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Anders threw himself into the rites needed for the fallen King of Yanse, and his people. It would have been better if Prince Alpert could have been there, to retire the killer. To at least send him home, or into exile, instead of having him standing by, making a mockery of the entire thing. Instead, he paid nearly a hundred gold for an event that, in the end, didn’t sound that grand at all.
The Followers of the Water were able to build large fires, to rid them of the bodies, as was the custom there, and were willing to say pleasant words, to smooth things over with their god, and perhaps the restless spirits of those murdered for having the wrong blood in their veins.
In the end, before the fires could be started, the next day, he came up with a plan. It wasn’t really a big matter, being mainly illusion. A thing that would probably be gaudy and inappropriate. Still, he was in charge of the event, so worked it out with the priest of the Water, or whatever the man called himself. Brother seemed to work, though he’d never given a personal name at all.
Everyone seemed to be avoiding him while he worked, which, oddly, Farad thought he understood. It was what he’d have done in the same place, and was, with some of the others. Those who had been in the battles were all on edge and seemed either angry or nearly too tired to go on. Of all the magic users, only Depak and Hoatha were immune to that, with Prince Erold holding up better than the rest. Salina was being very quiet but throwing herself into building things outside the city, to practice. Grand palaces and a small walled compound, that didn’t seem to have a real purpose.
It was lovely, however. A thing that made Anders smile, when he finally got over to see it. The workmanship was flawless, as far as he could tell. It had running water and proper indoor toilets, of a kind that he’d only seen in Barquea. The walls were covered with complex patterns, even in the dwellings that seemed to be designed for soldiers. The rooms for the servants were easily three times the space that Anders had at home, even. He was touring the place, on his own, when he ran into her, and managed to smile. She didn’t do it back, but after a few moments she waved at him.
“I was thinking that those sent by King Mathias could stay here? It’s not too far from the proper castle, without being them having to stay in the walls of that place, if they don’t wish to.”
She glanced at the walls, not looking at him at all.
“Ah? It’s wonderful. Very well done, in fact. I’ll need you to show me how to do what you have here with the privies. I have the basic idea, and some spells for it, but not everything.”
She simply snorted at him, and winked. It was the first playful thing he’d seen since the last battle.
“I can do that. Finally, I get to know something you haven’t already mastered? That’s fun, isn’t it? There’s to be a funeral, later?”
He nodded, since the time was closing in for that, already. There was a field, about a mile from the castle, that was prepared for that.
“I need to get ready for it, in fact. You should attend, with the others? I know, it’s a grim task, and I at least won’t be welcome, but...”
She closed her eyes.
“It’s cowardly of me, but I’m tempted to hide from it. I’ll be there though, ready to be attacked and reviled for my part in this. So far... Well, no one has tried to speak to me, other than a few of the soldiers, asking if I was available to take trade.” Her words were dry, but her lips quirked. “I was very surprised when I learned what they really meant by that. They were all polite, when I explained that I was here for magic, not for that. A few tried to give me gifts instead, which is always nice to have. Flowers and some pretty stones?”
“Ah? That... I think that must be part of being a woman, truly. Men have to try to marry and all that, and women do the selecting. That’s me ignoring the first portion. I don’t know what to do about that. Probably nothing. I mean, they asked if you were open to trade that way. They didn’t force you or even insist more than is normal?”
She glared at him, but smiled at the end of the moment.
“No, that’s true, they didn’t. I’m simply not used to being put to such questions, so openly. At any rate, I’m fine, which I think is what you were really asking of me?”
He nodded, not actually being able to care. Still, he pretended to, which had to be nearly as good, in the moment.
“Now, I need to change. My clothing. To tidy and then meditate, before the rite takes place. I have some small illusions planned. I hope it’s taken well.”
Again, he didn’t hope that at all, but the words tumbled out anyway. Even if they were lies.
She simply pointed at an open door.
“Use the side room? I need to work up some furnishings for this place. It’s going to... Take a few days, I think. Maybe more than that. Do you have any idea when we’re going back? I...”
He understood.
“I’d like to leave as well. Nothing against the people here, but I keep thinking that they’re going to turn on me at any moment. Not that I can blame them. They hear my name and have to assume that their son, or nephew died at my hand. Possibly their daughter or husband.”
The woman simply nodded, her face gentle. Almost sad.
“I keep seeing the faces of the poor men I killed. It was at war and had to be done, but I would wish for a better way.”
He would too, if it could make a difference at all.
Walking into the other room, he found a large tub there, a pool under a waterfall. The water was cold, but refreshing, so he cleaned himself with a spell, then washed, since it was familiar to him and left him feeling cleaner, for some strange reason. Then he dried with more magic, using an old spell variation that took water from his skin.
“Andersana lod wo, ere ot neg, fen ot...” He didn’t have to wait too long, streamers of liquid moving from his skin to the small washing pool, since that drained constantly. The ring of stone was interesting and decorative, while seeming very natural in certain aspects.
The water in the air twisted a bit, writhing around the others of its kind, joining into one, at the end point. When nothing more came off of him, he ended the spell.
“Fen.”
Then he cleaned the rest of the way, and dressed himself again, in rich looking velvet and silk, all in black, that being the color of death there in Yanse.
It was in Istlan, as well. Interestingly, the color for that was white, in Barquea. In Modroc, it was red, or so he thought. He looked fine, probably. He combed his short hair, but didn’t have a looking glass, and wouldn’t know how to use it for that purpose if one was on the wall. His hair was straight, and not in the way. That was enough, for him.
When he went out, Salina was gone, so he walked the near mile down the main road, to the field where the bodies had already been placed on large piles of logs. The gray sky started to drop water on them, which he ignored, since that wouldn’t be important to him. No one was watching him, so he bowed, toward the pyres, one by one. There were twenty-seven of them, matching the number of the dead from the execution, the day before. Plus, one for the remains of the King. What they could scrape up of that.
“I’m sorry. I wish things could have been different.” He meant that, at least for most of the people. He didn’t feel bad about King Yarler at all, of course. The man had probably wanted to die. It wasn’t lost on him that the man had gone for the Warbow, who he knew for a fact had killed large portions of his army, in his own person.
If he’d gone for Prince Erold, the guards would have reacted instantly. By going for him, they’d paused, instead of grabbing Yarler, before he could stand up. Not that Erold wouldn’t have been able to make him explode. He’d killed many in battle as well. They all had done their part. Anders had done more, but that was fitting. He didn’t need his friends to be like he was. A monster unfit to be with others.
As dusk began to fall, people started to show up. The priest and his ten helpers were already there, but men and women riding on horses and in carriages arrived, before those on foot did. Then the public came, each dressed in their nicest clothing, cleaned and tidied as well as possible, with at least a bit of black showing.
When Prince Erold arrived, with the other mages of Istlan and Barquea, they rode in a brown carriage, with three others following. Behind them were at least a thousand soldiers, marching in time with one another. The act was impressive, even if they looked dingy and hard used.
That went away, since he had a plan for that. Honestly, he hadn’t figured that anyone would be coming at all, so he copied an illusion that he’d seen once, with some small changes. Illian Darca had covered a larger group of men with the seemings of large green monsters. Anders simply made the men look tidy, in red and black uniforms, with gleaming metal on their heads, all matching, even if most didn’t have helm at all. Originally, he’d been planning to make a fake army march up, having forgotten the knights, totally.
The knights were made to shine, their painted armors made brighter and without dent, when he could manage it. It was a lot to hold at once, but he managed it. At the same time, there was a sound of mighty horns, playing as if from the very hillsides, miles away. It was loud enough that everyone noticed it happening, with many of them turning to look that direction, as they lined up or got out of their fine carriages.
Anders nearly lost the entire illusion when the group in the last carriage in the line got out. There were two men and two women. The fellows looked decently fit, with a nice amount of muscle all over their tan bodies. He could tell, because they appeared to be wearing only underpants. That and short cloaks which weren’t at all warm enough for the environment they were in. The clothing was bright, being red and deep turquoise in color.
The women were, at least in proper dresses, which went all the way to their ankles. They were in bright colors as well, though more of those. The only issue that Anders had at all was that they ladies, one old enough to have gray hair, the other likely no older than Salina, both had their breasts pressed up from underneath and totally exposed.
All of them had rather tall, fairly decorative, headdresses on. Bedecked with dangling beads and in a few cases, bright feathers.
He had to block them out, totally, to focus on his plans.
A slow and mournful song started to play, coming from the distance again. Without him having to motion to the man, the hired priest moved forward and began to speak, his voice loud, but calm, at the same time.
“Oh Lord of the Waters, take your good servants to your embrace, for they are good and worthy of such. Please allow them the rest they deserve and in turn, keep them from the strife that this world once held for them.” He went on.
For a rather long time. Finally, he waved to the fires, which wouldn’t light, the rain they all stood in making that too difficult. It was hard to hold the music and the images over the fighting men, as well as dry the wood at the same time, but he did it, and then, before he could risk the whole thing collapsing, Daren and Jeld, both in uniforms of black, moved from pyre to pyre. They bowed, going low at each one, and lit it, using covert hand signs.
They were so covert about it that it was hard to tell they were the ones doing the magic. As the fires grew, so did the music, which seemed to come closer, as if an invisible band was marching toward them. As the fires burned, they all stood there, as night fell, waiting.
It was hard to make up new music, all of it having to sound sad and slow. Everything he’d done before, all of it, was totally wrong for the venue of the moment.
Still, after six hours, in the middle of the night, the soldiers were led away. They were followed by the knights, who had the people from the city, in their thousands, behind them. Marching, nearly, as if part of the official happening there.
The Fellows of the Water stayed, and planned to, well into the next day, until the last of the fires went cold. Then they’d collect the bones that remained, and place them with care in the crypt below the castle. Rather, the servants would do that, after they were delivered. The music played on, since they had Princes still in attendance, not having left yet. Princesses as well. Also, the mainly naked people, who had to be freezing, in their strange and revealing clothing.
Anders dried himself, since the work of the last hours had left him covered in sweat, and breathing hard. Moving only to holding the music was a relief. When he was clean again, a thing done covertly, he moved to the remaining people, instead of standing away and behind where the priest had spoken from. His goal was to go and stand by Hoatha and Daren, as well as the others he knew there, but he was summoned instead, with a wave, by one of the ladies in the strange dresses.
The younger one, who locked eyes with him, rather firmly.
“You are the one called Anders Brolly?”
He bowed, hoping they weren’t going to fight. If so, the lady had the advantage over him. After all, he was going to be distracted by her, no matter what he did. As it was, he had to focus his mind enough, using the music for that, to probably seem rude.
“I am. I fear I don’t have your name, yet, Miss?”
“Nona Hethdrinia. I’m the Ambassador to this place, from Minoa, across the great sea.” She waved, to the east, so that he’d get the idea. He vaguely recognized the name of the place, from having seen maps, but that was all.
“So nice to meet you, Ambassador Hethdrinia.” He had a feeling he was supposed to say more, but nothing came to mind. No one walked over to bail him out, either.
The woman smiled at him, her face damp, from the rain. The cold seemed to bother her, and the rest of her group, so Anders muttered a spell to warm the air around them, not considering that it might be rude to do that without asking first. Thankfully, one of the men nodded to him and smiled.
It took work to do that, but not as much as holding a thousand illusions. That really hadn’t been as hard as all of that, since it was really only five illusions, made to look like a thousand men, some horses and men in armor. Still, it hadn’t been much fun to hold for six hours.
The Ambassador, with the strange and foreign name, dipped her head to him.
“Would you be available, in the morning, for a consultation? I fear my husband is ill with some difficulties. They happen in travel, but your friend Hoatha suggested that I ask after you for such matters?”
That was interesting, but he nodded. Ganges could have seen to it himself, and probably done a better job of it, but for some reason had sent them to Anders. That could mean almost anything, of course. Hoatha, Ganges, was almost certainly seeing things that were totally outside of what Anders or Farad would be able to understand, lacking context and exposure to similar things.
Still, leaving the man in pain or discomfort wasn’t a good thing to do, so he nodded.
“Are you at the castle here?” He hadn’t seen them there, or heard of strange, mainly naked, people being there, either. Then, if the king you were visiting died, and you couldn’t flee back home, staying out of sight might be a very good idea.
Especially if others, of unknown intent, had marched and then made the man’s head and upper body explode.
The lady, her accent rather thick and odd, with a lilt that spoke of certain letters not being used in her own tongue, closed her eyes, and held the move.
“That is correct. You will come?”
“Of course. At first light, if I can gain entry? That isn’t assured, of course.” It wasn’t his home and there was no other reason for him to be going there, other than to see to some, hopefully, basic healing. Loose bowels or an aching middle.
The words had the woman turning away then, clearly dismissing him, by not paying any attention to him after that. Different places had different ways, so he simply walked over to his friends, who were milling around a bit, moisture not falling on them, as long as they stayed near Depak Sona. There was an invisible dome over him, about ten paces across, that shed the rain, off to the sides. The edge of that space was pretty damp, but after he pressed through the curtain of water, he was fine again. The pyres hissed, but stayed hot enough to consume the bodies.
There was a scent, like roast pig, in the air. Worse, after hours of holding magics, he was hungry. The idea left him feeling ill, but didn’t keep his middle from growling. It was loud enough that several of the others looked at him, as if he were being a true monster, responding to the burning corpses like that.
Still, half an hour later, the other people started to leave. Prince Erold simply waited though, even as the night wore on, with no one to see what they were doing. It wasn’t until a very long time later, as the sky began to grow light, that he and the others climbed into their carriages, to go back to where they were staying. Anders simply walked away, working out his own anti-rain spell, as he did that, heading toward the castle, since there was a man there, in discomfort.
He honestly expected to be turned away from the gate, but the guards there both straightened, and nodded to him.
“Master Brolly.” They moved out of his way, as he waved in their direction, trying not to seem like he was about to fall asleep on his feet.
At the door, the same thing happened, as if he belonged there. He was called by name, the soldiers acting as if it was only natural for him to be allowed entrance. Inside, there were men stationed in every hallway and large space. He simply stopped and smiled at one of the men.
“I need Ambassador Hethdrinia’s space? Her husband seems to have fallen ill.”
The man didn’t ask who he meant, at least.
“North wing. All the fine types not from here are in that direction. I don’t know which room specifically, but I did hear that one of them was sick.” He pointed, hopefully in the right direction.
There were more guards, but Anders helped himself, simply following the sounds of moaning. A low thing, that seemed pained. Enough so that he felt mildly annoyed no one had called for him earlier. Feeling like he should have done this the day before, he found the correct door, a very nicely carved and brightly painted picture of a forest, in greens and browns, with the occasional bit of red and blue, he knocked. That took place several times, before one of the men from the day before opened it, smiling hugely.
“Fovin? Netha vorin. Vorin!”
It was a language Anders had never heard before, but he could make out from the waving that he was invited in. It was just the man on the door, who had clearly been tending to the other, who was on a large, comfortable seeming bed, in wet clothing, hair and face drenched with sweat.
On the good side, the man had clearly been given water. There was a pitcher on the tall table next to the bed, with a pillow there, on the floor. Also a cup, next to the water. Anders simply moved over to the man, fearing the red fever or other ailment. A thing he didn’t know how to handle at all.
Instead of that, when he dropped into a trance and touched him with his mind, the answer was very different. It took him a while to understand what he was looking at, since he searched for signs of infection and swelling, as well as inflammation, first. Heat in the head, which wasn’t there, for instance. It wasn’t until he turned his attention to the man’s middle, that he was able to work it out.
There, inside of him, were thousands of tiny creatures. Worms, or something like them, moving and attacking the man, from the inside out. Just enough to cause great pain though, not kill him. After the wave of nausea passed, Anders looked around, found an empty chamber pot and brought it near the bed. Then he focused on the man, who was a bit older, and writhing enough that it was going to be hard to pull the creatures from inside of him. Then, the man was shifting, not running away at full speed.
He took a deep breath.
“Hom denut li bestle uffa, lod ere ot ere, fen ot...”
It took half a moment for the tiny creatures to pass through the flesh of the prone man, and pointing to cause them to float into the clay chamber pot. That vessel, fired and glossy blue on the outside, with a faded rough texture to it, filled with writhing white things. The other man, not expecting what was happening, had to move back and visibly fought becoming violently ill. Anders could feel that for himself, but focused harder, to prevent that.
For nearly ten minutes, he traced out where the things were, inside of the man. Then he took them out, the receptacle rapidly filling, dangerously close to the top. It was so disgusting he nearly had to stop, before all the things were gone. As it was, he had to set the first chamber pot on the floor and grab the other one, without releasing the spell. That one was filled a little less than half way, the man on the bed still moaning, and visibly thinner across the middle.
There was more work to do, but first, since nothing was coming out any longer, through the wall of the stomach, Anders nodded.
“Fen.”
Then he had to fix the internal damage. Swelling, pain and inflammation had to be taken away, as well. Those three things were almost a constant, with illness and injury, Anders noticed. There were some things that he’d treated with only those concepts, which had helped people greatly and allowed them to heal. Since the internal damage wasn’t going to kill the man, even if it was a raw mess, inside, he didn’t heal the convoluted internal structures. That could lead to scarring or taxing the man too much, given his stressed state.
Not wanting to touch the pots again, he picked the full one up, as the man on the bed start to try and sit up. Anders had to set the pot down, and press the mainly naked man back down, smiling.
“You’re still injured. Stay here and lie down?”
The man got the idea, it seemed, if not the words.
Then, causing the chamber pots to float, he wandered out into the castle, not being stopped by any of the guards there, seeking a back entrance, so that he could dump the disgusting things. It took about twenty minutes, and even then, he wouldn’t have managed it at all, if he hadn’t happened upon a rather sleepy looking page, sitting in an alcove. A rather familiar one.
So, he smiled.
“Page Walden? I could use a bit of help, if you have some time?”
The boy hopped up, seeming ready to work, even if he did glance at the floating pots, first.
“What do you have there? Some kind of... noodles?”
Wincing, Anders shook his head.
“Not at all. No, these are worms, taken from the body of Ambassador Hethdrinia’s husband. Want to look?” It was disgusting, but the kid peek in, moving closer.
“Ew. So, you need to dump these?”
“Exactly. I’m not sure where to go with them, though. Some kind of garbage pile or something, that won’t ever be used at fertilizer for food?”
The kid, seeming friendly enough, waved for him to follow.
“I know the right spot for that. A healer came and took them out? I... Our healers all ran away, when you Istlan folks came. That’s a lot of worms. They were inside of him?”
Anders walked, the floating containers in front of him, holding pace with him perfectly.
“Right. He still needs to heal, but I couldn’t speak with him, not knowing the language. Could you get with the kitchen and ask for him to be sent only gentle foods? Mush and unspiced things. Mashed and cooked soft fruits? His middle will hurt for a while.”
The kid was making good time, walking with a purpose, his purple and gold fringed uniform top looking pretty official. Anders was in black still, being the same outfit he’d worn to the funeral.
Walden paused, to open a large door, letting them move into the space behind the castle proper. It was a large and nicely arranged flower garden. The door was closed carefully behind them, before the kid spoke.
“I can arrange that. With the food? My mother works in the kitchen. She isn’t high up or anything, but it’s a pretty good job. We’re lucky, being taken in here, after Father died, two years ago. I mean, do you get to live in a castle?” There was a jesting tone to the words, which carried, even across languages.
“I do, oddly enough. It’s a little bit like with you. My mother is... Well, technically she’s a spy. My father, I’m a bastard, so I didn’t have a father, growing up. I know the man, and it wasn’t his choice, but that’s not a great thing, in Istlan.”
The boy glanced at him, but wasn’t sneering or seeming mean at the news. Not even a bit.
“That’s to the shame of the mother and father, not the child. We don’t really look down on anyone for that. Still, they didn’t send you away or anything? That’s not too bad. I wouldn’t have the life that I do, if King Yarler hadn’t told them to get my mother in here. The head butler asked for that.” He sighed then. “That will change now. The new Regent will bring his own staff and I’ll have to figure out how to get coin for my mother and I. That... I’m too young for a real job. I don’t know what to do, really.”
The boy didn’t slow his pace, until they got to a large hole in the ground, that was deep and filled with various rotting things. The perfect place for the contents of the pots. They were dumped in, by hand, and then the last few worms removed with magic, the younger boy smiling at him.
“I know, I should learn magic like that. Those types, the ones who can do that are all rich. It’s hard to get training though. I have the basic gift, but even living here I can’t make that happen. How did you learn?”
Anders thought about that for a second, then moved back, toward the castle, having some pots to return.
“You know, I got really lucky. I was put in as a room servant for a magician, from Barquea. He taught me some things, and I was able to keep learning more, after that. Now I teach people that kind of thing, part of the time.” He shrugged then. “I can show you some things? Enough to get you started. I might have to leave at any time, but even learning a little is a start.”
Walden simply gave him a serious look.
“I don’t have a lot of coin. None, really.”
“That’s fine. I don’t charge anyone for that, as long as they try hard to learn. If you’ll do that, I’ll teach you what I can.”
They both agreed to that, which was more work for Anders, but nothing he couldn’t do.