Earth Chapter 8: Counsel

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“I discern no sign of scarring or wound,” Colinae said.

An audible gasp escaped those seated around the circle. Tension gathered thick in the tent.

“The boy is as hale as he was on his Eve of Aging. His mind is sharp. Within an hour of waking, he recounted in detail every event in the captain’s report, and added several of his own observations. With all my knowledge and expertise, I have no explanation for his recovery.”

Seated bare-chested among the councilors, Earth felt like an exhibit on display as Colinae described the former severity of his wounds. The King sat upon a raised throne of dark wood. The others occupied stools set in a circle below him.

“It is a miracle,” the priest said. A peculiar, scrawny man dwarfed by his vast robes and countless medallions. “A gift of the Forgotten. A sign of His presence with us. An omen of good fortune for our plan.”

“Myths and legends do not walk among the living,” Gaoltea barked.

Acis answered in a smooth, measured tone. “The Madgyi were themselves a myth and a legend. Yet here we are, infants before their knowledge and power.”

“The murderer speaks true,” said an emaciated old man in rags. “Who is to say what portals stand open to the world of man, if only he has eyes to see them? And yet is it not the eye that most deceives?”

At this, the three men whom Earth supposed were court scholars fell into debate over whether chaos could actually exist at all. Their words knotted and unraveled, each speaking beyond the other. Soon no one appeared to be listening at all until at last their language stalled out in a snare that even they did not seem to fully understand.

That sudden silence turned toward the only sound in the room, the Chief Financier, who remained bent over his ledger, checking figures and muttering under his breath, more oblivious than any until he noticed their stares.

The King cleared his throat.

“Omen or accident?” he asked, his eyes moving from face to face. “Fortune or destiny? We quibble while our options remain unchanged.” He leaned forward, intent. “For a fortnight I have sought your counsel. We stand at a crossroads and can wait no longer. There is one path. One counter that might work. One chance at redemption. Tonight, the answer is clear as dawn.”

At this, Earth let out a small laugh. The fire in the Shadowsun’s eyes stirred something fierce and glad within him.

All eyes turned. The hush that followed closed tight. Shame flushed hot. He wished, absurdly, for a ledger of his own to hide behind.

Acis shifted in his seat, voice edged in cold. “Do you find humor in dark times?”

“I apologize, Your Grace, if…” Earth steadied himself. “It was a memory. Something from my Eve of Aging.”

“Why is he here?” the Master at Arms demanded. A prickly, broad-shouldered man with a pockmarked face. “We have examined him for mysteries. But happenstance and luck do not make a counselor.”

The Shadowsun smiled. “Do you presume to reign for me?”

The retort struck the bulky man flat. He lowered his eyes, rubbing his calloused hands. “No, my Lord.”

“You spoke your mind,” the King said. He looked over the circle. “That is why you are all here. That is why I have called you. I believe each of you has something to say. Whether by the hand of the Forgotten or the randomness of time, Earth is cast among us at this extreme and wondrous hour. I decide it is for purpose. The circumstances prove it. There is no coincidence. He has a role to play. Luck? His or ours? I claim it for hope’s sake.”

The King rose and lifted the Madgyi’s staff high above them. Its intricate runes flickered in shadow beneath the lantern light.

“Here, by destiny’s design, stands one of their relics. A key to their foul Madgyics. More than that, proof that they bleed! Proof that they can die. For this alone, I will hear again Earth’s account of what brought us this prize.”

Earth recounted the patrol and the farmstead. Whatever they had thought before, each member of the council listened now with rapt attention. The weight of their focus pressed him forward. Memory sharpened as he spoke, the moments returning with painful clarity. The click. The hiss. The crack.

As he finished his account of the pain and the killing blow, the King slammed his palm against the table with a cry of triumph. The whole assembly started, as if waking from a dream.

On the table before them lay three small spheres of cast metal.

The Shadowsun turned slowly, holding up a fourth for all to see.

“Based on Earth’s account, there is yet one more such round somewhere in those fields. But one is enough. There was a hole in the farmhouse door beam, clean and narrow, as an arrow might pierce taut cloth.”

“The power of these Madgyics may be less mystical than we thought,” Gaoltea said. “But their destructive force is all the more disturbing. If they can cast their spells at such distances…”

“It is glaringly apparent,” Acis interjected. “These revelations provide the impetus you required, Your Majesty. You have made your decision. Our path is set. We strike. Swiftly. At the heart and from behind. Open warfare is already upon us, and we are losing. They are the greater power. We must gamble on cunning.”

Gaoltea dismissed him with a sharp turn of the head. “You could not be more wrong. The plan is reckless. Worthy of the Madking himself. Repeating folly will not still this calamity. To send our most crucial men over the Foer Drihm Wall is to condemn our best to meaningless deaths. It invites worse retaliation. How long will the Culling last? We may not stop it. Yet we may endure.”

He rose and spread a map before them, pointing to several marked locations with firm authority.

“Here. You see distinct patterns in their movements. I have witnessed similar tactics among coastal pirates under the Godking’s dominion. This maneuver reeks of a raider’s mind. It is not sustained assault. It is plunder. Nothing more. How long will it persist? We cannot say. But it will not be everlasting, I assure you. Exercise patience. Advocate longsuffering. Trust to prudence…”

“At what cost?” the priest demanded, incredulity cutting through the air. “Must we sacrifice more common lives to these barbaric demigods?”

“Do you expect us to discern a pattern in that mishmash of intersecting lines and dots?” one of the scholars added, a trace of derision in his tone.

“Statistical diagnosis requires far more meticulous examination than toy soldiers and intuition,” said another. “Such rigor takes time we have not had.”

“Nor can we afford to wait for it,” chimed the third.

At this, all eyes turned, almost in spite of themselves, toward the Chief Financier. He remained bent over his ledger, studiously perusing his columns, though Earth noted that he stole the occasional glance at the map spread across the floor.

The King fixed him with a raised brow and let the silence stretch.

The Financier noticed first that no one was speaking. Then, with dawning horror, that everyone was looking at him.

He jolted in his seat and dropped his quill.

His eyes darted. He half reached, then withdrew his hand and instead pressed both index fingers hard against the page, burying himself in the ledger with sevenfold urgency.

A glimmer in his eye, the King smiled at Earth.

“I still recall it. The Foer Drihm Wall. What a sight. I was eight years old. The biting winds whipped at my unkempt hair, even in the heat of summer. You, Gaoltea, and you, too, Acis, were with me. I scarcely knew you then, perched on that pale dapple mare, overawed by these astute warriors saying, ‘Sire, this,’ and warning, ‘Ambra House, that.’ How little my young mind grasped of the perils looming over my reign.

“You told me that day of the flying chariots and the pungent sulfur stench. You spoke of my forebears who long ago repelled those vile forces by royal grit and determination. Above us towered the Wall. A fortress. A sanctuary. The face of our nemesis.

“I will not forget it. Nor can I discount my heart in this matter.”

A broad smile crossed Acis’ face.

“We strike,” the Shadowsun said.

“Madness,” Gaoltea replied.

“A studied gamble,” one scholar offered.

“A faithful prayer,” the priest intoned.

“Simplicity,” the hermit conceded.

“A strong hand,” the Master at Arms agreed.

“Madness,” Gaoltea repeated.

“A chance,” Acis said, his eyes alive. “Strike, and strike now. Use our guile against them. A vanguard of select elite. Swift. Silent. We scale the Foer Drihm Wall, infiltrate the heart of the beast, and discover the source of their power. So far as it lies within us, under the Forgotten, we will destroy it, crippling their cult from within.”

“Madness,” Gaoltea muttered once more.

“I understand your caution, my old friend,” the King said. “But I will not wander from smoldering town to smoldering town, camping on desecrated fields while the clouds gather darker around us. I will not do nothing.”

“Acis, from your guild of shadows, assemble the two finest assassins in our realm. General Gaoltea, do the same with your Knights’ Rangers. Select for both mastery and armorless reconnaissance. You depart the day after tomorrow, when the moon is full to light your way.”

“A good omen of the Forgotten,” the priest said.

“Perhaps,” the Shadowsun replied with a faint smile. “But if I look for omens, I will choose one of my own liking. One late addition to our strike force. A last gasp. A fleeting lark. Do not think me entirely mad, Gaoltea. You must admit, you saw it coming.”

He fixed Earth with a steady gaze, the spark of hope bright in his eyes.

Acis was already on his feet.

“You cannot be serious, Sire. This untested child? A potential mole? At best he slows us. At worst he imperils the mission.”

“I will not turn my back on a gift from the Forgotten,” the Shadowsun said, unmoved by the heat of the protest. “Am I wrong? Is this not a matter of orthodoxy, Jaemish?”

The priest started at the sound of his name and looked up. After a brief hesitation and a look og confusion, he nodded.

“This boy is the first to slay a Madgyi in a millennium,” Gaoltea said with a crooked smile, clapping the cloaked assassin on the shoulder.

Acis’ jaw tightened. His eyes sharpened.

“You underestimate him,” Gaoltea added with a low laugh. “When the hour comes, he may well be your salvation.”

“I think not,” Acis answered.

“It is my command, all the same,” said the King.

The finality in the Shadowsun’s voice moved through the room like a closing door. As the councilors rose to depart, he stepped close to Acis, low enough that only he and Earth could hear.

“I give you the mission. I give you the war. Do not begrudge me one battle. Go. What you do, do quickly.”

Acis inclined his head once in respect and swept from the tent without another word.

“My lord?” Earth said, watching him go. “I am deeply honored. I will serve you with all that is in me. But might there not be a wiser choice? I show promise with the sword, and I have hunted the fields as long as I can remember. I know how to stalk. I can avoid prying eyes. Yet might not another of your Rangers be better suited to this task? What hope have I of offering more than they?”

The King’s smile did not fade, but his gaze drifted, as if looking beyond walls and men and debates and wars. Then resolve kindled in him, quiet and sure. He fixed Earth with a steady eye.

“Hope, my friend, is precisely what you offer. You offer hope.”

Earth swallowed and felt a shiver pass from head to toe.