50. [Cortland] Party Crashers (Patreon)

Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, an unskilled diplomat

Sara Free, Paladin of the 10th Renown, The Ministry of Sulk, all about accountability

King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, possessed of a long memory

Sevda Tau, Archmage of the 13th Renown, the Magelab, a mage of wind and feeling

Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in his cups

***

7 Frett, 61 AW

The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent

173 days until the next Granting

Cortland stared down at the pile of ashes as they settled on the stone floor. The banquet hall had already largely gone silent when the beautiful paladin made her entrance, but now everyone in attendance edged forward a bit more to hear what the king’s response would be.

 Such theatrics weren’t unusual at the Open Gate. Every few years, some petitioner decided the best way to sway the ageless king of Infinzel to their cause was through a grand, dramatic gesture. It was only a few years ago that Breck Bucksap, the champion from Fornon, had dumped the frostbitten dead body of a trolkin that had once been his cousin at the feet of the king. As the body thawed, that had proved far messier than the paladin’s current spread of ashes. There had been a few duels fought over the years as well—only to first blood, of course—as hard feelings from the island followed the champions back home. But this was Sara Free’s first time here and she was young and full of righteousness. She did not yet understand that it had all been done before.

King Cizco favored Sara with a soft smile. Cortland recognized the look, as he was sure an overwhelming number of women in the hall did as well. With a wave of his hand, Cizco dismissed the arcane energy that had been maintaining the privacy of his conversation with the representatives from the Magelab. He came forward a few steps to peer down at the mess on the floor.

“I don’t suppose you came equipped with a broom, umbo,” Cizco said.

Some light laughter bubbled from the crowd. Cortland edged forward just in time to see the color rise in the Crucifalian’s cheeks.

“This is a joke to you?” she asked. “Hundreds dead in Ambergran. A town on the brink of disappearing entirely. I had thought Infinzel of all places would care about Orvesians committing an annihilation.”

The foreigners and some of the younger people in attendance still looked on with smiles eager for a bit of drama in their revelry, yet Cortland detected a hardening of faces from Infinzel’s older generation. Not many remembered life during the siege, but the Orvesians were still well known as Infinzel’s sworn enemy. Cortland wondered how much word of Ambergran’s fate had spread throughout Infinzel—they were a down continent town, barely big enough to be called a village, and not a trade partner. He suspected this was the first many were hearing of the horrors inflicted by the Orvesian wish.

Cortland fingers sought his hammer and he scowled at its absence. Bad enough they had let this happen; it reflected even worse on Infinzel’s champions if such an atrocity went unanswered.   

“A heinous act by the Orvesians in a history replete with them,” Cizco said, speaking more for the crowd than the armored woman before him. “These are but the sputtering death throes of an old power as they fade from this world, once and for all.”

Such a statement might make the listeners from Infinzel feel better, but Cortland knew it would do nothing for the red-cheeked knight of Sulk.

“We had planned to aid your cause at the last Granting,” Cortland added. “But we had other commitments to honor and then we were waylaid by an unprovoked attack.”

Cortland had meant to project—to meet this moment of public politicking like a true leader of champions—but his voice came out its usual gravelly rumble. Behind him, he overheard a handful of spectators asking each other what he’d said.

“Other commitments,” Sara repeated. She turned to look down upon Cortland and he almost took a step back from the taller woman’s sparkling blue eyes. “Killing trolkin? Maintaining your king’s dewy youthfulness? These are the commitments you would trade hundreds of innocent lives for?”

“We lost a good man at that Granting,” Cortland said through his teeth. “A friend.”

“Just the one?” Sara replied. “Two of my friends were struck down in battle with the Orvesians. They died selflessly with no expectation of reward beyond a bountiful harvest. They died preserving the sanctity of life across the realm. They died fighting Infinzel’s enemies while Infinzel was absent. Had the Ministry of Sulk’s champions not killed two Orvesians, all of Ambergran would now be ashes.”

Cortland found himself on his back foot. There was little he could say to dispute the paladin’s arguments that wouldn’t sound like a pathetic excuse. The champions of Infinzel had first prioritized dealing with the trolkin over the Orvesians, and they had scaled back their risk-taking after Ben was killed in order to protect the remaining strength of Infinzel’s own wish—at least, that’s what Vitt and Henry decided to do. Cortland himself had chased an assassin halfway across the island to exact his own vengeance, only to run out of time. Would he have been able to save Ambergran if he’d instead focused his rage on the Orvesians? He would never know.

“I regret it,” he said, quiet enough so only those closest could hear. “If there’s justice to be meted out at the next Granting, you’ll have my hammer.”

Cortland pretended not to notice the raised eyebrow this earned him from King Cizco. The paladin, at least, looked somewhat mollified by this promise, breathing out through her nose.

“Justice will be at the option of what remains of Ambergran,” she said. “For my part, I intend to kill this fanatic who leads the Orvesians, and all who wou—”

“Here, here!” Vitt yelled from his place at the nearest bar. “Death to Orvesians! Another year of dewy youthfulness for King Cizco Salvado!”

Laughter and cheers went up, others repeating the toast which sounded so similar to the wish that Infinzel made every year to maintain Cizco’s youth. The tension had ebbed a bit—already bystanders were turning away from the scene. At some signal, no doubt from King Cizco, the musicians resumed their playing, choosing a popular battle anthem from the siege years.

The king raised his hands for those still paying attention. “We thank the Ministry of Sulk for their stewardship on this matter! But we understand better than most the depravity of the Orvesians, do we not? Infinzel remains ever vigilant and our hammer master stands ready to deliver crushing justice to these blackbirds!”

Another cheer went up, more raucous than before. Cortland flinched as hands slapped his back. He shot a hard look behind him, scaring off a handful of others who’d gotten the unwise idea to touch him. Briefly, he caught a glimpse of Watts Stonework, who had hung back when the scene with Sara Free began. In the interim, Carina Goldstone had found her old friend from Soldier’s Rest, and the two now engaged in what appeared to be a harsh and rather one-sided conversation on the logician’s part. Cortland hardly had a moment to wonder what they might be discussing.

“You give me the brush off,” Sara was saying to the king as Cortland turned back.

“Ah, a good reminder,” Cizco said, and gestured to two attendants who stood by with a broom and dustbin. “Shall I have these ashes returned to you, or…?”

Sara stepped toward the king with enough force that Cortland instinctively put his body between them. Cortland sensed this woman’s strength would be a match for his own and did not relish the idea of finding out who had more.

“Easy, now,” Cortland said steadily.

“You send no aid to Ambergran, not even words of condolence.” Sara jabbed her finger at Cizco. “I come to apprise you of the situation, and this is the respect you have for me? For the dead?”

“I saved you from further embarrassing yourself, Sulkie,” Cizco replied. “You coming to Infinzel to preach about Orvesis would be like me going to the ocean and explaining sharks to the oca’em. Are you aware that on three occasions I battled the man your little group is named for? I remember Sulk well. A brutal, vicious little fucker who simply refused to die. An Orvesian, soaked with the blood of fifty Ambergrans. If the gods hadn’t given Sulk a way out, he’d have made a staircase of bodies outside my walls. He only stopped when it became convenient. So, I accept no lessons in moral clarity from a child bearing the mark of a murderer.”

The king’s voice had turned raspy by the end—a harshness that nearly made Cizco sound his age. Cortland watched the darkening red in Sara’s cheeks and the wetness in her eyes. She did not have a face that would win any games of five card. Briefly, Cortland wondered if his own expressions were so easy to read. At least he had a face that no one found easy to stare at.

Sara took a moment to gather herself, perhaps counting down from five in her mind. “You speak as an old man, of old things.” She sighed. “I was warned it would be a waste of time coming here, but I chose not to heed the stories. Instead, I believed the old legends of Infinzel’s role as haven and peacekeeper on this continent. Yet, now, I see they are right to say your mighty city of magic and stone is a greedy man’s fist curled around a diamond. No light squeezes through. Power amassed for power’s sake. A dusty monument to one man’s ego.”

“You’ve said your peace, umbo,” Cortland said. “I meant it when I said you could count on my hammer. Let that be enough.”

“I believe you, hammer master,” Sara replied, barely glancing at Cortland. She still focused on Cizco. “Unfortunately, you are but a weapon in your king’s hand. One that Infinzel seems reluctant to let swing. I’m warning you now, these are not the simple lashings out of a dying empire. Ambergran is only the beginning. The Orvesians are after something more.”

“And what would that be?”

The new voice felt like a cool breeze gently blowing across sunburnt skin. It carried above the din of the music and other conversations, yet did not seem at all raised. The archmage Sevda Tau stepped forward, her cloud-shaped dress flowing with her. With his [Will+], Cortland sensed that the woman had used some bit of magic to dull tempers. Presumptuous. But wasn’t that always the way with the Magelab?

Much of the heat left Sara’s voice as she replied to the blue-haired archmage. “I could not say exactly what they’re up to but I’m glad to see a representative of the Magelab here. Did Erhan Teta convey my report to you?”

Cortland took a step to the side so that he could stand alongside the king. Cizco plucked a flute of champagne from a passing tray, though his eyes never left Sara Free.

The delicate wrinkles at Sevda Tau’s eyes tightened as she searched for the name. “Teta… the horse mage?”

“That’s him,” Sara replied. “We encountered him at a tavern outside Cruxton. He was meant to return home with news for the Magelab.”

“Indeed?” Sevda flashed a brief look over her shoulder, perhaps not realizing that while she had stuck close to Cizco, her candle had slipped away. Cortland spotted Samus Bind and the back of his worn brown traveler’s coat slinking through the crowd toward Carina, who had only just finished her argument with Watts Stonework.

Cortland rubbed the back of his head. Too much to keep track of at this gods damned party. It was better when he could just drink his way through it alongside Henry.

“I have not had opportunity to compare notes with…” Sevda drummed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “…the horse mage.”

Sara squared her shoulders as if delivering a formal report. “The Orvesian Quill, Battar Crodd, had become obsessed with a young man from the village…”

King Cizco snickered. “Ah, this gets interesting, after all.”

“The kid lost his Ink before the annihilation,” Sara continued. “Somehow, this played into Crodd’s fascination with provoking the gods. He was holding the boy prisoner until I rescued him.”

“That was your mission in Ambergran?” Cizco asked. “To rescue some farm boy?”

“Not my mission, but my calling,” Sara said evenly.

The king might have snorted in response, but Cortland understood what the paladin meant. Sometimes, a warrior needed to follow their instinct, orders be damned.

“The farm boy was apparently important enough to Crodd that he set out in pursuit,” Sara continued, her gaze turning back to Sevda Tau. “He sent a pack of gargoyles after us. Two of your candles and Teta were badly injured in the exchange, and Uicha was retaken by the Orvesians. I wasn’t able—”

Cortland sensed the king’s intake of breath, but he was the one who spoke first. “What did you say?”

Sara cocked her head. “Which part, hammer master?”

“The boy’s name.”

“Uicha,” Sara said. “Uicha de Orak. From the islands, originally. I’d intended to return him to his people.”

“Well, I’ll be fucked,” Cortland said. He turned to the king, but Cizco was already exchanging a meaningful look with Sevda Tau. Cortland suspected that Cizco had already apprised the archmage of the strange findings in the Underneath.

“Does that name mean something to you?” Sara asked.

“Yeah,” Cortland said. “But also, no.”

“This Uicha seems to be more than some madman’s plaything,” Cizco said. “I wish you’d maintained your grip on the boy.”

“As do I,” Sara replied grimly. “Another of this year’s failures I very much intend to remedy.”

The music picked up and the dance floor began to fill. Cortland winced as he saw Vitt swaying through the crowd toward them. As if this exchange hadn’t already been fraught enough, now the hunter approached with his eyes scanning the Crucifalian as if looking for the buckles on her armor. He sidled up to Sara—too close, Cortland thought—all but pressing his body against hers.

“Now that the show is over, I wonder if you brought a suitable change of clothes for dancing?” Vitt asked, his voice practically a purr. “Or, perhaps, we could go somewhere quiet and discuss our favorite ways to murder Orvesians.”

The approach was sweaty, even for Vitt. Cortland took a closer look at his fellow champion—he appeared a bit wan. Sara said nothing, but Cortland saw her bristle at the proximity. Vitt’s gaze flicked briefly to Cizco and Sevda, both of whom were glowering at him like a dog who’d dragged a mauled skunk into the sitting room.

“Unless, of course, my father has already planted his flag in you,” Vitt continued. “I don’t believe either of us has had a proper Crucifalian, but it needn’t be a race—”

Too far, even for Vitt. Cizco opened his mouth and Cortland started forward to drag the hunter away, but then they all felt the heat and recoiled.

Sara had used [Radiate]. For a moment, her armor pulsed white hot. Vitt yelped and stumbled backward, his reaction more dramatic than it would have been months ago, before Arris Stonetender had set them all on fire. Patting at the steaming fabric on his chest, Vitt careened into an attendant, tripped, and ended up seated on the floor with champagne dripping through his hair.

Cortland had to hold in a snarl. Bad enough to see a champion of Infinzel making a fool of himself in public; he would not compound the humiliation by dressing down Vitt. Let the king handle his progeny, if he wanted.

Never having turned in Vitt’s direction, Sara now made a perfunctory bow to Cizco. “Thank you for the hospitality,” she said dryly. “I will take my leave.”

Head held high, Sara pushed through the tittering crowd. Cizco shook his head and turned to Sevda Tau with a put-upon smile.

“Sons,” he said to the archmage. “A challenge at any age.”

“Fortunately, I have never had the displeasure of children,” Sevda replied.

Cortland hoped it would end there. He groaned inwardly as Vitt practically leapt to his feet, violently shoving the apologetic attendant into a pair of nearby dancers. Before Cortland could stop him, Vitt had set out in pursuit of the paladin.

“Hey!” Vitt screamed. “Bi—!”

Vitt fell again, this time on his face. Someone had stuck out a leg as he lunged after Sara. The paladin exited the banquet hall while Vitt was pushing himself back to his feet, fresh blood on his lips from where his chin had cracked against the stone floor. As he sprung upright, Vitt cast his gaze about in a wide arc. Most nearby shied away or put their heads down.

The only one to meet Vitt’s stare was the same man who Cortland was sure had tripped him. The bouncer from Guydemion’s. Watts Stonework.