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Nov. 15th, 2013 08:50 pmNeph sighed as he settled into the steaming bath. As much as he hated being one of the few Circle members with brains and morals, he did enjoy his toilet. The bath was fed from the Akademy's private aquifer, heated by a furnace that consumed dragon stone.
Right now he was indulging in spiced oils from Vainfar, his hair carefully wrapped and held high out of the scented water. His familiar, Sweetheart, warbled cheerily at him from her perch. She was a beautiful little thing, a song bird from the southern islands. While she wasn't much to look at, she had the most amazing voice.
"Why do you send me to shadow Zeke, when you have her to report back to you?" Andria muttered, glaring at Sweetheart.
"Sweetheart can tell me what was said, but she doesn't see everything you do my dear. Now, when Zeke left Vainfar, what was his demeanor?"
Andria sighed. "He was better, still tired, but happy, cheerful, optimistic. I still can't believe he did it."
Neph arched a brow. "Which part? That he would haul a legendary weapon from the ages half way across the continent while it slowly killed him, or that he would turn it into a cook pot?" Neph wanted to be scandalized. When word got around, as it was bound to do, there would be Wizards and Lords alike wanting Zeke strung up and beaten for the offense.
Instead Neph felt tired. Incredibly tired. He could follow Zeke's thoughts like an arrow loosed from the bow.
"That he kept the thing instead of giving it away to the first person offering a mountain of gold!" Andria's voice was shrill and disgusted.
Neph blinked at her, honestly surprised that she failed to understand Zeke so much, after so long trailing his shadow. "You're a bard. Have you never listened to your own tales? That would have gotten him and everyone around him in a lot of trouble in any story."
"This is real life, no tale to be sung over the fire. He could have power and clout and a place of safety for himself and Decimate. All for the price of one artifact that even now could be killing him."
A good deal of the metal had gone into that cookpot, enough that Zeke wouldn't be in constant contact with it. He might survive the drain of the hammer and staff. Neph wouldn't bet on any other Wizard, Zeke had a way of skewing the odds.
"Zeke doesn't care about safety. He's never been safe. I doubt he really understands the concept in application to himself. For Decimate perhaps, but Zeke will trust anyone else with Decimate's care. Never. Power and clout are fleeting, they're something that can be taken away. Zeke won't put stock in anything but himself." Neph shook his head wearily and sank further into the tub.
He hoped he had time to come up with something before Zeke returned. He needed to run interference. He needed something, anything, that would keep the pair from being raked over the hell coals.
Lord of the Land Vilthen Bexdri stared at his family holdings and tried to make a decision. He was getting older, nearing the dusk of his life. He had fifteen families beholden to the house and main properties. He had over eighty serfs, a village, trading concessions and allies to worry about and care for. He would die with work undone and responsibilities to pass on but he had no heir to take over.
Once, he'd groomed a son for the position. He'd been careful not to show favoritism, he'd protected through seeming ignorance. From a childhood of hard work and sufferance, his heir would know how the common people lived, he would be empathetic to their plight, he would care for them and not take his title for granted.
Growing up under the harsh glares of his wife, the boy would have known to pick his women carefully. he'd have taken the bullying as a lesson to watch his steps, guard his back, be wary of others with power who used and abused it.
Vence would have been his perfect choice.
Vilthen had been prepared to announce his bastard child as his chosen successor when the boy was of an age to start taking over the Land's duties.
Vence died, and in his heart, Vilthen could not place another in the role.
"You have nephews. I have nephews. You have plenty of strapping and strong shoulders to take up your burdens. Your legacy will live on in the land." Rasira reminded him.
He gave her a long, cold look until she glared at him and left his library in a swirl of silk. She was getting bolder, following him into his private rooms now.
She thought he didn't care for her sons, the children she'd struggled so hard to rear and nearly died to birth. She hated him, because he'd never given love and attention to her favored Landier, or relegated time and attention to Zeke.
He couldn't. They were not his children, no matter the lies Rasira spun about their conceptions. Vilthen had no magic in his blood, not in all the ancestors to touch the Land. Nor, though she mourned the lack, did Rasira, for he'd chosen her partially for her blood lines.
Who had fathered them, he couldn't be certain. He suspected a few if their lordling 'friends' of indiscretion, but at the end of the day he didn't care enough to confront her with the deception.
Wizards could not be Lords. Rasira had damned the boys herself, they were no concern of Vilthen's.
Right now he was indulging in spiced oils from Vainfar, his hair carefully wrapped and held high out of the scented water. His familiar, Sweetheart, warbled cheerily at him from her perch. She was a beautiful little thing, a song bird from the southern islands. While she wasn't much to look at, she had the most amazing voice.
"Why do you send me to shadow Zeke, when you have her to report back to you?" Andria muttered, glaring at Sweetheart.
"Sweetheart can tell me what was said, but she doesn't see everything you do my dear. Now, when Zeke left Vainfar, what was his demeanor?"
Andria sighed. "He was better, still tired, but happy, cheerful, optimistic. I still can't believe he did it."
Neph arched a brow. "Which part? That he would haul a legendary weapon from the ages half way across the continent while it slowly killed him, or that he would turn it into a cook pot?" Neph wanted to be scandalized. When word got around, as it was bound to do, there would be Wizards and Lords alike wanting Zeke strung up and beaten for the offense.
Instead Neph felt tired. Incredibly tired. He could follow Zeke's thoughts like an arrow loosed from the bow.
"That he kept the thing instead of giving it away to the first person offering a mountain of gold!" Andria's voice was shrill and disgusted.
Neph blinked at her, honestly surprised that she failed to understand Zeke so much, after so long trailing his shadow. "You're a bard. Have you never listened to your own tales? That would have gotten him and everyone around him in a lot of trouble in any story."
"This is real life, no tale to be sung over the fire. He could have power and clout and a place of safety for himself and Decimate. All for the price of one artifact that even now could be killing him."
A good deal of the metal had gone into that cookpot, enough that Zeke wouldn't be in constant contact with it. He might survive the drain of the hammer and staff. Neph wouldn't bet on any other Wizard, Zeke had a way of skewing the odds.
"Zeke doesn't care about safety. He's never been safe. I doubt he really understands the concept in application to himself. For Decimate perhaps, but Zeke will trust anyone else with Decimate's care. Never. Power and clout are fleeting, they're something that can be taken away. Zeke won't put stock in anything but himself." Neph shook his head wearily and sank further into the tub.
He hoped he had time to come up with something before Zeke returned. He needed to run interference. He needed something, anything, that would keep the pair from being raked over the hell coals.
Lord of the Land Vilthen Bexdri stared at his family holdings and tried to make a decision. He was getting older, nearing the dusk of his life. He had fifteen families beholden to the house and main properties. He had over eighty serfs, a village, trading concessions and allies to worry about and care for. He would die with work undone and responsibilities to pass on but he had no heir to take over.
Once, he'd groomed a son for the position. He'd been careful not to show favoritism, he'd protected through seeming ignorance. From a childhood of hard work and sufferance, his heir would know how the common people lived, he would be empathetic to their plight, he would care for them and not take his title for granted.
Growing up under the harsh glares of his wife, the boy would have known to pick his women carefully. he'd have taken the bullying as a lesson to watch his steps, guard his back, be wary of others with power who used and abused it.
Vence would have been his perfect choice.
Vilthen had been prepared to announce his bastard child as his chosen successor when the boy was of an age to start taking over the Land's duties.
Vence died, and in his heart, Vilthen could not place another in the role.
"You have nephews. I have nephews. You have plenty of strapping and strong shoulders to take up your burdens. Your legacy will live on in the land." Rasira reminded him.
He gave her a long, cold look until she glared at him and left his library in a swirl of silk. She was getting bolder, following him into his private rooms now.
She thought he didn't care for her sons, the children she'd struggled so hard to rear and nearly died to birth. She hated him, because he'd never given love and attention to her favored Landier, or relegated time and attention to Zeke.
He couldn't. They were not his children, no matter the lies Rasira spun about their conceptions. Vilthen had no magic in his blood, not in all the ancestors to touch the Land. Nor, though she mourned the lack, did Rasira, for he'd chosen her partially for her blood lines.
Who had fathered them, he couldn't be certain. He suspected a few if their lordling 'friends' of indiscretion, but at the end of the day he didn't care enough to confront her with the deception.
Wizards could not be Lords. Rasira had damned the boys herself, they were no concern of Vilthen's.
