The Calamitous Bob

Viv stood in the command tent, idly watching the map in front of her. It was of no use, of course, she could redraw it in her sleep. The strange circumstances had led to a very long, very narrow operation area where the center was as thin as a few men, and on the edges, there be dragons.

Possibly literally.

The pristine work made by Farren was now criss-crossed with lines and notations. Pins decorated it in patterns that everyone else would have considered incomprehensible, but to her, it was so clear she could see it all. The advance bases with their supplies and infirmaries, the secondary roads drawn by Yries machines and would already be regrown by now, all of those danced in her mind in that great ballet of people and tools of war. Every aspect had been perfectly orchestrated to lead them to that one fateful moment where the Enorians would be exhausted, split, with their pants down and Viv would bring the fucking hammer. And she had done it. Her army had descended on Lancer’s forces and smashed them to bits in just one blow. Twenty minutes of pure hell. For them.

It was amazing how both small and big it had all been. The numbers she had deployed were chump change in modern warfare. Individual countries had suffered more fatalities in a day during world war two than she had of troops, period. She was not even a trained officer. This was just winging it, using what she knew of logistics and asymmetrical warfare to turn the attackers into a gibbering wreck of an army. An amateur leading a bunch of retrained farmers, refugees, and healed cripples. It was a footnote of history but for them, and for her, it had been everything.

And they had won.

By her side, Marruk readjusted her grip on her huge flanged mace, a horror that was mercifully free of brain matter. She had kept the broken arrow shafts on her shield, remnants from the end when the colorless mana shield had finally broken. The Kark used to be thin and guarded. Hounded. Now, a stout and intimidating warrior loomed in plate armor that no earth human could move in, looking forward with grim aloofness. Lorn watched her cautiously with his helmet under his arm, while Ban waited by the entrance with his gauntleted fist held behind his back. Solfis was deployed behind her. No one spoke, yet her newly healed soul perceived through leadership that they were proud and not a little vindicated.

A Hadal opened the flap and stared at her. She nodded.

Irao dragged in his surprise prisoner, and the two women glared at each other for a while. Eteia showed wounded dignity, while Viv merely showed indifference. She placed two hands on the table and refrained from intimidating the woman. There was no need. Irao had her.

“Now what am I going to do with you?” She asked, not expecting an answer.

“If you are going to kill me like the prince, please do so without delay.”

Eteia was a severe-looking woman with the same slightly greenish skin and dark hair as everyone here. Viv would not call her pretty even by the slightly different local standard, but now that she stood there disheveled and defiant, Viv found that she did not harbor any grudge towards the woman. Enough blood had been shed already.

“We will not conduct public execution. You are soldiers and there are members of Neriad’s clergy on both sides.”

“Is that so?” The other woman replied. “And I was taking you for a vengeful person. No pyre to throw me on as revenge for killing the Hadal woman?”

“First, it would be counterproductive to try and burn a red mana specialist. Second, that was up to Irao and he decided to spare you.”

Viv cast a curious glance at the bald leader, his yellow slanted eyes checking corners. There were more people here than he was used to.

“Yes. I spared her.”

The Hadal searched for words and everyone else waited. It wasn’t the first time it happened. Waiting for Irao was the new normal in Kazar and Viv liked it that way. Eventually, Irao focused on her again.

“I don’t know. I feel like killing is definitive but capturing means I can kill later.”

“Well here it’s no longer the case. We will not execute soldiers who surrender.”

Irao nodded to show he understood. The gesture felt a bit forced. He was still making progress.

“Would you like to leave her with us? See to your people?”

Irao just disappeared, which meant an agreement in Viv’s experience. Eteia relaxed her shoulders.

“No manacles, no assassin? You must be very confident.”

“Well you haven’t started screaming about how I would get my just comeuppance once the glory of Enoria… and so on.”

“Indeed,” the mage replied, smiling a bit bitterly. Her lack of reaction left Viv curious. It appeared that not everyone had been under the charm of the prince, which was especially surprising coming from the mage since Viv was pretty sure the two had bonked.

“Also, Solfis will cut you in twelve before you start materializing a single glyph.”

//I will collect your head.

“Yes, I understand. No need for threats now.”

“But you surprise me,” Viv continued, “I expected a more extreme reaction.”

Eteia shrugged.

“I am not naive. Lancer used me as a tool and I did the same to him. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be the only female fourth step war mage in Eteia? I was a living reminder that Enorian women as gentle nurturers was nothing but a convenient lie, while male mages detested being my inferiors. Only Lancer hired me after I returned from Helock. I was even considering offering my services to the Kingdom of Baran.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Enoria is still my home. You are an Outlander, so I cannot begrudge you the independence you claimed. In return, please consider that I would rather improve my country than abandon it, even if it has treated me… poorly. I tried to help. Lancer would not have been such a bad ruler.”

“Not for us.”

“I will not dispute that point. Now, not that I do not enjoy talking with a fellow practitioner, but I have to ask. What do you plan to do with me?”

“We will probably have to release you,” Viv admitted candidly. It earned her an expression of pure shock.

“Is this the truth?”

“I have no need to lie to you. I was told that it is possible to keep a mage contained within a spell.”

“Yes, steel and silverite cages are the most common tools. Manacles exist, but they would not work well on someone with our level of mastery over magic.”

“We do not have such tools and I was told that there was a way to… neutralize you for the next decade.”

“A oath of Neriad?”

“Correct. In the meanwhile, I have a question. What is the best way to get into the Helock academy?”

Eteia gasped. Viv knew that the woman had graduated from there. Eteia’s achievements were common knowledge among the more up-to-date refugees.

“I… well of course, but why?”

Viv closed her eyes and remembered the prayer.

It had been… a weird moment.

She had always considered herself an atheist, and the gods here were not exactly the creator god her monotheistic tradition sought, but, shit, they were gods. Like Greek or Roman anthropomorphic ones. Angry. Horny. Petty. And more importantly, powerful enough to hear and answer prayer. She had considered asking Neriad, but he was the god of fucking people up when they deserve it, not the answer guy, and so she had turned her attention to Maradoc. The God of Secrets was technically her patron and she still held his blessing, and so she had asked and… he had answered.

Her mind had been at rest, she had felt her mana create a connection of sorts. It had been impossible to return to the in-between, at least for now. Instead, a vision had come to her, one of a city so massive it covered the entire flank of a mountain. The sea. And a whisper.

Helock.

The answer to her survival was in Helock, where the greatest archmages of the continent gathered to teach the next generation of promising casters.

Or so she assumed, because there wasn’t a single soul in the damn Harrakan lands (still felt weird to call them that) who had any idea how all of this worked. Even Varska’s book had nothing but a grandiose introduction of the Academy. Nothing concrete. It really made her miss the internet.

Fortunately, now she had some moderately dated information.

“I need to get in there, I think.”

“You think?”

Marruk shifted ever so slightly but Eteia’s wary eyes followed the movements of the mace with sudden and strong interest.

“We are having a polite conversation which suits me well, but in clase it wasn’t clear, I’m asking the questions,” Viv calmly stated.

“Yes. Of course,” Eteia replied. She waved her hand dismissively.

“I do not mean to hide information, your statement just surprised me. Instinctive casters such as yourself usually shun places of learning. They typically find classical education too restrictive, too focused on rules that mostly exist in the mind of practitioners. But that’s your business I suppose.”

There was a hint of curiosity in the stern woman’s eyes. She really wasn’t what Viv had expected.

“Admission to the academy itself depends on the applicant’s profile. Mine was funded by a rich, widowed aunt. Others have their tuition paid by the crown. You would probably get admitted pretty cheaply given your unique and interesting profile. You would, however, need to show up there in person unless you can get a sponsor. By the way, you will not easily find one in Enoria.”

“I gathered that much.”

“Crossing Enoria right now is a fool’s errand. Are you in a hurry?”

“Yes.”

Solfis had mentioned that she had only one more year before her body started breaking down. It was more than urgent, though she was reasonably certain that there were ways to extend that deadline, if what she had read about alchemy was any indication. Nevertheless, time wasn’t on her side.

“Then you should leave soon and make your way north through Enoria. Crossing the border might be a problem since the entire place is in chaos, but if you manage that, you can catch a river ship along the Shar river and reach the city quickly and safely. Then, it is only a matter of talking to an administrator. It would help if you can demonstrate new and original spells although it’s not a requirement. You are a bit old for a regular freshman but they accept free candidates with various profiles. Your black mana mastery will help. Can you do any other color?”

Viv considered her answer carefully. In the end, if Eteia accepted the Oath of Neriad, she would be forbidden from sharing information on Viv. If she didn’t, Solfis would add a new trophy to his expanding and slightly disturbing collection in the tower’s basement. Viv shuddered.

“No. Only black and transparent.”

“Wait… That means… Oh.”

Eteia licked her parched lips, considering.

“How long do you have?”

Ban frowned. So far, he had remained silent, but the latest question raised some serious flags.

“Your Grace?”

Viv sighed. The cat was out of the bag.

“Over a year, according to what I know.”

“Hmm, you feel fine. You must have solid conduits and I am told that it helps. Children with skewed distribution are taught to practice those first. And yes, people in Helock can help you, especially the hospital. Many afflictions stem from mana overload. You just have to get there. I suggest leaving as soon as possible.”

“I know.”

The flap opened again and a heavy entered, saluting crisply. The sound of his fist on the armored chestguard clanked strangely in the confines of the tent.

“The troops are ready for review, Your Grace.”

“Then if you will excuse me,” Viv said. She stood and the rest joined her, including Solfis. The heavy would stay inside to keep an eye on the ‘prisoner’.

Viv came out with her head high and her helmet under an arm to the people-packed clearing. The place was deathly silent. A double row of heavies on both sides stood as rigidly as statues, then came witch-pact marksmen and temple guards in an ever widening circle that only stopped at the other end of the battlefield. The Enorian prisoners sat in a huddle to the right while the infirmary was now silent on her left, the wounded stabilized. The militia occupied most of the ground in groups that were based more around communities than squads and that was fine.

They looked so damn proud, and they had every right to be.

Viv strutted forward with as much authority as leadership would grant her. The others followed right behind, soon joined by the Yries warlord and stoneweaver. The surviving head noble and Farren were there as well. As Viv made her way through the corridor of armed folks, someone slammed the butt on their spear on the ground. It took less than two seconds for the entire Harrakan military to join. Boom, boom. With every step she took, the ones she had led into battle sent tremor through the earth. It felt… amazing.

Viv strode to the center of the meadow and stopped. When Arthur landed by her side, the spears started to move faster and faster until it was no longer a heavy drum, but a deep rumble that went on like an earthquake. Viv let it go on for a bit, then when she was ready, she lifted an open hand and the noise died down. The clearing was once again silent. Viv cast a basic sound spell. Everyone would hear her today.

“Nine months ago, a group of harried refugees left their lost city for the mountains and the hope that they wouldn’t live in chains. We only had what we could carry with us, and the hope that one day, justice would be done. That little flame of hope was nothing then, a mere ember shining in the dark, but it grew with each passing day of commitment, effort, and sacrifice. Little by little, we fed the flame. With mountain wind and Yries steel, with Hadal blades it grew. Exiles and veterans flocked to our banner to keep the dream alive. It was not easy! But after nine months of constant threat, after Lancer sent his vandals and regulars after us, after he returned with an entire army to lay us to waste. After nine bloody months of ash, sweat, and tears… WE HAVE WON!”

The victors roared their approval. Even the Yries let out a high-pitched, ululating cry that pierced through the clamor. Spears on earth and blades on shields clanged in a deafening chorus until even the distant beasts deeper in the forest could not ignore the terrible din, and none answered the challenge. The proclamation of victory fuelled her leadership until whatever marked her soul bounced back in a feedback loop that left the kneeling prisoners shocked and dizzy. It took a minute to die down, following which Viv resumed her small speech. Her dad had been right. Short and impactful was the best.

“There will be a time to repair and a time to mourn those who paid the ultimate price later. For now, we will return to the city and celebrate our victory. I am proud of all of you. Now, let’s go home.”

***

The militia was first to return and that was good since they were the ones who would be preparing the victory feast. Viv gave the authorization to get the good stuff out from the warehouses, then handled the logistics of getting over five hundred prisoners to a camp. The number was surprisingly high, but it made sense when Viv considered it. Soldiers here had inhuman resilience and then there was healing magic, widely available. the reason why monster hunting had such a high casualty rate was that hunters were just hopelessly mangled in a single blow. Or eaten alive. What a world.

It was fortunate that she had cleared so much land with ward stones. The Bridgers’ hybrid earth mage used what little mana they had recovered to start building temporary buildings and, fortunately, the Enorians still had some tents. Viv made sure that they had what they needed and also made sure that they knew that any revolt attempt would be met swiftly and decisively. It was night when she finally managed to get to the fairgrounds. The party had spilled over the streets and the merriment had reached a paroxysm. Viv didn’t make speeches, instead electing to walk from group to group to thank everyone.

The next day, several things happened. First, the Yries fighters left, eager to return to their hidden town. Then many of the soldiers were given leave to return to their families, reducing Viv’s standing forces to a mere fraction of what it used to be, which was mostly fine but made the oath part all the more important. Before that, she made a short hop at the bank.

“Yes, of course we can make an arrangement,” Tom Manitaradin said with a winning smile.

Just as always, the banker had an impeccable hairstyle and the smoothness of a professional salesman, and just as always Arthur made him a bit nervous, which was why Viv always brought the dragonette during her visits. It never failed to amaze Viv how Arthur managed to look aloof and dignified without facial expression and a reptilian body, and yet she looked perfectly at ease in the cozy expanse of the Manipeleso Bank, Kazar branch. Lounging on the couch like a bored femme fatale.

Viv shook her head to chase off the sight of a huge white dragon in a massive board room surrounded by rows of accountants, dispensing late fees and fiery death at her leisure. That would not happen, haha. Totally.

“For the modest fee of five gold talents, I can issue an identification chit worn around the neck that can identify you in any branch of our respectable establishment, whereupon you will be allowed to access any of our services, including withdrawal.”

He cast a quick glance at Arthur.

“Please note that the amount of actual, ahem, precious metal varies from one branch to another. Some of our more remote locations may not keep too much in storage. We would normally offer additional security services such as hostage retrieval, but I am not allowed to propose it in countries that are currently at war, and unfortunately, you technically are.”

“What happens if I lose it?”

“You would still be registered in our book and would be issued a replacement for a nominal fee if you can prove your identity to our satisfaction. Do not lose the chit as it is quite costly to make.”

“What if someone attempts to pretend to be me?”

For the first time, Tom’s smile turned vicious.

“Every year, some try. We take great exception. Similarly, if someone disables you and tries to cash in, we would provide a rescue at a fee to be paid later provided that the offending party is classified as bandits. The private sector kind, not the government kind.”

“So kind of you to elaborate.”

“Yes and as I mentioned, it can only occur if someone impersonates you. If you are kidnapped and you have not subscribed to our protection services, we may not deploy mercenaries to help you. But enough of this. Do you intend to travel with a small party?”

“Solfis assessed that it would give us the best chances at passing through.”

“I agree, and a large escort will not help here. Discretion is the way. Discretion and anonymity. Speaking of which…”

“The blessing that occludes my status is still present, but it will not help with my physical appearance or black mana control. I will have to avoid the authorities.”

“Ah yes, but at least it sounds doable. Very well, the chit will allow you entrance to our numerous institutions as well as quite a bit of goodwill. I suggest hiring guides in approved establishments. Just ask the local heads.”

“Will do.”

“Will you be needing anything else before you depart?”

“Nothing you can help me with. Thank you for your time.”

Viv stood and her gaze was somehow caught by the tiny pouch resting against Arthur’s neck. It felt too small. Actually, it felt like it should be moving around but it was somehow always in the middle…

[Purse of kindness and avarice: artifact. Indestructible. Spatial distortion (only gold and precious things). This pouch was made with love by the owner’s adoptive mother. It feels good under the claw. This artifact was created with the blessing of an unknown god.]

Just her luck.

Viv decided on what to do about the artifact and settled on nothing. It wasn’t hers to begin with. She returned to her room to find out that the Yries blackmith had added the symbol of New Harrak to her round shield. The piece of gear had probably become twice as thick as it used to be, as well as a bit imbalanced, but it was also symbolic and so that was fine. It was a bit like a metal patchwork and it had a pleasant, homemade appearance to her eyes. She attached it to her back for the next piece, one she hoped would go well.

With the remaining half of the heavies and many of the marksmen in tow, they moved to the impromptu prisoner’s camps. Viv had not been so naive as to trust them fully, despite their broken spirits, so there were patrolling guards including most of Neriad’s guards who considered rebelling after rendition to be a major dick move. The kind they punished mercilessly. The procession stopped before the prisoners as they were in tight formation, in their uniform but without weapons. The Bishop of Neriad came to greet her. He was a tall, dour man, clean-shaven with very dark eyes. Short dark hair clung to his scalp

“Hello, Your Grace. We have not been properly introduced. My name is Erland, and I am here on temple business. As it is, I shall also assist you with the matter of the prisoners. I believe that ten years of inaction are enough?”

“How does this work exactly?”

“The Oath to Neriad is not a ‘how does this work’ act, but a grand celebration of honor between fighters,” the bishop retorted somewhat reproachfully.

Viv was unimpressed. Her lack of reaction prompted the man to huff and continue with his explanation.

“The Oath takes place between captor and captive and requires both parties’ absolute agreement or it will not take. The captive swears never to harm the captor’s interests in any ways which extends not just to combat, but also information sharing and even camp work. In return, the captive is set free with anything he reasonably needs to rejoin his lines, thus available for the kingdom to fight bandits and monsters, but not their fellow man. If they break the oath, they suffer terrible pain that can result in eventual death if they persist in their error.”

“And we can extend it for ten years?”

“Indeed! More than enough time for your little kingdom to either bloom or collapse, don’t you think?”

Viv didn’t really like the implied preference.

“Is this a ritual or…”

“The willing captives must queue and swear one by one.”

“Won’t you run out of mana?”

The bishop sighed heavily.

“Of course our merciful god devised it so that it could be performed with no circle and with large numbers. The ritual shall draw from the captive’s mana, and will absorb all of it while it settles. We will be done by the end of the afternoon. Please address the crowd and inform them of your decision while I prepare.”

“Sure thing.”

Viv walked forward under the wary gaze of half a thousand men who would have done their best to kill her less than a day before. She felt little hostility from them, surprisingly. It appeared that her little display had broken their spirit.

A short incantation and her voice filled the plain. She opened the gates on her intimidation and let the implicit threat of blight and dragonette-enforced annihilation hang in the air like the stench of burnt toast.

“Listen up you lot. Fortunately for you, you were stopped before reaching the city so you did not accomplish anything noteworthy. By rule of war, you are innocent. Rejoice. Now, since we neither have the time nor the inclination to keep that many folks on perfectly arable land, you will be given a choice. Option one, you can take the Oath of Neriad. Your weapons will be returned, you will be given rations for two weeks and you can fuck right off through the forest. Just watch for pit traps because we haven’t removed them yet. Option two, you are put to work rebuilding the tower outpost at the edge of the deadlands to watch for revenants until you take option one or until the king remembers you. Those who choose the oath, line up in a single file, in an orderly fashion, or it will be option three and I’ll send you back home in a handkerchief. Officers, take charge.”

Viv returned to a glaring Erland. The man had just started to kneel.

“I expected you to take a bit longer than that.”

“Then you do not know me well. Take your time, they’re not going anywhere.”

The bishop prayed for fifteen minutes, then addressed the crowd with a benevolent voice that grated her nerves. She tuned him out while he droned on, only paying attention to the oath proper. It was carefully worded to be comprehensive and pretty long. The soldiers repeated the oath sentence by sentence. To her mild surprise, not one of them elected to stay. She thought that some people might be too broken to face the forest again. Apparently, those Enorians were made of sterner stuff. That or the willpower stat helped against PTSD.

Then it was her turn to swear, which was fine.

The procession took hours. After a while, the faces started to blur while she thought about her upcoming trips. She would take Solfis and Marruk. And Arthur, obviously. Horses. She needed disguises, even if they would not hold up to the inspect skill. Varska’s notes mentioned magical items and spells that could block the skill but they were rare and really illegal except for agents of the crown. She didn’t have the means to recreate one. They needed a lot of food and probably a spare horse to carry animal feed and supplies. They needed a better map with a clear destination. She would probably have to avoid Reixa, the nearest large city. The border wasn’t too far. Solfis would most likely help her complete her list.

Only one thing really annoyed her.

There was absolutely no way in hell that everything would go smoothly. It was a done deal that the proverbial would hit the fan at some point of her journey, splattering everyone with unpredictable complications. It would be an absolute mess of a trip. She would consider herself lucky if no baronny got toppled at all.

And she had no way to improve her odds, not within a year. It was like jumping head first in a lagoon with twenty percent chances of sharks.

“I just want to go to fucking Helock,” she grumbled to herself between two terrified soldiers.

In the end, it was done. The Enorians had decided to leave unanimously, without any discussion. She expected Kazar’s tourist rating to tank dramatically. Erland smiled at her with clear satisfaction.

“Now that I am done here, it is time for me to handle the second part of my visit here.”

“May I ask what it is?” She asked.

Her sense of alarm increased at the clear signs of suspicion.

“If you must know, I intend to visit the Min Goles mines we recently rediscovered to protect the interests of the church. The local branch master certainly showed some initiative when he led an expedition to find them, although it was reckless, but the treaty signed with the non-humans was a sign of pride that will cost him. He forgot himself with this blatant overreach of authority.”

He leaned forward a bit, the effect ruined by Viv’s tall stature.

“I seem to recall that you were part of the expedition. You do not intend to claim the mines for yourself, do you?”

“I respect my agreements,” Viv replied, unamused. The sarcasm went over the head of the bishop.

“Good. Then, if you will excuse me, I have much to prepare before I can fix the mess my junior colleague created for us all.”

Viv watched him depart and remembered the golem’s wisdom, so many months ago. Farren’s merits would be forgotten, and the fruits of his efforts claimed by the nearest honcho.

He obviously had designs for the Yries.

“Solfis?”

//Your Grace.

“I think that we need to tie one last loose end before we depart. I hope you can assist.”

//It will be my great pleasure.