Legend of Ransera

Octavian was smiling. His people were joking and it wasn't quite the harsh gallows humor anymore. He found himself smiling at Arvælyn, bemusedly wondering what it would have been like to have him in the Studium Ilara. It had been a while since he had daydreamed about the Luxian throne, but now he wondered what it would be like to work in tandem with him as Zalkyriax's regent, ruling Solunarium between them.

As they ate, though, and listened to the prince's new intelligence and his extrapolations, he wondered aloud, "If this is true, though, would they respond favorably to you, dominus?"

If Sentinel Finn enraged them bearing grace from Streleon's new self, perhaps Prince Arvælyn with Ugrimal's...

Finn frowned thoughtfully. He did not like the idea of putting his maritus front and center with a known thread, even to save lives. Any assault would put those lives they had recovered at risk, as well. He wished the light of Aværys that he could invoke would allow his team to access the æther as it had during the Eclipse.

After most had broken their fast, "Very well. After all due preparations are made, I will approach the Castra Messor—carefully—flanked by the Sentinels—at a safe distance. I will offer parlay. If I find any of those bound as Lysander was, I will release them with Aværys' help. If I only meet the more compromised discipuli, then I will parlay as long as I might and only channel divinity if necessary to distract them. Meanwhile, Arvælyn will fly above, masked, and see whether he can find a safer ingress or look for an opportunity to use his own divine gifts to neutralize the triumvirate. Raithen, you will fly with your brother and keep him safe. If he can mask you, excellent. If not, you will have to fly higher so as not to be seen."

Then he turned toward Octavian.

"You will bide here until enough time has passed for us to reach the Castra Messor, and then you will lead the other students to the last waypoint. We will update your maps lest the way have altered since first you walked it. There is enough æther there for you to hunker down, and your Semblers will be able to verify whether anyone who follows is under the fell influence or not. If they are students freed, take them under your protection. If it is us, then all is well. If it is one of them, then Tiseus will open a portal to the next waypoint and you will begin your journey home with as many of you as we can free."

Octavian wanted to protest, but he nodded grimly. The Sentinels' mission outweighed that of the students. It was tactically sound to have them hold an exit ready for whomever could be saved, even for whomever might come running if the Castra Messor sent them running. And as much as he wanted to lead the charge to save the others, they were without magic, without knowledge of where and how the traps had been laid, and despite the bolstering of hopes and a good night's rest, they were exhausted.

If they charged, they would be cannon fodder. Sentinel Finn would have been in the wrong to use them in a battle of attrition, spending student lives in order to possibly save other students.

"Ita, Dominus."

Then Finn removed his black cloak and put it in the prince's hands.

"Use this as a shroud for Kenofer's body and bring it back for his family. Should the worst occur, you must report to Sentinel Phocion what happened down here." But then he offered a confident smile. "But I don't intend to let the worst occur, but rather to put a righteous fear of the Gods in the hearts of whatever has taken your colleagues."

It was a layer of protection he was losing, but he didn't know that the wards in his uniform blacks were working, if their enchantments held without ambient æther to support them, or if the æther of whatever spells were flung at him would be enough to activate them. In any case, similar protections were woven into the rest of his clothes as well, possibly even his smallclothes for all he knew.

Finn nodded to Octavian, then looked to the rest. He would later, more privately tell Octavian and perhaps shrewd Aneurin to keep an eye on Lysander, lest something hidden in him reignite when his former masters were challenged. He didn't want to sow suspicion, but he didn't want them so close to safety and have all the work and sacrifice undone by an eventuality Finn could plan for.

"Understood?"

Finn didn't believe he had misspoken, but was happy the point was clarified and that Tiseus' concern could be dismissed. He made a quick calculation in his mind to determine which of his Sentinels would be least valuable confronting the unknowns of the Castra Messor and most valuable to the beleaguered students who would be making a break for it; he ordered that one to accompany them.

"If she gives an order, dominus," he said to Octavian, "let it be as the word of the Gods to you. But as you have become the natural leader of your camp, she will defer to your leadership until and unless the situation merits Sentinel interference." The Sentinel saluted him, nodded to Octavian. The prince nodded gravely.

"Discipuli, rejoice! Though a darkness not of our Mother was cast over your mission, your suffering has not been in vain. Your duty now is to return with what you have learned, and our duty is to recover the rest of your colleagues."

When Ixondus woke up, dismayed, Finn could only laugh.

Later...

As they approached the Castra Messor, he couldn't help but glance up as if he would see his beloved husband and brother-in-law, but was more pleased that he couldn't discern their presence. He had faith in them, faith that they were watching out for him and his team from on high, and if he couldn't see them, hopefully, neither could the compromised students.

His team on the ground had adapted to one fewer of them. None had complained or shown any sign that they wished they were the one accompanying the other students to the traversion beacon at the waypoint, nor had he expected they would. He was proud of them, too, proud to be their leader. It was an honor he sought to be worthy of.

He made several quick hand gestures. Of the Sentinels, only his veil was down, his identity possibly a tool in the upcoming confrontation. He held onto the faint thread of hope that this could be handled without violence, but he was steeled to the expected necessity of it, as well. His orders were accepted with curt nods of understanding, subtle gestures of 'heard' though he hadn't spoken.

His voice was a weapon now. He didn't know if it was a byproduct of magic or the relentless and varied training of his voice, but he had learned to shatter glass. It was likely he could shatter eardrums, or at least stun people if he was close enough and loud enough. Even without his magic, he was dangerous now. He was not the naive minstrel whose life and livelihood had been so easily threatened by Zaichæri thugs in a Kalzasern alley.

The Ambition to be the preeminent musician in the world was still quietly paramount in his heart, but he had learned to fight to protect himself and, more importantly, Arvælyn. His husband needed that less now that he had settled into his power. It felt right to use what he had learned and trained for to protect other people. He was cognizant of the fact that the more success his team had on this mission, the more ties between Luxium and Umbrium, capital and provinces there would be, the bright lights of the next generation put through the crucible together and saved by the Dragon Prince, his Radiant husband, and Phocion's Goldfinch.

"I am one with Aværys, and Aværys is with me," he murmured. Though he wasn't singing, it was a song, the percussive elements of speech a pattern that ordered his thoughts. He prepared himself to channel the God's grace, but would speak without magical enhancement first, arcane or divine.

By now, his airborne support was silent, invisible above. The students would be leaving the safety of their camp to journey toward the safety of home.

The greatest risk now was his, just short of where he knew there was a trap he likely couldn't disarm.

"Salve, discipuli!" he called, voice filling the area. In other circumstances, he might have appreciated the acoustics. For now, he could only hope it would reach the ears of those who could most easily be saved, those who might flock to the black banner of the Vigilia Argenti and increase their odds of success with those students who had been more deeply compromised.

Far away now, Octavian was wondering whether this was the correct choice. He knew that leaders had to make the mortal calculus with regard to people's lives, and he knew it was his duty to follow the orders of the Sentinel tasked with recovering his colleagues and him. It felt wrong to retreat, though, leaving others, especially Perseus, behind.

Whatever the burden on his heart, the burden in his arms was the hastily shrouded corpse of Kenofer—mortal calculus, indeed. Somewhat desiccated already, the remains thankfully didn't stink. He almost wish they did, though, that his burden be more of a punishment.

Kenofer had not been a part of his studium, but that hardly mattered. His father expected him to always have his eye on the bigger picture, even if his part in it wasn't quite so outsized.

They would reach the marker unimpeded, it seemed, and they would stand guard for those who remained, or prepare to depart with news for the powers that be.

Meanwhile, in front of the Castra Messor, Finn stood, not wreathed in his God's grace. Not yet.

"You know me," he said. "Or you imagine you do. I am at a disadvantage. I come from farther away than these others, but I am aware that even the Umbrium is built upon the bones of more ancient nations. If anyone imagined there were survivors down here, they did not share those imaginings with me. You judge me for a Moritasi Who spent over a millennium incarcerated, reevaluating His views along with His Divine Sister. There is much you don't know about the world above.

"I was sent to rescue our young luminaries from their trials, not to make war on unknown neighbors. This realm is inhospitable to us, but not to you. Please, as a show of good faith, release them from your chains that I may know there is a possibility where they are, in fact, returned to us unharmed and not changed beyond all recognition.

"Perhaps we can aid you rather than you earn the ire of Gods and Greatwyrms, who might delve this deep for their children."

Finn was still processing these words from Albion's lips when everything started to move quite quickly. His guts lurched when he realized Arvælyn was falling, then Arvælyn stopped falling—not with fatal violence, Twins be praised—and he went from vessel of Varvara to Her avatar in the blink of an eye.

She spoke in their language, but this time, perhaps with Aværys' gift of tongues augmented by the presence of His Sister, he could understand. And his heart could stop hammering against his ribs; his own maritus was safe in Her hands, even if he misliked being left outside to wait. He didn't have to like what his Gods required; he had merely to obey.

A hand signal was all that was required for his Sentinels to stand down, to carefully collect closer to him. There were still hidden traps they did not want to trigger, but combat, at least, seemed to have been averted.

"Raithen," he called. "Ad me!"

Reconnaissance was no longer necessary. They had merely to wait upon Varvara's time and return. If She deemed it necessary the students abide a while, he could return with that and consider his mission a success but for Kenofer and those still missing. Perhaps they were within, or their locations were known to Albion. He only knew what Octavian's lot had reported.

Decius pulled his veil down as he approached. The man's eyes were usually the eyes of a man who had seen too much; they were not jaded now, but wondering at the apparition of Domina Varvara. The Twins granted him power by association as much as anything else.

"We await Her pleasure," Finn announced, and then fell into reverie.

Whatever shadowy creatures had dominated the students, who could cull usable aether from this environment, it seemed perhaps they worshipped dead Ugrimal, saw him as a cleric of Streleon. He would have to consider the linguistics more in depth with an expert at a later time. Streleon to Strelathi...

While he didn't allow himself to relax just yet, he supposed success was now in sight.