The Barons' War
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 9
Starhaven, Sidor
Edmund Whitton sat alone in his private study; the evening candles burned low in their silver holders. He was brooding, something he never used to do, but was getting more adept at.
Although it was now something of a habit, even though things were actually going well for him, overall. Word had reached him that Garris was struggling to hold his rebellion together, and that he had even lost the barons of River Mark, who were looking to Pembroke now that William was feared lost.
Edmund had sent messages to the disagreeable baron, in hopes that he could draw him to the crown, bringing his River Mark compatriots with him. The man had not committed any acts of open rebellion and so had the most to gain from coming back now, but Edmund didn’t think he would take the wiser counsel.
The man was too stubborn and had never liked Edmund much. Edmund’s best hope was to keep the baron, and William’s army, sitting on the sidelines, which would hopefully keep the River Mark barons on the sidelines as well.
He was interrupted from his machinations by a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Edmund said.
The door creaked as it opened and Orlan stepped inside. “Your Majesty, Acolyte Tomas has returned and requests an audience.”
So soon? It hadn’t been two months since the man had left for Werna, which required two weeks travel time there and back again. He did not expect the man to be back so soon.
“Does he bring news?”
“He carries a satchel, Your Majesty, and seems most eager to speak with you.”
Edmund pushed the map aside and straightened his silk doublet. His face hardened for a moment before relaxing into a practiced smile that did not touch his eyes.
“Send him in,” Edmund said, his voice warm and welcoming.
The steward bowed again and withdrew. Edmund took a deep breath and arranged himself behind his desk, one hand resting casually on a stack of parchments as if interrupted during important state business.
Tomas Volden entered with quick, short steps. The leather satchel clutched to his chest looked worn from hard travels. The man was a worker, one of those unusual souls that preferred digging in dirt to comfort.
“Your Majesty,” Tomas said, performing a shallow bow. “Thank you for receiving me so promptly.”
“Tomas, my friend,” Edmund rose and extended his hand in greeting. “You honor me with your return. I had not expected you so soon.”
Edmund noted how tightly the archivist clutched his satchel, knuckles white against the worn leather. Whatever treasures the man carried, he guarded them jealously.
“When I found what I did, I knew I must return with all haste,” Tomas said.
“Come, sit,” Edmund gestured to the carved chair across from his desk. “You must be exhausted from your journey. Wine?”
“No, thank you,” Tomas perched on the edge of the chair, the satchel on his lap.
Edmund resumed his seat and leaned forward, abandoning all pretense of disinterest. “Tell me what you’ve found.”
Tomas reached into his satchel with reverent care. His fingers emerged holding what appeared to be a writing tool, though unlike any Edmund had ever seen. It possessed no visible nib, and its surface bore no stains of ink.
“This,” Tomas said, his voice hushed with awe, “I recovered from ruins along Werna’s northern coast.”
He placed the implement on a blank parchment and pressed its tip against the surface. To Edmund’s surprise, the tip changed shape beneath the pressure, flattening slightly. When Tomas drew it across the page, it left a perfect black line without requiring an inkwell.
“How remarkable,” Edmund said, genuine interest momentarily overtaking his affected enthusiasm. “May I?”
Tomas handed him the implement. Edmund turned it in his fingers, noting its perfect balance and the smooth feel of it, neither wood nor metal. It was cool to his touch.
“Watch,” Tomas said.
Edmund pressed the implement to the parchment. The mark it left was darker and more precise than any quill. He drew several lines, marveling at how the ink flowed without interruption.
“Amazing.”
“Yes,” Tomas nodded eagerly. “And the site where I found it shows signs of extensive activity. With your continued patronage, we could mount a proper expedition. The ruins spread farther than my research indicated. There is so much to learn.”
Edmund placed the implement down with appropriate care. “Of course. I am happy to continue providing whatever resources you require. Future generations deserve to learn from a treasure like this.”
“There’s more,” Tomas said. He reached into his satchel again and produced a thin rectangular plate, unremarkable in appearance. Its surface was dull gray, scratched in places.
“This appears less impressive,” Edmund observed.
“Observe,” Tomas took Edmund’s water goblet and dipped a corner of the plate into the liquid.
The transformation happened immediately. Where the water touched the plate turned completely transparent, the change spreading across its surface like ice melting on a pond.
Edmund took the plate, careful not to drop it. He held it to the candlelight, staring through its now-perfect transparency as the water dripped off and it dried, it began to revert to its previous color.
“What is it made of?” he asked, turning it slowly. Not glass, certainly. Too light, too thin, yet rigid and strong.
“I cannot say,” Tomas admitted. “I’ve tested it with various substances. Water, wine, even blood, all produce the same effect. The transformation lasts until the plate dries, as you can see.”
“And its purpose?”
“I don’t have the foggiest notion. The ancients’ ways are elusive.”
Edmund placed the plate beside the writing implement. “Have you shown these discoveries to the Council of Elders yet?”
Tomas shifted in his seat. “I ... that is ... not yet, Your Majesty. You requested to have the chance to see what I found first, so I ignored our normal protocol and came directly to you upon my return.”
“I really appreciate that, Tomas. It is rare for even someone in my position to see wonders such as these,” Edmund said. He rose and walked to the window, staring out at the twinkling lights of Starhaven below. “The elders, while wise in their way, lack vision. I don’t know if they just fear what is outside of their knowledge, or they fear us gaining knowledge, but it is sad they hoard treasures such as this away from the other children of the ancients.”
“I couldn’t agree more. It is very frustrating.”
Edmund turned, studying the archivist with fresh interest. “I’m surprised that someone with your learning has been treated the same. I would have thought you, of all people, would be given access.”
“Some archivists are, but ... my theories on artifact restoration have not been well received,” Tomas said, a little bitterly. “Three years of research, shelved because they ‘dishonored the ancients’ original intent.’”
“How frustrating,” Edmund said, returning to his seat. “To have one’s life work judged by men who haven’t left their libraries in decades.”
“They are just cautious,” Tomas said, not quite ready to directly criticize his superiors. “It is sad, but this is the way things have been for thousands of years.”
“True, but the acolytes possess the greatest collection of ancient knowledge in the Shattered Lands. If the ancients really did want us to understand their ways and learn from their mistakes, how are we to do that without access to that knowledge? It seems that making these things available to all is actually the true teachings of the ancients. I have heard it argued that the current system serves more to enrich the acolytes than to honor the teachings. Not that I’m saying I agree with that, but it is an interesting point.”
“Hmm,” Tomas said, not agreeing with the point, but very much not disagreeing either.
“But enough of order politics, what of the Eclipse Key? Did you find evidence of its existence in Werna?”
Tomas’s excitement visibly intensified. He pulled several folded parchments from his satchel, careful not to damage their worn edges.
“Your information was correct,” Tomas spread the parchments across Edmund’s desk. “Local records and the texts you had all point to the same conclusion.”
Edmund examined the notes with careful attention. Tomas’s precise handwriting filled the margins, connecting passages from various sources.
“Here,” Tomas pointed to a line of text. “A trader’s account from three centuries ago describes ‘a rod of shadow that dims the sun when raised aloft.’ And here,” his finger slid to another passage, “a temple inventory mentions ‘the key that opens darkness.’”
“The locations match?”
“Yes. All sources indicate the western peninsula, specifically the ruins. I visited briefly but need more time and men to properly excavate. There are several ruins there, and it is not clear which it was last seen at.”
“Is it possible it’s still there, after all this time?” Edmund asked.
“I think it’s possible. The republic’s government has been protecting these sites for some time and the last notes were made by one of their explorers. He did not know what he saw and left it, but I do not think it was disturbed afterward. Besides, the site is very remote, hard to access, and the locals avoid it claiming it’s cursed.”
“And you’re certain this artifact is the Eclipse Key described in the ancient texts? Not some lesser implement with similar properties?”
“One can never be certain in these situations, but I believe it is. Your Majesty should understand, though, that the texts also contain warnings.”
“What sort of warnings?”
“Multiple independent sources mention the Key’s corrupting influence. One account describes a priest who used the Key to ‘bend truth to shadow’ before his acolytes burned him alive to stop his madness.”
Edmund kept his expression neutral. “Dramatic claims often surround powerful artifacts.”
“Yes, but the consistency of these warnings concerns me,” Tomas said. “Three separate chronicles from different centuries all describe the Key’s ability to influence minds and alter perceptions. One text calls it ‘the tempter of kings.’”
“Fascinating. Such power would require careful handling.”
Tomas looked surprised. “You don’t dismiss these warnings?”
“On the contrary. I respect them. Power always carries risk; that is why proper protection of knowledge matters.”
“Protection?” Tomas leaned forward.
“There exist documented methods for handling such artifacts safely. Iron-bound containers lined with lead and silver, blessing rituals performed during specific lunar phases.”
Tomas blinked rapidly. “Those protocols aren’t widely known outside advanced acolyte circles.”
“I have always maintained an interest in the preservation of ancient knowledge. The royal library contains texts acquired over generations.”
Tomas appeared both impressed and unsettled by this revelation. Edmund decided to press his advantage.
“What would happen once you delivered the Eclipse Key to the Council of Elders?”
“For something this dangerous, standard protocols dictate immediate containment in a consecrated vessel, limited examination under controlled conditions, then permanent storage in the secured vaults beneath the Hall.”
“And who would conduct this limited examination?”
“Elder Welk, most likely. He is the head of the order and is given the hardest tasks.”
“Not you?” Edmund asked, though he already knew the answer.
“No.” Tomas’s voice carried undisguised disappointment. “I would be credited with the discovery, of course, but junior archivists rarely participate in the examination of dangerous artifacts.”
“Despite being the one who found it. Despite your unique understanding of its context and history.”
“That is our way,” Tomas said stiffly.
“A way that wastes opportunity. The ancients created these artifacts to be used, not locked away. How can we truly understand their purpose through such limited examination?”
Tomas did not respond, but Edmund saw the conflict in his eyes.
“Consider an alternative. You locate the Eclipse Key and bring it here first, to Starhaven’s Grand Hall. We have facilities comparable to those on the Gray Isles. You conduct a thorough examination, create proper documentation, perform rigorous testing under safe conditions, before transferring it to the elders.”
“That would violate everything the elders set forth,” Tomas said, a little stunned.
“Would it violate the mandates of your order or the acolytes in general, though? The established procedures for transporting dangerous artifacts prove they can be handled safely under proper conditions. The journey from Werna to Starhaven is no more dangerous than from Starhaven to the Gray Isles. Although it is much shorter.”
“The council would never approve such an arrangement.”
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