The stealthy ways of weather mages was still an experimental field in Rosinder’s heretical sense; in lieu of the recent Inquisition, her magic was considered god-like, if not legendary. But these accusations hold little weight in the advanced worlds of Terrenus or Genesaris, where magic wasn’t so routinely persecuted. Weather mages were a dime a dozen, and their manner of travel is as controversial as their art.
Some said she travelled on the wind, others as a breath of cloud, or still as the morning dew before the sun. It’s not fully known what manner of magical stealth she chose, or if it was more than one method, but if Renovatio was to have never been there in the first place, then what did she have to fear? Meddlesome assassins in the height of the day? Was it divination that held her to Arthur Terces? An ancient pact made with the royal family? Or was it Julius Aldoid himself? Was it that she, being a Rosinderian citizen, having ached for an insurgence for a year, having taught her apprentices in secret, made it her business to know at all costs? Just how had she proven her allegiance to Rosinder? What family lineage did she boast, if any?
Regardless of magical travel, it took five days . Even with Julius as her trump card, it took five days. Five expensive days.
So it was that Coda stood a captive audience to the frailty of tactics and security measures. She was searched thoroughly, patted down, and interrogated. Her disguise of mist and weather had to be removed, and when she went before the lost hero, you could tell she was a boiling cistern of frustration keeping the importance of a stone face. Patience was such a costly virtue.
The sound of military formations and exercises, though a harbinger of war, were comforting to her ears. To know that she had made it to the encampment allowed her to walk with her shoulders a little more limp, her fists a little less clutched, and her lip a little less stiff.
It was time to tap dance. Arthur had not offered the support she had begged him for – that the people had begged for – for a long while. Hot blood does not cool through patience, but through inaction. But through all of this, Arthur was her star, her cornerstone, and her comrade. Rosinder was her country. Rosinderians were her people, and had Arthur known the deep price she had paid in exchange for him and his country, her allegiance would never be questioned again. Nevertheless, when a people are hungry for independence – when a people are hungry for hope – there is a jaded sort of embittered will that crusts over the heart. Nothing treacherous, but ultimately painful.
Coda saw Arthur as the father who had told his children to, “Stay here and don’t move from this spot until I tell you” and had walked away without promise of return. Her band of magi could not wait. He had made that command in exchange for lives, whether he was fully aware or not. It hurt. And Coda was deeply hurt for it, but Arthur was still ultimately family.
When he called her name, she sank to one knee and placed her left gauntlet to her breast. Her head bowed and her long hair fell over her broad shoulders. “Your Honor.”
Did she look well?
"Sir, your people and their friends are vexed. Five days ride still to Daeor where we laid siege to the citadel not one week prior. We fought long and hard and exhausted great auryl in this process, but were sorely troubled by our outcome.”
“Your foes have deceived your people. An illusion. Daeor has fallen, but her people are weak and there is much fraternizing among them concerning rumors of insurgence. They are just as baffled as we, it seems. “
“Long have I ached to spill Renovatian blood for its treachery, and your people wish blood for blood. We are tired of waiting. We struck, on no command but my own. But sir, I must question if you find me friend or foe, for the schematics on the city did not divulge that the citadel above was an illusion and that the city below was full of little more than peasants. We walked into little more than a massacre, and even if the lives of that massacre are Renovatian, I will not spill innocent blood.”
“Your honor, it is not my intent to cast blame…to…accuse…” and at this, Coda wept, and her knees buckled, for she felt she had been betrayed. “Why did my lord cast me to the wolves?”
Suddenly, the dangers of what Arthur had done made him seem quite the apostate. Surely it was not his intention to do these things. “…never have I struck you or yours. Never have I betrayed your…” Coda had been left lying in the lurch, as had her people. Arthur did not divulge that the upper citadel was an illusion, nor that the lower city was full of anything less than military personnel. It was a great thing to have a mage lose her words:
“What invisible sin have I committed that you shame me and your people so? I wish to beg forgiveness for my unknown sin, but wonder if my penance to this Great Land has paid my invisible debt. Does my General wish for my head? If he wishes it so, he may cleave it with his own sword.”
