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The poorly lit chamber always made Sorin feel as if the world around him were closing in. He had never been comfortable in the stuffy room, and he desperately wished his mother had joined them rather than retiring to her rooms. The council members took their respective seats and remained silent and solemn. The old man sitting across from him was just as dark and drab as the council’s chamber. Anselem had always seemed old to Sorin, ever since he first saw him in one of his father’s secret meetings at the warehouse. Even as a child Sorin thought there was something different about his father’s most trusted advisor. Not that Anselem was a bad man. Despite his appearance, he had quite the jolly temperament.
Anselem raised a hand to address the men around the table. He had been his father’s oldest and closest friend, and appeared grief stricken now. Perhaps Sorin was not the only one eager to grieve in the privacy of his own rooms.
Anselem spoke, “Fellow councilmen, we begin this meeting with heavy hearts. King Allerick is gone, and in his place, his only son steps into the light. To carry on his legacy will be no easy task. But know this, King Sorin, we will be by your side every step of the way.” He choked on his words and cleared his throat before continuing, “We were with your father before the uprising when the people needed us, and just as we were then, will be with you now.” He took a deep breath as he stood and bowed to Sorin. “My hope is that you will trust us as he did.”
Sorin knew this was the part where he should say something regal and inspiring. Instead, all he could muster was a “Thank you.” He needed to get out of this room, away from all these worried eyes. How could he do this? How could his father leave him so soon and so unprepared? Sorin fought against the bile rising in his throat when another man spoke.
He knew this massive man with a hard-set jaw as well as he had known his own father. General Tyrell was Asterion’s military commander. He was also the father of Sorin’s closest friend, Sir Bronimir. Sorin and Bron had spent their adolescent years in the training yard with the other soldiers until they were old enough to take the oath with the rest of the Mortal Knights.
The man standing before him now was as hard and unmoving as he had been during Sorin’s training. General Tyrell was a gallant but terrifying man and made Sorin feel like he was the same twelve-year-old boy who had been thrown into the dirt and tossed a sword all those years ago. He felt small and unworthy in the general’s presence, something he would need to overcome as King.
General Tyrell’s voice bellowed loudly, “Now that we have that out of the way, we need to get to the matter at hand.”
Straight to the point as usual, Sorin thought with a bitter laugh.
General Tyrell continued with his grave demeanor, “Trade routes to the east in the Living Sea are experiencing trouble in the waters. What was once a tale told by the old drunk sailors seems to be turning into something more substantial.”
The others looked skeptical, but Sorin was careful to keep a neutral face. Best not to react until he had heard the rest. He had spent enough time at the docks to have heard stories of Sirens and the occasional Bake-Kuijra, a vengeful spirit who took the form of a skeletal whale. These creatures had mostly kept to themselves with only the rare run-in with Asterion trader ships.
General Tyrell went on before anyone could voice their reaction, “Eleven. Eleven ships have been lost in the last two months. Merchants are refusing to set sail again until I have dispatched arms. Even worse, claims of a murderous mist have come in. Even a leviathan attack for Mother’s sake. If these claims hold any sort of truth, and I am inclined to believe that they do, then how are my men to fight against it? Against magical creatures?”
The air grew tense as Sorin waited to see who would speak out first. He knew it was coming at the mere mention of magic: the narrow-minded, fear-fueled words that would inevitably follow.
Cerwin spoke first. Shocker, Fancy Pants has an opinion. Sorin leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, and stormy blue eyes focused on the young councilman.
“You’ll find a way, General.”
General Tyrell stood, towering over the man, ever the fierce warrior that Sorin knew from childhood. “The chaos headed toward our shores is something my men have never faced. I have been around long enough to know magic when I hear it. That is a power that my men cannot fight on their own. I will not send good soldiers into battle without something to even the playing field.”
“Pah!” the gruff, bearded man beside Sorin huffed. Larken was a wise North Skagan man that his father had met in a gambling house before the rebellion. The mountain man now oversaw the Guilds. He was the connection between the builders, farmers, masons, and the like. “I know where this is going. You seek magic to counter the darkness spreading in Asterion. What you are suggesting is madness. To use magic against an enemy we don’t even understand yet?” His face was turning red, “Have you forgotten what the Magi did to this country? Sorcerers torching the homes of humans who could not pay that old idiot Idor’s taxes? Magi will not be controlled; it is not in their nature. They will always thirst for more power, it is inevitable.”
Sorin could not listen to any more of this. These men had come up in an age when Magi were revered by the old king and valued over mortal men. It was true that Sorcerers used power to their advantage, but how easily the councilmen forgot the Hedge Witches who had offered healing in the smaller villages. Or the Mages who kept enemies from the northern shores, who prevented both magical and non-magical attacks on the borders for ages.
It was time for Sorin to step in. He would need to take his place in this sooner or later. One thing he was certain of was that he would make his time on the throne count, no matter how much time that might be. His father had stood up for the common man, but who would he stand for?
Sorin threw a silencing hand up. “Enough. If there is a chance that we can stop this mess from spreading, from hurting anyone else, then we owe it to all of Asterion to explore that option. This land is rooted in magic. It has been from the time that The Mother created it. There is no denying the strength of that power and how it could be of use to us now.”
He knew he needed the council’s support on this. His father had put this band of men together to keep Asterion’s ruling class in check. Sorin had no plans of upsetting that balance, but he also would not stand by while they let their fears control their better judgment.
“My son speaks true gentlemen.” Queen Evelyn was standing in the doorway, flanked by her personal guard. She had a hint of pride in her smile as she regarded Sorin. She was dressed in a black velvet gown now with a veil pulled back and away from her face. She must have slipped away to change into her mourning attire while the council settled in, her own show of respect amid all her responsibilities.
She entered the chamber, pushing past a baffled Cerwin. Though Sorin’s mother had always played a role in ruling at her husband’s side, it was not common for her to be at these meetings. She ignored the indignant stares and spread a large map on the table. It was a map of Asterion, a new version that had just been drafted. Sorin noticed smears of ink; signs that it had been drafted recently, then rolled in a hurry. What stood out immediately was that what had once been open sea to the east was now an area shaded in gray, covering almost the entire trade route to Sagon, their biggest ally and trade partner. Sorin thought it must be the area where ships were being attacked.
Sorin, however, was surprised to see that northern Asterion was shaded as well in the Raven Wood, covering part of Brenmar Lake and stopping just at the Winter Palace.
“What is the meaning of this?” Cerwin asked, though Sorin knew they all had a good guess at the answer.
He could feel the dread creeping in as he voiced his thoughts out loud. “It’s not just fisherman tales or random attacks, is it?” It was a blight. On sea and on land. Something sinister was setting in toward the Asterion harbour. Worse, it seemed to be spreading down toward the villages between Brenmar and Aramoor, where Sorin and his father’s court resided in the Summer Palace. His heart sank at the thought of all those families. Those villages were the heart and backbone of their Asterion, providing the country with crops and livestock.
His mother cut in, “There have been whispers amongst the help regarding animal attacks in the north near Brenmar. Creatures are straying from the forest and, worse, a dense, dark fog has appeared over the lake, black as night. It is the same description as what is being spotted on the trade strait. Fresh water is turning sour in the wells, and crops are withering in the fields.”
Sorin was horrified, “Why are we just now hearing of this?”
“When the reports first started coming in, your father suspected dark magic, but wanted to be sure before sharing his fears with the people. He worried that word of this would cause discord in the towns toward any remaining Magi. The moment word gets out, fear will spread, and old wounds will be reopened.”
Sorin understood his father’s reasoning, but it had left them with little time or preparation for what they were now facing. “If it is dark magic, then the general is right, and our army doesn’t stand a chance. If this is the work of Dark Magi who are powerful enough to cause a blight, then that means either the relic is not working anymore, or they are more powerful than it is.” So many scenarios were running through his mind, he needed time to think.
He thought back to the History of Magic books his father had him pore through. Dark magic was dangerous, volatile, and required a great deal of sacrifice. It was powerful but it was also unnatural. Any form of magic required a great deal of balance and respect. Asterion had been formed from natural magic that drew power from nature and the divine. If the land was suffering now, then it needed to be defended. If the books were right, then they would need a Magi connected to Asterion, one who could wield its power in its defense.
His mother said what he was thinking. “We need a Magi to help. We need a Druid, someone from one of the ancient bloodlines that are believed to be the first of the Magi kind. If your father’s research is correct, then we need a champion born from the breast of Asterion. They would be our only hope.”
Sorin pinched the bridge of his nose as his headache returned. To track down one person in an entire continent from a lost bloodline... It was insane. And once they did, there would be the matter of convincing that person to abandon everything for a seemingly impossible quest. From the looks on the councilmens’ faces, they shared his doubts.
Sorin groaned. So, this is what it’s like to be King.