In the House of Five Dragons
22. Given
“Upon his return to Terra, it was learned that Captain Mazrem had been drawn into an Alterran civil war. In this war, he served a central role beside their greatest generals. In our world and theirs, Captain Mazrem seemed fated for legendary deeds.”
— From After Njorn Pass, by Alexander Ferro
Marus tugged nervously at the buckles of his armor. It still didn’t sit right. He had checked it in a mirror a dozen times, but the studded blue leather looked fine. It just didn’t feel fine. Beside him, Ephria fussed with her long white tabba. The Mazrem’s steward — whose name Marus had missed — was speaking.
“Captain Mazrem’s still recovering from his wounds and so your audience must be shorter than any of us would like.”
“Hae, I understand,” Marus said, nodding. He remembered the old armor, crusted in blood. “We won’t overstay our welcome.”
“Thank you, Sir Gallard.”
The steward led them along a curving path, finished in pale stone, to the sprawling white villa that sat on top of the hill like an alabaster crown. He took them to a lush atrium, filled with slender palm trees and sweet-smelling flowers. It was beautiful. Marus was not much of an outdoorsman or even a gardener, but he could still admire the loveliness of the place.
A strikingly beautiful Carcaen woman and a heavyset younger man in the blacks of a Star Court knight greeted them. They could only be Lady Mazrem and her son, Captain Gaius Mazrem. Marus snapped to attention. After Gaius returned the salute, Marus bowed to Lady Mazrem and kissed her hand.
“My lord and lady,” Ephria said and curtsied deeply. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“We know of Sir Gallard, but I’m afraid you are unfamiliar to us.” Lady Mazrem said it so smoothly that it didn’t sound the least bit like an insult, but she did give her steward a significant glance.
“This is Tes Ephria, a Moon Court templar,” Marus introduced her. “She was the first to recognize Captain Mazrem.”
“We’re all so grateful, Tes Ephria,” said Lady Mazrem. “Thank you for bringing my husband home to us.”
She took Ephria’s hand in hers and gave it a small squeeze. Both women were probably about the same age, but the difference in their appearance was astonishing. Ephria wore her age like a wrinkled tabba, heavy with dust and folded as though stored away too long. Lady Mazrem defied her years in her every curve, in her tightly drawn porcelain skin and proud, sharp jaw. The result was otherworldly, ageless.
“Oh, hae… Thank you, Lady Mazrem,” Ephria stammered.
Marus had known the templar since he was just a raw young squire and had never seen her flustered until now.
“I asked Marus… Sir Gallard, I mean… to let me come with him,” Ephria said. “I only wanted to see Captain Mazrem again. I was young, just an acolyte, when we went to Fiore.”
“He saved your life,” Lady Mazrem finished, sparing her the embarrassment of further babbling.
“Hae, great lady,” said Ephria.
Marus supposed he should have been surprised to see the crusty old templar blushing like a schoolgirl, but the past week had seen the return of Captain Mazrem. Nothing in the world seemed steady anymore.
But the more things changed, the more they always remained the same… It had cost Marus a full month’s pay in bribes to his captain just to make sure General Hern heard his request to see Captain Mazrem. The exciting new world could be just as corrupt and twisted as the old one, it seemed.
Marus and Ephria followed Lady Mazrem through the lush green atrium, along a path of round black pebbles and over a small, arched wooden bridge. There he was — Captain Rikard Mazrem himself, standing under the green and white mottled drape of a blossoming cherry tree. A thin young woman in a short blue tabba leaned against the trunk, pale arms crossed and looking petulant. Looking young.
Captain Mazrem looked better, healthier than the last time Marus had seen him. He held one of the delicate white flowers in his fingers, pulling off the petals one at a time and letting them flutter to the ground. The girl — a foster, Marus guessed — finally noticed the newcomers and stood up straight. She tapped Captain Mazrem on the arm and pointed.
“My lord, this is Sir Marus Gallard,” Lady Mazrem said after she embraced and kissed her husband. “He found you in the streets of Dormaen and brought you back to General Hern.”
Captain Mazrem dropped the stem of his flower to the ground and peered at Marus. Then, as if suddenly seeing him for the first time, he saluted. Marus returned it with an involuntary smile. Captain Rikard Mazrem, the legendary hero, was saluting him.
“I just wanted to see you, sir,” said Marus. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Hae, I am healing. I am… learning.”
“Learning?”
“I have been gone for a long time. I have to remember… things. Terran things that are so easy for the forest,” Captain Mazrem said, then paused and corrected himself. “Easy for everyone else.”
The entire exchange felt like something out of a dream. Marus had heard about Captain Mazrem in Alterra, the first Terran ever to cross over. Did it make him wiser or just stranger? Marus stood uncomfortably, unable to think of anything else to say. Gaius Mazrem looked on with a faintly condescending half-smile while Lady Mazrem pretended not to notice.
What did I expect? Marus asked himself. I bribed my way into this meeting, hoping to find a good man. A hero. Maybe Captain Mazrem was, once… but now he’s broken. He sounds like a child.
“Captain Mazrem?”
It was Ephria who spoke, but a long moment passed before the knight tore his attention away from Marus.
“Captain Mazrem, sir?” she asked.
“Hae?” Finally, he looked at Ephria and a bright smile lit up his face. “Ephria. I remember you! The pretty woman who brought Nikas coffee and made sure that his armor didn’t stick when it got too cold.”
To everyone’s shock, Captain Mazrem swept Ephria into a tight embrace. The young foster actually looked like she might tackle him, but Captain Mazrem only crowed joyfully and picked Ephria up. He whirled her in an excited circle.
“Ephria! You’re alive,” he said. “You escaped the pass!”
The old templar’s eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t look at all displeased. When Captain Mazrem set her down again, she returned his startlingly affectionate greeting with a formally appropriate bow.
“Hae. I survived, sir, because of your sacrifice. Not a day’s gone by that I have not thanked the gods for your nobility.”
“Bees and beads, I remember you!”
Captain Mazrem stared at Ephria, grinning like an idiot and apparently utterly content to do so until the sun burned away to a cinder. What was he thinking?
“I am happy to see… life,” Captain Mazrem said suddenly, as though he were answering Marus’ unasked question. “The war was deep and cold. Sometimes I wondered if it was worth it. I am happy to see that it was.”
“Are you well, sir?” asked Ephria. “I worried for your injuries.”
“Hae. Nikas sent Thainna to watch over me,” he said, pointing to the girl in the blue tabba. “She has been very good.”
The foster, Thainna, spoke up. “Captain Mazrem is mending very nicely, Tes Ephria. He’ll be fine soon.”
The five of them stood awkwardly for a couple more minutes before Thainna politely told them that, in her professional opinion, it was time to call an end to the audience. Marus and Ephria made their final farewells to Captain Mazrem and then green-clad guards led them out of the atrium. As they walked back down toward the gates, Marus raised his eyebrows at Ephria.
“What was all that about back there?” he asked.
“All what?”
“You were jittery with Lady Mazrem and positively girlish on Captain Mazrem!”
“Hae. And what about you? So straight and proper, Sir Gallard,” Ephria retorted, coloring. She jabbed Marus in the shoulder, hard enough that he could feel it even through his armor. “I know how much you spent to get this meeting, and for what? You barely said two words to Captain Mazrem.”
“I guess…” Marus sighed. “I don’t know. I just wanted to see a real hero.”
They reached the tall gates of the Mazrem estate. Marus recognized a dozen knights in red, blue and black armor, representing all three VEIL courts. He waved to some of them, but most remained focused on the job at hand.
Outside, a crowd of hundreds, perhaps thousands, jostled one another to get a view. As Marus and Ephria neared, the throng roared together, wondering if the approaching knight was their beloved Captain Mazrem. When Marus drew close enough for the people to see the blue of his armor, their cries died away into disappointed murmurs.
“Thanks,” Marus grumbled to himself, but Ephria was close enough to hear.
“We can’t all be heroes,” she told him. “Ready to do this again, Sir Gallard?”
“They want to see a hero, too,” said Marus.
This time, Ephria didn’t hear him. Or if she did, she had no answer.
At the bottom of the hill, a Sun Court captain in studded red leather bellowed an order. The guards pulled the heavy iron gates open and the crowd surged forward. A line of knights pushed back and, with an effort, opened a path. Waved on by the VEIL captain, Marus and Ephria passed through the gate, back out into the street.
The lane cleared out by the knights didn’t stay open long and Marus was soon surrounded by people. A few of them tugged at his sleeves, asking questions that were quickly swallowed by the din. But moments later, even that attention waned. Marus and Ephria wound their way through the crowd and out onto the streets of the Everstones.
The road was an impromptu fair. No matter how many times the guards turned them away, food sellers parked carts beside the estate and did lucrative business. Even the most devoted worshipers still needed to eat. Men and women stood beside painted wagons and stands, selling flowers and prayer candles, shouting gossip back and forth to one another. The air was one of a festival, heedless and excited.
Ephria thanked Marus for letting her accompany him as they left the Everstones. After a perfunctory but not unfriendly goodbye, she hurried off in the direction of the temple district, probably to say another prayer for Rikard Mazrem. Slowly, Marus made his way back to the archouse, wandering and strangely reluctant to return home to the archouse. Only when the sun began to set did Marus finally flag down a chay and pay the driver to take him back to the Moon Court.
When he stepped through the archouse’s gate, Marus found General Hern sitting on the steps overlooking a training field where a few knights and squires fought mock-battles on the grass. They were lit bronze by the orange light of the setting sun, like statues brought to life by the strange day’s end.
General Hern held his gladius across his lap and an oiled rag. Marus considered using the back entrance, but stopped instead at the foot of the stairs. The general would corner him sooner or later. Better to get it over and done with. Stifling another heavy sigh, Marus trudged up the steps and saluted the general.
“And how is Captain Mazrem?” General Hern asked without preamble.
“He seems better, sir. His wounds are healing and the foster you sent watches over him.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Captain Mazrem didn’t speak very much. What he did say was pretty confused. He didn’t seem entirely… present,” Marus reported unhappily.
General Hern ran the rag along the already shining length of his sword. “He seemed mad, didn’t he?”
“I would never say…” Marus stopped. “Hae, he did.”
A younger knight appeared up on the landing above them, saluted and then hurried down the stairs. Hern waited until he was gone again before answering. The Moon Court general looked old and tired.
How long until I’m that worn down? Marus thought. Not long, I suspect.
“I’m sure you understand the sensitivity of the subject,” Hern said at last.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t take your meaning.”
“Captain Mazrem and his family have been through enough without having to endure more questions about Rikard’s health and sanity.”
“You don’t want me to tell anyone what he was like.”
“No, I don’t.”
“General Hern, sir, he’s supposed to become legens of VEIL. Don’t you think someone ought to know about this? We don’t want VEIL in the hands of a madman, no matter what service he’s done us before!”
Hern stood and looked down at Marus. “That’s enough, Gallard. I won’t have any of my knights bringing grief before the Lyceum. You will hold your tongue.”
“But… but why did you let me see him at all, sir, if you’re just going to order me quiet?” Marus asked.
General Hern turned his attention out across the courtyard. There were only three men remaining in the stretching shadows of the archouse. Two of the larger cornered the junior knight against the side of the armory. The boy was on his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach as he fought to catch his breath. One of the others kicked him again and the smaller knight sprawled on the ground.
Hern gestured at them with his polished gladius. The blade shone in the fading sun, but not half so brightly as the gold of his bloodcap.
“Look at them,” he said. “Wolves tearing at the smallest of the pack. Brutal and bestial… yet I can’t blame them. We all do what we must to survive. They must show themselves strong or fall prey to the other wolves.”
The young knight lunged for his fallen sword, a wooden practice blade. He smashed it as hard as he could into the knee of his nearest opponent. For yard practice, none of them wore armor and the wood cracked loudly, crumpling the joint. The bigger knight fell to the ground, howling in pain.
Marus winced. VEIL had all been so impressive when he was a boy, he thought, but experience had dulled it away to something cheap and tarnished.
“It was never like this when I was young,” Hern said softly. “This is a disgrace, a schoolyard of bullies.”
“Then why don’t you stop them, sir?”
“And become the weakest wolf of the pack? No, I don’t think so. This is the way of things now. The world of my youth is long past. No one observes the old ways, practices the old styles.”
“I do,” Marus protested.
General Hern turned to look at him. There was something sad in his eyes, but hard, too. “Do you?”
“…Hae, sir.” Marus suddenly wished he had said nothing. The general turned to face him, swinging his sword in a close, lazy arc.
“Show me.”
Reluctantly, Marus drew his own gladius. He held it uncertainly. What did Hern want of him?
“You want me… to fight you, sir?” he asked.
Hern laughed sourly. “I don’t fight unnecessary battles, Gallard. No, show me the pact forms. I haven’t seen one in years.”
Marus nodded and stepped back. There was enough room for a short practice form, but barely. He would have to watch his feet. Marus dropped his sword to his side, parallel to his leg, and then swept it up to a ready position, cocked over his shoulder. He made a quick, controlled thrust to create distance, and then an arcing parry to ward off the imaginary opponent’s answering strike. Duck and lunge, pushing ever back. Marus was against the banister, toeing the empty air.
He switched his sword from one hand to the other. Holding his gladius in his left hand now, Marus slashed a protective web of steel as he drew back. With his writing hand freed, he pressed his thumb to the catch of his bloodcap and fell to one knee, scraping the gold over the stones in mimicry of a pact. Marus held his sword in a low guard in his off hand, protective and ready.
Hern nodded. “As I remember it. Enough, Gallard. Get up. You didn’t actually bleed, did you?”
“No, sir.”
The general sheathed his sword and tucked the polishing rag into his belt.
“When was the last time that you made a pact with the Alterra, Gallard?” Hern asked.
Marus wiped a few drops of sweat from his brow and thought back.
“About five years ago, sir,” he answered.
“That’s not long at all. You’re a braver man than most. What was it?”
“A man out in the Rows barricaded up his shop. There was a little boy in there with him. I made a pact to break through the back wall and get him,” Marus said proudly, then sighed. “After that, the shopkeeper brought a suit against the Moon Court for damages.”
“What did the Alterra take in trade?”
“A day of memory.”
“What was so special about that day?” asked Hern.
“I have no idea, sir. And I couldn’t see blue for a week. When the color finally came back, I must have spent an hour just staring at the sky. I’d never realized how beautiful it was.”
“Colors, memories. I gave them every nightmare I’d ever had about the sea once, when I was a squire. I cursed the damned spirits when they returned my dreams. What kinds of monsters live by such things?” Hern asked. The general looked out across the courtyard again. It was empty now but for shadows and browning, brittle grass. “You and Rikard are a dying breed, Gallard. I haven’t opened my bloodcap in twenty years except to clean it.”
Marus wanted to argue with him, to tell the Moon Court general that Captain Mazrem’s return would fix everything. But he was thirsty and tired. What was the point of arguing, anyway? Only hours ago, hadn’t he reached the same conclusion? Rikard Mazrem was a raving madman and Marus himself was little more than a boy clinging to a lost past and dreams of honor. And for all of General Hern’s sad disapproval, he would do nothing.
Hern is like a willow, bending in the wind and always at its mercy. Perhaps that’s best… Marus thought of the other court generals. Saul Darius is more like grass, with everyone always walking over him. And Cadmus Castor… He’s an oak, tall and strong. He’ll break before he will ever bow. Even if there is something better for VEIL, there’s no one to guide us to it.
Marus looked down at his own hands, at the calluses on both palms, once such points of pride. Even as a squire, he had excelled at the pact forms, but Hern was right. No one practiced them anymore. It was easy to be the best on an empty field, wasn’t it?
When General Hern said nothing else, Marus eventually saluted and retreated into the archouse to find some dinner.
