David Niemitz
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Guild Mage 280
🕑 Added 2025-10-15 15:55:24 +0000 UTCThis one's a little chunky - about 500 words more than our usual chapters. I considered splitting it into two, but I don't think there's quite enough to stretch like that, so I went with an oversized chapter, instead.
Chapter 280: The Saddle
Keri received Bardolf and Blaise Crosbie, along with the score of guards who’d accompanied them from the waystone at Bald Peak, in the great hall of Castle Whitehill, rather than in the Summerset family’s solar. He would have preferred the smaller room, but Sidonie had recommended feasting the Crosbie soldiers after welcoming the baron’s two sons.
At the high table sat the people he had come to depend on – many of whom would, no doubt, be formally inducted into Liv’s council once she returned. Kazimir Grenfell was there as much out of respect for his long years of service, and his well-known role as Liv’s first teacher, as any other reason. The old man was slowing down, and Keri doubted that he would ever completely recover from being struck by lightning at the pass. That made, he supposed, at least two of them who were forever changed by the battle.
Lia Every, younger and propelled to prominence by her role as acting guild mistress of the splintered mages guild, would be the one to advise her queen on matters of magic in years to come. Not that Liv needed advice – in Keri’s opinion, she was already a clearly superior mage to Every – but she would need someone to run the guild, and the college that was being built at Bald Peak.
Vivek Sharma showed no sign of leaving Whitehill, even after the healers from Lendh ka Dakruim had begun to return home. The local priest of the Trinity, Osric Fletcher, had shown no interest in taking a larger role in the nascent kingdom, and so Keri supposed they had found the man who would speak for the temples.
Sidonie sat at Keri’s right hand: she’d taken so naturally to organizing his schedule and sorting what matters truly required the attention of the regent that he could not imagine functioning without her. For now, Mistress Trafford joined them, and spoke on matters of public health - primarily to the recovery of the soldiers who’d fought at the pass. But Keri suspected that, should Arjun wish it, Liv would replace Trafford with her friend.
He pretended not to notice Trafford shooting him a hard look when he stood, using the high table to steady himself with both hands, rather than a walking stick. “Welcome,” Keri said, filling the hall with his voice as easily as he’d once made his commands heard through the thick fighting of a battlefield. “On behalf of Queen Livara, and as regent in her absence, I thank you both for coming. Bardolf, Blaise, please come and sit with us at the high table. I invite your men to sit with ours, and to enjoy a good meal after your journey.”
He remained standing long enough to clasp each man’s hand in turn, as they stepped up onto the dais. Bardolf was clearly the older, though to Keri’s eye, he was trying to appear more mature than he actually was. His beard was thin and still somewhat patchy, and his frame long and thin, as if he hadn’t finished packing on the muscle of a grown man. Blaise, on the other hand, had both the glow of youth about him, and the kind of good looks that he suspected women would find attractive.
He also had, Keri noticed, a patch of half-dried blood on the sleeve of his linen shirt. Bheuv woke, without any conscious thought, and Keri’s eyes flicked across the soldiers, picking out trace after trace of violence: a cut on one the back of one man’s hand, only just crusted over with dried blood; a bruised cheek, quickly turning into vibrant shades of sickly yellow and deep purple; a tear in the right leg of one soldier’s trousers.
“You had trouble?” he asked, once he’d sat back in his chair, with Bardolf taking the empty chair at his side, and Blaise sitting next to Sidonie. “In Crosbie lands, or here?”
“Along the mine road south from the waystone,” Blaise answered, taking a long gulp from his goblet of watered wine to wet his throat. Keri found it interesting that it was the younger brother who spoke first, and it only settled in his mind the decision he’d made when first looking the two brothers over. “Bandits. They ran back into the mountains fast enough when we put up a bit of resistance.”
Keri frowned. “Survivors of the Lucanian army,” he explained. “I sent Sir Anselm to track them back to their camp, but he hasn’t yet returned. I don’t like that they feel brave enough to prey on the mine road, however. Everything that comes through the waystone has to take that route.”
“Which is precisely what would make it a tempting target for robbers,” Sidonie pointed out.
“I’ll send a patrol of guards out along the road in the morning,” Keri decided. “In the meantime, do you both know why you’re here?”
This time, it was the older brother who took the lead. “Our lord father informed us that our sister-in-law required men to serve as ambassadors,” Bardolf said, his voice low and just barely audible over the noise of the soldiers settling down to their meals at the low tables.
“That is correct,” Keri said. “My thought is to send you, Bardolf, to Lendh ka Dakruim. Pandit Sharma will arrange an introduction through Tej Mishra, who is, as I understand it, an old friend of his and the commander of a significant fortress.”
“The posting will require a man with a gift for tongues, and a willingness to learn the ways of another land,” Vivek Sharma said, leaning over the table to meet Bardolf’s eyes. “A patient man, who can build bridges on the foundation that Livara has already established.”
Bardolf inclined his head. “I am honored to be entrusted with such an important role,” he said. “To think, how just a few months ago, times looked so dark; and now, our family is being shown such favor.”
“What my stiff necked older brother means is, we’re happy that betting on the Summersets has paid off,” Blaise broke in. “There was a while there no one was sure whether or not this alliance would pull through, and most of us wondered whether we’d end up one head shorter. Anyway, what have you got for me?”
Keri grinned. “I believe that you would do quite well representing your queen in Freeport. How does that sound?”
“Oh, I like that,” Blaise said, and raised his goblet. “To your two ambassadors, Regent Inkeris. We’re your men.”
☙
There were papers to be signed and sealed – one of the local woodcarvers had been engaged to create a new, royal seal that crowned the mountain of the summersets with a depiction of the silver circlet Liv had taken from the Tomb of Celris. Keri made certain that both Blaise and his older brother Bardolf were introduced to Amelina Ridley; to send them on their way to their new postings without that could have been, as Sidonie pointed out, interpreted as an insult.
Linnea and Olavi had gone out with a dozen soldiers, a mix of Whitehill men and Keri’s warriors from Mountain Home, at first light. Keri tried not to think too hard about the fact that, if he’d been well, he would have gone with them, to see how things stood for himself. Instead, he was trapped with a cup of tea in hand, on a couch, doing his best to make certain no one started an argument that could cause problems for Liv in the future.
“Do you have any daughters, Ambassador Ridley?” Blaise asked, from where he lounged in his chair, looking as if he was a cloak someone had tossed there haphazardly and then forgotten. “I could look them up when I arrive in Freeport. Deliver a note for you, if you like.”
The older woman’s lip curled. “I can have my own letters delivered, thank you very much, Ambassador Blaise. And my Dulcia has too much good sense to want anything to do with a rake such as you.” She turned to Keri. “Is this really who you propose to send to the capital? I would have thought your new queen would want to show more respect to Lucania.”
“I believe Ambassador Blaise will show precisely the degree of respect that your kingdom deserves,” Keri told her.
Ridley opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get the words out, a knock came on the door to the solar. There were only a few people that the guards at the door would allow through without seeking permission, and so Keri was not surprised when Linnea opened the door and stepped halfway through. Her hair was wind tossed, and she looked as if she’d come directly from the courtyard.
“My apologies,” Keri said, snatching up his walking stick from where he’d leaned it against his chair. “I will return in just a moment.” He took his time getting to his feet, despite how eager he was to be out of the room: the last thing he wanted was to fall on his face in front of these people. The moment he was out in the hall, and Linnea with him, he closed the door and led her away from the guards so that they could speak privately.
“Did you find them?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Linnea shook her head. “No. But we found what they did. There was a party traveling from Däivi lands –”
Keri closed his eyes. I’ve had word from my daiverim, Jalmari. He’s bringing our children here, and they should be coming south from the Bald Peak waystone sometime in the next week or so. “Blood and shadows,” he cursed. “Tell me they aren’t dead.”
Linnea reached into her travelling cloak and withdrew a scrap of wood onto which rudimentary Lucanian letters had been carved. “They left this behind. They want five gold crowns each, delivered to one of the burned out farms left behind by Erskine’s raiders.”
Keri clenched his fist. Aura had come to him, to arrange a place for she and her family to live. The first Elden woman to join this new mages guild, who’d trusted them enough to bring her children to Whitehill. And he’d failed her.
“Get every man or woman who can ride and fight,” Keri growled. “And find Aura of House Däivi. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”
Linnea nodded, turned on her heel, and hurried off down the hall.
Keri made himself take three deep breaths before he limped back over to the solar door, opened it, and addressed the three ambassadors inside the room. “Again, I apologize,” he said, interrupting what looked like a brewing argument. “There’s something that I need to deal with. I’m sure Lady Corbett will be able to entertain you all.”
He shut the door again, before he could be dragged back in, and hurried to his rooms as quickly as he could. Keri’s armor was waiting for him on a stand, where it had remained, useless and forgotten, ever since he’d returned from the ring. He couldn’t get all of it on himself: the cuirass, yes, and skirting, even the sabatons that went over his boots and the gauntlets, but not the pauldrons. It would have to do.
He settled the helm on his head, left his walking stick lying on the floor, and limped across the room to where his Næv’bel leaned in the corner of the room. For the first time since his injury, Keri hefted his weapon with the intent to kill.
By the time he got down to the courtyard, there were at least sixty soldiers assembled and mounted. Aura was waiting with Linnea and Olavi, and he could tell from the pallor of her face that even if they hadn’t told her what had happened, she must have drawn her own conclusions.
“Is Kersis saddled?” Keri called over to them. He’d leaned heavily on his spear all the way down the stairs, but he did his best to walk across the courtyard without it. He didn’t want to appear weak in front of the men and women he’d be commanding.
“...he is not,” Olavi admitted. “We had assumed that you would be remaining behind.”
Keri shook his head. “No. Vakansa have been taken hostage. I will not sit here and wait while my people are in danger. While children are frightened. Have him saddled and brought.”
Olavi hesitated, but Keri did not look away until he’d nodded and rushed off to the stables.
Linnea was there, at his shoulder, her voice low. “I don’t think it's a good idea for you to do this,” she said, not in Lucanian, but in their native tongue. “Are you certain you’re ready?”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not I’m ready,” Keri shot back. “There are two children waiting for us, and Liv left me here. What happens to them is my responsibility.” He turned to Aura.
With the leather patch over her missing eye, Keri might have found it hard to read the woman’s expression. But he was a father himself, and he didn’t need to guess to know how she was feeling. He reached out with his right hand to take her by the shoulder.
“We’ll get them back,” he promised, and prayed to the Lady of Changes that he wasn’t lying. Sitia was a mother, even if she was a goddess, and was said to have a fondness for children. Aura nodded, and Keri was pleased to find that someone had brought a mount for her, as well.
It ended up taking both of his friends to help Keri up onto Kersis’s back, while Aura held his spear. He tried to ignore the hot, burning shame that settled in his belly at the fact that the entire expedition had to wait for him, that everyone in the courtyard was either watching, or deliberately looking away and pretending not to see.
Once he was settled, Aura passed him up his spear, and Keri rested the steel-shod butt on the toe of his boot. “It’s been a long time,” he murmured to the gelding, and patted the horse’s neck gently. “Don’t let me fall.”
Then, Keri reined Kersis around to face the waiting soldiers, human and Eld alike. Now that the Elden and human prisoners had been sent back to the north and to Lucania, respectively, and there was room enough in the Whitehill jails for the Red Shield captives, the stockades had come down. Fortunate, that, or he’d have needed to gather everyone down in the market square.
“Liv would ask us to take these bandits alive if we can,” Keri shouted. “She would want each of them to have a fair chance at justice. But by taking away children, they’ve changed things. If any one of these men surrenders, you may accept it. But your first and highest goal is to rescue those who have been taken, and then to protect each other. Both of those things come before capturing prisoners. Is that understood?”
A chorus came back from the men and women who’d gathered to ride with him, in the affirmative, and Keri nodded. Without any further word, he pressed his heels to Kersis’s side, and led the way out of the courtyard, through the gates of Castle Whitehill, and down through the city.
☙
The particular farm that had been chosen was the furthest from Whitehill itself, predictably. Keri recalled the name of it from the notes that Sidonie had written on a map of the valley, when they’d first addressed the problem of the farms with no heirs.
They’d been called the Fowlers, which he gathered had something to do with keeping or catching birds. The Lucanian propensity for taking occupational names – at least, among those who weren’t nobles – was sometimes jarring, and sometimes fascinating. Keri doubted those who’d lived here had done anything more than keep a few chickens, in terms of living up to their family name. He’d ordered that the farm be given to a man who’d lost his leg at the pass, but the soldier’s recovery had been slow and his family hadn’t actually moved out to take possession of the land yet.
Keri sent Olavi and Linnea, each with a dozen men, to circle the farm. They were to move not through the slightly overgrown fields, but amidst the grove of aspen trees that surrounded the cleared land. The remainder of the soldiers he left behind while he and Aura rode forward alone. Outlaws, his experience hunting the Cult of Ractia told him, would be nervous and quick to flee at the first sign of trouble. More than two people would spook them.
The fields themselves were divided by low walls of piled rock, perhaps hip-high. Open spaces had been left for entrance and exit, and the stones had been fit so cunningly together, even without mortar, that they stood straight and firm – sturdy enough that the four broken men who’d become bandits sat on top of the wall that came closest to the burned farm buildings. They had a blue-haired man and two children with them, all three captives tied with rough rope.
At the sight of their mother riding toward them, the children’s eyes widened, but they were intelligent enough to remain silent and still. The bandits had, after all, crossbows and knives.
Those crossbows were, at present, pointed directly at Keri and Aura. Once he’d reined his gelding in, perhaps thirty feet from the bandits and their hostages, Keri spoke to her quietly.
“Can you catch those bolts when they fly?”
“I can,” Aura whispered back.
The bandit leader, a middle-aged man with a white beard and hair, and somehow still something of a gut even after weeks struggling to survive in the wilderness, straightened up and eased himself down off the wall. “You brought our gold?”
“We have,” Keri assured him. He reached down to his belt pouch, made a show of removing three golden crowns – Lucanian; if Whitehill was ever going to begin minting its own coins, that day was still in the future – and held them up in his right gauntlet.
“Put ‘em on the ground right here,” the white-haired man said, pointing at the muddy field.
Which presented a problem, as there was no way that Keri was going to get down out of the saddle and walk. He’d be lucky if he avoided falling face first onto the soggy ground, and the broken men would surely notice his limp. Instead, he handed the coins to Aura. She slid down out of the saddle, walked forward, and set the coins down.
“Back up,” the bandit leader commanded. Only once Aura had returned to the horses did he step forward, bend over, and scoop the crowns up. One he bit between his teeth, presumably to test the gold, and then nodded. “Run along then,” he told Aura’s daiverim and children.
The man helped his children to their feet, and together the three of them walked slowly across the empty field, crossing from the bandits at the wall to where Keri and Aura waited with their horses. Aura, he could see, quivered like an arrow held back for too long. He admired her restraint: in her place, it would have been all he could do not to run forward.
“Pleasure doing business with ya,” the white haired bandit said, giving a wave of the hand and a grin. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again, now we know you’re good for a ransom.” He turned and began to walk away, while his underlings kept their crossbows levelled.
“You will not,” Keri called back. “A good friend of mine would want you captured alive, so I will give you this one chance. Throw down your weapons.”
The bandits laughed. Of course they did: so far as they were concerned, they had Keri and Aura outnumbered two to one, and neither of the Eld were carrying a crossbow.
“Now,” Keri told Aura. “Savelet Aiveh Cetve Fleiam o’Mae.”
For the first time since the battle at the pass, Savel truly woke in his mind, burning and bright, the word of power roaring to life. Four lines of impossible brightness connected Keri’s hand with the bandits, and a crossbow released. By the time the light had faded, and the bodies of the bandits were left, smoking, on the muddy ground, Aura had the bolt frozen in midair.
A dozen more bandits, who’d concealed themselves in the trees, panicked and ran – directly into the soldiers that Linnea and Olavi had brought around behind them. Keri, for his part, looked over just long enough to see Aura and her family clutching each other, huddled in a tight embrace, before turning away to give him privacy.
He wasn’t what he’d been before – and he wasn’t certain whether he ever would be again. But today, at least, he’d been enough to save the people who needed saving.
Comments
Andrew Simpson
Yay Keri :> When a bone fractures and then heals, enough work and resources goes into knitting together the fracture that it becomes stronger than the bone around it. I don't think the phrase "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" has much merit, but I do think that overcoming a rending of your identity and spirit through determination and willpower will cause whoever you are when you emerge on the far side of that endeavor to be stronger in a meaningful way. I think Keri needed something like this to understand who he is after a lifetime of just being a cultist hunter who cleaved close to the expectation of his clan. I think this is part of how Keri understand who he is, and who he wants to be.
Kazith
Tyftc
