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§075 Vacation V
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 19:00:06 +0000 UTCTaylor rented a large carriage for the day, nearly as long as a fast coach. It wasn't as ornate as the princess's transportation, but it seated more people and came with a uniformed catkin driver and a large stock of non-alcoholic drinks in a cooling box. His time in Celosia had been very productive. He made excellent progress on his attribute research, better curse-dampening accessories, and bitter enemies of the Academy's entire summoner class and their professor. There was only one good way to end such a grand vacation, and that was on a high note, in front of witnesses.
His first stop was the Vawdreys. For that leg of the journey, he rode up front with the driver just to be outside in the crisp air while the horses and vehicle navigated their way across the city.
It turned out that Taylor wasn't the only magician in town who preferred to travel by air. Once in a while, he spotted one flapping, flying, or running along surfaces that appeared when needed and faded away with the travelers' passing. Today, he spotted a man on a carpet, which struck him as eminently sensible. He had known magicians to use the unlikeliest of things for flying, including brooms, swords, winged statues, and small farm animals. Most of the choices made no logical sense whatsoever. Why sit on a narrow stick for hours on end while traveling, where you had to bend over just to have something to hold on to? Why balance on a sword? If you were going to use a statue, why did it need wings when it used magic to fly? As for farm animals … if you could enchant a wingless goat to fly, then you could enchant something more reasonable, and not risk dropping manure on the people below (unless that was the point).
A carpet was downright sensible by comparison, and Taylor felt the briefest stab of envy. The magician read a book and sipped tea while he bypassed the city's chokepoints. He was well into Celosia's airspace, so he must have had a license to fly his carpet well above the city.
The Vawdreys' house was a mansion large enough for multiple generations to live together, with enough room left over for servants' quarters. They didn't have much in the way of grounds, being in the city, but the house was easily larger than Taylor's former residence in Mourne. They could afford the place because they were tenth-generation Imperial soldiery going back to Darius the First. Some ancestor or other had bought the land for cheap, right after half the city was burned to the ground.
Military service was the family trade, according to Cecilia's letters, which added context to her close friendship with Prudence. Both were military daughters without combat-related classes, whose families had clear but unwelcome goals for them. Then Taylor shows up, a faceless brother and new, somewhat shiny object for Cecilia's affection. He couldn't blame Prudence for being suspicious, and reassurances would only make her more suspicious. Prudence would feel more secure once he left the city, demonstrating he had no intention of separating the two girls. At least, that was the plan.
Taylor leaped to the ground as the carriage pulled through the small, circular driveway in front of the house and pulled on the bell rope. A song of chimes greeted him and, five seconds later, the door burst open in a pink whirlwind.
"We can't go until you've met the Vawdreys." His sister had him by the hand and dragged him to a nearby parlor — where the Vawdreys were waiting. All of them, by the looks of it. They weren't in their military dress, but they were dressed for company. Immediately, his spine stiffened as his comportment training kicked in, and he silently thanked Florence for her lessons.
Instead of cracking a joke about IEF ambushes, Taylor waited as Cecilia made introductions to Prudence's mother, father, three brothers, two aunts, one uncle, and two cousins. He would later learn that they were not all of the family that was in the house, but they were the most curious ones. The entire pack of them looked him up and down like it was inspection day. Mrs. Vawdrey, Prudence's mother, dangled several handwritten sheets of paper from one hand.
"I am Taylor, Cecilia's little brother. Thank you for taking such good care of her."
"Think nothing of it," Mrs. Vawdrey said kindly. "As far as we're concerned, Cecilia is family."
He was grateful for Saria's insistence that he wear proper clothes instead of his Battlesage's robes. He had on his "frontier legate" outfit of breeches, knee socks, waistcoat, frock coat, and cravat, all made from fine but durable material. All he lacked was a sword.
His mask today was new, a collaboration with Saria. He could change its color at will, but it was currently his typical green. More importantly, it had the added benefit of converting beast-aligned mana to water mana. He layered that protection with a double strand of prayer beads worn around the neck, in the fashion of some devout groups. They would absorb any of the offensive mana that was likely to get him into trouble if it got past his mask. He kept his Riverstone pin ready as a final backup, and because it was a fine-looking accessory.
One of the uncles grimaced at him, as if unsatisfied with something. "So you're the one who claims to be Colonel d'Mourne's son."
"I claim nothing of the sort, sir. I was born his son, but we have never known each other, and the colonel disowned me on our first meeting. For my part, I am content in our estrangement."
"But, didn't he take the township from you?" one of the cousins wanted to know.
Taylor was careful not to shrug or wave his hands around to express his disdain. Florence called it "clowning" and said it had no place when attempting to impress those of higher rank, social or otherwise.
"You have it backwards. I was merely a stand-in for the colonel. I wish Mourne Township every good fortune under his stewardship."
"He cut you off completely?" asked Mrs. Vawdrey. "What do you do for money?"
"Anything I please, ma'am. Mostly hunting and crafting. I recently had a bit of a windfall …" He was about to tell them about the cori-cori, and how Prudence's efforts had set him up nicely for the near future, but the panicked look on her face sent him in another direction. "… Dwergbank auctioned off everything I brought in from the autumn hunt. I'm set for a good while." When she looked doubtful, he added, "The civil court in Bostkirk has ruled I'm more than competent to look after my own affairs. I thank you for your concern, but it's unwarranted."
"What service are you going to join?" The interrupting brother looked around the room. "Come on, we're all thinking it! Will it be IEF, the Wardens, Navy, Mage Corps, what?"
"Please forgive him," said Mrs. Vawdrey. "There's a friendly rivalry between the services, and it trickles down into the home. You can't blame us for being curious. Cecilia speaks of you in such glowing terms. And Prudence tells us you have four summons. That's not a minor talent."
If Taylor hadn't been wearing a mask, the Vawdreys would have seen him with his mouth hanging open, like a landed fish. The thought of joining the Imperial service was too repellent. He had to choke back several hot responses.
"I won't be joining any military service." The second he said it, he wished he could take it back. He should have said he hadn't decided, or it was too soon to worry about, or anything other than a flat refusal. The room cooled by several degrees.
"I'm a very irregular person, in nearly every way." He pointed to his mask as an example. "The pairing would be a disaster for everyone involved."
"That's what basic training is for. To make you fit." Mr. Vawdrey spoke with the certainty of ten generations of soldiery lined up behind him in perfect single file.
Taylor could think of nothing worse than being recast in Otis's image.
"Won't you join us for lunch?" Invited Mrs. Vawdrey. "It would give us a chance to get better acquainted."
"I have appointments. I only came by to pick up Cecilia, since she wanted to spend the day together. It'll be boring for her, but who am I to deny my big sister?"
"Appointments?" one of the cousins asked, a woman wearing a regulation haircut and a belt with an empty scabbard loop. "On the day of your big duel with the summoning professor? I would think you would spend this time preparing."
"It's hardly a duel if nobody can lose their life. More of an exhibition bout, at best. And I'm not worried about the outcome."
One of the brothers laughed. "You say that like you expect to win."
Taylor smiled from behind his mask. "Cecilia, we have to go. The Deputy Ambassador shouldn't be kept waiting."
Most of the room laughed.
-----
Prudence jumped into the carriage, out of breath, as it was pulling away from the Vawdrey driveway. "Sorry! I'm coming with you!"
Cecilia was clearly happy about the change of plans and sat Prudence next to her. Taylor tuned out their conversation while he thought about the recent development with the gods: they weren't talking to him. They were as quick as ever to pull him into their void and make him spend time with them, but they were even less communicative than usual. They wanted to play their special chess game, the one with moves in the future and the past, only now the board was larger and the games were multi-polar: Strife, the god of conflict, versus Taylor and at least one other god. The games were fast, fluid, and mildly insane. They added an extra four hours to each day.
The games were doing something to him, besides steeping him in divine mana for hours at a time. He felt like the butcher who spent so much time breaking down monsters into usable parts that they couldn't look at monsters without seeing dotted lines around all the useful bits. For example …
"Prudence, why didn't you want your family to know about the cori-cori? It was a huge sale for a first-tier Merchant."
"Because they don't want me 'engaging in civil commerce'. They want me on the Quartermaster path. Anything less is a disappointment to the family. Except for Uncle Hugh. He's an outcast, too."
"What would you like to do?"
Prudence stared at him, trying to find the trap hidden in the question. Either she didn't know, or nobody had ever asked.
"Merchant has plenty of specialist paths. You've never thought about doing something besides Quartermaster?"
"My family pays for school. If I broke with tradition, they'd kick me out of the house, and then sabotage me until I came crawling back. They've done it before. And if I succeeded without them, at anything, they would never talk to me again."
"Except Uncle Hugh," he reminded her. "I know they're your family, but they don't seem worth appeasing. A lifetime's a long time to do something you hate. And you just made a massive commission."
"Brother, don't!" Cecilia gripped her friend's hand until their knuckles were white. "Not everyone can take on the world with a magic bag and a head full of spells. She loves her family. It's not like you and the colonel."
"I see your point. But Prudence, and this is only a suggestion from someone who doesn't know you very well, maybe you shouldn't do anything irreversible while you're in school. If your grades are good and you can get a little experience before you finish the course, you could have a lot of opportunities. Latitude to do what you want. If you don't mind working with arcaics, I could even help you make some connections. Though, you can only get so far with them until you learn the language."
Prudence was quiet and pale.
Taylor had an urge to take back some of what he'd said with a casual, "feel free to ignore me," or, "maybe I don't know what I'm talking about." But he wanted her uncomfortable. He wanted her to think the unthinkable. She had to know there were other options.
Saria had commented on their strong bond more than once. Their friendship could last a lifetime. If the day came when Taylor had to face off against the Empire, he wanted Cecilia safely on his side. And since the two girls were likely to be a package deal, it was easier to start winning Prudence to his side today than it would be to split them apart later. But to move away from the Empire, she first needed to break free of her family's traditions.
-----
The girls had never been inside Dwergbank, which wasn't a surprise for a pair of humans. It was less gilded than the Merchants' Bank, but it felt infinitely more permanent, as if it existed in geological time. Walking through the doors felt like entering a mine a thousand feet underground, except with clean air and good furniture. They were shown into a prepared meeting room and settled in to wait while an attendant prepared green tea. According to Taylor's watch, they were ten minutes early. Considering who they were meeting, they could be waiting considerably longer.
"You haven't said why we're here," Cecilia prompted him.
"You're here because you insisted on tagging along with my errands today, no matter what. Prudence is here because she's tagging along with you. I'm here to meet with the Deputy Ambassador."
"I thought you were joking!" breathed Cecilia.
"Which ambassador?" Prudence asked.
"Elvish."
At the appointed time, Taylor unpacked the statue of Okanyana he made for Bostkirk's temple and set it upright at the head of the conference table. She was three feet of stone, draped with silk from head to foot. They had to wait another half hour before the elven deputy arrived.
What they got wasn't the deputy, but the ambassador himself. He arrived suddenly, trailed by a retinue of six, each dressed in fantastically rich robes in the peculiar elvish style. But one face in particular sent a jolt through Taylor's limbs. Her skin was dark and green like shaded ferns, and she carried a long, curved sword thrust through her belt.
It wasn't a memory, but a feeling that moved Taylor into action. A sudden attack by seven feet of muscled fur. Curator Jane, hurt. Hot blood under his hands.
Taylor popped to his feet and started throwing down enhancements and barriers before the swordswoman could attack him. Blades were out in a flash of glassine steel. The bodyguards put themselves in front of the ambassador.
Taylor expected a white tenuit to enter the room next, but none came.
"What's the meaning of this!" The bank director stormed past the elves, broad as a mountain himself. "Taylor, have you gone mad? I expected a cooler head from a ranked member! And Goudsmid spoke so highly of you."
Taylor wanted to say something. Anything. But all he could think about was how many elves he could pulverize against Dwergbank's walls at once.
"This is my fault." Rahel's voice came to him from a great distance, more gentle than he expected. She let her sword dangle loosely from one hand and showed her palms to Taylor.
"And Reginar's, too. A couple of years ago, we attacked him without provocation. His guardian was hurt." She sheathed her sword, slowly. "It was the ancient apprentice trial, but he didn't know that at the time."
Rahel bowed to him, stiff as a board, until she was parallel to the ground, her eyes pointed at the floor. "I am sorry for the part I played that day. I should have stopped him. Your anger is just."
The ambassador put his bodyguards at ease with a wave of his hand, and the weapons were gone. Taylor pulled back his mana and scaled back some of his defenses. It looked like there wouldn't be a war today, at least not inside Dwergbank.
Taylor tried to remember what to say in this situation, but it wasn't covered by any of the protocols he knew. He wasn't about to apologize. "Let's agree it happened in the past, Rahel, and let it stay there." After another second, Rahel unbent herself.
The ambassador was showing his age, just a little, which made him old indeed. Over three hundred, at least, with snow white skin and stormcloud eyes. "Did he fail the trial?"
Rahel nearly smiled. "Listen well, Your Excellency, for I have news that will astonish you. He bloodied Reckless Reginar so thoroughly that his black lips paled. Had I not joined the fight, this one might have killed the Mage of Disaster. With a silver butter knife."
The ambassador smiled serenely, as if distantly pleased about some distant affair which, if one thought on it carefully, had some tangential but positive effect on present matters. "Maestro Theudebald, nothing has happened. I am pleased to meet this young man, and thank you for allowing our change of plans on such short notice. I hope we understand each other in this."
"Of course," agreed the dwarf, as if he'd just promised to carry out a routine transaction instead of overlooking an armed confrontation in one of his meeting rooms.
"May we see Okanyana now?" The ambassador eyed the veiled statue expectantly.
His only fanfare was a slight pause with his hand on the hem of the silken cloth, to ensure everyone was watching. Taylor tugged, let the silk slide away from her, but didn't look at her himself. Instead, he watched their faces. He knew what his work was, and what it was not. There were more beautiful statues of the goddess, but none so alive.
Cecilia and Prudence were still recovering from the sudden tension, and probably didn't understand anything of what had happened because neither of them spoke Arcaic. But they knew there was something special about the figure, and studied it closely.
Okanyana was depicted with her feet in alamn grass, with Ger-Nor-Lin, the staff of the World Tree, resting against her body while she peered at her congregation. A crown of stars graced her brow. New growth sprang from the staff. It was not a typical depiction, but Taylor never chose all the details himself.
The arcaics clapped hands and prayed to her. Taylor would have done the same, but he didn't want to be pulled into the Old Folks' Home twice in one day. He had too many other things to do.
And besides, he had given the figure plenty of mana already.
It didn't take long for the necessary papers to be signed, guild cards to be tapped, and the elves to take their new goddess away with them. Taylor sank into a chair. The girls joined him. Maestro Theudebald eyed all three of the youngsters, amused. He said in Orlut, "You sure know how to stir things up."
"Are you going to tell us what happened?" said Cecilia.
"Rahel and I fought once before. That's the short version. When I saw her again, I reacted badly. She apologized. The ambassador said to forget it ever happened. They're happy, I got paid, and Okanyana is on her way home. The end."
Taylor checked his pocket watch.
"You still have hours before the duel," said Theudebald.
"It's not a duel if nobody can die. And we have another stop. I've worked up a nice bit of magic, and I'm showing it off to some people."
He snapped his watch shut and threw a teasing glance at the dwarf. The divine figure was special. Until Taylor came along, nobody had made divine statues in over a century. Now, Taylor was raising expectations even higher with hints of something even more interesting.
"How is your afternoon, director?"
Comments
Brian P.
It really doesn’t help that there appears to be no peer to this currently diminished empire. They aren’t fighting against barbarians, their existential threat is more like a series of natural disasters. I guess the elves still have their homeland? Or maybe the dwarves? But if those a racially segregated ethno-states then as far as (most, typical) humans are concerned there’s no path but the imperial one. So of course they assume this human kid will join their church, their military, their society. He’s human.
SixAughtFive
Oy, the military family... And nosy to boot. Our man Taylor has the patience of a saint putting up with all he does. I still think he should consider lightly dosing the water supply with mood stabilisers... It's no replacement for common sense, common courtesy, or simple respect but, speaking as someone that takes them regularly, I'd bet dollars to donuts that the rate of actively destructive behaviour would plummet neatly.
CJ Holmes
Excellent point. But this was more of a "which football team do you root for" question than a substantial recruitment pitch. Answering "blech, football!" in that particular house was the wrong answer. Nonetheless, some kind of offer from the Imperium seems inevitable.
PatronTurtle
So the way IRL military deals with odd but powerful people (social, economic, etc instead of magic) is make them special officers. I'm surprised they didn't suggest this as a possible route. How does the military handle classes that have never been heard of before? Round-hole doctrine doesn't seem like it'd work well
CJ Holmes
I reworked the first paragraph to emphasize (1) some time has passed and (2) the summoners are mad at him. Give it a look and tell me if it helps.
Brian P.
Huh, the sudden dual (or “dual”) with the head summoner is a bit abrupt. I felt like I missed a chapter when it was first mentioned.
