28 - Meeting

  “Is Healer Maeve ready?” Garrick asked Lyndon as he stood and rounded his desk.

  “Yes, sir,” Lyndon said, eyes softening somewhat. “She set up quite a protest, but between myself and Senior Healer Reynold, we managed to wrestle her out of the infirmary.”

  The image of Maeve burrowing into a corner like a squirrel in its den suddenly sprang to mind. It made him smile faintly.

  “Good,” he said. “After all her hard work, I’d hate for her to miss out on the joys of leadership and decision making.”

  Lyndon glanced at him.

  “Everything alright, sir?” he asked.

  The high commander only sighed. “Too many theories, Lyndon. Not enough answers. That’s all.”

  “Ah.”

  They left the study and met Maeve just outside. She paced nervously, her arms crossed over her chest as she hugged herself tightly. When she saw Garrick, she bit her lip and tapped her foot.

  “Do I have to do this?” she asked.

  “You are the chief medical expert in any regards of the monster,” Garrick reminded her. “Your presence is required.”

  “I thought you’d do all the reporting since you’re in charge. I mean, the king?” Maeve squeaked.

  Garrick just gently grabbed her shoulders, propelling her forward.

  “I’m the one who broods a lot, makes important decisions, and questions his own sanity every day,” Garrick rumbled, a little more truth in it than he liked.

  Maeve looked up at him, eyes full of doubt.

  “You’ll be fine,” Garrick insisted as he pushed her along with him through the main hall and down towards the courtyard. “They don’t bite, I promise. And I’ll be right there.”

  “That’s not as comforting as you think it is,” Maeve mumbled.

  But it was too late to run now. They stepped out into the courtyard. The first thing they felt was the heat, heavy and harsh. It simmered in the corners, not yet unbearable. But it was early in the season still.

  “This summer will be quite rough,” Garrick overheard Fenric comment as they approached.

  “Indeed,” Veylan replied, drawing out the word languidly.

  King and archmage both turned at the sound of approaching feet. Garrick, Maeve, and Lyndon all stopped before them and bowed, or in Maeve’s case completed a rather clumsy curtsy.

  “Your majesty,” Garrick said. “We welcome you to the Second Order.”

  Fenric brightened at the sight of his borrowed aide.

  “Lyndon!” Fenric beamed. “It’s good to see you again. Although, I’ll be perfectly honest, it does my heart little good to see you so comfortably in that uniform. Have I lost you to the Second Order completely?”

  “Who knows, your majesty?” Lyndon laughed with a dangerous twinkle in his eye. “It is much simpler here. The soldiers do as they’re told - go where I tell them, do what I tell them, take escorts where I tell them.”

  Fenric looked away and coughed nervously.

  “Ehem, well. And who’s this?” he said, changing the subject entirely as he turned his attention to Maeve.

  “G-g-good morning, your highness!” Maeve stammered, her voice suddenly higher pitched than normal.

  Fenric smiled a charming smile. “Good morning, my lady.”

  “Oh!” Maeve said quickly. “I’m no lady, sire. Just a healer. Just Maeve.”

  She bobbed her head enough to make her dizzy. Garrick had to place a hand on her shoulder to get her to stop. She blushed furiously.

  Fenric chuckled, amused.

  “Ah, so you’re the brave little healer,” he said. “Forgive me, but you don’t look like the dragon tamer Garrick made you out to be in his reports.”

  Maeve shook her head. Garrick tightened his grip reassuringly.

  “That she is, sire,” he said.

  The king’s eyes flashed to him. Damn those perceptive things. Garrick avoided them, glancing instead to Veylan who grinned, smiling stretching from ear to ear as he clapped his hands together eagerly. Fenric’s gaze lingered a little longer. Garrick was grateful when he decided not to press.

  “Alright, let’s spare any more formalities, shall we?” he said. “Where is it?”

  Fenric rolled his eyes. “Do forgive him. He hasn’t been able to stop talking about this since you reported the monster’s recovery.”

  “Oh, come now,” Veylan said, lips curling into a sly, almost playful smile as his eyes glittered with unabashed excitement. “A living weapon imbued with chaos magic - magic that before this creature was thought to be impossible? There are so many questions! Where is this creature from? Is it human or something else? And having it at our fingertips may allow us to discover the secret behind harnessing it. A chance to see this monster up close? Oh, how could I resist! I have so many ideas. Perhaps there is a chance to enact a controlled battlefield to test its combat abilities or…”

  As Veylan continued to ramble, Maeve stepped a little closer to Lyndon and Garrick and whispered, “He’s a little odd up close.”

  “I think,” Fenric interjected with his own stage whisper, “the word you’re looking for is strange.”

  That elicited a quiet giggle from Maeve and a raised brow from Lyndon. But Garrick remained largely silent, staring at a point past Veylan’s monologuing figure.

  “...the practical applications of chaos magic are, of course, still widely unknown but-”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Where does chaos magic come from?” Garrick asked suddenly, interrupting his dialogue.

  “W-what?” Veylan asked, slightly taken aback. “Oh. Well, that is rather difficult to answer actually. Thing is - we don’t know. The Monster of Savidor is the first recorded creature in hundreds of years of records to be in possession of such a magnificent and dangerous magical energy. It’s so uncommon that before its debut on the battlefield, chaos magic was largely thought to not exist. That in and of itself is significant enough. Just think about the possibility - if chaos magic truly exists, then what about healing magic or travel magic?”

  “Within hundreds of years of record?” Garrick pressed.

  Veylan nodded. “Oh, yes. Our records only go back a millenia or so. At least the reliable ones.”

  “And no creature was said to possess chaos magic?”

  “No creature was recorded to possess it, yes,” Veylan said.

  “But there are no similarities at all?”

  Veylan frowned. “No. At least, not that I’ve heard of. The records were rather vague, but I don’t recall there being any mentions of mortal races like ours. Elves, for example, are theorized to be potential wielders of it, though the theory has largely gone unproven given their stalwart beliefs about magic purity and the natural balance of the land. The closest beings thought to wield a form of chaos magic are actually the Marked.”

  Maeve frowned.

  “I thought those were just legends,” she said, then pressed her lips together as she realized she had interrupted the great archmage.

  Veylan only smiled patiently, however. He was in his element.

  “The Marked, my dear, are far from legends. I had the privilege of meeting Arthur Aers myself through my mentor and observing his marks myself,” he said. “But there seems to be a stark difference between the magic the Marked wield and chaos magic,” he continued, turning back to Garrick. “While they are known for their volatile power, it’s still very much like the mana we are familiar with.”

  He raised his hand and conjured a flame. It flickered in his palm, hovering just above the palm. His audience watched eagerly.

  “Think of it like this. Mana travels through channels in our bodies. Natural magic users are born with the mana channels. Marked individuals have those mana channels carved into their very being during their gestation in the womb as a result of being exposed to too much mana at that time. But while their mana is inherently more powerful and unpredictable, there are no reported fluctuations.”

  Concentrating on the fiery orb, he allowed his mana to flow through his hands. A hint of his golden mana glimmered in the air as he played with the fire, causing the orb to grow and shrink.

  “Do you see how my mana stays consistent? The same occurs in the Marked. In the monster, however, it has been reported by other mages to be in constant flux, unable to maintain a proper shape or consistency yet managing to produce devastating volatile magic.”

  “Hmm,” Garrick mused, losing himself again in his thoughts.

  “Is something wrong?” Fenric probed.

  “No…not really,” Garrick admitted. “It’s just…”

  He trailed off again, staring at a far wall with an expression nearing a scowl.

  “If I may, sire,” Lyndon cut in.

  Garrick shot him a sharp look, eyes warning him to stay silent, but Fenric nodded.

  “Go on,” the king said.

  “High Commander Garrick and Field Commander Varne have been theorizing on the monster’s origins in the hopes of gaining some insight so we can gain a foothold, or answers,” Lyndon said bluntly. “We’ve come to the conclusion that the monster has no ability to reason or communicate.”

  “Our routine has become something similar to training a dog,” Garrick admitted. “It’s made him far more docile, but no less an enigma. This is why we decided to hand him over to the magic tower.”

  “But your gut is telling you something different,” Fenric concluded for him.

  The high commander shifted, looking guilty. Fenric watched him thoughtfully.

  “Why?” he asked Garrick softly.

  The high commander hesitated, then sighed. “He shows signs of high intelligence. Reasoning, even, while limited. It belies the beast theory we’ve been floating.”

  “Hmm, examples?” Veylan asked, curious.

  “He makes deals, negotiates amounts, and learns quickly. While his initial bearing is beast-like, he shows a startling amount of intelligence closer to that of…”

  “Human,” Maeve finished quietly.

  They turned to her. Garrick watched her quiet smile.

  “I’ve noticed, too,” she said. “Hard to miss.”

  He nodded, feeling relieved suddenly that it didn’t have to be him. Veylan frowned deeply.

  “That’s a startling hypothesis,” the archmage said. “I hesitate to give it weight after reading the reports you’ve been sending.”

  “I have to agree,” Fenric said.

  Garrick didn’t blame them. The fights, the violence, the cowering and the growling - no one wanted to believe this thing could be human, least of all himself. And yet, his instincts were screaming.

  “I think the only thing to do is let me take a look at it,” Veylan said.

  “Will you be able to tell?” Fenric asked.

  “Most certainly. If he’s some kind of creature we don’t know, then…no, there isn’t. I wouldn’t know what magical markers to look for like with the known races. But if he’s a known entity, then we can definitely confirm it,” Veylan answered.

  Fenric nodded. “Then, it’s settled. Let’s see this monster.”

  Garrick nodded and took them down into the belly of the tower. The cool stone eased some of the heat, throwing them into cool relief. The deeper they trekked, the cooler it became. From the end of the long hall, past the empty cells, Bran’s voice could be heard. Garrick winced.

  “It sounds like he’s already eaten for the morning,” he murmured. “No deals left to make. I’m worried how he’ll react.”

  Veylan gave him a lopsided grin. “Then, we’ll just have to rely on charm, won’t we?”

  “Like that always goes over well,” Maeve muttered.

  As they approached the cell, Garrick noticed Bran stepping out. He was paired with Halver that morning, who like Tamsin had taken initiative in getting to know the routines by joining the guard rotations. Halver waited by the door, hand on his sword. He only seemed to breathe when Bran closed the door behind him. They both straightened as the group approached and saluted in the Adernian fashion. Halver couldn’t stop glancing between Veylan and Fenric, finger tapping nervously against his leg.

  “Your majesty, it’s an honor,” he said.

  Fenric smiled and nodded to him.

  “How is Luka this morning?” Garrick asked.

  Fenric shot him a look. “Luka?”

  Garrick winced then shook his head. The king glanced at Lyndon, who shrugged.

  “Got a little huffy this morning,” Bran admitted. “But he ate everything without protest. Earned a few extra pieces of jerky.”

  Garrick nodded once and turned back to the others. “Let’s keep it quiet and slow.”

  He stepped into the cell. Luka was already seated on the cot, legs drawn up, back pressed against the wall. At the sound of boots entering, he shifted uncomfortably, frowning deeply.

  “Hello, Luka,” Garrick said. “I have some friends for you to meet. Behave and deal, okay?”

  The monster’s nose wrinkled. But he didn’t growl or snap. Garrick took it as a good sign and nodded behind him. Veylan entered, followed by Fenric and then Maeve. Maeve smiled sweetly as she stepped inside.

  “Hello, Luka. How are you today?” she asked.

  “Does he ever answer?” Fenric asked her.

  “Not really,” she admitted. “But it’s really awkward to walk into a room and say nothing.”

  Veylan ignored them both and stepped slowly beside Garrick, his footsteps deliberately slow. The mage offered a smile, hands folded behind his back.

  “Now, be a good little monster and let me have a look at you.”

  He reached slowly. Garrick tensed, hand drifting to his belt. But to his surprise, Luka didn’t move. Not a twitch. Not a sound. The silence stretched longer than it should have. Even Veylan looked taken aback.

  Bran’s murmur was soft behind them. “First time he’s been this quiet.”

  Garrick grabbed Veylan’s shoulder and pulled him back. Veylan straightened.

  “I thought you said he was violent,” the archmage murmured.

  “He is,” Garrick said.

  He stepped forward studying Luka’s posture. He sat, rigid. Tension coiled through every line of his body. His eye fixed low, staring somewhere between his knees and the floor - unblinking, expressionless. Garrick reached out, ignoring Maeve’s hiss of warning. Slowly, one inch at a time, until his hand settled over the chains upon the monster’s wrists. Not even a twitch.