could swoop in and solve all my problems.

If Pru dies... If that happens, I will curse the unmerciful gods until the day I die.

I am not a diplomat. I am no ruler. I am a brute of a swordsman who kills on order. If I wasn't a royal, I would have made an excellent mercenary.

My purpose in life was to be the wielded, not the wielder.

"I need to see the girl."