Fantasy Gray Sage x Kekse

[Gray Sage]

The Queen stared relentlessly, daring him to take her. It would mean catastrophe though, and he wasn’t willing to risk it. No matter how much satisfaction it might give him. There was too much left to do in this little game, and he had plans that she wouldn’t derail.

He smiled at her. She wouldn’t defeat him. Not yet. Instead moved his hand to the bishop, sliding it across the board to take Tatiana’s rook.

“Of course.” Tatiana rolled her eyes, lifting a delicate spoonful of soft-boiled egg to her mouth. “Saints, I hate this game.” She smirked.

Ilya leaned back and spread some orange marmalade on his toast. “You’re too obvious with your strategy. Maybe try to be more subtle next time.” He took a bite.

“Subtly was never my strength.” Her sleeve falling off her shoulder as if on cue.

A knock resounded on the door. “Who is it?” Tatiana called out, readjusting her robe to go open the door to her room.

“It’s Vlad. I need to talk to Ilya.” He called out from the other side. Ilya grimaced. Announce it to the whole palace why don’t you? He thought.

But it wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know. The fact that he stayed the night with Tatiana every so often was the worst kept secret among the staff and aristocracy of Katerinburg. He had noticed that her breakfast trays had gradually begun to include more food, and Tatiana’s sheets were changed more often. Still, his business was his own, and he would like to claim plausible deniability should the time ever come.

Tatiana unlocked the door with an annoyed swing. “You’re interupting with breakfast.” She huffed.

Vlad matched her annoyed expression and looked past her to Ilya. “His majesty requests your presence, now.”

“This early?” Ilya shot up from his chair and went to the bedside to grab his tunic, throwing it over his head, and grappling for his shoes. “Did he say what it’s about?”

“No, but I get he feeling it’s time sensitive, you may want to jog there.”

“I’m not going to jog, Vlad.” Ilya shrugged his vest on and fumbled with the buttons.

“What could he want at this hour?” Tatiana draped herself back over her chair, watching Ilya dress. Ilya racked his brain, and the foolish side of him, the hopeful side, thought that maybe the emperor would finally have some news about… but that seemed unlikely. No. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought. No, it would be business as usual.

“If he keeps you all morning, we’ll train tomorrow.” Vlad said, holding the door open for him as he left Tatiana’s suite and started down the hallway. “In the meantime, you and I can get some extra hours in.” Ilya heard Tatiana groan loudly as he turned the corner toward the west wing of the palace.

The palace was a maze, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d gotten lost on more than one occasion. But he had been there for over a decade now, and he liked to think he’d become acquainted with its corridors, halls, and secrets since then.

It was a rather long trek to the emperor’s office, and Ilya briefly reconsidered Vlad’s suggestion to jog. But, he came to the west wing soon enough, and walked through a checkered hall that acted as a shortcut to his destination. He had a bit of an ulterior motive, however, for choosing this path.

Along the walls hung portraits, ancestors of the monarchy, and great nobility from the ages. One portrait in particular had a strange hold on Ilya, and he would pass by it every chance he got, just to gaze upon her.

Alexandra the Proud towered above him, looking out with a serene expression. She had been the third empress of Zelyin, and she was known to have been a great and wise ruler. She had a firm stance, yet a kind look in her eye. Adorned in a celeste blue gown, she was graced with the finest jewels and kokoshnik tiara that the empire had to offer. She was beautiful and regal and warm. Ilya had never been one for fine art, but it was this painting that had first made him feel like the palace could be his home. The look in her eye was something that he found familiar and safe, all because the woman depicted somehow reminded him of his mother.

The two women really had nothing in common. Alexandra the Proud had been dead for over a century. Ilya was not of royal blood, or even of noble blood for that matter. Alexandra had blonde hair, while his mother’s had been brown. But something about that look in her eye. It comforted him. He took a brief moment to gaze upon her on his way to the emperor, remembering.

He moved on, however, faster in his pace, making his way up the grand staircase toward the emperor’s study.

Briefly looking himself over in an ornate mirror mounted on the wall, he tamped down his disheveled hair. His stubble was beginning to show, but he had been summoned quite early, so the emperor would have to forgive his slovenly appearance.

The guards in front of the study hit the ground in unison with their pikes to announce his arrival, before opening the doors to the study.

Ilya entered, arms behind his back, stiff postured, and eyes staring straight ahead, not daring to meet His Majesty’s gaze until given permission. He bowed to the emperor, holding back a greeting out of respect. He noticed Prince Anton was there too, already dressed for the day in his military uniform, looking over the papers on his father’s desk.

“Ah, yes, Ilya, thank you for coming.” The emperor sat down the papers he was looking at. He radiated a certain superlative air, and a stoic energy that would not be shaken. He and stared intently at Ilya for a silent moment.

“Approach.” He waved Ilya on, giving him permission to shed his formality. “Leave us.” He called to the guards. The emperor took a sip of his piping tea as they closed the doors. Anton, Ilya noticed, had a queer excitement in his eyes.

“Ilya,” Emperor Pytor began, “I will admit to you, I was skeptical about my son’s ambitions to bring mages into my home. Magic is so unpredictable, and people even moreso. But you and Tatiana and Vlad have proven yourselves to be loyal subjects and worthy servants of the crown.”

“I knew they would serve the empire well father–“

“Hush boy, I’m not finished yet.” Pytor raised his hand. “I have come to see the value in having mages in my service, and I believe there is much for you to do in the course of ending this wretched war.” The emperor let the statement hang, as if awaiting a response from Ilya.

“I will do whatever I can to aid the war effort, your majesty. I am your humble servant.” Ilya offered.

“Good. Good, I am glad to hear it.” Pytor nodded. “Ilya, I’m sending you on a mission.”

Ilya’s heart dropped. That could mean anything from digging trenches in the frozen tundra for a couple of weeks, to overseeing the Yellow Monastery in the south of the city for the rest of his life.

“You, and two of my best soldiers are going to take on an extraction mission. In Arnor.” The emperor folded his hands, and Anton’s smile was getting brighter. Ilya was shocked to hear he would be going into the enemy’s territory. He was technically a Captain in the Emperor’s army, but so were Tatiana and Vlad, and none of them had ever seen combat. What could possibly be so important in Arnor that he would be sent there when his magic was pitiful at worst, and chaotic at best?

“Did you know, my mathematicians and scholars agree that there are probably fewer than one hundred mages, on this entire continent? I have only managed to secure three of them. But, I have received word from my spies in Arnor that another has been found. I want you to go to Arnor, find her, and bring her back to Katerinburg so that Anton and I might… persuade her that joining our cause is the best way to bring an end to this war.”

“Another mage?” Ilya repeated, still hardly able to believe it. The emperor and Anton nodded in unison.

“You can understand how important it is that this mission is handled with care and discretion.”

“Of course, your majesty. What information do we have about her?”

“General Pavel will fill you in on your journey.” Pytor took another sip of his tea.

“When do I leave?”

“Immediately." The china clinked back in its saucer. "Your bags are being packed as we speak, there is a carriages outside the main entrance to take you to the station.”

Ilya’s jaw dropped, “Sir if I could have some time to prepare, an hour even?”

“There is nothing here that you need to see to, and this cannot wait. Time is of the essence. The servants will see to everything, and the prince will ensure that Vlad and Tatiana know you have left at the behest of the crown. But you will return.” The emperor’s last statement was more of an order than an encouragement.

“Yes, your majesty.” Ilya bowed, holding his low stance in humility.

“You have my leave.” The emperor leaned forward in his chair, taking his pen to the papers again.

Ilya turned and left the study, making his way down the halls and toward the main entrance, in a slight stupor.

“Ilya!” The Prince called after him. Ilya waited for him to catch up, an elated look on his face. “I have no doubt that this mage could mean the end of this war. And I have every faith that you’ll succeed.”

“Anton, I have no idea what I’m doing! Why doesn’t he send Tatiana on this mission? She has much better command of her skills.”

“Actually, I was the one that suggested you. I have other plans for Tatiana. But you, my friend.” Anton placed his hands on Ilya’s shoulders. “You are stronger than you know. I believe finding this mage will help you see that. And who knows? The two of you may work well together.”

Anton gave a mischievous grin, like he was up to something. Ilya and Anton had been friends since he came to the palace, among other things. He felt he knew the prince well enough to see when he was hiding something. Ilya wouldn’t dream of being privy to empiric secrets, but the plotting and the scheming at Ilya’s expense did start to grate his nerves.

“I’ll see you when you get back!” Anton headed back up the stairs. “And, if the moment comes, don’t think, just trust yourself. It’s how I learned to be a great soldier.” Anton called back down at him, his voice echoing off the walls.

Ilya shook his head in disbelief. This was a most unusual morning.

The servants held out a Cossack hat and a fur lined cloak for him as he neared the open door. He bundled up, watching his small trunk being loaded onto the carriage.

As he stepped outside the palace, the morning greeted him which a brisk kiss and frost that clung to his lungs. Just as he stepped inside the carriage, he noticed a flurry had started to fall from the sky.

 

[Kekse]

Ariah pulled her hood tighter around her face and huddled into the corner of the alley. The grey bank of sludge-filled snow which she hid behind gave her less coverage than she would have liked, but it was the best she could do under such short notice.

Snow had started around midnight with a light flurry, but grew steadily heavier as the minutes ticked by. Which wasn't unexpected at all, really. This was Arnor and it was winter. Ariah peered out into the darkness before her, ears pricked for any sound of the soldiers. She knew they were out searching for her, but hoped they had lost her trail in the growing storm. It had already covered the tracks on the other side of the snow bank and piled heavily on her head and shoulders.

Hopefully they had, because she couldn't spend much longer out here. This was the kind of weather where birds would fall frozen from the sky. Already her fingers were beginning to feel the ache of the firestone losing its potency while shivers started deep in her core and echoed outward in violent bursts.

"Damn this country," she grumbled in nothing more than a faint whisper. "Damn this country, its weather, and its politics..."

The latter being the real issue. If the leadership had not demanded all those with signs of magic be gathered, and had she not slipped up and confided in the wrong person, she could be warm in her bed with the fire crackling and her little brother curled up at her side. But such things were out of her control, now, and all she could do was hope to get out of Arnor safely.

Horrible, horrible stories had come from the gates of the castle in regards to those who had been pulled into the service of the king. Many of them spread by Ariah herself, truth be told. Her group had once numbered ten mages, but now only she remained free. Her link with Yevgenia had proven particularly useful, though she hadn't heard from the older woman since yesterday morning.

Rumors had spread through her little band that they might find safety in the hamlet of Ryme, where a larger group of mages had gathered. Ariah didn't know if that was still true, but she did know from the moment she felt Yevgenia's pain pulsing in her brain that she needed to try.

She held her hands out in front of her and frowned, having no more tears to cry or energy to waste on them. The whole 'magical powers' thing was still fresh and raw. Her only stroke of luck was being discovered by her friends before the soldiers caught up. It had gained her a couple of weeks to become accustomed to her new life before finding herself entirely alone.

There was no more time to dawdle. The last of the heat had soaked out of the spelled stone and if she didn't move, she'd freeze solid. Ariah looked up the alley one more time before emerging and padding through the thickly silent streets toward the edge of town.

As far as she knew, Ryme was about two miles to the north. On a warm summer day, two miles was simply a lovely afternoon walk. But in the hellish snow of a roaring winter, it may as well have been a marathon. Once she made it past the shoveled roads of Arnor, the snow was nearly up to her knees. It made each step heavy and slow while her face was pelted with heavy ice pellets. Buildings had blocked much of the wind inside the city, but out here she had no such protection.

All she could do was keep walking. Keep moving. Keep her blood flowing. And keep hoping she was going in the proper direction. Mikhail had promised the thread he tied around each of their wrists would ensure they were pulled to their destination, but without proof...Ariah could only trust a man she'd barely met.

Which was more than she could give, now, to the one she'd known since childhood.

The first rays of morning had begun to color the storm clouds gold by the time Ariah saw tendrils of smoke rising toward the sky. Her wrist tugged her toward them, thought it was the thought of a fire which really gave her legs new strength and carried her the last few meters.

No sooner had she entered the circle of firelight than her body gave out and she collapsed onto the snow. A pair of young men, initially startled by the sight of a bedraggled and ice-covered figure emerge from the darkness, leapt to action when said figure collapsed. "Check her first," the taller of the men demanded, hovering a couple of feet away from Ariah. The shorter man nodded and cautiously approached. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, which he held for a long moment before releasing. The cold air gave the breath form and allowed the men to watch it drift over the newcomer.

And then the steamy breath turned a vibrant blue. "She's one of us!" the shorter man exclaimed, and the pair hurried to carry Ariah into a rough building at the edge of the village. They could see her small breaths thanks to the chill so they knew she was still alive, but it was obvious she was in rough shape.

Soon she lay on a cot next to a warm fire with her wet clothing removed and a heavy fur draped over her body. She shivered despite her lack of consciousness, which was a good sign. The taller man ran a hand over Ariah's form and frowned as he seemed to contemplate some sort of information. "Memory magic, newly discovered. She has traces of other magic marks as well, which means she had a group. We may need to send out a rescue effort when she awakes if her companions are still out there somewhere."

The shorter man nodded and added another log to the fire. "I'll go tell Markus. He'll want to know that we have company. Watch over her until I get back."