A twig snapped. Vadesh spun on his heels. His left hand went straight to his right sleeve. In one smooth motion, he hiked it up to his elbow, revealing a board of a wood strapped to the forearm. On it was four runes, decorated with powered stone and red ink. His free hand hovered over one, a small razor poised at the ready between the index and pointer fingers. He already knew his enemy. "Brandt." Sharp lines of distinction traced through the air, forming the outline of a man. The cloak fell back and faded to its original dark blue. A rune of concealment, now spent, lay emblazoned on the breast. Brandt's hand rose from the folds of the cloak with a willow stick in tow. The small metal claw of his glove twitched in anticipation. "Vadesh." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The North A Tale of High Adventure And Low Temperatures Part 12: Slush Created by Schneeble (Brian Stubbs) Written by Nick Callahan - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "And how fairs the defense at Lake Iso?" The royal aid drew his finger along the map, tracing the troop position. "We are now three battalions strong on the southern most shore. With this, we cut off all routes of attack from Iso." King Petroyv rubbed his chin. "That hardly seems adequate." "But not so, my lord." The aid raised a finger. A few others, who had nodded with the king, turned their attention to him. "We hold the high ground at all points and, when battle break out, have the benefit of entrenched and rested men. Three battalions, even against the entirety of whatever army Iso may raise, would be enough to stem enemy movement long enough for reinforcements to arrive from the other defensive positions and from the defenses closer to Sala." The other aids, generals of both nobility and peasantry, murmured in agreement. With all of them in there, the king's private chambers felt cramped, but Petroyv was used to such conditions. He sank into his favorite chair, absorbing the dialogue. "Very well, then. It is as serviceable a plan as any. You have done well, my generals." The king responded. "What of the granaries?" A woman's voice picked up from the back of the room. "What measures are being taken to prevent more from being set to flames?" The aid who had been lecturing previously, a real go-getter of the group, coughed indignantly. "There is a general conscription in effect to increase city security. However, we have not yet caught any of the terrorizing raiders. In any case, the fires are few and far between. They present no real threat, either to our military or our populace." "Let us hope so." Anna pressed her way through the crowd. "These...terrorists may take it upon themselves become more and more bold. Are you so sure a full frontal campaign is Iso's only option?" "Our police presence is too thick." The aid met her gaze for gaze. "It would be wonderful to prevent all such raids, but no protection is perfect. But what we do have is more than enough to limit any real threat. Guerilla tactics will gain Iso nothing and in the end, it is only in open warfare that they may be able to muster necessary force to best us." Anna shrugged. But she didn't move her gaze. "Fair enough." "Enough." Petroyv rumbled. He waved his hand over the assembly. "All things are ready. My generals, you have other duties to perform, I'm sure. I would not keep you from them. Thank you, as always, for your experience and care." The mass of professional soldiers shifted and ebbed from the room. They flowed out like a liquid, leaving only Anna standing by herself by the table. The Princess smirked coldly. "Anna, while I respect your desire to attend these sessions, must you ask questions that have been answered beforehand? The security of Iso was planned at the first." Petroyv shifted around, resting his head on a propped up hand. Anna stood where she was, as if the general was still staring her down. "Such questions must be asked frequently, my lord, so that we remember their answers at all times. And to weigh whether those answers still satisfy us." "You mean, still satisfy me." "Yes, my lord. I apologize." "Don't worry for it. I begrudge the ambition in no one's voice. And you are, after, the one in line to become regent." Her locks bounced from side to side as Anna shook her head weakly. She turned towards the king, a much warmer smile on her lips. "Don't speak of such things." "I'm too tired not to." With a grunt, Petroyv rose from the chair. He lumbered over to the fireplace. "This kingdom has been the collective work of my family since the days of my grandfather. It has been finalized in my lifetime, crystallized, and I had hoped to die with some peace for my descendents. But this! Oh, it sorely vexes me, Anna. It sorely vexes me." Glass clinked at Anna opened up the local supply of liquor. It held some of the stronger drinks, some refine from peasant brews, some imported from the south. She carefully searched the bottles. "You are tired, my lord, I will not argue. As you said, all things are ready. Perhaps, then, it would benefit you to take some rest. It would be well deserved, after all. Here, let me fix you a tonic I know. It will sooth your nerves." "I thank you, Anna. You are as dutiful as any son I've ever had." "I would not dare to say that, my lord." * * * "Father?" Christov's shade whirled around in the fire. "Father, is it that you?" Brandt's eyes took only half a second to steal a glance. "What are you doing to him?" "Now, Brandt, you know what they say about a magician and his tricks." Vadesh's lips twitched up and down in a mocking smile. "But, anyway, I don't quite understand it myself, not totally. For now, let's just say that the matter of your son has become...complicated." The red-haired rune smith snarled. His thumb tore through the rune of combustion. Vadesh sliced into his own rune and the air turned to crystal before him. The magical flame bounded off of the barrier, turning the snow to steam around them. Vadesh ducked bellow Brandt's sight and scrambled to the right. He pulled a handful of small stones from his pouch and haphazardly tossed them in the air. The pebbles, liberally covered in runes, exploded into pinwheels of fire mid-flight. Brandt ran backwards, shielding his eyes from the bright light and thickening steam clouds. A second bubble of solidified air struck Brandt from the side. He tumbled down across the ground as Vadesh slid to the halt of his charge. Dispelling the barrier, he rushed over to the ground. He crushed the willow rod under his boot, grounding the splinters into the ground. Brandt rolled to the side, yanking his knife from his belt. He aimed the blade at Vadesh, ready for another attack. Vadesh grinned and produced another volley of pebbles. * * * The room echoed with the sound of moving paper as Shalnay turned the page. That was the only sound in the room for the past hour. Katria sat in the corner, staring out the window. The two girls had no spoken to each since the beginning of the visit. That simply wasn't the point. Shalnay turned another page. Katria thought about Christov, still asleep back in their apartments. That's all he seemed to do, lately. It reminded her of some toy a child had set aside, never again to play with it. It was disquieting. She shook those thoughts from her head. They were silly anyway. She returned to the window, peering across the battlements. The guards were busy today. All of a sudden, they just began to run about, this way and that. It probably had something to do with the defenses. Or perhaps there was another fire. That would mean someone had gotten close to the castle, this time. The door slammed open, causing both of the girls to jump. Grael stormed in, a look of worry and panic painted on his face. Her looked back and forth between the startled women, then clenched his jaw. "I must ask you to come with me. The head of the guard requires your presence." Shalnay calmly closed her book. That seemed to worry Grael, the time she spent even on that action. "What is this about, Sergeant? Is there some concern?" Grael sighed heavily. "As you both have greater connections to Iso than Sala and have been free in the palace, you have both been placed under suspicion. I asked to be the one to arrest you, as a courtesy." "Suspicion for what?" Katria demanded. Grael told them. They were understandably shocked. * * * The snow hissed into gas as the spinning fires descended. Brandt danced away, keeping his knife straight and ready. Vadesh followed after him with a casual air, throwing the stones as if it was a sport. He chuckled. "I'm disappointed, Brandt. You've come to depend too much on that particular spell. But, then again, you've never been the imaginative type. I have, after all, always been one step ahead of you." Brandt watched the stones carefully. "That's not what Kavanov thought." "You're trying to make me angry, Brandt." Vadesh' features went cold. "For that, I'm going to stop playing now." "You never stood a chance, Vadesh." "Oh, really?" Vadesh hurled the stones straight at his opponent. Brandt pulled out a palm-sized circle of lead. A rune covered one entire side, a figure of the wind. Brandt gouged his knife into the rune, drawing one final line along the edge. The air between the two men became a windstorm. The flaming pebbles shot off course like dust motes. Vadesh gasped, raising his third barrier. "I just wanted to make sure my son was out of the way." The winds narrowed into streams. The lines of air traced through the snow, drawing thick lines along the powdered ground. They circled around Vadesh, boxing him into the arcane pattern. In a short time, the pattern resolved itself into a rune of binding. Vadesh could barely scream as his limbs went numb from the magic. Brandt dropped the ground, exhausted by the crude magic. Between heavy breaths, he smiled victoriously. He rose back to his feet, watching the now disable Vadesh. Content that his enemy could do nothing for now, he turned back towards Christov. He had work to do, now. * * * It was such a tiny bottle. In fact, she could almost call it a piece of art. Barely the length of her pinky, square at the bottom and round near the top, with a tight neck. The cork for it was proportionally tiny, of course. One could call it a novelty. The only thing that kept it from being a child's pretty was the color, a deep velvet red that spoke of a purpose beyond the keen of a child. Anna turned the bottle over and over in her hand. She ought to be out there, mourning with the rest of them. Her voice should be inarticulate, her eyes should water, and all her composure should go to rot. Not just because it would be the smart thing to do, but because she really should have been. Petroyv was not a bad man, himself. Had he been born into any other family, any other profession, he could have been one of the few truly likeable men in the world. But instead, unfortunately, he came into, by accident of birth, a job that did nothing but twist his goals and corrupt his pride and broke his sensibilities. Perhaps, perhaps, he had been nothing but what others expected. That only made he fate all the more tragic. He had treated Anna well. She knew this. She respected him for this. But, as she probed her soul, it was only respect. She held no other opinion of the man, no other care. In the end, she could not even view him as human. He nothing but a walking, talking void to her, a hole that she would one day fill. To her, he counted among the dead the moment she knew he existed. To her, he had no purpose but to die. So, instead of being out there, mourning him like the impassioned daughter, she sat in her chambers, examining a now empty bottle. People would talk, but nothing she couldn't avoid. When someone died, she felt, no matter how you treated them in life, they deserved only your honest reaction. She hoped the venom was as painless as promised. She owed the old abstract that much. Her chamber pot lay at her feet. She dropped the bottle down into the depths, still murky with her morning motions. By sunset, the bottle would be buried with the rest of the rubbish. There were other methods of disposal, of course. But when she thought about the color of the bottle, she thought it ought to lay with blood. Adjusting herself, she walked over the mirror. She took a depth breath and beheld her new self. In this one gesture, she buried King Petroyv for all she cared. Queen Regent Ann of the Isharanti. Such was the future. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Author's notes: That definitely wasn't Scottish. I feel kind of bad about sending this part in. I didn't put that much effort into it as I could have. The thing is, when I started writing, it occurred to me that I just didn't feel like it. I'd like to blame the combination of work and class registration, but those can only take up so much of my time. In the end, I just got lazy. I apologize. And yes, I realize the chronology is messy. -Nick Callahan (cruton@juno.com) 6/29/03