Equimancer's Realm

  “Let alone the amount of electricka that can be produced by the Steamheart. We can bring progress to the smallest villages of the Realm without any problems now,” Andarian shouted.

  The others ooohed and aaahed. Dax looked up.

  “So how new is this invention?”

  “Brand new, they just started using it.”

  “They willingly part with their newest invention. Out of the goodness of their hearts. That doesn’t sound much like Kronurians,” Nocturnia shared Dax’ suspicions.

  “I was just about to explain. The Steamheart runs on embermoss. Much to their regret, embermoss is exclusive to the Realm, so they need to offer us a good deal to get our coveted resource.

  As the icing on the cake, I’m certain that the Government will consent to the building of a continent-wide steamcarriage-network in the Fire Tunnels now,” Andarian smiled.

  “This is unbelievable. Apart from the apparent advantages, can you imagine the number of new workers this will need? Thousands of unemployed will have paying jobs. Unbelievable,” Nocturnia said with bliss.

  “Just imagine; once the other continents start using steamcarriages, we will have to supply the whole World with embermoss. Our economy will be booming,” enthused Zabarius.

  “We can lower all kinds of taxes,” added Nocturnia.

  “It will take care of the poor, especially the ones living in the Belly. If they are willing to co-operate, of course.

  Dax, please pay a visit to your friend, Belisar in the near future. And to demonstrate the official nature of your meeting, take Noc with you,” Andarian chuckled at the look on her face. Dax nodded.

  “Gods bless the Kronurians.”

  Andarian popped the cork of a bottle of Cadentian Sparkle and poured for all four of them.

  Azurian-Lunarian Waterways

  The procession of Royal Barges was a sight to behold. Twelve of the aquatic vehicles designed by Croesus Summerwind were tied together and gently streaming south towards Azuria. It was a spectacle that made local children run towards the Waterways, and wave at the lucky ones on board.

  Octarian, Mordan, Sylvain and Wolly spread out in the main lounge of their barge.

  Being aware, that this might be the last time they could all be together like this, made them sombre initially. The copious amounts of beverages served, helped them overcome any kind of sentimentality. Apart from the bouts of tearful reminiscing.

  “Cards on the table. Will there be any joining of the houses of Sunflare and Warhorn?” Wolly pointed a finger at Octarian.

  “Eh, I don’t know,” Octarian tried to wave the matter off.

  “Come on, I have to know whether I’ll have to order another set of wedding-guest-attire tailored. Besides, my mother told me not to return without this particular bit of information,” Wolly looked at him expectantly.

  “Yes, your mum,” Sylvain sniggered, yet again bested by the drinks consumed.

  “Shut up, you drunken idiot,” Wolly responded, turning his gaze to Octarian once more.

  “We’ll see,” he wasn’t ready to share more.

  He didn’t want them to know about the months he had spent in agony. If and when he was honest to himself, he knew that their relationship came to an end at the Wintersky Festival, when Ariessa had left the ball with the Mesmer. Of course, he had run into her at the Academy frequently, but she was clearly trying to avoid him. If nothing else, he at least hoped for an explanation as to what had happened, but the more time had passed, the clearer it became to him, that this might never happen.

  He was either heart-broken, or felt angry and humiliated. Still, deep inside, he hoped that one day she would miraculously return to him.

  Nevertheless, he had decided to put his tormenting thoughts aside, and thoroughly enjoy the crowning event of his student years.

  “Who the Hell wants to think about marriage right now? Let’s drink to the ladies of the Camp,” he raised his glass with determination.

  “Hear, hear,” shouted the others and followed suit.

  Wolly turned to Sylvain.

  “What about you, lover boy?”

  Octarian perked up.

  “If he dares to tell us about anything more than holding hands under the moonlight with my sister, he’ll lose the very tool he could provide the World with off-spring.”

  Sylvain chuckled.

  “Nod sayyin nuthin,” he volunteered, refilling everybody’s glasses.

  “Amazing how he constantly received top marks at the Academy,” Wolly snorted.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t fill him up with the most lethal concoctions,” Mordan remarked.

  “Such handsomeness has to be punished from time to time,” Wolly shrugged his shoulders. He turned to Mordan.

  “I guess you’re the lucky one then. Being engaged to one of the most ravishing women in the Realm, who doesn’t even have to guard her chastity, must be rewarding.”

  It was Mordan’s turn to wave his hands bitterly.

  “Nah, she decided to be celibate until our wedding,” it wasn’t anything he would have shared, but the Pyonian Green made him talkative.

  Wolly placed his hands behind his back, and stretched as far as he could. Which wasn’t very far.

  “Seems I’m the luckiest one then. I have a gorgeous fiancée with the most spectacular pair of…”

  “Oh, shut up, midget,” Mordan took off one of his boots and threw it at him.

  “So she did the unspeakable before your wedding?” Octarian squinted at Wolly.

  “No, I sacrificed the act itself on the altar of joyful anticipation of our upcoming union,” Wolly sniffed.

  “So you’re not getting any either,” Octarian laughed.

  “Getting any of what?” Liona poked her head through the door.

  “Go to bed!” Octarian shouted at his sister. Nadira appeared behind her.

  “I’ll make sure Her Majesty retires momentarily,” the girl smiled at the friends.

  “Thank you, we don’t need any Unpleasants around, not even if they’re related,” Octarian huffed.

  “Mistress Nadira, would you honour us with your presence after Her Majesty has been put to bed?” Wolly smiled at her.

  “Of course, my Prince,” she smiled back.

  Bowman Mansion, Stingray Harbour, Pyonia

  The messenger has left.

  Nay opened the letter.

  Irtíxurkumt

  One single Areshadian word.

  A word that could be translated in different ways into the Ancient Tongue; we have finished, we have done it, we are ready.

  Nay knew exactly what it meant.

  He went to Tolzan’s study and repeated the word to him.

  Tolzan nodded.

  “Go. I’ll take care of the rest,” he said to Nay.

  A few hours later, Nay arrived in Moorfield.

  Equipped with an oil lamp, he entered Swiftarrow Manor via the secret passage through the crypt that led straight to the underground Meeting Hall.

  It was a passage that only a few knew about.

 

  Nay and his men had long explored the whole of the building and the connecting labyrinths; he knew of every hidden passage and secret vault.

  No citizen of Moorfield would have believed that the manor of the unassuming merchant, Count Swiftarrow, led into a maze of underground halls.

  Nay made his way to the First One’s study.

  He didn’t need to look for long.

  He found the documents he had come for.

  They were exactly where the First One had said they would be.

  He scooped up the familiar pieces of paper, and took a look at them.

  ‘With all that embermoss, the Matriarch is sitting on top of a goldmine,’ he thought.

  He wondered if and when the Council would grasp the implications of this particular bit of information.

  He had never questioned or doubted Vipra’s decisions; nevertheless, the thought filled him with unease.


  He made his way back to the Meeting Hall.

  He looked around for a last time.

  ‘The end of an era. Just about bloody time,’ he smiled to himself.

  Breeze Beach Camp, Azuria

  The Beach Camp rendered everybody speechless.

  Rows and rows of light-blue and yellow striped, luxuriously furnished, spacious tents to the east and to the west, – west for the graduated Academy students, east for guests.

  Bath tents to the north.

  The sandy beach, lined by food and drink stands to the south.

  In the middle, a camp fire of the size of a mid-sized town square.

  A little further away from the tents, a stage had been erected. Rhythmical music and the sound of hundreds of guests dancing and cheering greeted them.

  “Gods damn it; they should have told us this was awaiting us. Just imagine we’d failed finishing the Academy, we’d never have seen this place,” Mordan exclaimed, momentarily not knowing where to run first.

  “Life’s good after all,” Octarian yelled, grabbing a bottle of dark red wine, marching waist-deep into the ocean.

  “You know, he’s not always like this; he can be quite sensible,” Liona patted Rica’s hand, feeling utterly embarrassed by her brother.

  “He seems to be very manly. Uncompromising maybe,” Rica pondered.

  Liona snorted.

  “You’re so sweet. Yet so mistaken. Octarian must be the most infantile man in the Realm.”

  She watched her brother smashing the bottle’s neck against a rock and taking a few swigs. He laughed at Wolly, Mordan and Sylvain besting the waves to get up to him. Octarian poured the liquid in their open mouths one after the other, while the waves crashed around them. It was a silly display, yet Liona found it strangely touching. She turned to Rica.

  “I think you might be right. He has his values. Very strong ones. I wish Lexandros saw them as well,” she sighed.

  “I just wish he wasn’t so unhappy. Damn Princess Warhorn. I’d love to see him like this all the time,” Liona added, but she suddenly remembered herself.

  “Eh, please interrupt me if I get lost in thoughts like this. Aaanyway, let’s talk about more important things. Firstly, you have to promise me to join me in our weekly social activities. Secondly, who made your hair as fabulous as it is?”

  Rica answered as many questions as she could. She had never felt happier or more accepted before.

 

  ***

  The darkness fell over the shortest night of the year.

  Octarian, Sylvain, Wolly, Mordan, Rica and Liona sat at the immense fire of the camp. Hundreds of other graduating students and their guests were making a huge amount of noise all around the camp site. The most common sight was groups of young men either drinking, or already sprawled out on the sandy ground. Large groups still danced drunkenly in front of the stage. The setting sun shone its last rays on dozens of couples in different stages of intimacy.

  “Gentlemen, let’s make the most of the lack of light. We don’t have much time,” Wolly grinned wolfishly.

  “Many things can happen in six hours,” Octarian grinned.

  “Thank the Gods, we’re not in Northern Lectricka, darkness over there at this time of year doesn’t last for more than two hours,” Sylvain said. Soberly, for the time being. He went up to Liona and gently kissed her on the forehead.

  “Good night, my dear,” he said, not noticing her frown.

  Octarian bowed to Rica, and kissed her hand.

  “Sweet dreams, my Lady. I shall be looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Liona; engaged or not, bed time,” he looked at his sister sternly. Rica left willingly, but Liona shot a nasty look at her bother.

  “Don’t give me that look. The only reason you can be here is that I invited you, Miss I-Don’t-Need-Academy-Education,” he laughed, kissing her on the cheeks.

  Nadira appeared, beaming at everybody present, but reserving special smiles for Mordan and Octarian.

  “Lady Rica, please follow me. It’s time to retire,” she said.

  Rica curtsied towards the remaining members of the party.

  Mordan was considering kissing her good-night, but it wouldn’t have felt genuine, so he joined in the general good night waves of the others.

  “Please join us as soon as possible, dear Nadira,” Wolly shouted.

  “A kiss on Liona’s forehead? You might as well have shaken her hands; it would have had the same sensual impact,” Wolly grimaced at Sylvain, once the girls were out of ear-shot.

  “Suits me,” Octarian stated.

  Wolly’s wish came true a few minutes later.

  Nadira returned with a tray of glasses and two bottles.

  “With the compliments of the House of Stinger,” she announced, placing the tray on one of the logs in front of the fire.

  Previously, Nadira met up with Noerelle in one of their reserved tents. Her orders were to liberally pour the drinks to Wolly and Sylvain until they surrendered to intoxication, and to flirt with Octarian and Mordan until further notice.

  When Sylvain was close to passing out, both Octarian and Mordan were determined to stay where they were, to compete for Nadira’s attention.

  Initially, Mordan didn’t notice anything but another female falling for Octarian’s simple charms, but he couldn’t help but noticing some secret glances meant just for him.

  When Sylvain keeled over and fell off his stump, Mordan and Octarian looked at Wolly almost simultaneously.

  “Why me?” he looked at his friends accusingly.

  “Caush you’re the closhest to geddin’ it,” slurred Mordan.

  “Cos’ otherwise I’ll dunk you in the ocean,” threatened Octarian.

  Nadira smiled, knowing there was a girl waiting to intercept Wolly once he put Sylvain to bed. She refilled the glasses. Generously. Once they were empty, she did it again. And again.

  Wolly didn’t reappear.

  Nadira stood up.

  Both Mordan and Octarian followed suit.

  The noise of the camp site made it very hard to hear whispers.

  “I hope to see you soon, my Prince,” Nadira mouthed to Mordan. He nodded at her.

  She turned to Octarian.

  He kissed her hand and whispered in her ear.

  “Will I see you later on, beautiful?”

  She nodded her head.

  Once she had left, the two friends sat back down at the light of the last burning logs of the camp-fire. They eyed each other with suspicion.

  “Let’s just drink this,” Octarian suggested, once he found he had nothing to say momentarily, grabbing one of the bottles that Nadira had brought.

  Mordan nodded with relief.

  “Sure. Why not? We’ll have a whole day to sleep it off before we start drinking again,” he extended his glass.

  Hardly did they start emptying their glasses, when a camp servant appeared and presented Mordan with a note.

  My Prince,

  I cannot find sleep.

  The thought of You keeps me awake.

  Could You help me?

  Impatiently awaiting your response,

  Nadira

  Eastern Camp, Row Five, Left of Middle Tent

  P.S.: Please burn this note after reading

  Mordan stared at the letter for a few seconds, and then tossed it into the fire.

  “Sorry, mate, my sister needs me,” he said and stood up.

  “No worries, I have two friends here… or maybe one and a half,” Octarian said, looking at the bottles.

  ***

  Mordan tried to clear his head while trying to find Nadira’s tent.

  For a second, Gloria’s image flashed into his mind.

  Would she mind? He stopped for a moment. Then, he smiled bitterly.

  She had made it very clear that she wouldn’t.

  Fine; celibacy in their relationship until further notice.

  He pulled the tent’s entrance-curtains apart, and stepped in.

/>   He found his way to the bed, took off his clothes and slipped under the covers.

  He found the innocently sleeping female form next to him more than alluring.

  She turned around. By the faint light of the moon filtering though the tent’s fabric, he could see the masses of dark hair falling on her shoulders.

  “Who would have thought you’re such a naughty girl?” he asked.

  “No, I’ve been good,” she whispered.

  He placed a finger on her lips, and started peeling her night gown off her.

  When she tried to speak, he silenced her with a kiss.

  Mordan’s head swam a bit, but he couldn’t help but feeling somewhat disappointed. Considering she had invited him into her tent, she lacked any kind of passion.

  Then, through his daze, he heard her breathing getting heavier with every thrust. He was almost enjoying himself.

  Suddenly, her whole body started shaking.

  Finally, he reached the point of satisfaction. He rolled off her, but she was still shaking.

  “Why did you do that?” she whispered, sobbing.

  He stared at her in confusion.

  “I thought you wanted this,” he muttered.

  “How could I want this? You’re my brother,” she cried, grabbing her pillow to stifle her cries.

  “Rica?” Mordan uttered, feeling numb.

  “No, no, this can’t be… Forgive me… Please, don’t tell anyone… I never meant to…” he muttered, jumping out of the bed.

  He stumbled out of the tent.

  He walked aimlessly around the camp, trying not to think.

  He passed a drink-stand and grabbed two bottles. He drank until he vomited. Then he opened the other bottle.

  The camp was busier than Sunflare Square during the Festival. Thankfully, nobody bothered him. He found himself at the main campfire.

  Octarian wasn’t there anymore. He sank down to the floor, leaning against one of the stump-seats. The same thoughts surfaced again and again.

  ‘Why didn’t she say anything?

  Why didn’t she stop me?

  I’m not a monster, I would have stopped.

  She’s not really my sister.

  But she thinks she is.

  Oh Gods, she thinks her brother has violated her.

  I’ll have to explain to her.

  I’ll make it right.’