Chapter 60: A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief

I now have an editor, so you all shouldn’t need to put up with my typos and poor/dyslexic editing skills anymore. :)

Fiona gently rubbed her eyes and blinked several times, feeling like she was going blind after staring at the same spot on her arm for the last few hours. “I’m not liking this at all.”

“I have yet to meet someone who enjoyed training in magical healing.” Mage Weston replied with a sympathetic smile.

They were still in his office where they had been half of the morning while the court mage had been teaching her to heal herself. On Lord Delmar’s orders, the court mage had hired a dozen mana sinks -- people whose job it was to donate normal mana so a person could practice beyond his normal mana capacity -- and she had already burned through all the mana they had to give. Not improving her mood was the fact that she needed a wound to heal in order to learn magical healing, and thus had been repeatedly jabbed with a small needle.

“Can I be stopping?” She asked. “I’m thinking that I used all the mana in the castle by now.”

The mage chuckled. “We’ll resume tomorrow; you made excellent progress today.”

“I’m not feeling like it.”

“You closed the wound in under thirty seconds during your first session. That is an extraordinary feat.”

“It was just a pinprick though.” She replied.

“All things in time.” He replied. “And if it’s any consolation, not everyone who is gifted with magic takes to it naturally.”

“Oh?”

“The most gifted mage that I ever taught is Rachel Delmar.” He replied, a grandfatherly smile appearing on his face as he spoke. “And yet she was unusually bad at magic when she started, just like her mother was. However, Rachel overcame that through hard work. And then one day, magic seemed to ‘click’ for her, as they say. Thereafter, it was as natural to her as breathing and she progressed rapidly. I never told her how impressive her magical skills are, and she is likely still unaware herself, but one might almost call her a prodigy. Yet even she struggled immensely when she began.”

“Okay.” Fiona nodded, not looking forward to future practice. She already had a ‘healer’s scar’, which was an almost invisible tiny round scar that developed from repeated poking with the needle to practice healing. As Fiona thought about Mage Weston had said, the part about the Lady Helene stuck out in her mind because of what Lord Delmar had said that morning in their room.

“You were saying that Helene was struggling with magic; were you teaching her?”

“No, she was taught by my teacher, the former court mage of both Helene’s father and Lord Delmar.” He smiled again, though it was a slightly sad smile. “Illuminar rest his soul.”

“Amen.” She said. “Can I be asking a question about Lord Delmar?”

“Of course.” The mage replied.

“Was he always so strict with the rules, or was that happening after Lady Helene died?”

“It is hard for me to say because I wasn’t the court mage when Helene died and thus I had very little contact with him back then.” He replied. “My memory is a bit fuzzy on the timeline, but it might have been around then.”

Fiona nodded slowly, wondering if her suspicion was correct. “Is there anyone who would be knowing for sure that I could ask?”

“Sir Warrick would know. He’s been the head of the Narlotten council since before your husband became lord.”

“My husband.” She repeated slowly.

“Give him time.” Mage Weston said with a kind smile. “You are a good woman, he is a good man, and you two are bonded. He will likely fall for you eventually, though I suspect he will resist doing so for the sake of Helene’s memory.”

Fiona nodded, then stood. “Well, I suppose I should be seeing if Sir Warrick is having a moment.”

He stood as well. “Or, you could send one of your handmaidens to arrange a meeting for you. If you arrange every appointment yourself, you will likely do little else before long.”

“Aye, I could be doing that.” She nodded.

“Have a seat, Miss Dawson.”

Selene did, watching the man who had spoken as she did so since he was clearly in charge. He reminded her of a slightly older, more self-important version of Lucien Kalus. He was perhaps an inch taller than she was and was built solidly, but didn’t look like a gym rat. He still had a little bit of a dark color in his mostly white hair and short beard, though the lines in his face weren’t very deep yet. The way he carried himself told her that he was confident almost to the level of arrogant, but he also didn’t seem like a pompous asshole either.

Thank God for small favors.

The room looked very much like a stereotypical Wall Street conference room on TV, except that it had no windows. The table was long and made of some expensive-looking wood, the walls were blue, and there was a large American flag trimmed with gold fringes in one corner. Yvonne was sitting at the table in a professional-looking business suit with her hair done up and elegant glasses on her face. Opposite her was Clive Eustace Humphry, aka, Smithbond. Selene chose to sit on Yvonne’s side of the table, though with an empty seat between them so they didn’t look chummy.

“And who might you be?” Selene asked, making sure to keep her tone conversational. Luminar Kossel had repeatedly told her not to be too serious when dealing with the leadership, and maybe crack the odd joke if one occurred to her. Apparently, it would make her look more confident and help with any nerves she was feeling. He wasn’t wrong, at least about the second part.

“Mr. Brass.” He replied with a straight face. He didn’t even seem to be joking.

She raised her eyebrow. “Well, ‘the brass’ being named ‘Mr. Brass’ seems unlikely.”

“Pseudonyms are standard practice in our agency.” The man replied, his tone neutral enough that Selene couldn’t get a read on it. “Names hold a certain kind of power, the power to know who someone truly is. Isn’t that right, Miss Dawson.” He hadn’t emphasized her name in any way with his tone, but it felt like he was making a point anyway.

“I think Clive over here might agree.” She replied, nodding her head towards the man but not looking at him.

The corners of Mr. Brass’s mouth rose slightly. “They both said you were perceptive. I hope that quality will translate well into an accurate, honest, and complete account of your month-long stay on 10k1.”

“The Ten Kingdoms.” Selene corrected. “As best as I can figure, there are a bunch of kingdoms collectively called ‘The Ten Kingdoms’ under an emperor, and then there’s a whole world beyond it with other countries.”

“Please, recount the tale from the moment you left Earth.” Mr. Brass said.

Selene looked at him for a long moment. It seemed strange that someone as important as this fellow would be present for this. He seemed like the kind of fellow who was high enough up to read reports, not be there collecting the data firsthand. That’s when she realized something.

“Oh, Clive here screwed up again.” She chuckled. “He was supposed to debrief me but never did, instead deciding to indulge in a little petty revenge because he didn’t like that I knew how incompetent he is.”

Clive opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Brass raised his hand to stop him before speaking. “Incompetent?”

“Very.” She replied. “To show you just how incompetent, let me start at the beginning and tell you how I came to be on the base in the first place.

“I used standard onboarding practices.” Clive said. Neither his tone nor his body language was defensive, and yet he somehow came across that way anyway.

“Standard practices for turning a hostile agent.” Yvonne corrected. “Not standard practices for onboarding a member of law enforcement with a psyche profile like Miss Dawson’s.”

“Kids, please, don’t fight in front of dad.” Selene quipped.

Yvonne chuckled.

Clive glared.

Mr. Brass raised his eyebrow. “You may start your story from the beginning then.”

“Well, I was born at a hospital at a very early age, mostly so I could be near my mum.” Selene replied while managing to keep a straight face.

Yvonne chuckled.

Mr. Brass just looked at her.

“Okay, here goes.” Selene said, then she began to recount her story from the beginning.

Rachel watched the loveliest woman she’d ever met put the last arrow into the bullseye and felt her smile grow wider. All of Alana’s arrows had landed in an area the size of an apple at 100 yards, while Grobozlesh’s arrows were clustered in an area the size of a small melon. Beside the redhead, all of her fellow wives plus Myla, Victoria, and Thea were watching with interest. Lucien was there as well, and he stood on Grobozlesh’s side to show support for the orc.

They had all returned to the Blue Circle camp after the battle, though there was still cleanup happening. Once the battlefield was confirmed clear of Red Hand orcs, Taloni had flown down and -- accompanied by Groboz and Ethan -- had done what she could to stabilize the most seriously injured Blue Circle orcs. Currently, the Argo was anchored close to the Blue Circle camp and the archery match was taking place just outside of it so that none of the crew needed to prove their strength to enter it.

Groboz also shot his last arrow and then lowered his bow. He looked at the targets, then at Alana. “Tree elf very strong. Come, see targets.”

The group walked to the targets and Groboz inspected them, his wide smile never faltering even when he closely inspected Alana’s clearly superior shooting. Further, Alana’s arrows had gone significantly deeper into the target than Groboz’s arrows, a fact which oddly seemed to excite the orc very much.

“Tree elf very strong.” He said with a wide grin. “I train; become stronger, and we have again-match.”

“Rematch.” Lucien corrected. By his tone, it sounded like he had been coaching the orc’s use of the common tongue.

“We have re-match.” Groboz corrected himself while still looking at Alana.

“I’d be happy to, but I don’t think it would be fair.” The wood elf replied.

“What is word ‘fair’?” The orc asked.

Rachel explained, after which the orc spoke again. “Fair not make sense. Life not fair. Fair not matter; only strong matter.” He paused, then looked at Alana. “Why not fair?”

Alana explained how her bow was light to draw but released at high weight.

Groboz shrugged. “You make strong bow?”

She nodded.

“You strong twice; make strong bow, be strong archer.” He looked at Ethan. “You must be strong husband to defeat strong wife.”

Ethan chuckled. “Thank you.”

“I want become stronger archer.” Groboz said, then looked at Alana. “Can you teach to become stronger archer?”

“I would be happy to, though I think we’re leaving the area soon.”

“Didn’t I hear that you are already the strongest archer in the camp with a bow?” Rachel asked, his question not making much sense to her if that were indeed the case.

Groboz nodded with a grunt.

“Then why?” The redhead asked. “Why is it so important to you to become even stronger if you’re already the strongest in the camp?”

The orc frowned, which had the side effect of emphasizing his small tusks. He looked at Ethan, then Lucien, then at all the ladies before finally speaking. “E-tan friend, Lu-shun friend, E-tan wifes friend.” He looked at all of them again. “Groboz trust all friend.” The orc’s normally excitable and jovial disposition faded as he looked down at the ground. “Groboz has a weak.”

“Has a weakness.” Lucien corrected, somehow managing to sound encouraging. “What weakness?’

“Groboz is runt.” The orc said, and his tone and body language would’ve fit someone confessing to mass murder.

“What does that mean precisely?” Rachel asked, having a guess but wanting to be sure.

“Groboz not defeat brothers to become orc.” He replied. “Brothers killed by animal. Groboz no prove stronger than brothers to become orc.”

The redhead nodded, her suspicion confirmed. Orc males were always born in groups of three, and whichever of the three proved ‘strongest’ would become an orc and the others would remain goblins. If Grobozlesh’s goblin brothers had been killed, then he wouldn’t have had a chance to prove himself stronger than they were. It was the kind of thing that she could see being a social stigma in orc society. It was sad, but she could see why the orcs would then view him as a ‘runt’.

It also explained why he didn’t hold a higher position in the camp despite being both a great archer and quite clever. The inability to rise from a low initial status reminded Rachel of the caste systems that some places outside the Ten Kingdoms employed, and she could see how such a stigma could have a similar effect in orcish culture.

“Groboz also want become tactician.” The orc continued. “Being tactician prove Groboz strong. Strong in bow, strong in tactician will make Groboz strong.”

“My friend.” Lucien put a hand on the orc’s shoulder, though it was a bit of a reach. “I cannot assist with the bow, but I can with tactics. If you would be willing, I extend an invitation for you to join me in Timarou to study tactics with the best tacticians and military minds in my country.”

Groboz stared at him. “Lu-shen is being seriously?”

“Is Lucien being serious?” The lord corrected kindly. “And I am. You are a good orc with a sharp mind Grobozlesh; you should be given the opportunity to excel so your clan might see that you are indeed a very strong orc.”

“Groboz not know way to Tim-roo.” The orc replied, sounding slightly unsure.

“Fortunately, I have an airship.” The lord smiled. “You would be welcome to travel with me and my wives when we begin the voyage home, which will be later today.” The Lord’s expression softened slightly. “I have not seen my younger children in far too long.”

Groboz looked at him for a long moment before he blinked a few times. “Lu-shen is very strong friend.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

“As are you.” Lucien smiled back. Talk then turned to arrangements, which made something occur to Rachel, but Thea asked before Rachel got a chance.

“What will happen to the women and children in the Red Hand clan?” Thea asked.

“They join our clan.” Groboz replied. “Women burn Red Hand vest, make Blue Circle vest. Women become wives, childs adopted, raised as Blue Circle orcs.”

“Good.” Thea smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“What about the elders who didn’t fight?” Beth asked.

“Red Hand elders give weak advice.” Groboz replied. “They join clan, clan not listen to their weak advice. They given weak work that weak body can do.”

From beside the redhead, Alana took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Rachel smiled back.

“One down, one to go.” The wood elf said with a sly smile.

Rachel swallowed, remembering what she’d said she wanted to do with Alana once the orc and portal situations had been dealt with. She could feel her blood rushing to all of the most sensitive places in her body as she considered that.

“I can’t wait either.” Alana gave her hand another gentle squeeze with a smoldering look in her eyes.

Rachel resisted the urge to moan, but it wasn’t easy.

“So, that’s why I think Clive here is pretty much incompetent.” Selene summarized after explaining all of the things that Luminar Kossel had pointed out to her. “And by the way, Adrian Kossel pointed most of these out to me. He says ‘Hi’ by the way.”

Mr. Brass steepled his fingers together, leaned back in his chair, and pressed his lips into a thin line. Without moving his head, he moved his eyes from Selene to Clive and then back again. He made a thoughtful sound and then tapped his forefingers together.

Finally, he spoke without taking his eyes off Selene. “Agent Benson, why was command never informed of this?”

Yvonne looked at him, her smile rather forced as she did so. “I have been contacting everyone in the chain of command for a long time trying to inform anyone who would listen, but he got short-term results so no one paid any attention. If you like, I can start pulling all the reports I’ve filed over the years; I’m pretty sure I would’ve destroyed a forest if they all had been printed.”

“No need.” Mr. Brass turned his eyes on Clive, still without moving his head. “Is Miss Dawson’s account of the events accurate?”

“Taken out of context and phrased to cast me in the worst light possible, but none of the details were actually false.” He replied, his tone a bit stiff.

Selene laughed and shook her head. “What, you didn’t start our association by threatening me and getting me fired when simply telling my boss to order me to cooperate would’ve worked better? You didn’t beat me to a bloody pulp when your strong-arm tactics backfired on Hailey, Melinda, and Jason? Plus, threatening a pregnant woman?” She shook her head, then realized that Melinda had probably given birth by now.

“It was effective.” Clive replied.

“It was foolish and shortsighted.” Selene corrected calmly, remembering her father’s advice to always remain calm. He had always said that the first person to become emotionally involved in a debate always lost, even if he was actually right. “You alienated everyone that could’ve helped you in the long term with your brutality and strong-arm tactics. Did it even occur to you to simply ask for what you wanted?”

Clive didn’t reply.

“Oh, I want an answer to that one.” Selene pressed, previously thinking it was a rhetorical question but now suspecting it might not be.

Clive glared at her slightly.

“I would like an answer as well.” Yvonne said.

Clive set his jaw.

“Answer Miss Dawson’s question.” Mr. Brass said, his hands still steepled and his lips still pressed in a thin line.

“And remember, you aren’t nearly as good a liar as you think you are.” Yvonne said.

Clive seemed to fight an internal battle with himself for several seconds before he spoke. “No.”

“No what?” Selene asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, it didn’t occur to me to ask.” He admitted after another moment.

Mr. Brass took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Agent Humphry, consider your leash very short from now on.”

“Yes sir.” Clive replied, still glaring at Selene.

“Since we’ve established that he’s incompetent, can we talk about how it’s a colossally bad idea for Mr. Short Leash here to use dark mana?” Selene looked at Mr. Brass, figuring that this was a perfect time to point how how stupid Clive’s plan was.

“Have you witnessed it first hand?” The man replied.

She shook her head. “No, but it’s a universally acknowledged fact there.”

“On Earth, it was once a universally acknowledged ‘fact’ that the Earth was the center of the universe, that it was flat, or even that you could turn base metals into gold.” Mr. Brass replied.

“It’s also a universally acknowledged fact that there’s no such thing as magic, and yet we’re discussing its merits.” Selene countered.

“The reports tell me that this ‘magic’ is merely a different way of harnessing fundamental forces that physics already understands.” Mr. Brass replied. “You are asserting that element forces have a moral component, and doing so without evidence. Your assertions about it corrupting someone’s soul would have more merit if they weren’t based on the myths of indigenous natives.”

Selene stared at him. “Indigenous natives? You make it sound like they run around in loincloths and think shaking a rainstick will make it rain.”

“Their beliefs about ‘dark mana’ and this ‘Illuminar’ are hardly better.” Mr. Brass replied. “Science has moved beyond the need for gods and devils.”

Selene looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if she should mention Sarah who was literally demon-possessed. After a moment, she realized that Mr. Brass simply wasn’t open-minded enough to consider it. Plus, saying something would probably damage her own credibility, so she decided not to mention it.

“Continue with the debrief, Miss Dawson.” Mr. Brass said after a few moments.

She did.

Selene recounted the broad strokes of what had happened in the Ten Kingdoms while she was there. She didn’t go into a lot of detail, though occasionally one of the others asked questions. They seemed especially interested in the airship battle, though none of them looked impressed with the technology by the time she was done. She supposed that airships were a little underwhelming since Earth had jets and hypersonic missiles.

“Your analysis of the potential use of magic on earth?” Mr. Brass asked when she had finished.

“Honestly, it would be useful but not sustainable.” She replied honestly. “The barrier is just too thick here and it would take a long time to collect enough mana to be useful.” She hesitated, then added. “I’m sure it’s occurred to you to send your agents to the Ten Kingdoms to get trained in magic and then bring them back, but realize that takes many, many years.”

“You learned in less than a month.” Clive pointed out, obviously accusing her.

“It took most of my mana pool to heal a small cut to my cheek.” She replied. “And that’s after spending a lot of focused time learning from two master mages, and a lot of people donating mana so I could practice. Under normal circumstances, It could’ve taken me a year to learn that much.” She looked at Clive pointedly. “I’m sure you tried it; how much mana did it take to heal a pinprick? Could you even heal it?”

Clive set his jaw but didn’t answer.

Mr. Brass clearly noticed.

Selene plowed on. “It typically takes years of near-constant study to learn enough to be useful from what I hear. That Fey girl I mentioned, Taloni, has those kinds of skills in healing magic, but she’s been doing it for most of her life. It’s the same with that mage, Rachel. She started when she was a young child and had a lot of people donating mana to her so she could practice far beyond what her normal mana limits would allow.

Mr. Brass frowned.

Selene continued. “Both of them took what, ten or fifteen years of constant practice to achieve their current level of mastery, and that’s not counting all the people who donated mana so they could learn. The personnel requirements would be huge, and that would add another ten years of training to any agent you wanted trained that way. Even then, they would need to be fully recalled, sent to the Ten Kingdoms, and then redeployed every time they used their abilities.”

“It sounds like you don’t want us to have magic.” Clive said. There was no trace of accusation in his tone, but that was clearly the implication.

“More accurately, I don’t want you to have dark magic.” Selene replied. “Obviously everyone will gravitate towards it because it’s the only easy source of mana on Earth. That’ll lead to a lot of people becoming murderous psychopaths.”

“Miss Dawson, we’ve already been over this.” Mr. Brass said.

“I know.” She sighed. “I suppose it’ll take Clive here going ape-shit because of dark mana before you believe me.”

“Do you have anything else that’s relevant to add?” Mr. Brass said, his tone indicating that dark mana wasn’t on that list.

“Only one observation.” Selene replied after a moment. “I think that the study of magic has handicapped the advancement of the Ten Kingdoms, technologically speaking.”

“Explain.”

“Well, one of the smartest women I have ever met -- Rachel, one of Ethan’s wives -- outright mocked science and scientists. I think that their reliance on magic in preference to science led to a short-term gain, but a long-term loss. I would be careful with magic, because...” She glanced at Yvonne and then paraphrased Yoda. “If once you start down the magic path, forever, will it dominate your science. Consume your technology it will, as it did in the Ten Kingdoms.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Mr. Brass replied, but his tone made it clear that he wouldn’t. She was pretty sure that was intentional. The man looked at Clive. “We will continue with the scheduled test: you will open the portal at the scheduled time, with Gonorran there in case you are unable to.”

Selene frowned. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to reconsider?”

“Not unless you have first-hand experience with dark mana and its supposed corruptive effects.” Mr. Brass replied.

Selene leaned back in her seat. “I don’t, just don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

“Noted.” Mr. Brass stood and looked at Yvonne. “Have Miss Dawson escorted back to her cell.”

“Yes sir.” She nodded, and Selene fell into step behind her as they left the room. Outside, the two female guards were standing at attention.

“Escort Miss Dawson back to her cell.” Yvonne ordered, then looked at Selene. “Mr. Brass had previously indicated he wanted you at the portal opening; I doubt that will change. Be ready.”

“Yes ma’am.” She nodded, then followed the guards back to her cell.

Once she was there, she glanced at the camera and then at her pillow. Yvonne had left a message earlier that she’d left something under Selene’s pillow and Selene didn’t want to chance anyone seeing what it was. On the off chance the camera was still working and Yvonne hadn’t disabled it, she wanted to be subtle about getting what the agent had left there.

She walked over to the bed and flopped down on it with her back facing the camera. Then, she slid her hand under the pillow and felt something hard. It took her a moment to realize what it was, and when she did, she smiled. She pulled the thin blanket up over her and then slid the item out from under the pillow, using her body to shield it from the camera as she took a look.

It was a Glock 43.

The slim line Glock was one of the smallest that the company made, but it was chambered in 9mm and held 7 rounds; 8 if there was one in the chamber with a full magazine. A quick but subtle check revealed that the magazine was full and that there was indeed a round in the chamber. Interestingly, it seemed like Yvonne had scribbled a note on the pistol’s slide in what looked like lipstick.

It read: “Just in case”

Selene smiled.

She would feel a lot better about being in the same room with Gonorran if she was armed.

^∗Thanks for the update Selene.^∗ Ethan thought to everyone as he landed on the Argo’s deck after the archery match.

^∗I’ll be praying for it to go well.^∗ Taloni added.

^∗Thanks Tee.^∗ The Brazilian woman replied.

“Well, at least she’s armed.” Alana said as she reached the top of the Argo’s rope ladder with Rachel right behind her.

“Indeed.” He replied, looking around the deck. Lucien and Grobozlesh were already on the deck, having climbed the ladder before his wives.

The orc was looking around with a wide grin on his face that showed his small tusks. He looked over the side of the ship and his grin widened. “Strong view. Groboz would like to painting.”

“Groboz would like to paint it.” Lucien corrected. “The common tongue often needs an object for verbs.”

“Groboz would like to paint it.” The orc nodded. “Groboz thank; Lu-shen strong teacher.”

“Thank you.” The lord nodded, then turned to Ethan. “Thank you for the accommodation; The Timarou flagship should arrive within the hour.”

“It’s our pleasure, and I mean that.” Ethan replied. “I never could’ve taken care of the orc situation by myself.”

The lord nodded respectfully.

About forty-five minutes later, the flagship of the Timarou air fleet did indeed arrive. It was an impressive vessel and far larger than the Argo. It was at least twice as long and twice as wide with more decks. It had six masts, counting upper and lower, and at least three decks; possibly four? The sails were large versions of the Timarou flag with its stylized white horse rearing on a blue background. The wood on the ship had been painted blue as well, though it had nice white accents in many places.

Anthiel told Tee to dock the airships and his Fey wife did so without hesitation. She really was becoming very comfortable behind the ship’s wheel and that was wonderful to see. The crewmen on the two airships threw lines and tied them together, then the Timarou flagship extended a long, wide, and enchanted leather gangplank complete with railings.

The moment the gangplank was fastened, four children ran across it and made a beeline for Lucien, who knelt down with his arms wide. They collided with him and knocked him over as he wrapped his arms around them, though Ethan was sure that the lord’s ‘fall’ was entirely intentional. All of the children began talking all at once, the way little kids do when they are excited about something and can’t wait to share.

“That’ll be us soon.” Alana said from beside him.

He grinned, put his arm around her, and pulled her close. “I can’t wait.”

His other wives collected around him, all watching the lord who had annihilated an orcish army without mercy just hours ago embracing his children and smiling widely, the affection between them obvious.