Valkyrie's Shadow

Before the Storm: Act 1, Chapter 2

Before the Storm: Act 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

1st Day, Upper Fire Month, 1 CE

After weeks of attending awards ceremonies, Rangobart was finally free to attend to the business that he couldn’t take care of in Arwintar. This, of course, was also where his personal troubles conveniently began.

“Please take good care of your health, Rangobart.”

“I will, Mother.”

“If you run into any Undead, don’t try to be a hero. Just run away!”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Make sure you check that any nice girls you encounter aren’t actually Vampires.”

“I’m not going there for that, Mother.”

His mother dabbed her cheeks, sniffled, and then blew her nose into her handkerchief. She waved him a tearful farewell as his carriage slowly rolled out of the grounds of House Roberbad’s manor in the First-class District of Arwintar. Rangobart had been tempted to just bring his mother along for various reasons, but his father forbade it.

“You coddle that woman too much, Rangobart.”

“Can’t we just let her have her moment, Arlandor?”

The heir apparent of House Roberbad snorted.

“She’s been having her moment since we set foot in Arwintar. You’re going to give her airs.”

I very much doubt that.

His mother had more than ample opportunity to develop ‘airs’ during the flower of her youth when she commanded Count Roberbad’s full attention. Yet, she never did. Rangobart’s mother was a simple woman who was content with being content. It didn’t take much to make her happy and she rarely, if ever, asked for anything.

The carriage jounced as it crossed the threshold of the estate. From there, it went on to join a procession of carriages belonging to House Roberbad’s allies.

“Let’s take a look at that letter of introduction again.”

Rangobart held in a sigh and reached into his coat pocket. His eldest brother scrutinised the thing for what felt like the hundredth time.

If Baroness Zahradnik’s letter of introduction could be described in a word, it would be standard. Yet, Rangobart’s father and brother – they wouldn’t tell their allies about the letter – endlessly scrutinised it as if it contained a myriad of hidden meanings. Knowing the Baroness, it didn’t, but, then again, even General Ray insisted that the young noblewoman from the Sorcerous Kingdom was much more than she seemed to be.

“I don’t see why you’re so skittish,” Rangobart said. “The faction as a whole received its own invitation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, which makes your letter’s very existence suspicious.”

The truth of the matter was that Baroness Zaharadnik had written the letter as a sort of ‘consolation prize’ for Rangobart’s failure to court her, hoping that it would mollify Rangobart’s father somewhat. And it did…at least until Rangobart had received his unprecedented promotion.

Most would probably wonder why his father would see it as a bad thing, especially since House Roberbad had poured so many resources into raising Rangobart to be a useful tool and went to great lengths to facilitate the advancement of his career. The answer lay in that very same thought: he was supposed to be a tool for House Roberbad, and a tool was a tool because they were obliged to do their owner’s bidding.

Being raised from honorary knight to Viscount was rising too far and too fast. He was now more obliged to the Emperor than House Roberbad and an upstanding Noble of the Empire couldn’t trust that. In his father’s eyes, Rangobart had gone from being a tool of House Roberbad to a tool stolen from House Roberbad by the Emperor. The notion took a few weeks to slowly sink in, but, when it did, his father started thinking.

Rangobart was the son of a concubine, but he was still his father’s son. Now that he was the Bloody Emperor’s creature, every obstacle to Rangobart’s succession might mysteriously meet with unfortunate ends. The Emperor had stolen House Roberbad’s tool; now the tool might steal House Roberbad itself as a part of the Emperor’s relentless effort to reduce the power of the civilian aristocracy.

Due to this, a pair of powerful bodyguards – Workers, as far as Rangobart could tell – accompanied Arlandor wherever he went. His brother was sitting between them at that very moment.

His family’s fears had spawned several other conspiracy theories and some of them were not in any way amusing. For the time being, however, the aforementioned one was Rangobart’s current headache.

Arlandor tossed the letter of introduction onto Rangobart’s lap.

“This ‘Mage Captain’ thing,” he said, “what more did you find out about it?”

“It’s as you’ve heard His Imperial Majesty say, esteemed brother,” Rangobart replied. “I’m to form a company of War Wizards for the Imperial Army.”

“Come, now, brother,” Arlandor said, “you must have uncovered some details, by now. For what purpose will it be employed? Why? How will it work? You are the Mage Captain, are you not?”

“Yes, that’s right, and I’ve told you that I don’t have any details yet. I’ve been attending the First Division’s award ceremony for the last three weeks! Look, if you want to go and dig up some deep, dark secrets, why not go and bother House Gran?”

His brother’s eyes slid from window to window as if he expected a member of the notorious house to suddenly fly into the carriage. At least it shut him up.

In reality, the Emperor had been vague about the details of the Mage Captain’s position because the Emperor had no idea what the Mage Captain was supposed to do and neither did the Mage Captain. As General Ray said, a certain someone had packaged a nonexistent thing in a shiny wrapper for the bureaucracy and the bureaucracy decided that they wanted it. Of course, ‘War Wizard Company’ sounded mighty impressive to the Imperial Army, and so they wanted it, too.

The Emperor and his Court Council weren’t fools, of course. They understood that it could exist and so approved of the War Wizard Company proposal, which was itself proposed by a certain member of the Imperial Court Council. If Rangobart succeeded, it would earn the Baharuth Empire a great deal of regional renown and add an unprecedented amount of military power to the Imperial Army. That was probably the greatest downside of having recently conquered a Dragon’s domain and having money to burn as a result: it turned even geniuses into gamblers.

Thus, Rangobart Roberbad had been tasked to create a thing that didn’t exist. The binder that General Ray had provided him was more of a resource compiled for his convenience than an assignment with specific orders and objectives.

Their carriage sped up as they crossed into the threshold of the Fourth-class District. Rangobart watched the slums whiz by, but then an odd scene caused him to raise his hand to knock on the driver window.

“Stop the carriage!”

“Rangobart,” Arlando tensed, “what are you–”

The carriage lurched to a halt. Rangobart threw open the door and stepped out to look back up the road.

I wasn’t seeing things…

Two squads of Imperial Knights from the First Army Group had gathered at one of the intersections the carriage had passed. This was strange in itself, as Arwintar’s security forces pretty much never patrolled the slums. In the run-down buildings all around them, residents watched whatever was going on from the shadows of their windows.

“Rangobart!” Arlando called out from the carriage, “What are you doing? It’s dangerous to stop here!”

Dangerous with two squads of the best Imperial Knights standing right there? Give me a break…

He jogged up to the gathering, more curious than wary. One of the patrolmen glanced at him before returning his attention to the street.

“What’s going on here?” Rangobart asked, “Do you need any help?”

“That’s a very good question,” one of the Imperial Knights answered.

What kind of answer is that?

He looked into the narrow street and quickly spotted the source of everyone’s consternation at the head of the line of wagons squeezed into the passage.

“A Goblin?” Rangobart frowned.

Why was there a Goblin in the capital? More importantly, why wasn’t it already dead? He peered at the thing in confusion, trying to figure out what was stopping the Imperial Knights. As he did so, his confusion was dispelled when he spotted someone he knew standing a bit further up the street.

“Nemel?”

The familiar figure turned.

“Geh! Rangobart…”

His former classmate’s presence explained why the Imperial Knights weren’t doing anything about the Goblin. It was probably from the Sorcerous Kingdom and they feared that Arwintar would be flattened if they did anything to it.

“Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance?” Rangobart asked.

“I’d rather not greet you at all…”

Rangobart sidled past the cordon of Imperial Knights and walked past the Goblin by the wagon. Nemel took a step back, eyeing him warily.

“If you touch me,” she said, “I’ll bite you.”

“Have you gone feral?”

Had the youngest daughter of House Gran spiralled into some strange form of tribal savagery since moving to the Sorcerous Kingdom? Baroness Zahradnik certainly didn’t act like that. Maybe he could tame her with a potato.

“No,” Nemel replied, “but I can hardly blow you up in the street. It would cause trouble for the residents.”

“Nemel, the last wagon is being load–ara, if it isn’t the Viscount.”

Lady Gran appeared from behind Nemel. What was a noblewoman doing in the slums? No, Nemel was a noblewoman as well, so there were two…

“Baroness Gran,” Rangobart lowered his head slightly, “your presence here is…unexpected.”

“Isn’t it?” The Baroness smiled a smiley smile that looked just like her daughter’s, “Today’s the big move, so I thought I’d come and help organise things.”

The big move…?

Rangobart examined the line of wagons. The street was barely wide enough to fit them and the sun couldn’t reach the pavement. Now that his eyes were adjusted to the gloom, however, he noted that the wagons were filled with passengers and cargo. By the looks of them, they were denizens of Arwintar’s slums.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lady,” Rangobart said.

“They’re the first batch of migrants accepted by our placement agency here,” Nemel gestured at a nearby storefront. “They’ll be settling in the territory that I’ve been managing in the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

He followed Nemel’s gesture to a building with boarded windows and a closed door. The only thing that distinguished it from its neighbours was a relatively fresh-looking sign with ETERNAL WINTER PLACEMENT AGENCY written ominously in bold upon it. Across the street was the familiar façade of a DEATH BREAD. If they added a few more establishments like them to the area, everyone would probably think the street was cursed.

“I’m surprised you managed to get as many people as you have,” Rangobart said.

“It was difficult getting anyone at all at the start,” Nemel admitted. “Not only are most people averse to moving to the Sorcerous Kingdom, but there were some unexpected things we had to watch out for, too.”

“Such as?”

“Debts,” Nemel replied. “Runaways. People with problematic histories. I’d like nothing better than to give everyone a fair chance at a fresh start, but we also have to think of the people who have worked hard to build everything up so far.”

Rangobart nodded. If he understood it correctly, Nemel was managing a frontier territory. The damage a single criminal caused could potentially wipe out an entire population under those circumstances.

“What’s the story with that Goblin over there?”

“You mean Nob? He’s–NOB! Put that down! It’s dirty!”

Everyone – from the Goblin to the migrants to the Imperial Knights – jumped at the sound of a voice that was better suited for a battlefield. Nemel cringed and her head turned back and forth while she made apologetic gestures.

“S-Sorry about that,” she said. “Nob’s from our village. He wanted to come and see what Arwintar was like, so I figured ‘Why not?’”

“You have Goblins in your village?”

“Yeah. It’s actually more like we’re living in a Goblin village these days. There are fifty Goblins for every Human we’ve brought in. Anyway, it’s about time we get going. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Just a moment, Nemel,” Lady Gran said. “Your father and I put together a little something for you…”

The Baroness produced a lacquered wooden casket roughly a half-metre to a side from the magical container at her hip.

“You shouldn’t have,” Nemel said.

“Nonsense, Nemel. You were agonising over what industries to promote in the village and the family business is the obvious choice.”

Rangobart watched Nemel and her mother from where he stood to the side. House Gran truly existed in another world.

Their notorious reputation as a house impervious to the machinations of even the greatest imperial factions – it was said that even the Emperor didn’t dare touch them – aside, many little things about House Gran slipped past the notice of the imperial aristocracy and the public at large. That, or those little things were offhandedly rationalised away as unimportant or ‘expected’ details. As Nemel’s classmate in the Imperial Magic Academy and a Wizard who served in the Imperial Army, however, many things stood out to Rangobart about House Gran that he couldn’t quite piece together.

The interaction before him offered a window into what they considered ‘normal’. As renowned as the Empire was for its magical integration, everyday imperial citizens still did not discuss magic-related topics on the street. They certainly didn’t casually pass magic items between one another in the narrow, filthy streets of the capital’s slums.

Lady Gran was adorned in magic items from head to toe, putting even the most well-equipped War Wizards in the Imperial Army to shame. Yet, most people assumed that her outfit was no different from any other noblewoman’s, so naturally did she wear it. Rumour amongst the Imperial Army’s War Wizards had it that if one were to perform a magical inspection on Lady Gran, they would find no fewer than a dozen slender wands armed with Third-tier spells neatly holstered in the ribbing of her corset, giving her enough firepower to single-handedly destroy an entire army division – assuming it just stood around to get blasted to bits.

That was the other thing about them. Their magic item workshop concealed the fact that they appeared to be descended from an ancient lineage of War Wizards. Few people realised this because most members of House Gran spent their time innocuously imbuing wooden sticks with magical death for other people to use instead of personally flinging those same spells around on the battlefield.

Given the fact that roughly one in five wands employed by the Imperial Army came from House Gran’s workshop, Rangobart had to wonder how many millions of lives they were indirectly responsible for ending since the founding of the Baharuth Empire. People were terrified of House Gran for good reason, but not nearly terrified enough.

Of course, when one suggested anything remotely to the tune of the above, the members of House Gran would assert that they were harmless. Normal. Everyone knew that was a lie.

House Gran’s existence stood apart from the average imperial house. They weren’t regular aristocrats; neither did they fit into the ranks of the Empire’s martial elite with its venerable cavalry traditions. ‘Magocrat’ was the best way to describe them – perhaps something akin to the ‘Imperial Arcanists’ proposed in Fundamental Principles of Magocratic Governance.

Most would point out that they weren’t the only Nobles who were also mages in the Empire. Every senior member of the Imperial Ministry of Magic had been granted a title, and there were more than a few scions who had graduated from the Imperial Magic Academy with arcane training.

Except, while that was indeed the case, they couldn’t remotely be compared. The department heads of the Imperial Ministry of Magic were simply mages who had been granted Noble titles. They didn’t care about them beyond the fact that they provided revenue to subsidise their research, leaving the seneschals supplied by the Imperial Administration to manage their fiefs’ affairs. Something similar could be said about most of the graduates from the Imperial Magic Academy’s magic stream: magic was a convenient tool to be used; considered separate from everything else.

Indeed, saying that they were anything like House Gran was like claiming that a civilian Noble who sported a rapier on their belt as a fashion statement was a martial aristocrat who could personally crush hundreds of enemies at once in battle. The members of House Gran were both Nobles and Wizards at the same time, and both aspects were intertwined and inseparable.

Magic was so integrated into their existence that Rangobart had no choice but to believe the ongoing back and forth between Nemel and Lady Gran was no different from any similar interaction between a mother and her daughter, except with magic.

Wait a minute. Isn’t this what I’ve been looking for?

He had a feeling that it was.

“Nemel,” he said. “My party is on its way to the Sorcerous Kingdom, as well. You and your group are welcome to join us.”

His former classmate peered at him suspiciously. Lady Gran put on a sly look.

“That’s a wonderful idea, my lord,” the Baroness smiled.

“Mother!”

“Don’t be shy, Nemel,” Lady Gran continued beaming. “It only makes sense.”

Nemel’s sigh made Rangobart want to sigh as well. She didn’t have to act as if she had just been saddled with a burden.

“Fine. I hope your ‘party’ doesn’t cause my people any trouble. The trip to the border is long enough as it is.”

“I doubt they’ll come anywhere close to them,” Rangobart replied, “especially with a Goblin around.”

That was the way it usually went. Travellers going in the same direction combined into larger caravans more often than not. Regular people did so for safety, entertainment, and convenience. Merchants did it to share information and ply their wares. Nobles allowed it out of a sense of duty as members of the establishment.

The larger a caravan became, the livelier things got. If they were lucky, they would be able to attract several Bards.

“Don’t get me started on that,” Nemel grumbled. “Do you know how many times a patrol stopped us and asked ‘Do you realise that a Goblin is driving one of your wagons, ma’am?’”

“Well, you can’t exactly blame them for it…”

“I can.”

Rangobart snorted. Nemel had gotten quite feisty in the time since he had last seen her. Maybe she had picked up a bit of frontier spirit.

He fell into step beside their lead wagon as they rolled out onto the main road. When they reached his brother’s parked carriage, he found a footman at each corner looking like they were expecting a Rogue to descend from a nearby window with daggers brandished. Their tension shot up by five notches when they noticed the Goblin coming their way.

“Rangobart,” Arlando stuck his head out of the carriage window, “what in the world possessed you to–”

His brother withdrew his head with a gasp and the window slammed shut. Rangobart tested the door, half expecting it to be locked, but it swung open without resistance. Arlando was on the far side of the cabin, taking refuge behind his bodyguards as he fingered the dagger at his waist.

“Lord Arlando,” Rangobart said, “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve seen a Goblin before.”

“Th-that was at an exhibition match in the Grand Arena. Let’s move on – this entire area is dangerous. Goblins in Arwintar’s streets: what is this world coming to?”

“Where’s the rest of our entourage?” Rangobart asked, “They must have surely noticed that we stopped.”

“They’re probably waiting for us somewhere sane.”

After fighting a small war in the Blister, Goblins and the impoverished hardly seemed like murderous threats. Admittedly, he held the same views as his brother before joining the Imperial Army.

“I see,” Rangobart said. “Well, I’ll be catching up with an acquaintance from the Academy. Enjoy your ride, esteemed brother.”

He jogged to catch up with the lead wagon of Nemel’s party. Nemel gave him an unwelcoming look.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“I just thought I’d spend some time catching up with you,” Rangobart answered. “There were also a few things I wanted to ask.”

“About what?”

“I’m sure you know about my new appointment.”

“It would be hard not to. It’s probably one of the top three conversation topics in the circles of the imperial elite. I can’t get through a single dinner party without someone bringing it up. What’s it all about?”

“I don’t know.”

Nemel frowned down at him from her seat.

“You don’t know? It’s a Wizard company, right? As in a company of Imperial Knights, except Wizards.”

“That’s what the Court Council and Imperial Army chiefs would like,” Rangobart replied. “But, well, you know what it’s like to be a War Wizard in the Imperial Army.”

“Culture eats strategy for breakfast, huh…”

Rangobart nodded. As expected, Nemel immediately understood the problem.

One did not just simply throw together a hundred Wizards and call it a company. It didn’t even work that way for regular Imperial Knights.

The Imperial Army was built on generations of martial tradition, which not only dictated its identity, but also the practices, standards, direction, and development of the army down to each individual Imperial Knight. While the Imperial Army did try to incorporate Wizards wherever it could afford to, they were ultimately treated as auxiliaries and attached to companies as mostly independent officers.

Every company had a different Wizard, and every Wizard did things differently. Sticking a hundred such independent, eccentric, and wilful individuals together was guaranteed to be a calamity. Rangobart suspected that this was precisely why the Imperial Army hadn’t tried to create a War Wizard company until now. If they had, the results were probably buried so deeply that no one would be able to find out what an embarrassing disaster it was.

“I guess the Empire really doesn’t have anything similar,” Nemel said. “Even the Imperial Ministry of Magic is, well…”

“Chaos?”

“It’s more like anarchy, isn’t it?” Nemel said, “Everyone has their own project so resources are divided in several dozen different directions, no one communicates, and everyone’s locked themselves into their own little worlds.”

“Which is no way to run a unit in the Imperial Army,” Rangobart said. “Even the Imperial Magic Academy was like that, now that I think about it. Classes covered basic theory and application, then everyone had their own little projects to be evaluated.”

“And the scores were useless,” Nemel grinned. “One proctor would decide your work was brilliant, the other would tell you it was a waste of time and you should have focused on what they were personally interested in, while another never showed up to grade you because they were too busy doing their own thing. I think the only thing the Academy could actually score us on was whether we could cast magic under pressure during the promotional examination.”

In a nutshell, that was what the highest echelons of arcanistry in the Baharuth Empire were like and the Empire didn’t care so long as practical results were produced. Rangobart’s father often called the Imperial Ministry of Magic and its affiliates a bottomless pit into which a tenth of the Empire’s finances vanished.

“The Prez wrote that treatise of hers for a reason,” Nemel said, and then her grin widened. “Oh, I suppose she’s the one who put you up to this. I bet she’s going to be bullying you until you’re old and grey.”

Rangobart sighed. As a whole, Nemel seemed to be one of the only people who understood what was going on.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Me?” Nemel leaned away from him with a frown, “Why would you ask me about that?”

“I’m not sure if you realise this,” Rangobart told her, “but House Gran possesses the only unbroken lineage of War Wizards in the Empire.”

“We’re not War Wizards,” Nemel replied. “Well, I was, but that was a short-term thing.”

“Yeah? Then what do you call it when you load wands with Fireball and Lightning spells day after day?”

“Working. I’ll have you know that my parents didn’t approve of me joining the Imperial Air Service.”

“Isn’t your sister basically a bodyguard?”

“She’s a Maid. That’s a completely normal career for a noblewoman.”

That much was true, but he didn’t know of any other Maid who could fry people to a crisp with Electrospheres.

“What I was getting at was that your family seems to have normalised what it is to be a Wizard. In a good way. Before this War Wizard Company can even think about flying around roasting the enemies of the Empire, they’re going to have to get everything else in order first.”

“I don’t disagree with that line of thinking,” Nemel said, “but would the Imperial Army even notice?”

“Hm?”

“I bet they’re thinking of something like an Imperial Air Wing turning an entire battlefield into a sea of flames,” Nemel said. “Does all of this consideration even matter to them? Or will they be satisfied with a hundred random War Wizards raining Fireballs on their enemies? I’m pretty sure the Head Court Wizard just threw together his disciples if they were needed for something and they took turns blasting whatever it was apart.”

“Nemel,” Rangobart said, “I know you don’t think very highly of me, but I’m trying to do my job seriously here. You’re probably right about the Empire largely only caring about getting the results that they want and expect, but, believe it or not, that part doesn’t matter to me. What I care about is creating a real home for the Imperial Army’s War Wizards, just like how the Imperial Knights have theirs.”

Nemel remained silent as the caravan filtered through Arwintar’s western gate. The Imperial Knight patrols shadowing their progress visibly relaxed once they were out in the countryside and on their way.

“Fine,” Nemel finally said, “I don’t mind discussing your work with you, but I hope you’re not expecting anything exciting.”