Chapter 279: Miniarc-Mentors 11

Sir Quintana, sans armor, smoothed down the front of his shirt, and tried to force the frown from his face. It had been a long day, to put it lightly. Normally, he didn’t mind travel but the king had asked for haste. That meant taking the fevids and he hadn’t had time to arrange a driver who could handle the beasts, forcing him onto the driver’s bench. He made good time but in return, he felt every bump in the road and had to endure the intense heat of the beasts as they ran with their full might for hours.

Then there was the matter of his mission. It should have been simple. Something the freshest royal courier could achieve. All he needed to do was stand aside as Orphelia Yemen delivered a box and a letter, then express the king’s sincerity.

The reasons he was sent instead of a normal courier were two-fold. First, his strength. The crown had scant records regarding the elves but they all hinted that they worshipped individual strength, particularly that of warriors.

Secondly, to dispel the haze of doubt surrounding him and other knights. The orders were not liked by the nobles. They didn’t appreciate anyone who could defy their authority. A group of powerful fighters, often commoners, who could influence the city, or even the kingdom? It was no surprise that the nobles attempted to restrict them at every turn.

A short-sighted decision. Young boys didn’t pick up wooden sticks and fight in their yards in hopes of serving a rich bastard. They fought for the chance to make their lives better. To become someone. To be knights. If only noble sons could become knights or officers in the army, as the powerful families wished, they would cripple the kingdom’s fighting potential.

It went unsaid that if only nobles learned how to fight, the king would be at the mercy of their houses.

The king had personally chosen Sir Quintana to deliver his message. As a commoner who had risen through the army all the way to the palace, he embodied everything they wanted to destroy. By being a part of forming friendly relations with the elf, something none of the powerful men and women with their eyes set on the bountiful elven continent had been able to do, he would decisively quiet their mutterings about “disloyal knights with no breeding” and “incompetent commoners”.

But he wasn’t bringing back good news. Though his failure was no fault of his own, his enemies would use it to validate their every argument against commoner knights and the loosely regulated knightly orders. If it truly came to war, there was no doubt he would lose his title. Without his title, he would be unable to own land and would lose his estate. The thought of being kicked out of his own home by the jackals circling the capital made him angry enough to want to do away with all the games and cut down the string-pulling bastards, consequences be damned.

He could still endure if it were just about him. It was everyone else he was truly worried about. Knights with more loyalty than power, who dedicated their lives to the kingdom and expected it to protect them in return. The boys who would be stripped of their opportunities. His apprentice.

Robert dreamed of being a hero. A fine goal. The knight respected his adoptive son’s ambition to make a change and supported it. That included setting him on the right path.

A man going around the kingdom slaying beasts and saving hapless maidens made for good entertainment. It took more than the swing of a sword to change a kingdom and there were many pitfalls that could stop the budding hero before he ever began.

Robert needed to learn how to navigate the maze that was palace intrigue and the knight feared if he wasn’t there to protect him, it wouldn’t be long before Robert was tainted beyond recognition. No doubt they would use his failure to call into question his judgment and someone who could not be trusted implicitly could not be left to raise such an important “resource”, as they saw his apprentice.

The same way he dreamed of heroes, Robert dreamed of villains. When he pictured evil, he thought of stiff-faced nobles standing by as their men whipped helpless commoners, hunters destroying villages with a reckless use of magic, and savages painting themselves in the blood of innocents. That accounted for a fraction of the threats.

The ones Robert needed to watch for were those who wanted to be his friends. The knights who would slap him on his back, get him drunk, and wow him with heroic tales to lure him to their orders. He needed to be afraid of the lovely young women who would lure him into bed, eager to add his bloodline to their house no matter the method. Who would take advantage of his honor to tie him to their agendas. Robert wasn’t at all prepared. He couldn’t be and be the man who dreamed of innocent adventures.

With a deep sigh, the knight put his worries aside and focused on his objective for the night. Delivering the king’s gift to Kierra was the main objective of his trip but he also received another task. More of a favor from a man few could refuse.

He knocked on the door before him and it was promptly opened by a young servant girl. She bowed to him and stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The office was exceedingly plain, especially for the opulent Gold Dorm. The only decoration was a large rug beneath a plain wooden desk, the top stacked with neat piles of paper but no personal items any workspace tended to accumulate. The walls were entirely bare and unwelcoming. Even the most spartan military officers decorated their offices to some extent. This was…impersonal. Cold.

The woman who sat behind the desk was much the same. She was beautiful, with elegant features as calm as the surface of a still pond and dark hair that fell down her back like a waterfall, but the plain gray robe she wore did her no favors. She seemed to be taking a break from working, slightly slumped in her chair with closed eyes.

Her head turned toward him as he entered though her eyes didn’t open. Sir Quintana had met the mental caster many times before, all of them formal occasions, but he had never seen her eyes. He’d heard rumors of the defect that had not only left her blind but given her a disturbing gaze. One she had refused to allow the king to rectify when he made the offer. Her handicap didn’t hinder her in any way but the knight thought it a shame. It was a striking flaw on an otherwise perfect canvas.

“Sir Quintana,” her melodious voice said as she gracefully rose to her feet. She moved around the desk as he stepped forward, extending her hand.

He gently grasped her fingers and kissed their backs. “Umphrieltalia. As always, a pleasure.”

There was a soft thump as the servant girl appeared at their side holding a chair. She set it before the desk before bowing away, tucking herself into a corner of the room.

“Please.” She waved for him to take the chair and retook her own seat, lacing her fingers in her lap. “May I ask to the reason for your unexpected presence?”

“Forgive me for the sudden visit. I’m sure you are quite busy.” He paused, giving her the opportunity to engage in the usual idle chatter. She didn’t, as she never did. Umphrieltalia was not known for her love of small talk. “Lord Remmings sent me to ask after your health. He is worried about your lack of communication.”

The mention of her mentor didn’t evoke the slightest reaction. “I am preoccupied with my duties. My responsibilities to the Hall combined with my pursuit to improve my casting leaves little time for writing correspondence.”

“To take his words, he misses his daughter.”

He thought she might have frowned, or at least began too, but the twitch of her lips disappeared in the time it took to blink. “I am not his daughter. He is my patron, my teacher, and mayhap my superior, but he is not family.”

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“Anyway,” Sir Quintana said quickly, eager to move on from what he perceived to be an awkward topic. “He asked that I deliver a message. He wants you to return to the capital.”

“No.” The response was immediate and devoid of emotion.

“May I ask why?”

“I do not believe it is any of your business.”

He winced. “Ah, well. Your relationship with the head interrogator may not be my business but he asked me to ‘make an effort’ to convince you to return. I’m not going to drag you—"

“I doubt you could.”

He chuckled as he wondered. Mental casters were exceedingly dangerous but this close, he figured he could take her out before she finished a spell of any consequence, despite being unarmed. “I’d appreciate it if you could give me an explanation I could bring back.”

Umphrieltalia stared at him impassively for several moments before speaking again. “I originally came to the Grand Hall because I wanted to explore the depths of the mental affinity. The interrogators are powerful but they have long forsaken the goal of mastering their magic.”

“The interrogators are the strongest mental casters in the kingdom. I’m sure they can teach you. Lord Remmings wanted me to tell you that if you return, he will personally mentor you. And he wanted me to remind you that if you stop delaying joining the interrogators, he will happily teach you their spells.”

“That is not the treasure he thinks it is. While impressive, that group, and their prized spells, have stagnated for decades. They are good at what they do but there is more to this affinity than stealing secrets. I can be more than a glorified hound magically sniffing out lies.”

“…it sounds as if you’re reconsidering joining the interrogators.” Sir Quintana glared at her suspiciously. “I’m sure I’m just imagining things.”

“You are not,” she declared and his jaw dropped slightly. “Though Remmings has made it clear that he desires I succeed him and I have taken the vows of any interrogator, I am not in service to the crown. My future has yet to be decided and with every year I spend at the Hall, the capital seems less appealing.”

Sir Quintana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know what’s going on but the kingdom can’t afford this right now. Things are strange in Summer Spire. People are questioning loyalties. The last thing they need is the disciple of the saints damned head interrogator forsaking the kingdom. Fuck!” The knight couldn’t believe how horrible a supposedly simple trip was going. “Look, it was a request but think of it as an emergency summons. The crown needs a show a strength and that includes you.”

“Is it an order? Do you have with you a royal writ?”

“No, but—"

“Then it is my right to refuse.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Oi. Do you not care? I tell you the crown needs your help and you refuse?”

“If it was truly an emergency, the king would have sent you with a royal writ. This is not an emergency. It is a stunt. For what purpose, I do not know and do not care. I do not want to waste my time standing at the king’s side like a piece of art while he deals with his greedy subordinates or whatever other nonsense has gripped the capital now.”

Umphrieltalia waved her hand dismissively. “Unless you can give me more details, this topic is closed. I am not a servant. I am an individual with my own goals. Tell Remmings he does himself no favors with his presumptions. Now, is that all, Sir Quintana?”

His mouth worked as he tried to find the words. When had women become so unreasonable? When did vows and debts of gratitude become worthless? He knew the story of Umphrieltalia. Found in an orphanage sponsored by the crown, she had outshone many noble geniuses. A proud example for commoners who lacked opportunity. All of that was because of the interrogators, who had lobbied for the orphanages and programs to test commoner children to bolster their numbers. Remmings had practically adopted the girl, despite never giving her his name.

When the kingdom that had given her that opportunity, when the man who may as well be her father asked her for help, she couldn’t even show a measure of concern?

“I believe it is.” Forcing down the urge to shake his head, the knight stood. “Thank you for seeing me, Umphrieltalia. I’ll excuse myself.”

“Have a good night, Sir Quintana.”

 

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