Conquest of Avalon

“Even in this context, it’s hard to beat that view.” Magnifico looked out over the balcony, towards the foggy darkness that probably looked amazing to someone with the eyes to see it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Fernan muttered, rapping his fingers against the bag at his side as he traced his eyes back and forth over the room.

The Duke’s chambers were difficult to properly make out, heated only by the ambient energy of the castle and rays of sunlight streaming in from the balcony. The hearths, of which Magnifico assured him there were four in the suite, showed only the faintest echoes of their intended use; little help illuminating the rest.

“Ah, right. Sorry.”

Fernan merely shook his head with a sigh. “Don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me by holding the ladder on the way back down.”

With the door’s locking mechanism forced and the entryway sealed up, going in from the back had been the only option.

Groping blindly up a thin construct of wood leaning against the balcony in the rushing wind had been a singularly unpleasant experience, and one he’d hoped to avoid by asking for official sanction first.

But things could never be that easy, could they?

“Certainly,” Magnifico responded. “I could see if anyone in the castle has a step ladder too. It all feels less precarious when it’s standing on its own feet.”

“I’m much the same, but I’ll live.” What’s the difference, really? He stepped further inside, trying to get an internal picture of the room. “Do you see a bookshelf anywhere?”

“First room back, then to the left,” the bard replied immediately. “Though I don’t know how that will help you.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure either.” Fernan shrugged, trying to follow the directions. “But I know you have to be going soon, so I think it’s best to start where I’m most useless without you.”

The room he’d been directed to was even colder than the exterior, a mass of dull tones shifting slowly in and out, to the point that it wasn’t trivial simply to keep his footing, but it seemed right. Against the back wall was an enormous grid of faint smudges and dots that, since he knew what he was looking for, was possible to visualize as a bookshelf.

Or rather, seven or eight bookshelves stacked on top of each other. The decadence was astounding, to the point that it didn’t even seem like it would be pleasant to live here.

“Here, what’s the title of this one?” Fernan ran his finger across a book sitting on a table next to the shelf, opened to a page about a third of the way through. “It’s likely to be the last one the Duke touched before he died.”

As he held it, the light from his hands smeared across the cover, granting it a fresh set of streaked orange handprints.

“On Malin and Empire, by Jehanne Corelle.” The bard sounded almost irritated. “Useless.”

“What’s it about?”

Magnifico waved his hand around errantly. “Malin. The Empire. Stuff like that. I haven’t read it, but it looks like Fouchand was probably trying to get some historical context to consider my deal.”

“Does it talk about relations with Avalon?”

“Pfft! It was written before Avalon as a unified entity even existed. Before the first Harold inspired us to greatness with his cunning and courage, the petty kingdoms on our islands weren’t worth the ink to write about them.”

“Oh.” That didn’t seem terribly useful, then, but at least it fit with the information he had. “Do you think anyone would mind if I held onto it?”

“Suit yourself.” Magnifico tossed the book back in a fluid arc, managing to land it perfectly in Fernan’s slightly open bag. “Aurelian already secured everything valuable weeks ago, and the bureaus blew through looking for evidence not long after. Make sure to give it back after the trial, of course.”

“Obviously.” Fernan tapped the book deeper into the bag. “I guess that explains why the furniture’s been moved around.”

“You can tell?”

“Gouges on the floor,” he replied. “I’m guessing whoever was supposed to put things back in order hadn’t seen the inside of the room before. Still, they did a pretty good job. It hardly looks ransacked.”

“Aurelian respects the late Duke far too much to leave his rooms in shambles. I didn’t get the impression they found anything useful anyway.”

Well, that certainly bodes well for me then. At least the book had some potential.

As an initial point, it seemed minor, but Magnifico didn’t seem to have much interest. Someone from the village might have the time and interest to take a deeper look.

And that was assuming the bard was truly trying to help.

Do not trust Magnifico, the note had said, there is no greater monster in all the world.

Whoever this Jethro was, they seemed to favor the cryptic, even asking him to burn the letter as soon as possible.

But Jethro had done nothing to earn trust, themself. With so many plots and lies floating around, such a letter might be crucial for uncovering the truth.

Fernan had asked Mara to bury it outside of the city, far from where anyone might discover it. If Jethro truly meant well, that would have to be good enough.

The note had mentioned something else though… “The first Harold was a binder, right? I remember you talking about them a bit back at the Singer’s Lounge, when I was here the first time.”

He almost asked about Magnifico’s son too, whom Jethro’s letter had said he tried to kill, but didn’t dare. It risked angering someone he probably needed on his side to get through this.

Magnifico nodded. “Perhaps the best of them, save the Great Binder of course, and perhaps her daughter. He saved King Lewys of Cambria from the vile spirit Pantera the Undying, then later slew her to keep Cambria safe. Forta was brought to heel when he aided their binders in exiling the frost spirit Klarisse. It’s much of how he won the hearts and minds of those soon-to-be Avalonians while they still balked at bowing to a Cambrian.” Magnifico paused. “You really don’t know much about Avalon history, do you?” He chuckled slightly. “Good to keep in mind.”

“I know. What a surprise that must be, when it’s been so relevant to my life.” Admittedly, the history of pirates and the Empire hadn’t translated all that directly either, but with Florette around, there was no way to avoid an abundance of knowledge about them.

“Not what I meant.” He shook his head. “Just that you’re a different crowd than I’m used to. It’s refreshing. I can be more honest.”

“Hmm.” Fernan moved on from the library, doing his best to orient himself as he approached the front door from the inside.

It wasn’t boarded up from this side, at least, which seemed like poor practice for security, but it made things easier now.

“I hope you don’t think me condescending,” Magnifico muttered as he approached, condescendingly. “Enough time in Cambria and everyone around starts to feel the same.”

“Why would I ever think that?”

A hole had been torn near the knob, a splintered and uneven gap only visible on this side thanks to the boards on the other. Probably where the locking mechanism had been forced by the battering ram, based on what Annette had said.

Which meant the lock itself might still be around.

Magnifico leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Imagine you were thrust into a place far more primitive than your own, to the point that you practically traveled back through time. The people there aren’t less learned through any fault of their own, but there’s a gap nonetheless.”

“You’re right, that sounds far less condescending.”

Do not trust Magnifico. However suspect Jethro’s intentions, it was worth keeping in mind.

“It’s the position the first Harold found himself in. A man of singular brilliance, of such knowledge and intelligence and skill that he possessed the power to conquer all of Avalon and forge it into the preeminent power on the world’s stage.”

Fernan sighed, grasping around the floor in search of any remnants of the lock. “Couldn’t have been that different. It was only a hundred years ago.”

Magnifico scoffed. “The Fox Queen freed her serfs centuries ago when she united this continent, but the practice continued on all throughout what would become Avalon. Until Harold Grimoire, that is. Do you know what that means, Fernan? People chained to their plows, owing free labor to their lord, unable to move from his land or deny him his ‘rights’, according to the law.” The scorn in his voice was thick.

“It sounds horrific,” he admitted. He recalled something about that, mostly couched in praise of the Fox Queen’s generosity of spirit and wholesomeness. “But it doesn’t take a singular genius to look across the water and copy what other people have been doing for centuries. Really, it’s an indictment of Avalon that it took that long.”

“Probably.” Magnifico shrugged. “But then, my people never performed mass human sacrifice. A serf pledges his life to his lord, but even he is never obligated to serve in death. And for what? The enrichment of a monster and those who serve them?”

Fernan’s hand brushed against a splintered hunk of wood and metal. “You know I’m a sage, right?”

“You’re a victim. Spirit-touched, and forced into your compact under the highest duress. Doesn’t count.”

Put like that, it didn’t feel like he’d accomplished much at all. A victim, a mere observer, a passive supplicant…

He channeled a small sliver of energy into his hands, not enough for flame, but for warmth. Just enough to flow into the debris in his hands.

“My point is merely this, Fernan: We who have a position of standing, advantages in intelligence or talent or luck, we have an obligation to act. Whatever unfortunate excesses my country has committed in the name of progress, you would do well to remember that.”

Fernan’s eyes grew brighter, the flame condensed to small points of high intensity. “I’m sure that’s a great comfort to the victims of your wars. The thousands dead from the Foxtrap, those who starved in the siege of Ombresse, the Malins suffering under Perimont…” Camille, although bringing that up wouldn’t help.

“All horribly regrettable. Ultimately, as much as I wish it, I can’t even be certain their sacrifice was worth the outcome. I did… The intentions were positive, I assure you. Uplift of society.” He set his hand down on Fernan’s shoulder. “Surely you understand.”

Fernan pushed it off, his eyes flaring with green flame. “Just stop working me. You don’t need me to support your king and the horrors of Avalon, alright? This is about Duchess Annette and Duke Fouchand, that’s all. Not Avalon, and not you or me. I don’t even know your real name.”

Magnifico jerked his head back as if slapped, banging it against the wall with a wince. “You’re right, of course. My apologies.” He scratched his chin in thought as Fernan continued examining the lock, now warm enough to view somewhat properly.

With the warm glow within it, the chunk of splinters revealed its interior: metal pins pushed and cracked on either side of a metal keyhole. This was definitely the lock, but the inky blackness staining it within didn’t seem like it would come from bashing the door in.

Fernan opened his mouth to ask Magnifico, but closed it without a word instead, tucking the lock into his bag.

“Magnifico is as real a name as any, you know. A man is the role he occupies. Right now I’m Magnifico the bard, whatever else I might be at other times.”

“Fine.” Fernan rose, thankful that the flames on his face didn’t reveal a roll of his eyes. “I think I’m just about done, for now.”

“Just let me know if you need to come back. I’m happy to help wherever I can.” Magnifico stepped out to the balcony, fluidly hopping up onto the bannister. “It’s Harry, by the way. Harry... Martin is the name I was born with.”

“Hmm?” Of course he had a surname, given his imperiousness. Although apparently the prestige wasn’t quite the same in Avalon as it was here.

“It’s short for Harold, so you can see how it would be problematic to serve the royal court using it. Hence, Magnifico. I took the name from a book I read as a child, and that was that.” He slid down the ladder and out of sight.

Still, that’s something, at least. Even if it meant little materially, it was a measure of trust.

As Fernan prepared to climb over the balcony himself, something caught his eye. Pure darkness, contrasting even the vacant cold of the Duke’s chambers, in a ragged little scrap scarcely larger than the palm of his hand.

As he reached for it, his hand brushed against a waxy plant, probably ivy, that had grown thickly up the balcony. The dark thing was practically buried under it, but its draining effect on warmth made it easy enough to grasp for.

Snagged on a nail, by the looks of it. To the touch, it was clearly cloth. And given the warmth that returned as Fernan laid his hands on it, not a specialized material like Robin Verrou’s Cloak of Nocturne either, at least not as far as Florette had described it.

Strange.

But into the bag it went. It never hurt to be thorough, especially if the investigators from the bureaus had missed it.

Nothing that really proves Annette innocent though. Firm evidence would have been too much to hope for, perhaps, but it still would have been nice to find something substantial. As it was, Fernan could only hope a locksmith and a reader could shed light on some significance he was missing.

And someone saw her too. What a mess.

Despite his help, Fernan felt a tension leave his shoulders as Magnifico departed, attending to some unspecified business elsewhere in the castle. He tried to kill his son, and he’d do it to you. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but the thought remained stuck in his head.

Fernan had scarcely made it out of the castle before a waist-high blur of gleaming gold and orange sprinted up from the road and slammed into his side.

“Hello Aubaine.” He wrapped his arms around the child and lifted him into the air. “I’m happy to see you too.”

The boy grinned as Fernan gave him a twirl. “Father said you were back but I needed to see! Are you staying at the temple again? Will you help with building it up? Is Mara back too? Can I—”

Fernan set him back down on the ground. “For now, I’m staying near the harbor with some other people from my home. Mara is with us too, and she brought some of her siblings along.”

Aubaine’s eyes lit up, pulling the rest of his face into a blaze of excitement. “Can they breathe fire too? Do they have tails? Geckos are supposed to have tails but Mara doesn’t, or not more than that stump at the back anyway, or maybe it’s because of the spirit power?”

“Yes, and yes. Mara suffered from an injury, but it should grow back with enough time.”

“Wow! The whole tail?”

“That’s what she told me, anyway. But it could be months.” Mara hadn’t talked about it much, understandably. It had to be a sore point.

“Do you have a tail too? You have their eyes and their flame powers and you’re a sage just like Father but Father said you’re spirit-touched just like familiars are but I’ve never heard of a human with a tail and Father said he hadn’t either.”

“I don’t,” Fernan assured him.

“Aww. I wanted to see it.” Aubaine looked up at him with blazing passion in his eyes. “Maybe when I’m the high priest I could get one from Soleil. Your spirit gave you your eyes, right?”

He took my eyes, and this is what’s left. “In a way. But I think my circumstances were different from what yours will be.”

“What did he want? Father says spirits never give you anything without wanting something terrible in return. It’s part of their metal physical nature, they’re too hard for it.”

“Metaphysical, I’m sure he meant. But I don’t think that’s always true.”

“They’re not always metal? What are they made of then?”

Fernan chuckled. “Spirits aren’t always so mercenary, not necessarily. They’re capable of compromise and mercy, even, in their own way. They just have their own needs. People tend to trample over them, and it makes everyone distrustful, but if you’re honest and do the right thing, a spirit might notice even if it’s hard for them. Mine did.”

Aubaine blinked, clearly not taking in the full argument.

“They’re not so different from people. If you’re good and sincere, you can maybe be friends, or at least respect each other. But it takes a lot of hard work and understanding. What’s easiest isn’t usually what’s right.” If only it were.

“Hmm.” He wiped his chin with a stubby finger. “Father says Soleil will never be my friend. He’s a tool, and a master, and it’s my job to know when he’s which. But I’d rather be like you! With glowing eyes and a tail and a gecko like Mara going on adventures with me—ooh maybe I can take one of her sisters— and we could fly around the world on a chariot of golden fire, and help people and spirits together, and—”

“Aubaine, that’s enough.” A brilliant corona of light surrounded the blazing white glow of Lord Aurelian Lumière, more powerful by far than the last time Fernan had seen him.

“Lord Lumière,” Fernan greeted. “I’m pleased that you recovered so quickly.”

He exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t without cost, but bodies were not exactly in short supply after King Lucien’s folly, and the fifty lives promised by my wager with Camille Leclaire provided the greater part of the energy once I claimed them.” He grabbed Aubaine’s hand firmly, tilting his head down to speak with him. “Alright, you said hello. Now it’s time for bed. You’ll see Fernan again later.”

“But Father—!”

“Must I repeat myself?”

Aubaine’s head sunk. “No, Father.”

“Yves will take you back to the temple now. He’s waiting by the coach.”

Once Aubaine had scurried off, Lumière’s face took on a darker cast. “The energy is back, but the years of life shall never return to me. Even a success can be a grisly affair when all’s said and done. No less necessary for it, though.”

“I suppose...” Arguing with him wouldn’t be productive, at any rate. It never was.

Lumière sighed. “I’ve heard why you returned here. To speak for that vile girl who would murder her own kin. Fouchand would turn in his grave.”

“She has no one else.”

“For good reason! Her guilt is not in question. Even implying otherwise is disrespectful to Fouchand’s memory.” The intensity of his aura rose. “I couldn’t deny Aubaine the visit, but I must say you have greatly disappointed me, Fernan.”

Of course. This wasn’t unexpected, but he had still hoped for better. Magnifico had managed to take it in good spirits, but then, he had nothing to do with the murder trial. “Listen, I only—”

“I’m not interested in hearing your pathetic excuses. You’re coming with me, immediately.”

Fernan blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

The sun sage turned to face the sun, close to the horizon. “I need you to understand something that your naive, peasant brain seems incapable of grasping even after everything you’ve been through. It’s time you met Soleil.”