Part 4 –
“It all depends on the meaning of being noble,” Lysyl declared. “I mean,” she added after a moment’s reflection, “what makes a noble a noble?”
Alvan scratched his chin absentmindedly. “Dunno. I always just assumed it was because they had the silver. Those with the silver get to lord it over us poor common folk. You count the coin and that’s the difference between lord and commoner,” he finished with a shrug.
“Not in Ellyrion,” Kayt corrected with a chuckle. “There you count the horses. Stallions to be specific. There’s even a ceremony held every five years just for that purpose.” The others looked at him curiously. “Yes, it’s all quite mathematical. An elf that holds a pasture with a hundred stallions is declare ‘hetmyn’…it’s like a Sapheri ‘Baron’, the lowest of the ruling houses. And from there it is marked in multiples in ten. All the way up to a holder of ten thousand stallions being declared ‘Aylith’Khann’, a Grand Prince,” he explained with a smile and a spread of the fingers. “And during the Counting there is much concern if your herd is going to increase to just beyond that magical multiple of ten, and grant one a new title, or decrease, and lower your standing. It’s like an anxiety attack every five years!” He laughed. “My father has passed from hetmyn and back again more times than I can count! All at the proclivities of our stallions.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “But such is our way.”
“So odd,” Alvan said with a shake of his head. “Still it proves my point: those with more silver – or horses – are declared ‘noble’ because of their wealth and influence. And they get to rule over the rest.”
“That is sounding awfully seditious,” Justine commented with a sweet smile but probing eyes. “You aren’t a member of one of those ‘reformist factions’ in Hoeth, are you Alvan. Those have been declared illegal by the Phoenix, you know.”
“No, of course not!” Alvan quickly protested, a bit of sweat now on his brow. “I’m just saying that it is a natural situation. Like the tides or the seasons.” He wrung his hands and huffed. “Look at all of the benefits of having wealth. Silver can guarantee one’s children the best education, and tutors when they need them. They can provide for a larger, safer, healthier home. Defended against attack. Better food and crops in trade, so a more healthy nurturing for the young. Why is it any wonder that over the generations the families of the nobles become more powerful of body and mind than the commoners? They are cultivated, like a prized orchard – nurtured in the best soil and loam – but in our case that of being upbringing and education!”
“They certainly seem to be quite…well endowed,” Justine remarked appreciatively, her eyes lingering on the face of the Caledorian dragon lord below. (At least Benn hoped it was his face.)
“Yes, and silver can get one all of that. Education, experience through travel, the best opportunities in guild and apprenticeship…. And horses can get that too!” Alvan said eyeing Kayt. Then brow furrowed, “Ok, forget the horses.”
Kayt gave a melodramatic sigh. “Sometimes, my friend, I wish I could.”
“What about ability? Not all that come to the Tower are from Great Houses,” Benn interjected.
Truth be told, he was only listening with half an ear. Mostly he was busily craning his neck about trying to find the missing Saphery girl. There was still no sign of her. And he had already been to the entrance of the Maiden’s Lounge twice. (He worried if he loitered there any further that people would begin to think he was some kind of Pleasure deviant!)
“I’m talking about life opportunities!” Alvan replied huffily. “Ability is all well and good, but the wealthy have more opportunities to both cultivate ability, and to express it! Look, if a first year student is struggling at the Tower, they are supposed to study harder. Maybe seek out a senior student tutor. But the senior students are all busy and so they can’t help everyone that needs it. But if Lord So-and-So’s son comes to a senior student then nine times out of ten, they’ll get help. Why? Because the senior student knows that after graduation Lord So-and-So might help to find employ, or trade with one’s own house, etcetera. All because of silver.”
“And that’s assuming that they don’t bring their own tutors with them, provided by their Houses,” Kayt pointed out. “Like Lord Ectheirion. He brought two tutors when he came to the Tower.”
“Now you are joining in?” Justine said, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you the son of a noble?”
“When the stallions number more than a hundred, my lady,” Kayt replied with a flourish and a bow.
“No. No. No!” Lysyl declaimed with a stamping of the foot. “It’s not about the wealth. Otherwise every Lothern merchant would be a prince! And they are not! Being noble is about something else entirely!” She glared at them all. And then after a couple of angry breaths declared: “I should know. I’ve spent the past ten years working on my thesis of noble bloodlines!”
“And?” Kayt said with a congenial smile.
After a huff and a glare, the small elf maiden continued:
“Nobility is about more than wealth. Or ability. To be noble is, by definition, to be elevated,” she explained in the pedantic lecture tone she used in her seminars. “It is an elevation of the base into the refined. As ithilmar is made from base star ore. The metal is refined from its impure, heavy form, to the light, infinitely strong expression of its truest essence. But only through the diligent application of skill in the refining.”
“Huh?” Alvan said frowning.
Lysyl glowered, obviously wondering if the boy was mocking her. But at Alvan’s blank confusion, she continued. “All of us… All of the elder race, are the children of Asuryan are we not? That is why we are called the Asur - to remember the most ancient of lineages and the founding compact. That is we at our base. But it is not a guaranteed expression of who we are. We must work at it, to express our true nature. Like star ore becoming ithilmar. If we do not work at it than we cannot become better. We can even regress into something black and tainted….like the Druchii,” she finished with a shudder.
Alvan was scratching his face again. “I still don’t follow.”
“I am saying that the application…the elevation of base to noble…is a gift and power of Asuryan. It was He that chose and blessed the Asur people to begin with, and it was he that chose the best among us to lead us into his Design. Asuryan created the noble houses and gifted them with the refinements of body and mind, so that they could be shepherds to the flock of the Asur.”
“Yeah, but I thought all the noble houses could just trace their lineage to those who agreed to fight alongside Aenarion in the Founding,” Alvan said shaking his head.
“Yes, but you think that this selection was not guided by Asuryan himself. Acting through Aenarion? As his spiritual descendants, the Phoenix Kings, are made Asuryan’s representative on this world, the nobles are those imparted most with his gifts, and charged with the purpose of seeing his vision done! They are the best of us! In body and mind and wisdom!”
Benn frowned at that. Lysyl was finishing her speech with almost a rapturous glow on her face. And yet he knew enough history to wonder about her conclusions. Why some of the stories he had read about the events of the Princes’ Conclaves had made the entire event sound like a village schoolyard. With the hair pulling and rock throwing to match! And if these were the best of the Asur….?
Apparently Kayt was thinking something similar, because he added dryly, “As long as the stallion count adds up.”
Lysyl glared.
A thought occurred to Benn. “A terrible burden,” he muttered.
“What was that, Benn my lad?” Kayt asked good-naturedly.
“A terrible burden,” he repeated. “It is just something that Loremaster Tiralya once said to me. He said the nobles that he had known – at least the ones deserving of the title – were the ‘Shields of the Asur’. ‘First in attack; last in retreat’ he had said. That they were the ‘guardians of the rest of us’. And that it is ‘a terrible burden’,” Benn finished with a shrug.
There were a few seconds of silence as the others digested what he had said. Finally, Kayt replied:
“Well, that is all well and good…. As long as there are more than a hundred stallions.”
***
The hand opened and the crossbow bolt fell, hitting the wooden walkway with a clatter.
It was as if a signal had gone off. The Dark Elves reached inside their cloaks and a dozen more repeater crossbows came out. The knight on his monster threw the lever on his repeater dropping another shaft into the firing groove. The crossbows were all swinging frantically and pointing to her right…and the new figure standing there.
But he wasn’t there! She saw the cloaked figure leaping up, a foot upon the rope guard that bordered the edge of the walkway….
The crossbows leapt to life. The shrill crack-hiss of the repeaters spitting death through the night. She could hear the shrieking whistle of the bolts leaping through the air….
All towards the figure sprinting down the rope guard! Only a thumb’s thickness of fiber under foot and the figure was running full tilt, his rag cloak whipping like madness behind him! The bolts shrieked and whistled and passed along the figure on either side; some popping through the remnants of the cloak, making new tears in the fabric.
There was a woman’s shriek. She looked up and saw one of the fanged witch elves leaping from the platform above, one hand held out like a claw, the other held a long curved knife.
The black clad figure reached to his throat, and the cloak came loose from his shoulders just as the Dark Elf collided with it. The witch elf plummeted towards the cataracts below, shrieking madness, with the black cloak in hand!
Now she saw a figure whippet thin, with long black hair streaming behind it, dressed in an ill-fitting armor, ragged and of baroque design. A flash of metal – once and then twice. A sparkle in the night air surrounded by a chaos of flying bolts and Druchii war cries….
And then the figure was falling.
No! Not falling. Leaping across the platform!! She could see its body held straight as a spear…and spinning! Spinning wildly about like an acrobat, or a whirling dervish of the desert acolytes! The body spinning with such speed that it was a blur – just shimmering bands of black and gold, with the hair whipping about…. And a blade! A blade six feet long of glimmering silver-steel!! Held across the chest, the massive blade cut through the air with the spinning of the body like a whirling scythe!! There was the sickening thud of a heavy cleaver cutting through meat and bone, and she saw the head of the massive reptile steed fall to the platform in a geyser of black gore as the body behind fell down and thrashed, clawing and bashing its tail about in the hysterics of death.
There was a creaking sound! She glanced over and saw the wooden supports of the walkway above…shifting! Shifting along a cut made straight through the columns! An entire section of the walkway above was sliding from its posts carrying more screaming witch elves with it! The platform swept down and over the one she stood on, forcing her to cover her head. And when she looked up again, she saw the massive wooden debris colliding with a group of Dark Elves below, carrying them all into the chasm beyond in a tangle of bloody splinters and flailing limbs!
…And there was the strange figure, just beyond the new gap created in the Lattice. Feet spread wide and low. Long blade held in one hand, swept out behind it, and dripping crimson along its length.
The Druchii knight, unseated from its mount, was backpedalling on all fours from the newcomer.
***
“Who is that?! Is it another Dark Elf?!!! Are they fighting each other??!!” the boy shouted in her ear, giving her a an ear splitting pain and setting her teeth to grit.
“I don’t think so!” she answered, surprised that she was shouting as well. The battle was louder than she thought! “I…!”
But just then a woman’s voice called from the cliffs on the other side of the lattice. Her eyes leapt up, and she saw a tall figure with long silver hair tied in a triplet of braids at the back.
“SHADOW PRINCE!!” the woman called, and her beautiful face was filled with pride and malice. “You are too late!! Do you hear me?!! You cannot stop us now!!”
The new figure was standing now, massive blade held loosely in one hand as it strode down the walkway towards the waiting woman. The woman’s smile broadened into something truly feral, and green witch-flame leapt to her fingers. She whipped her arm forward and the flame spat from her fingers, growing into a raging cauldron of emerald heat as it sped through the night.
…and towards the lone figure.
The figure made a batting motion across its chest, as if shooing away a fly, and the green ball of flame disappeared.
The witch blinked in surprise, and her smile turned cruel. But then it once more slipped into a satisfied malice as a cunning light filled her eyes. Green flame leapt into both hands. She flung her hands forward, over and over again, sending a cascade of roaring witch fire out into the night! But not at the newcomer: the balls of flame collided with the wooden supports of the Lattice, shattering into great gouts of light and fire with thundering booms! Quickly the green flames roared crimson as they spread throughout the platforms above and below, turning the night into a raging spectacle of scarlet and wood-smoke!
“The Moon Lattice!!” the boy beside her cried, his face shocked and in duress. “NO!!”
There were more explosions and the platform they were standing on began to shake. Flames had spread throughout the supports above them, and she could see only raging fire.
“BACK!! Back the way we came!! Hurry!!” She shouted, and shoved the boy for good measure.
Explosions rocketed around them as they ran. Great trails of flame and wood splinters shot through the air, cutting face and hand as they ran. She could feel the blood on her brow and ears. But see little through the billowing white smoke.
“Gods, no!!!” the boy came to a halt. The platform before them had collapsed, and its belly of crisscrossing supports had turned into a raging inferno. The heat that leapt up to them was punishing and palpable, scorching skin and hair.
There was another explosion and the platform they stood on twisted and buckled sending them from their feet. She screamed as the world spun about her. She could feel the platform turning! Turning and shifting, leaning out towards the chasm!!
“Warden!!” the boy screamed as he slid past her and to the edge. Her hand flailed out and seized the boy’s; the other hand slipped and slid, clawing for any purchase as they both dropped towards the abyss. She was screaming now, hoarse throated and panicked. Until her fingers found a gap in the planks, and with a jerk, her motion came to a halt. Then the boy’s as well. His sudden stop sent a sharp pain through her back and shoulders. She looked down: she could see him below, eyes looking up desperately at her, suspended over a black drop into the frothing waters of the cataract below!!
The boy’s weight was so great it felt like it would tear her arm from its socket. She cried out in pain. He was heavy – too heavy! She looked down and saw past the dangling boy, that his other hand still held the heavy kite shield of the Citizen Levy!
“DROP THE SHIELD, IDIOT!” she shouted through gritted teeth. “You are too heavy! Drop it, or….”
She felt her fingers slip. She screamed then as her body slipped from its purchase. Her fingers were slick with blood and trying desperately to find another hold.
Her eyes shot about. Looking for anything. A pillar. A support. A rope.
A rope….
She saw one high above and to her right. It was a long piece of what was once a support strand. Dangling free now. Except it wasn’t dangling. It was pulled taught, down into the roaring inferno of the bridge below.
And it was moving! Slowly swinging this way!
She looked down into the blinding flames…. And saw a shadowy figure in between the shimmering blaze. A figure in black and gold. One hand upon the rope – running sideways along the burning ruin of the Lattice! The figure was sprinting from column to column, swinging along the rope, eyes blazing as hot as the inferno around it, teeth bared.
Her fingers slipped. She slid towards the edge. She could hear the boy’s screams over her own.
And then a hand seized her shoulder and she was torn and buffeted from the burning wreck, swinging through black space. Her throat still echoing with her screams, she felt herself released and falling! A patch of earth and soft snow struck her as she went sprawling, coming to a halt at the base of a tree. Her teeth were rattling inside her skull, and the world seemed to be spinning about her, but somehow she managed to lift her head. She saw the fool boy, lying nearby, still clutching his shield. And behind him, standing at the edge of the precipice, the tall lean figure in black and gold.
And behind it, the Moon Lattice, the great wonder of the north….
A skeleton wreathed in flame and smoke.
***
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