Verhalen: The Third Burning
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Finally the mist creatures realised they could not pass the walls of Lebréus anymore than could a normal besieger, so they ceased their assait. Instead they opted for starving out the now cut off Lebréus. Already the granaries had been seized by the Guard and nearly all of Lebréus' merchants and warehouse owners had their foodstuffs bought out at preposterous prizes. Taverns and inns were relieved of their stores; both dried meats and spirits.
There was a small minority, mostly consisting of minor Houses, in the Council of Lords that voted for the Houses redistributing their luxurious food stores; their benevolence and charity was crushed however by the voices of complaint of the higher Houses.
Alwhyn had sided with the minority and he had nearly crushed his goblet of wine in anger when Lord Karl Locklin had risen and motioned the rest of the Lords back to their seats in silence. Alwhyn was well aware of the man's reputation as a gluttonous pig; though the Locklin Lord's prominent belly would have given it away to anyone.
The man had the guts, plenty of them really, to gaze around the room and point at most of the minority's members and then make his stunning announcement in his low voice.
"Such 'charity' will only make the masses lazy. If the Houses were to give away their food stores, which they have worked very hard for, mind you, they would not be giving away just food, they would be giving away, nay, giving up, the integrity that has sustained Lebréus through many rough times over the years. Why work when food of the highest quality is handed out at every street corner, why spend coin when the Houses have spent their coin for you? Nay, I say, nay, let us divide the common goods, fairly and wisely, but let us not upset the balance overtly much." With this the man tucked up his trousers, rubbed his tummy and plunked back down into his seat and threw back his goblet of wine.
As Lord Locklin held out his goblet for a refill the Chairman rose from his seat at the centre of the Consult. It was the Chairman, a representative of the Libram, who resided over the Council. The Chairman had no vote of his own, nor was he to voice his opinion or that of the Libram. It was his duty to call and count the votes of the council and thereby declare a motion to be passed or rejected. There was no use in bribing or blackmailing the man, every Lord was allowed to count the votes himself and call for a recounting if he suspected treachery to be at foot.
When Alwhyn raised his hand to declare in favour of the motion he counted only twenty-one other hands, barely over half the required amount of votes. A motion requires a majority of at least thirty-eight favourable votes for it to be accepted as the Council consists of seventy-five representatives of the various Houses. The smallest of Houses having to share a seat on the Council and the major Houses holding up to three seats each.
Alwhyn grunted and rose as the room erupted in a blare of noise and movement; the declaration of the opposition had not yet been called, but the Council rarely waited for the formalities to be ceased. This had been the last of the matters on the agenda and he had more pressing issues to attend to. He descended the ornate staircase which led up to the second row of balconies of the Consult and nodded to a serving maid to alert the stable-boys to bring his horse up front. Just before she scurried off he pushed his dented goblet in her hands, "drink what's left of the wine, lass. Hard times are upon us all."
No sooner had he arrived at the barracks, where the Guard not only trained, but also where the higher officers held their meetings and discussed the defence of the city, when a messenger walked up from the shadows of the stables. "Ye've arrived just in time, m'lord. The other Commanders have called a tactical meeting. They've just dispatched messengers to find ye, but they've gone ahead with the meeting already. We're told to tell ye to ascend to the Lower Chamber." Alwhyn sighed; the Lower Chamber was where the maps of the underground tunnel system of Lebréus were kept. This could only mean two things; the besiegers had found the tunnel's hidden exits in the surrounding forests and mountains, or there were plans being made for expeditions to bring reinforcements and supplies. He clapped the messenger on the shoulder and thanked him; he hoped it was the latter option.
Storming through the barracks he noticed once more the tension that had hung there ever since the Libram had raised the mystical barrier around the town. The soldiers were restless, they couldn't do anything but guard the walls and gates, but every man knew by now that the creatures outside the gates had no intention of playing this game out just yet. They were slowly starving out Lebréus, hoping the city would open its gates to engage in combat outside of the gates. Whilst the Guard had not seen a conflict this big in centuries, its soldiers were still trained for battle and this sitting around and staring at your foes across a stretch of open ground was getting on their nerves.
He reached the Lower Chamber without being interrupted, he slowed down, tucked his riding gloves under his belt and slowly opened the doors to the chamber. The four other Lord Commanders were standing around the large table at the centre of the room. The surface of the table had been divided into panels which could be lifted and rotated on levers and winches. It effectively covered the extensive, multi-layered tunnel system of Lébreus. Connections betweens the different layers of tunnels were represented by pieces of leather string strung between the multitude of panels.
Alwhyn had only seen all the panels lifted once and the extent of detail, as well as the extent of the tunnels, had startled him. The table was said to have been painstakingly crafted by a Nightkin who had grown phenomenal ably old by walking the tunnels all his life. When he finally emerged it was said he knew the tunnels so well he had built the table off the top of his head. Later on panels had been added or removed; yet still the entire system could fold back into appearing like any other heavy table its size.
He could see his fellow officers were bent over the northern part of the tunnels, where they emerged in many natural caves inside the mountains. Stepping in between Ursi'Daen and Immahl he gestured at the maps. "What's happened? Have the beings breached the tunnels?" Ursi'Daen smiled up at him, immediately settling his worries, and then spoke to explain. "Things are not nearly that bad, my friend. We're discussing the best option to establish a small supply line to the city. Y'know why we chose the northern tunnels, most of them are wider than three of the other tunnels together and there's always the Laen." Ursi'Daen twirled with his long braid for a second cueing Alwhyn in on the ridiculousness of thát plan; the Laen, a river of molten snow flowing from the mountains north to the underground lake, the Lantern, was wide enough for small sloops and barges to sail down.
There were however several good reasons why the Laen had never been used as a trade route before. For one it was an underground river, with the only well reachable shores tucked away deeply inside caverns. It would be hard to get the barges on the river in the first place. Secondly, there were no sailors or ship folk anywhere near Lebréus. The only boating that was done around these parts was done on the Lantern, as tame a lake as any if you didn't venture too close to the mouth of the Laen. And then, last but not least, there was the fact that the Laen ventured through dark and treacherous tunnels, only a few daredevils had dared to sail it and even fewer emerged at its mouth.
Alwhyn looked at Ursi'Daen questioningly; the Changeling wasn't fool enough to have suggested the Laen to the others. The old bear shrugged, obviously vexed and nudged his head in the direction of Immahl Ba'risk, whom, Alwhyn noticed, was wearing ornate white robes and a smug grin on his face. He was also holding a scroll of expensive looking parchment, trailing a white and gold ribbon. When he noticed Alwhyn looking, Immahl turned towards him, completely blocking Terra Locklin from view with his puffed out chest. Grinning he held out the scroll. "Have a look, Lemoor." Alwhyn grabbed the scroll annoyed by Immahl's cocky tone and unrolled it. Its message did not reassure Alwhyn in the least.
staunch defender of Lebréus and devout follower of the Shining One, we recognise thee as one of pure heart and possessed of a soul as true as your aim. The Libram hereby invites thee to join the ranks of the true scholars and to be more fully embraced by His Brilliance. As a man of great insight, thy expertise will be ruefully needed in the times to come.
Upon acceptance of this honour the Libram will bestow upon thee the title of First Defender of Lebréus, a rank usually reserved for elder members of the order. Yet in these troubling times we wish to grace thee with this title, so that a man of the people leads the defences of Lebréus and ensures the survival of all.
The Libram asks little in return, but further devotion to the preservation and continuation of life and adherence to the words of wisdom, as all of us have been charged to devote ourselves to in the service of the Light-hearted.
Thy Rites of Embrace must be completed shortly and thou art therefore called to appear tomorrow at dawn at the gates of the Great Library.
The Light preserve thee, Harrald Towe, scribe of the Enlightened
Alwhyn had to read the second part twice before he realised what the Libram, in all their wisdom, had done. Promoting a First Defender was the ultimate declaration of war, it meant that the Libram understood and accepted that Lebréus was being threatened and that the only way to alleviate this threat was warfare -but that was not all- the First Defender was the Libram's general and therefore Lebréus' military leader. The First Defender had also, up until now, always been an Honour Guard, sworn to serve and protect the Libram and its ideals.
Alwhyn, as well as the other Lord Commanders, had taken the Oaths of Duty upon entering the Lebréusian Guard. Up until now Alwhyn had borne his duty with pride and honour, but for the first time he truly felt its iron grips around his throat; one of the Oaths was to respect and honour the word of the First Defender in all things military. This was an Oath as logical as any, but also one usually regarded as being of little importance; the Libram hadn't deemed it fit to call a First Defender in centuries.
Though he had nothing but respect for Immahl's prowess with the sword, he was not of great confidence in the man's decision making skills. Lebréus had not seen many battles in the last decades and barely a one during the time Immahl had been a Lord Commander. Those small skirmishes the man had commanded had always leaned more on faith in the strength of his men and less on proper tactics. Yet even that was not why Alwhyn truly dreaded this man leading the armies of Lebréus; Immahl served the Libram zealously and would listen to their every command. Thereby he forsook reason for faith and his own sense for the commands of old farts in high chairs.
If there had been anything Alwhyn had always been glad about it was the fact that the Libram did not rule him nor the Lebréusian Guard. He was afraid and he could now see, so was Ursi'Daen, that the Libram would see first to its' own needs and to the people's second. Looking at Immahl, grinning over the maps, he was not just afraid, he was certain.
Walt's eyes opened, the lids were heavy. So were his limbs, as was his head. He could see nothing but light, so, so bright. The light hurt his eyes, it hurt his head. He closed his eyes again and sank back into darkness.
When he woke again the light was gone and so was most of the weight on his body. He blinked several times, the pitch black remained. He sat up. The ceiling lurched at him; or was it the floor. The stone hurt his head, it hurt his body. He closed his eyes again and sank back into darkness.
When he woke next he was sore all over, the light was back, he was no longer on the floor. The weight had receded completely and the light no longer stung his eyes. He blinked several times and focussed his vision. This time he didn't try to sit up straight away. He turned his head slightly from left to right; he didn't feel any dizziness and his room didn't try to lurch at him. He knew where he was, but could not remember how he got there. He was in his sleeping quarters in the College of Serenity.
He studied magic here, he recalled as he looked at the pile of books that served as his bed stand. Thinking of magic made his head hurt again, not enough to make him close his eyes again, but enough to stop thinking of magic. He started thinking of food, that made his stomach hurt, but in a pleasant way, he was hungry. When he thought of it, he was pretty thirsty too.
The door creaked open and a head he recognized all too well came through the door. Framed by long, untidy, greying curls Mariana's face was soft and kind and dark grey, speckled here and there with other colours. She was a Nightkin and, Walt thought, very old. She was also one of the College's nurses. The College had many healers and nurses, it had many accidents too. Magic was dangerous business, his teachers always told him.
When he looked away from Mariana's face, which had smiled at him when she walked in, he noticed the tray she was carrying and his stomach growled loudly. Mariana's smile widened. "Good afternoon to you, Walt the Weary. I see you haven't magically moved from the bed to the floor this time." Walt grimaced, the soreness as well as the memory of the floor coming at him was not the least bit funny to him.
Mariana laughed again, she had always been jovial, and set the tray on top of his books. "Let me help you sit up, young one, you're still none too fit. Your case is one of the worst cases of magic malaise I've seen in my time. None of your fault, mind you, the higher magi should have known not to send an apprentice. You could have boiled your own brains, you could, no laughing matter." She kept on smiling though, whilst she propped up Walt's pillows and helped him sit up straight.
Walt hadn't thought of the great dweomer yet, nor about anything much and suddenly his mind was awake again. He had suffered from magic malaise; he must have truly exerted himself that day. He suddenly wondered. "How long have I been laying here?" Mariana stopped fussing with the cloth that covered the food tray for a minute and turned around, her smile gone and a grim look on her face. "It's been nigh a fortnight, lad. Your cabal brought you down from the tower, they were all exhausted, but you were drained, out of it. They almost gave up on you there and then, if not for the insistence of your maester, sir Guol, that they bring you in anyways.
The nurses have been keeping a steady vigil, you showed nary a sign of improvement, except for the occasional eye flutter, moan and grunt. When you fell out of your bed, everybody thought you'd had a fit." She gave him a worried glance then and continued. "You were fine though, a bit roughened up, but you had moved, which meant you would probably wake soon. And so you did."
She picked up the tray and set it on his lap, then walked back to the door. "You eat that, you're through the rough patch now, but you'll need to strengthen up plenty before you'll be fit for studying again. If you feel fit enough to walk, do so, your legs'll need stretching. I'll be back to check on you later."
Her last words hardly registered, Walt was staring at his plate; a bowl of oatmeal, some bacon, hard cheese, flatbread and a dried apple. Oatmeal had never looked so appetising. He wolfed it all down, to the satisfaction of his stomach, whilst drinking steadily from the pitcher of ice cold water he found besides his bed.
When Mariana came back to check on him she had brought a wooden cane. "It’s to help you walk. The maesters are giving you a one week leave and they're sending you back to your folks. Your mother spent every hour she could spare besides your bed, helped us out a great deal too. She said she'd brave the streets for her son every day." She handed him the cane and then tried teaching Walt how to properly lean his weight on it. "It might make you look silly, but without it you'd never make it home." He wanted to argue, but as he tried walking a bit his legs felt wobbly and he found himself tiring all too soon.
"The strength will return quickly enough, you're still young, boy." Mariana had been watching him walk around. "Tomorrow I'll see you out and on your way home. Just don't go doing anything stupid, I'm telling you, no magic, none at all, till you're back here safely. You're still bone weary and your body can't handle the stress magic brings for a little while yet. Best if there are measters and us nurses around when you start spell slinging again."
Walt really didn't relish the thought of not using his magic, he liked showing his parents what he'd learned. It made them happy to see their son achieve so much and it mad him happy to make them proud. Going back home would still be nice though, he barely had time to visit his parents whilst he was studying. It was all hard work and discipline at the College and he could use a small holiday.
When he was too tired to walk anymore Mariana helped him back to bed. She then fetched him dinner from the kitchen, a poor meal compared to what the College usually served. During dinner she told him a little about what was happening inside the city. The great dweomer had not calmed many people's spirits; they were still a besieged city. The rations and the constant threat caused tension amongst the citizens of the fair city and the general moral was low.
Walt couldn't help but notice there was something she was leaving out, she wouldn't explain why the tensions were worse than expected, nor why she brought him a nice hooded cloak to wear on his way back home. "To keep you warm, that's all. You're body needs to strengthen, for that it needs to stay warm and well fed."
She managed to sneak him a second serving of dinner; he had gorged down the first tray and had still felt famished. When he finished it she cleaned it all up and told him to rest, for tomorrow he'd have a long walk ahead of him. He wanted to protest, but the moment she closed the door he felt the weariness creep up on him. He rolled over on his side, extinguished the candle and fell to sleep straight away.
Something caused him to wake early in the morning; he could hear no sound, nor was there anyone in the room, yet something was amiss. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but he felt something tug on his insides, he could feel something was wrong. The feeling got worse and suddenly he knew; he was dying, nearing the end of his days. Yet that couldn't be; he was by far too young to die of old age. He might have suffered from magic malaise, but he had survived the critical stage and the priest that had seen him had concluded that he was perfectly healthy except for the exhaustion. When Mariana walked him through the still empty halls of the College he noticed his own weariness once more and thanked her for packing some food for him; his would be a long walk. She gave him a pat on the back as she opened one of the great doors of the College to a crack. "Off with you now, the maesters want you back here in a week, bright as rain and well rested." He said his goodbyes and stepped out, hearing the great door close behind him once more. When he came near his parent's house he heard a man's scream, which was cut off short. Loud laughing followed and a loud voice screaming. "We're giving you what you deserve, you filthy Sun!"
His parents were the only Sun living in the immediate vicinity.
Even though every Sun went through this time in life, it felt somehow wrong. His grandfather's passing had been beautiful. He had felt it coming and had spent his last days celebrating the life he'd had with his family and friends whom all honoured his requests and joined the celebrations. His grandfather had handed his children and grandchildren many gifts; he had given Walt his first pen and an old notebook full with designs for great ships, for his grandfather had always loved the sea. The old man had seemed at peace and said that it was like seeing a candle slowly burn away and die. Inside of him was a flame, slowly burning itself up; when it was out of fuel it would flicker and seize to exist.
The College was in the second ward, so he'd have a long way to go to get to the fifth. The easiest would be crossing through the first ward, but the streets were coming to life now and he didn't feel like crossing that particular ward; its small streets would be full with peddlers and stalls. In his weakened state he didn't feel up to crossing marketplace after marketplace, shoving his way through the throng; even with the rationing having been called he'd expect there to be plenty of business.
He therefore set out to the point of the second ward, where it met the Great Library's plazas. From there it would be easy to walk past the third and fourth ward and dive into the fifth. His parents lived in one of the many dockworkers’ houses. All of those houses had but one story above ground and several below, connecting to the tunnels that led down to the Lantern's docks where fishermen unloaded their catches.
The walk was easy, the second ward never having been a busy ward and the streets were wide enough so that he didn't have to push his way through. He did catch some curious looks from passers-by and felt his cheeks flare red. He must look ridiculous with the cane.
When he crossed into the fifth ward he noticed the calm there, as well as the many burned out houses. The city's assaulters must have hit the fifth ward hardest, with the houses crowded so close together and the many wood hovels catching fire easily.
He felt that the atmosphere was somehow hushed, when he walked by houses he could hear people shuffle in and slam their doors shut and little children he came upon in the many alleys looked up and ran away shrieking. Houses with their doors kicked in and their windows broken looked like dead faces with their mouths gaping and their eyes opened wide in fear.
Walt started to run as fast as his legs would let him, but he was weary from the walk and his legs started screaming, his lungs burning and his head spinning when he got halfway down his parent's street. The laughing was louder now, more hysterical and in between he could hear grunts of pain. Then a woman screamed and there was more laughing.
As he came up to the door he saw it had been kicked in, like those other houses he'd passed. Inside it was a mess, what little furniture his parents owned had been overturned and broken. In the middle of the room was a bunch of men; their clothing rags, their hair messy, except for one. This man was in old, but good quality, leathers and he was holding an iron bound cudgel in his hand. The rest of the men seemed to follow him, looking at the man with nervous glances, laughing hysterically now and then.
He recognized them as soon as he saw the first tattoo; hyenas. They were circling around something in the centre of the room; a bundle of clothes and splintered wood. He saw a red haired head come up for just a second. It was his father. Screaming in rage Walt did the first thing that came to his mind; he moved his hands like drawing an arrow and reached for the magic that came to him so naturally. Or would have, under normal circumstances.
His head suddenly swooned and he had the sensation of being knocked in the face, perhaps he had been. The next thing he saw was the face of a grinning, unshaven man, bent over him. He felt like lurching and his head ached worse than it ever head. He could feel the man kicking and beating him, yet it was his head he was worried about, it hurt so much. He heard the laughing, the shouting and felt more kicks. His vision blurred and he threw up. His senses had been right; he was going to die.
Vaguely he heard the shouts around them, he heard grunts of pain, not knowing if they were his own, and another woman's angry scream. They'd found his mother no doubt; he cried for her, for his father and for himself as he slowly started losing consciousness.
