Rainhorn: Epilogue (The Weirkey Chronicles) (Patreon)

This is the last chapter of TWC2, and as mentioned, we'll need some time to take care of the cover issues. But meanwhile, I have some fun stuff in store!

In addition to the release of Blades Falling Softly, I have a few things planned for this month.  Above, you can see some early sketches for the potential new cover. I am fairly certain that I'm going to go with the first design, but I wanted to show you some of the effort I've been putting in on this front. Also look forward to soulhome blueprints, perhaps a soulcrafting AMA, and maybe more.

Maybe TWC3 chapters? Posting them already feels too early, when I don't have the cover situation figured out, but I could start if people prefer a delay later to one now.

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Epilogue

Esaire sat in the healers' chamber, staring at the fracture running along his left gauntlet. More than the shadows of injuries that still ached in his body, or the insult to his honor, or the presumed loss of his supporters... that fracture hurt most of all.

When he'd returned home, only half-conscious, he'd of course been taken to the Armeau family's finest healers. He'd woken up dressed in fresh robes, never before worn, with the old ones already thrown away. Everyone in the house treated him respectfully and there was talk of how many rainhorns he'd collected during the great hunt, the best record in over a generation.

But his grandfather had chosen not to repair his gauntlets.

Though it was possible that they lacked the sublime materials to repair such a valuable armament, the Armeau family kept great stores of materials, especially during the hunt. For it to be an accident or an oversight was simply not credible, so he could only conclude that his grandfather was intentionally chastising him. Given how poorly the venture into Tatian had gone, he could understand why.

"My lord?" A family servant stood outside the room, his head bowed, but not truly deferential. "Your grandfather wishes to speak with you, if your injuries have mended."

"Of course." Suggesting that he wasn't in good enough condition to speak to his grandfather would be to turn his current disadvantage into a weakness that all his rivals would descend upon. Walking to speak to his grandfather in the main pavilion was a sign of trust in him, but being summoned like this was also a reprimand. Intentionally mixed messages.

Ignoring a few minor injuries, Esaire rose to his feet and adjusted his badge properly. He placed it on his belt as a soulcrafter first, not a noble of the family. This had been about power, in the end, and his grandfather should understand that even if he disagreed with the decisions.

No one accompanied him as he walked through the Armeau family estate, his eyes sliding over the fountains and ornamental trees without truly seeing them. For a long time, he'd just assumed that they would one day be his. In a technical sense that would be true so long as he remained in good standing, but he might become simply another soulcrafter in the family, not the family head dictating their future.

Most considered him the most promising young soulcrafter in the family, but he wasn't without rivals. There were several other Archcrafters with real potential who were the children of major family leaders who could also achieve the position. His sister hadn't been as well-regarded by their tutors, but she had just ascended to Ruler. The family had a distant cousin who had left for a larger city and allegedly reached Authority, though they might never be coming back.

At last he reached the golden pavilion, where his grandfather sat conducting the business of the Armeau family. No one joined the old man that day, he simply sat in his traditional robes and stared at Esaire as he approached, doing his best not to flinch.

There had been a time when he had scorned his grandfather for never ascending to Authority and dominating Anguedan for their family, but that was long gone. The more he soulcrafted as an Archcrafter, the more respect he had for his grandfather's Ruler-tier soulhome. In any case, raw power was irrelevant in what was about to happen, so he lowered himself to a seat opposite the family head.

"You wanted to see me, Grandfather Arceon?"

"I thought that you might want to find out what we've learned from your little jaunt into Tatian." His grandfather was old enough that he no longer cared for propriety, so there would be no hidden knives here. "We needed to withdraw our forces, which reflects poorly on us with the foreign Authority in Nlukoko. However, the information his guards have passed along is trustworthy."

Esaire tried to restrain himself, but his grandfather intended to make him squirm, so he let his discomfort show. "And? What did they report?"

"No one else emerged from the Tatian wasteland. Given that their food was exhausted and there are no animals to hunt, it would be foolish to assume any remain alive."

Since Esaire couldn't imagine Delarde dying of something as foolish as starvation, he had no choice but to believe that his childhood friend had died in combat. He'd planned to have Delarde serve as his right hand for years to come... just one more thing that had been taken from him. Yet though he should have felt anger or a desire for revenge, Esaire was simply tired.

"Young soulcrafters should have their duels and vendettas, but you allowed yours to get out of hand." Grandfather Arceon began sorting a pile of Silver Crowns in front of him, agile fingers dividing them into different stacks. "Your efforts have cost us multiple soulcrafters, two Archcrafters, expensive transportation, and above all set back our negotiations with the ai Tatian family. And for what?"

"Nothing, Grandfather." Esaire lowered his head, not in humility but to take the accusation head on. "I let my ego control me when I should have withdrawn and scorned the foreigners."

"Then this was an expensive lesson." His grandfather regarded him with a strange smile. "This was over a Fithan child who inconvenienced you, wasn't it? I thought better of you, Esaire. Petty insults are meaningless, and chasing after pride has ruined many a family. What could possibly be so interesting about a random foreigner to be worth such a vendetta?"

"It was a mistake, Grandfather."

"No, this is not the time for humility." One stack of Silver Crowns struck the table hard as his grandfather leaned in. "What thoughts led you to this mistake will determine your punishment."

Suddenly realizing that he had been playing the wrong game, Esaire rapidly shifted his plans. He knew that his grandfather would scorn his thinking regardless, but if he could justify himself, he might come through without a loss of position. "It was several things, Grandfather. They had stolen a valuable sleigh and I only sought to recover it."

"It was fairly stolen during the hunt, but taking it back would have been worth a lesser cost. But why give them your time in the first place?"

"Their group was unusual, and unusually effective." Esaire swallowed, seeking a tactic that would convince his grandfather. "They acquired various sublime materials and seemed like candidates to assist us in the Great Rainhorn Hunt."

"Recruiting vassals is the least irrational part of your thinking, but I fail to see how they were so interesting."

"Well... the group was a Fithan, an Ichili, and a Tatian. All three were remarkable soulcrafters, even compared to our family. The leader had somehow soulcrafted skills that nearly made me believe he was an Archcrafter, though his techniques proved to have serious weaknesses."

"Trivialities. There are talented soulcrafters everywhere, and you should not be so impressed by visitors from other worlds. You'll soon learn that such places are irrelevant to the courts, and beyond the courts there is nothing of meaning." His grandfather snorted and started to turn away. "Do we need to find better rivals for you in the city, then?"

"It wasn't just that! He seemed strangely driven, I just thought..." Esaire realized that this was a foregone conclusion and his grandfather only wanted to put him in his place. He nearly went quiet and accepted his punishment, but decided to make one more attempt even if it was futile. "The Fithan didn't just seek profit or strength, he was investigating strange subjects with information brokers and in archives. Odd families that don't exist, ai Teraeves or some other minor name, so I-"

A stack of Silver Crowns clattered over the table and Esaire stared far more than it deserved: he'd never seen his grandfather display the slightest clumsiness before. There was no trace of any emotion on the old man's face, but he spoke oddly neutrally. "What was that family name?"

"I... I'm not completely sure, Grandfather, but it sounded like 'Teraeves'. I attempted to research if they were a major family in another court, but came up with nothing concrete, so I assumed it was just another outdated piece of information. There were many odd anachronisms..."

Esaire trailed off as he realized that his grandfather wasn't truly listening. The old man stared out at nothing, deep in thought, and when his gaze drifted back down to the pavilion, something had changed.

"Grandfather Arceon?"

"No one has heard that name in a very long time, and that is exactly how it should have remained. All the resources you wasted on your childish squabbles might be justified after all." Esaire's grandfather rose to his feet and almost immediately snapped down at him. "Well, boy? Don't stand there gawking. We need to arrange a journey to Fithe."