Joan and her husband, Claude, joined us shortly thereafter for dinner. It was a dark room, interior to the castle, half-timbered and lit with dozens of candles. Young pages laid out a feast while Hester embraced his father, and then we took our seats and began eating.
“So I understand my son’s two companions are accomplished scholars?” Claude was saying between measured little bites of bread pudding.
I glanced over at Gena. She met my eyes, but after a short beat, and only for a fleeting moment. Her mind was somewhere else.
“Speaking for myself,” I began, speaking for the both of us, “I like to think my major accomplishments lie yet before me. Most of my studies have been formal tutelage under Magister Montigo. I only now am entering the final phase of my apprenticeship.”
“A dissertation, perhaps?”
“Y… yes,” I said at length. “The details are somewhat esoteric.”
“Oh, you needn’t spare him,” Joan said. “Claude is a man of letters himself.”
I was hoping that would prompt him to offer some sort of explanation which might serve to buy me time to construct my own, but only a look of earnest interest was forthcoming from the duke-consort. I fretted at once that I both owed the man the honest truth and also that I owed him a better explanation for what the Hell I was doing in his home.
“When I say dissertation, I mean… I do not think Magister Montigo cares much for the written output.” A look of confusion: Montigo was a gifted writer and it seemed that everyone here knew it or had heard of it. Wouldn’t she expect the like from her student? “I mean the act itself would be the more important thing.” This seemed to add little clarity. “I mean…”
Gena put her hand on my shoulder. “The good magister sent him out to go achieve something. To ‘leave his mark on the world,’ as he relayed her words to me.”
I looked around, torn between hiding my sheepishness and eagerly evincing it. I had always thought it sounded so silly put that way. But Joan and Claude were nodding with an air of commendation.
“I usually just call it self-directed study,” I added.
“And I dare say the search for purpose has you swept up in my good son’s quest?”
“Something like that.”
He twiddled a toothpick in his hands for a moment, then he smiled. “Well, I suppose the good fortune is as much as I can ask for. Keep him safe, will you?”
Joan shot him a reproachful look. I felt my eyebrows rising. Hester buried roast duck in his mouth trying to cover up some sort of expression of dismay.
Claude sighed. “Hester, you’re a fine young man and a capable warrior but not all problems can be met with steel. Shush, shush, I’m not going to ask you to stay. You must do as you are called to do, I suppose. But… hold your allies close, will you?”
“Have no doubt,” Hester eagerly declared. “Ae has chosen a path for me to walk in great company.” His mother was scrunching her face in a way that suggested that he had just headed off a long and dreaded rehashing of some argument or another.
“Yes,” Claude said. “And of the goddess’s works… Sister Gena, I would like to hear of your studies, too,”
Gena looked up. “Most don’t,” she said simply. It wasn’t a surprising sentiment to hear, but somehow it still sounded a bit odd on my ear: thin, unconvincing, like the sound of a drum tensioned too tightly.
But the conversation proceeded. Gena spoke of her short, hectic career in the College of Apostles, where she’d had to cut a trail through the weeds to find—or create, really—the interdisciplinary work that the stewards of the Word so badly needed. Claude proved to be an interesting inquirer, being, as promised, a man of letters: formerly a lay emissary on behalf of the college in the east. The two clearly shared sympathies concerning the college’s somewhat ossified hierarchy and its reluctance to accord prestige, resources, and even attention to anyone not on the track for a high degree of specialized attainment. But more than that, Claude showed an interest in the nature of her work, the unusual studies and the generalist’s talent required to make them feasible.
I watched quietly, fed and contented.
Gena and Hester both withdrew to their bedrooms. The house page who had been assigned to aid my hobbling about the fortress was likely surprised to learn that I had no such intentions. We made our way to the library, where I assured her that I would be happy to remain all night if she wished to retire herself. She accepted the deal with some clearly divided reluctance, leaving only after finding a cane and receiving my assurances that I would send for her if I needed further help.
The library was small, but dense, if a library can be described so. It was an interior room upstairs (up a set of narrow, regrettably steep stairs) that smelled pleasantly of parchment and pine. A velvety green stuffed chair and a small desk sat askew in a little space near the entrance, and behind them the room narrowed considerably into the bulk of the shelves. The little walkway between them stretched back between them all the way to the opposite wall.
Claude was sitting in the chair. I hadn’t noticed him until after resolving matters with the page. His smile flickered warmly in the candlelight. “Good evening, Horwendell,” he said.
“Oh! Good evening. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Of course not. Come in.”
“I was supposing I might find Magister Ai here as well; I have questions I mean to ask him. I suppose they’ll wait.”
“He visits this library… infrequently,” Claude said at length. “It does not suit him, I do not think.”
“A wizard? Unsuited by a library?”
“Do not misunderstand. Knowledge is very much his domain. He simply need not… spend so much effort on the pursuit.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Maybe he can explain better; you might not believe it from me. Enough of that. Anything you may be looking for? I’m happy to introduce you to the collection.”
I thought for a second. He seemed like a fine fellow, but I’ve always been averse to having my research done through someone else. But then I squinted down the row of shelves, dancing in the eye-watering darkness of dim candlelight, imagined hobbling up and down and back up as I searched the rows of tomes, and wondered how else I’d get it done.
“Yes, actually,” I said. “I want to know about the history… here. Classical era. As relates to the Lightbringer, especially.”
Claude gave a little exhale of amusement. “I suppose this is more than a passing fancy. But you might try the Word. I believe the fourth and eighth chronicles detail events that occurred just north of here.”
“Well,” I said, leaning on my borrowed cane. “Yes, it is more than a fancy. But—and forgive me for the, um…”
“Speak freely,” he said, noting my reluctance. “You’re a friend of my son’s and his best hope at survival. I am indebted.”
“… well, some might call it heresy.”
Claude laughed thinly. “Oh. Well. Is this a search for truth?”
“Yes, without a doubt.”
“It cannot be heresy. Whatever the old doctrinaires might have of it.”
“I want to know what was important to the Lightbringer, here. The Word, of course, is what she deemed important to us; what she has ordained to be preserved for all our lives. But what of her? What would she remember, herself? A simple chronology would be a good place to start, I think.”
“Ah. An intriguing and unusual topic. And very interesting that it is not a passing fancy,” Claude suggested. “And doubly so that the apprentice wizard should come asking of it without the talented scholar in his company.”
I squirmed. “She’s feeling unwell. Needs rest.”
“Nonsense. She made the western approach yesterday, and seemed hale enough at dinner. Horwendell,” Claude said. His voice was firm, held up by some inner resolve. “I need the truth from you. I am not a great questing knight like my son or his mother. I am a small man and my only comfort is my faith in them and their allies. I need to know.”
I shook my head. “I… that was unkind of me. It was misleading. But it is true. She is feeling unwell. She does battle in her own way. If I answer you straight about what I seek, will you be satisfied to ask Gena yourself about her struggles?”
Claude thought. His small, hard eyes glinted, like they had been fixed into their sockets by a jeweler.
“I will. Answer, then,” he said.
“The three of us, in Anteianum, stumbled upon a place of power. A realm that seemed to reflect, uniquely, The Lightbringer’s will. I want to find the way back.”
“And this effort is secret?”
“Truthfully? I don’t know anything about it. And who would believe me? Another world, another realm within our own? Anybody sufficiently learned might even believe I had been to the underworld and am a revenant, cheating death with every breath.”
Claude said nothing.
“And frankly, I feel stupid talking about it even now. Don’t I look stupid? A new world, discovered by none. Tell me you believe that sounds stupid.”
Claude chuckled. It was wan, it was grim. But it was genuine.
“Perhaps a bit. But you might be pleased to hear that I have ideas for you.”
“Oh?”
“The Charge of the Fifty Lords.”
I racked my brain. “Not familiar.”
“What else would be so important to the Lightbringer out here, at the edge of her realm? Where the lands of her flock meet the territory of the wolves? The Dawn War, of course.”
“There was a battle here,” I said, remembering. “The Lightbringer’s united Ivian League army routed the Old King’s army vanguard. Was it in the pass?”
“Yes. It was the only sortie the Lightbringer ever made herself,” Claude added.
“I didn’t know that.”
“The Word isn’t specific about it. But the chroniclers in the east could never forget something like that.”
I nodded. “Of course. It would have been terrible, would it not?”
“Yes. I possess some chronologies that include it. Do you read Uri-Kedis?”
“No.”
“A shame. I’ve made a mediocre translation of one that may suffice. You may also be interested in Thrain’s account.”
“Thrain? I know of him; he was no easterner.”
“But he was well-traveled, no? He was in the southern valley when the news reached him. He claims to have heard it from a veteran, which is doubtful given the commonly accepted dates of authorship but not impossible. This does cast further doubt on some of the details, which… well, read it for yourself.”
So we did.
That the King’s army would need to traverse the Black Range, that the ridge lacked reliable means of forage, that the ridge was treacherous to travel and difficult to reconnoiter, these were all clear to Him, and He knew, too, to His adversary. If, however, the Lightbringer could be induced to offer battle, these risks could be reduced or mooted. Thus He sought to employ a deception, though He is normally not given to the approach.
The King brought His vanguard to the Ridge and divided His reserves into three parts. The van was to traverse the ridge toward the west, followed by two elements of the reserves. They were to summit the lowest peak, the fourth counting from the south, near the most amenable pass through the ridge. The two elements of the reserves were to trail the van by one half-day’s journey to better disguise their presence. The third element of the reserves was to disperse north and south along the ridge, visiting towns in the valley. Arranged thusly, the King would represent His armies as holding a defensible forward bastion at the summit with the vanguard while His reserves amassed baggage and levies from the valley below. If the two parts of the reserves behind the vanguard could remain hidden, the vanguard encampment might appear untenable to Lightbringer, who might then assault it. The vanguard would be tasked with holding the summit for only a half-day or less before the King’s superior reserves could arrive and rout the western army.
He gave these orders to His superior officers and, in His normal manner, which is terse and without question, bade them act. The division was so made and the vanguard of His army made the summit six days into the ninth moon.
The Lightbringer was not fooled. She was unable to wholly assess the true disposition of the King’s forces, but when Her scouts reported to Her of the encampment at the summit, Her estimates of His total men-at-arms gave Her pause, and She surmised the existence of the two elements of reserves elsewhere in the pass.
Nevertheless, this posed a difficulty for Her. Indeed, His armies would be greater in number than Hers, and the mountain passes offered one of the only contrivances to moot that advantage. Should She have allowed Him to march through the ridge, into Her lands, Her effort may have been doomed from that moment. But attacking into the maws of a trap seemed a dangerous gambit.
She resolved, and history would bear that this was the correct device, to assault and defeat the King’s vanguard before aught more could reinforce it. To do so, She decided to order the army to remain at camp in Tanpium. From amongst them she selected seven equestrian knights from the seven realms of the west, and bade them each select six more of their own to accompany them. So seven-by-seven numbered their army, and at the war council She informed them that She would ride, speeding their hooves with the wind at Her call and breaking the King’s first line with Her holy fulmination.
The battle was met at dawn on the seventh day into the ninth moon. Sekmet, the commander of the vanguard, was surely astonished by the report that the Lightbringer led the company in assault, but in the style of the eastern officers he merely gave orders that they should form for battle. Some small number of heavy infantry and cavalry formed at the foot of the pass, while the bulk of the forces arrayed atop the nearby rock. There, they could engage as skirmishers, throwing javelins and slinging stones, and some number of them could descend the walls as was advantageous to produce an encirclement. So the King’s forces did array themselves.
The battle was begun as the Lightbringer’s riders approached the narrowest part of the pass, and at Her orders, they urged their horses into a gallop. The westernmost positions of the King’s armies began their volleys, though at the great range their stones and bows produced little effect against the faultless armor and barding of the Lightbringer’s equestrians.
When the Lightbringer’s riders reached the pass below the nearest of the soldiers positioned atop the cliffs, Sekmet’s chief lieutenant, Ki, seeing that the Lightbringer did not intend to reduce the pace of Her advance, issued orders for his troops to descend.
The Lightbringer, cued by the first movements of Her enemies in descent, observing their ranks preparing their hand-to-hand arms and proceeding over the crest of the cliffs, gathered up a storm, and, gesturing to the skies above, set it upon the cliffs. A fierce wind, strong enough to carry men, horses, and trees aloft, swept the upper cliffs, and lightning struck at men and earth. The soldiers atop the cliffs were routed, and a small number were able to descend to the safety of the pass, insufficient to act their part in the battle.
Sekmet, alarmed by the utter defeat of the ambush, yet possessed of obedient valiance, ordered his heavy infantry to break ranks to attempt to slay the goddess by any means necessary: now perceiving that as the only chance for victory. But they could not find victory; at a word from the Lightbringer they were blinded by radiance and, to the man, fell to the charging cavalry.
The result of this battle was to enable the Lightbringer’s command of the pass and to prevent another incursion of Desheret-Nemes’ armies into the west, having gradually expelled the last of the garrisons from the Orlan river valley some decades before. Desheret-Nemes ordered no further armies that far west, and the two realms reached a modus vivendi. Sekmet fell, executing his duties faithfully and commendably to the end. The scattered soldiers loyal to the King who had surrendered…
I reread the pages one last time. The old Fernen school of historical analysis prescribes three readings of a source: once for what was said, once for what was unsaid, and once for who was saying it and who is reading it. The last is often the most important, because in its most elemental form, the question is: is this author telling the truth? Are they exaggerating? Are they, themselves, being fooled?
But sod the old schools of analysis. I already knew Thrain was telling me the truth.
“You say you’re unsure of Thrain’s claims,” I said, unable to conceal my giddy giggling.
Claude gave me an odd look. “He says he heard it from a veteran in the east, but we believe he wrote this far too soon after this battle for that. He writes strangely intimately of the western point of view, of the Lightbringer’s war council…”
“… be that as it may, he has the right of it. Consider it my professional opinion.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“The Doctrina Tempestas, Claude!” I said!
He searched my face desperately. What would he have seen in the shadows of my face in that dim candlelight?
“The Great Work is a spellbook,” I breathed. “A weapon fit to smite a god’s army. The Lightbringer omitted this from the Word. But the easterners never forgot.”
Claude’s eyes widened briefly, and then he recomposed. He seemed to sag slightly in his chair, looking down at his hands, upturned in his lap, and said nothing for a long time. He fit the pieces together in his head—most of the same ones Gena and I had been assembling for weeks.
“I want you to bring my son home safe,” he whispered. “There has been an attempt on his life once already. And with stakes like this? We should speak more in the morning.” He stood and took his leave.
I was alone with the library.