Conquest of Avalon

This is incredible.

Even with the limits to his vision, the flow of people was thick enough for him to understand. Groups of four maneuvered wagons of nearly invisible cold throughout the makeshift settlement, the baggage train stretching all the way back into the heart of the city.

Mother was at the center, as if all the activity whirled around her personally. Next to her was a woman whose aura he recognized from a few days before, when he’d hurriedly passed off Annette’s food allocation orders. That had only been a stopgap measure though, and Fernan had been so busy dealing with Magnifico and Lumière that he hadn’t yet had the chance to think about negotiating something more permanent with Guy Valvert.

The humans were not alone either. Mara’s younger siblings skittered through the proceedings, flowing in and around the people just in time to avoid ending up underfoot.

“What is all of this?” Fernan asked his mother, once he managed to push his way through the buzzing hive around her. “Are those wagons full of cold water?”

“In a way.” Mother chuckled. “It’s ice from the mountains. We’re arranging to trade it with people in the city here.”

“Really?”

The woman next to Mother nodded. “Eleanor caught me complaining about the heat when I was dropping off the grain Duchess Annette ordered.”

“I was lamenting how hard ice is to come by down here, compared to Villechart.”

Fernan smiled. “So you brought it down. That’s clever. But why isn’t it melting?” Packing ice with sawdust could do a lot, but the wagons didn’t look particularly secure. Now that he knew it was ice it was easier to see that the contents of the wagons looked dented and misshapen, hardly the sign of good padding. And the heat was so unbearable it was hard to imagine even the best insulation being enough.

“We have your gecko friends to thank for that.” Mother’s tone was light, but her light flickered uncertainly. “As long as they draw the heat out, it keeps it solid long enough to bring it down. That’s the biggest thing we needed to test this time, but it went even better than I’d hoped. According to Jeanne here, the regular insulation should keep it well enough for a few days on a ship. Enough to get it to Dorseille at least, if not further.”

“I can’t believe you just did all of this.” I wasn’t here to help with any of it. The flash of guilt was brief, but still felt.

“Well, it’s just a trial run. Only the highest streams are still frozen, and only barely at that. The geckos had to cut it out with fire and slide it down the mountain; we lost a lot from that alone, and what we have here is probably the most we can manage before next winter, but still, it’s a start.”

It’s not just a start, it’s hope. A way to keep the village alive even without stealing the geckos’ coal. To build something up again for themselves, instead of treading water on the largesse of nobles who couldn’t care less.

Fernan gave her a tight hug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help,” he whispered.

Mother snorted. “Don’t be. You’re serving everyone as only you can. Let us handle the rest.”

Annette’s representative, Jeanne, seemed a bit impatient with the proceedings, given how her body shifted, but she was polite enough not to say anything about it.

“I do have one question though,” Fernan said as he withdrew from the embrace. “If the geckos can draw off the heat, why can’t they just make ice from water down here? It ought to be the same process.”

“That’s not the same at all!” Mara hissed out.

Fernan nearly jumped out of his skin. “I didn’t realize you were back. For a wagon-sized creature, you’re surprisingly quiet.” Burying Jethro’s note had taken her longer than expected, too, but that wasn’t cause for much concern. Presumably she’d just taken it further from the city.

“You’re just oblivious!” She might have been right about that, honestly. “Especially if your understanding of the flames is still so bad! Air is a terrible source of heat, and if you touch the ice, it just melts even faster. We can only take a little, enough to help keep it cold, but not to turn water all the way into ice from nothing! That would be way too hard!”

“You sound like you’ve already gotten involved in this, knowing so much already.” Fernan scanned the crowd for the other geckos, trying to see if they were paying any special attention to Mara, but their movement hadn’t changed.

“I may have met up with my siblings on the way back from that thing you wanted me to do.” That explained the delay, then.

“She did a lot more than that!” Mother scratched her gently on the head, though the gesture looked somewhat forced. “It was her idea to have them cool the ice, and to cut it out with fire. If we’d stuck to my first plan, even the test run would have taken weeks.”

Fernan smiled. “Nicely done, Mara! We appreciate the help!”

“You’re not mad that I’m so late? I thought humans really valued their punc… punk… People were always rushing over the bridge, always wanting to get our coal down the mountain as fast as possible.”

“Punctuality,” Fernan offered with a shrug. “Your time is your own. Just please try to make sure you’re at the castle in time for the trial? I need all the help I can get.”

“Does that mean I can go fight Laura and make glass again?”

“If you want, just make sure none of this gets damaged.” Wait, ‘again’? “And don’t forget the trial!”

By way of answer, Mara took off towards the beach without another word.

Jeanne coughed. “If you wouldn’t mind, your mother and I were in the middle of negotiating a contract…”

“Oh, of course, sorry.” He’d thought they’d want him there for that, but maybe it really didn’t make a difference. It wasn’t as if he could read any contracts anyway. “I’ll catch up with you this evening.”

“Or sooner, if it’s urgent!” she assured him. “I should be done with this in a few hours.”

That seemed very much doubtful, but there was no reason to gainsay her.

He’d been hoping she could take a closer look at the book he’d gotten from the Duke’s chambers, since Magnifico had seemed so disinterested, but that could wait. She had more important things to be doing right now.

Fernan waved them farewell and withdrew from the commotion, trying to find a more isolated spot to consider his next move.

Lord Lumière had been strangely quiet after their meeting with Soleil, not commenting on how he’d been berated at all. Fernan had expected excuses, or criticism, or something more substantive than the stiff goodbye once Soleil withdrew. Gratitude certainly wouldn’t have gone amiss, considering how the light sage had dragooned his whole village into his schemes with Soleil, but whatever point Lumière had wanted to make, apparently he thought the meeting spoke for itself.

Without thinking, Fernan found himself wandering towards the north gate of the harbor. The crowd thinned out as he approached the exit, fortunately, and by the time he stepped out entirely, only a few travelers on the road remained. Walking off the path towards the beach rid him of their presence easily enough.

Finally, a moment alone with his thoughts.

So much had happened in so short a time, and yet this was really only the beginning. In a few days, Duchess Annette’s trial would begin, and Fernan would have to find a way to prove her innocence. Somehow.

I could always follow whatever script Guy has for me. That was sure to be amusing, but given the man’s abrasiveness, unlikely to be much help.

His best hope was the lock. The inky blackness within was hard to properly parse without more context, but it was clear evidence that the official version of events was incomplete. Something had sabotaged the door, keeping the guards locked out and the Duke locked in. The scrap of black cloth from the balcony could hint at why, but the picture was still so frustratingly incomplete.

“Hello, Fernan,” a quiet voice trickled out from around the curve of the rocks. “You sir, are a hard man to catch alone. I trust you received my missives?” The figure was slouched lazily atop the rocks when Fernan rounded the corner to see him, short hair dissipating body heat so fast it almost looked black.

“Jethro.” Fernan spared a glance to ensure that they really were alone. “I was wondering if I was going to see you again. Yes, I got your message.” Do not trust Magnifico, it had said, he tried to have his son killed, and would think nothing of doing the same to you.

“Excellent. Marvelous. Wonderful.” Jethro sat up slightly, facing Fernan directly. “If you had any idea of the number of conflagrations necessary to cover my initial inquiries, before I learned the limits of your particular vision… Well, in any case, you are aware now. And my letter has been burned, yes?”

“Yes,” Fernan lied, though it sat poorly with him. I don’t know if I can trust you yet. Buried in the ground somewhere only Mara knew was still gone to the world as if it had been burned, but this way it wasn’t irreversible. A written record of what Jethro said could be crucial in the trial ahead. “No one else knows.”

“Brilliant. Felicitous. Well done!” He hopped off the rocks gracefully and dipped his head slightly. “It goes without saying of course, that any information gleaned from this conversation shall remain confidential to the pair of us. No one is to know I’m involved, else Magnifico may find out, and all will be thoroughly ruined. You’ll be cast from a balcony, perhaps, while I am unraveled to abyssal perdition.”

“Sure.” Fernan tried to get a better read of his expression, but that was hard enough on a normal person, and something about Jethro was even more faded and dark. “You have… quite a way of speaking.”

Jethro laughed. “A recent development, if you would believe. Despite numerous lessons in etiquette and vocabulary, I never once used them. Until recently, that is. It’s an excellent way to distinguish oneself. Same reason I never lie.”

“So you say. Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. Why did you send me that note, anyway?”

“Why, to help you, of course. Poor Annette is so obviously innocent, and yet, if you fail, she shall be condemned for parricide and executed. I would be greatly displeased if that were to occur.” Jethro tilted his head back confidently, probably grinning. “You sir, are my last hope at foiling Magnifico’s plans.”

Plans. Magnifico had said he was here to negotiate a peacefully capitulation, and Duke Fouchand had been murdered before the contract could be finalized. If Jethro wanted to put a stop to that…

“You didn’t answer my question. Why? What is he doing that you can’t abide by?”

Jethro leaned lazily back against the rocks. “By now, you’ve had time to act on my letter.” Sure, ignore it again.

Maybe he really didn’t lie, considering how reluctant he seemed to be to give a straight answer. “I looked into it. Magnifico is definitely a binder; Soleil himself confirmed it. That lends some credence to what you’re saying, but… It’s not a lot to go on.”

“Ha! ‘A’ binder.” He circled his head, probably rolling his eyes. “He’s far stronger than that. Though he’d pale in comparison to the Great Binder or Queen Alice Grimoire.”

“Who?”

Jethro sighed. “The Great Binder’s daughter, of course. What better way for Harold to strengthen his claim than wedding such illustrious blood?” Was that hint of sarcasm? It was hard to tell. The way he was talking made it all sound like a jape, and yet the subject was deathly serious. Something about his whole presentation was discordant, as if he were trying to act more than convince.

“What did you mean when you said Magnifico tried to kill his son?” That was the heart of it, really. If the bard had truly done that… Help and friendliness counted for nothing, coming from a monster like that.

“Why, I meant precisely that.”

“Specifically.”

“Hmm.” Jethro stroked his clean-shaven chin. “It’s impossible to properly say without giving away who he really is. That, I think, would be premature. Perhaps after the trial.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you… I don’t even know what it is you want me to do beyond what I’m already doing. I’ll do my best to prove Annette’s innocence, no matter what. If that’s all you’re worried about, and you’re not willing to tell me anything more, then—”

“Don’t be too hasty. I can explain by way of analogy.”

Fernan raised an eyebrow.

“Take King Harold of Avalon. His son Luce received royal orders to visit Malin with great haste. The precious prince discarded all manner of anonymity and safety to take his fastest ship on a direct course. At the same time, an agent of Avalon tipped off a crew of pirates as to the course the ship would take, and its nature as a valuable royal-class vessel.”

“Your explanation is telling a different story with no proof?” Fernan shook his head.

“My sources on the matter are quite reliable. You’ll be receiving the news yourself in a matter of days. If you’ve any doubts, that should set them at ease. Keep an eye on the journal, and you’ll find that the perfect prince’s ship was found off the coast of Oxton, infested with pirates.”

“Even if that does happen, it doesn’t confirm anything now. I’m not sure that—”

“He put his son in direct danger, then refused to do anything to get him out of the way, even though the danger was his fault.” For an instant, the darkness in Jethro’s aura vanished as he flared pure red. “It simply wasn’t a priority for him, because he benefits from it. Truly solving the problem would cost him, so he doesn’t even try, no matter the consequences. Magnifico is exactly the same.”

“How, though? You’re telling me that one of the only people in this entire city to be remotely decent to me is some kind of monstrous murderer! I need more… I can’t just…” Fernan exhaled slowly, letting the fire drain from him. “You understand, right?”

Jethro’s light grew even dimmer. “I do. These truths are the hardest to hear. But that doesn’t make them any less necessary. Magnifico is not reliable. He’s duplicitous, and selfish, and he won’t balk at using you as he used everyone else in his life. It’s all a self-indulgent exercise for him, all of us mere extensions of his ego at best, obstacles at worst.” However suspect his motives, the passion in his words, the light within him curling in anger, it all felt real.

For some reason, Fernan’s mind flashed to Jerome, lying insensate on the ground after the geckos had defeated him. “You seem to know him well, if what you're saying is true.”

“I do. Better than any, perhaps. At least, of those of us who yet live.” He took a short breath, straightening his posture slightly. “Magnifico is an agent of Avalon, acting on behalf of the royal family even under an alias, miles from home. I’m essentially the same in that regard, and it’s made me very familiar with his methods.”

Fernan patted him on the shoulder lightly, not saying a word. At the point of contact, a warm orange glow radiated out, lingering even after Fernan withdrew his hand.

Jethro snapped his fingers, tilting his head up in realization. “You know, he was in Ombresse, after the Foxtrap. Harold III had dueled the Fox-King and lost his life from the wounds, the whole nation still recovering. Not two years later, Magnifico snuck into Ombresse ahead of the siege. As the hunger set in, the city joined arms in solidarity, unwilling to capitulate to their attackers. They knew the fate of Refuge, of the Foxtrap, and they would die before surrendering.

“But then word began to spread. In every tavern that hosted him, throughout the diminished excuses for markets the city could manage at the arcades, even openly in the streets as the days went on, his manipulations took root.

“‘The guild masters feast while you starve’; ‘The Duke would let you eat lamprey, if no bread remains’; ‘the Captain of the Guard says to eat your dead, if the hunger is so strong’; the Duke’s horse is better fed than any ten of us’. And slowly, bit by bit, the masses lost their resolve. In the end, the Duke was torn from his horse on a visit to the walls and mauled so thoroughly that no piece of his body remained. Eaten, according to some. The peasants stormed the walls from the inside, manned mostly by people just like them, and ripped them apart. The gates were thrown open without Avalon firing a shot, but the city burned for days.”

Fernan took a moment, gauging how best to respond. “That still sounds like it could be better than the alternative, though. Sieges are gruesome, sackings even more so.”

“Perhaps. I won’t say it isn’t. But think of it this way: would you want him in your city? Magnifico entered an Ombresse joined in brotherhood and solidarity, and left it a divided, smoldering wreck. The appetite for protracted war in Avalon was waning with the loss of their King. Another few months, and Ombresse might have retained its freedom. Instead, it’s a Territory. A possession of a nation that doesn’t spare it a second thought, contributing to naught but its decadence and decline.”

“Who you yourself work for,” Fernan couldn’t help but point out.

“I work for the royal family. And for myself. I’ve done terrible things, but never group me with those banal villains, conquering by inches in his name because it’s all that they know, without ever making a mark on the world, serving his twisted agenda because he convinced the world he’s worth following…” He trailed off, leaving no sound but the crashing of the water on the beach. “We only get one life, Fernan, and it may be far shorter than we hope for. Every day, time is running out. When you get the chance, don’t stand idly by. Make your mark, come of it what will.”

“I don’t… What do you even want me to do? Why are you telling me this?”

“To make sure that you do the right thing. I can’t be seen by him, or I’ll be recognized. Before you arrived, I thought it might truly be too late to stop him. But then, by some miracle, here you are. Given what I’ve heard about you, doing the needful shouldn’t go against your nature. But you must be ready to act.”

That, at least, wasn’t hard to agree to. “I will.”

Jethro snapped his fingers. “Oh! One more thing. You cannot allow Magnifico to die. It is absolutely vital that he lives, no matter the cost.”

Wait, what? None of that tracked with anything he’d been saying for the entire conversation! If Magnifico is truly the monster you say he is, why keep him alive?

Fernan opened his mouth to ask, but Jethro was gone.

Vanished into the darkness without a trace.