Shadows in the Smoke - Chapter 48 - The Discipline of Worth

  “Our great civilisation is founded on worth. Each contributes what they are able, be that Talent or some other service. The more they can give, the more they are rewarded. Through this, the most worthy climb until the greatest of all can achieve their ascension.”

  The Discipline of Worth by Iakovos Stanidis

  =====

  Nael growled and backhanded the nearest blunt. “Move faster, unless you want to be serving the Great Master dinner tonight!”

  It was another shit day in a long series of them. Spirits only knew why he had decided that helping the war effort would be the best way to climb. He should have been sitting back in Askia doing dull, but profitable, and most importantly safe, tasks for the Great Masters. Instead, he was sleeping in a freezing cold tent and shouting orders at fucking blunts in a field of muddy snow.

  He turned away from the cringing blunt, dismissing him from his mind. This was beneath him. He might not be one of the Great Masters, but that was only a matter of time. He had sufficient Talent and he knew how the game was played. He was valuable enough and sensible enough that sooner or later he would be invited to join their ranks. Assuming he survived the next few weeks, anyway. Several of his peers had already died the final death in this Spirit-forsaken wasteland and he did not want to join them.

  Nael spotted a hapless Lesser and his thin, pale lips stretched into a smile. Finally, someone who could take over here so that he could return to more important tasks.

  “Sakis!” The man kept going, so he raised his voice at the same time as he focused his will. “Sakis!” A tendril of magic shaped the air into a prong to poke sharply into the Lesser’s backside.

  Sakis jumped and spun, his hands already in a casting position. To Nael’s satisfaction, the words of power died on the Lesser’s lips as soon as he realised who had struck him.

  “Lord Nael.” Sakis bowed low. “What can this one do for you?”

  “I need you to take over here. Lord Metrilis has ordered the construction of a tower to allow the Great Master to better observe the enemy. I have other, more pressing tasks.” Like continuing his studies, or perhaps pursuing Calliope. She was becoming more receptive to his advances by the day. One day he would transcend the pleasures of the flesh, but that did not mean he had to neglect them for now.

  “But, Lord Nael, I—”

  “Are you suggesting that you have something more important to be doing than assisting me?” Nael’s voice took on a dangerous tone, although he knew that there was only so far he could push things. Sakis still had the Talent - he was not worthless - and so Nael had to treat him relatively gently.

  Sakis hesitated and then slumped slightly. “No, Lord Nael. Of course not. I would be delighted to assist you.”

  “Thank you, Sakis.” Magnanimity in victory cost Nael nothing. He would make a note to do Sakis a small favour too. Hierarchy existed for a reason and it would not do to coddle Lessers. However, he was no fool: anyone with the Talent could be useful in their own way and Sakis was climbing too.

  As Nael limped back to his tent he cursed his withered leg. It was bad enough having to wade through snow and mud without that to add to the experience. It hardly mattered now, just another thing that he would transcend when he mastered the True Art and completed his ascension, but it still made him shudder to think how close that deformity had brought him to the table in the past.

  His tent was one of the largest in the camp, although inevitably lacking compared to the comforts of home. The ornamentation on it showed his status. Magically imbued paint that resisted the worst the northern winter could throw at it depicted great historical deeds amidst the angular patterns that he favoured for decoration. If some of the figures on there bore a similarity to him, well that was simply a fortunate coincidence.

  Iason opened the flaps to Nael’s tent just as he reached it and bowed low. Nael didn’t spare his servant a nod. The man lived an excellent life, for a blunt, and that was sufficient reward to command unswerving loyalty.

  Inside, Nael threw himself down onto a pile of furs with a groan. Why was he stuck out here in this freezing wilderness? There were so many better things to do than fight unenlightened barbarians.

  “Saig.” He pointed at the stove he had placed in the centre of the tent and focused his will until the logs within burst into flame. At least he could be warm in here. Now, time for more important matters.

  “Do’aelt valige’fa.” Nael deactivated the wards on the small, steel chest that never left his home. No doubt Great Master Aspasia would be looking to launch another attack soon enough, but that was no reason to neglect his studies.

  He opened the chest and paused for a moment to admire the beautifully engraved cover of his most valuable possession before pulling it onto his lap. He would never forget the moment he had been gifted the grimoire. Kneeling before Great Master Ballakos as he granted him his lordship, it had been a physical sign of the Great Master's favour that had taken him far.

  Nael bit his lip and turned to the fifty-third page. The hand-drawn array of runes seemed to stare up at him. He had been studying this array for several weeks and he still did not think he had fully grasped it. He could replicate it, no question, but if he was ever to transcend his mortality he would need to understand it at a fundamental level.

  He traced a finger down the complex pattern of runes, sounding them out loud as he did. It was all about the interaction of the cardinal poles of the array with the lifeforce of the subject. He knew what they did, but the question was, how did they do it and why did they need the meat's Talent?

  He smiled to himself, at least tomorrow he would get the chance for some practical observation. What more could a climbing Askian want?

  =====

  The next morning, after a fine breakfast, served to him in his tent by Iason and his morning bath, assisted by Nomiki, Nael felt on top of the world. Even his leg didn’t bother him all that much.

  He had to stop himself humming a tune as he made short work of the morning inspections of the blunts and Lessers under his command. He could hardly keep his mind on them. Today was going to be a great day, a day on which another small part of the pact between the Great Masters and their lords and ladies was fulfilled.

  The rest of the morning was his to do with as he would and he spent it in study. Most of it was spent on magic. The systematised study of the True Art was the path to power and he had no intention of neglecting it. However, as he did every day, he also put aside some time for the consideration of beauty. He had been working a particular verse that he just knew was going to be his best yet.

  Then, when the horns blew across the Askian camp, it was time.

  With excitement pumping through him, Nael limped to the centre of the camp. With his status as one of Aspasia’s lords, he did not have far to go.

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  As was traditional, a wide open space was kept at the centre with the Great Master’s tent overlooking it. There was no grass there; other than humans nothing could live so close to the Great Master’s tent. The only relief from the mud and snow was the stone ritual table that stood proudly at its centre. Inevitably it was not the fanciest or most sophisticated example of its kind - they were at war after all - but the fact that he had seen far better back home in Seica did not detract from its beauty.

  Smooth black marble and over three inches thick, just getting the table so far into barbarous Itria was something of a feat. But then, when a Great Master wanted something, they got it. It was not the jet-black marble that drew Nael’s eyes though, but rather the golden runes carved into it, joined by a complex array of depressions and whorls. That was what made something like this a true work of art and incredibly valuable to a practitioner of the True Art. No doubt, the Great Master did not actually need the table for today’s working, but Aspasia would still use it as a reminder of her strength and power.

  Just as the weak winter Sun reached its zenith, Aspasia emerged from her own tent, clad in bright green silks. Her almost holy perfection contrasted with the muddy filth of the camp. None of the dirt and muck seemed to touch her as she almost glided to the table. Nothing ever seemed to touch her: she was perfection incarnate.

  She stopped beside the table and slowly surveyed the small group of lords and ladies that had gathered. Behind them stood some of the Lessers, those that did not have pressing matters to attend to, but they were beneath her notice. To even be acknowledged by her would be too great an honour for most of them.

  Nael leaned forward slightly, drinking everything in. He was allowed to stand at the front as one of her most powerful and honoured lords.

  A second later, his attention was pulled away from the Great Master by a commotion off to one side. If he had not known what was coming, he would have been furious at anyone disturbing such a solemn moment.

  Two Lessers emerged into the clearing, a struggling figure between them. Nael watched with mild interest as the meat was dragged forward.

  He was tall, with the blonde hair and pale features shared by both Itrians and Askians. Blood marred his face and his grey uniform was encrusted with dirt. His hands were manacled together with tight rune-engraved metal rings. He seemed to be trying to shout something, but the gag in his mouth prevented anything more than muffled noises. As was right. Nothing he had to say would be of interest to anyone here. His eyes roved wildly in his gaunt face right up until they landed on the ritual table. Then his struggles redoubled as they widened with horror.

  The Lessers were no more interested in the the meat’s struggles than Nael. No doubt enhanced by their magic, they had no trouble dragging the poorly fed man to the table and forcing him onto it under the watchful gaze of Aspasia and the rest of the Askians.

  They made short work of tying him down before half-cutting, half-tearing off his clothes. The last things to go were the manacles. Their Schema would interfere with the ritual and, anyway, the table would do its own work in restricting the meat’s magic. That was assuming he had the skill and self-discipline to cast wordlessly anyway. The gag remained, not because it was necessary, but to avoid any uncouth interruptions.

  As soon as the meat was properly secured, Aspasia stepped forward and shook out the sleeves of her robes. A knife appeared in her hand and she stood over the squirming meat.

  “We shall begin with a tribute to this moment.” Her voice rang out, utter perfection like every Great Master’s. “Listen well.” She paused dramatically and then started her poem.

  “True Art, winter sun,

  Dim light illuminates us

  Ignorance shall fade.”

  The assembled Askians broke into applause. Nael joined in enthusiastically. This was what separated them from barbarians, like the Itrian on the table. He would think long and hard on Aspasia’s words. Her talent for poetry was almost as great as her Talent for the True Art.

  "Observe, my lords and ladies.” Aspasia continued and, with a jolt, Nael realised he had allowed himself to become distracted. “This is a relatively simple example of the True Art. Many of you would be capable of it already, but remember, improvement is always possible and improvement is the road to strength.”

  “And strength is the road to ascension.” Nael muttered the end of the saying under his breath.

  “The meat has the Talent; this makes the material all the more valuable.” She did not need to explain that to anyone there, not even the least of the Lessers. “Unfortunately, today’s meat is of limited strength, so nothing truly great is possible, but nevertheless, he shall serve well.”

  Nael nodded to himself. The meat would make a powerful vampire, no doubt. He felt anticipation sparking through him as magic surged around Aspasia. The green swirls of the True Art spiralled around her and the ritual table as she began her working. Nael could just imagine the meat’s fearful eyes staring up at her as he prayed to non-existent saviours for help. He had seen that sight often enough himself. Sometimes even from former rivals who had made too great a misstep.

  A stream of words of power left Aspasia’s lips and Nael strained to hear every single one of them perfectly, to grasp every nuance of her working. His eyes were almost as wide as the meat’s must be as he did his best to take in the shape of the magic and the runes dancing over the table.

  In a way, this was trivial. He had been able to perform the same working for over a year. He would not have been admitted into the ranks of the lords and ladies if he had not been able to. That did not mean he had nothing to learn. Aspasia’s refinement and skill were far beyond him. He served her and in return she allowed him to learn from the beauty of her magic and hone his own craft so that one day he might be able to join her in the ranks of the Great Masters.

  Nael did not glance around to see how the other Lords and Ladies looked. He already knew they would be watching as avidly as he was, just as he knew that one day he would surpass all of them. He might be the youngest of them, but he was the rising star of this little group.

  With a single, smooth movement, Aspasia plunged her dagger into the meat’s heart, completing the working. Her lips stretched into a small smile of satisfaction. She rarely showed more emotion than that. Ascension transcended most petty human emotions, allowing the Great Masters to focus on what was truly important.

  On the ritual table, magic swirled for a few more seconds, the Schemas carved into the table interacting with Aspasia’s working until they abruptly vanished.

  A tension that Nael had not realised was running through him faded as he allowed himself to turn some of his attention away. That had been instructive. He would be replaying the working in his head for the next few days. Perhaps, if he was particularly favoured, Aspasia might even grant him the privilege of a few brief questions on it and so he would gain another piece in the puzzle that was his ascension.

  On the table, the meat, frozen briefly in agony, started to move again. The Lessers quickly untied its restraints and it sat up in a smooth movement, eyes glowing green and small broken runes crawling over its skin.

  It looked around, eyes flinching away from Aspasia and then landing on the closer of the two Lessers.

  Nael smirked at the sight. It would be a waste, but if the Lesser was slow…

  This one was not an idiot. A blunt was shoved forward at the same time as the Lesser took a smooth step back. Presumably injured in some way that made him less useful.

  The newly born vampire moved faster than Nael’s eyes could follow. One moment it was sitting on the ritual table, drenched in what had been its lifeblood, the next it was standing in front of the terrified blunt.

  It paused for a fraction of a second and then the Hunger overcame all hesitation. In a flash, its teeth were buried in the blunt’s neck, blood spraying. Nael watched with mild interest as it quite literally tore the unfortunate man apart to sate its hunger. The first feeding was always over-dramatic.

  When the vampire was finished, it straightened up. The glow was gone from its eyes and magic no longer crawled over it. In fact, if Nael had not known what it was, it would have looked just like an ordinary human. His smirk widened. Except for the blood and gore covering it, anyway.

  It looked around it, searching for an escape. The truly sapient undead could be difficult, they had their own desires, rather than being mindless slaves. That was made up for by their usefulness, but it was a foolish practitioner of the True Art that was not careful with such things.

  Aspasia stepped forward, looming over the bloodied vampire.

  “Welcome to the world. I am the Great Master Aspasia.” The backblow of her power beat down upon Nael as she forced her will upon the vampire. “You will obey my every command, you shall not kill or feed without my permission and in return I will make sure that you grow strong and sated. This is the Askian Compact.”

  “My… Where…? Enemies?” The vampire’s voice was gravely, as if it had not quite worked out how to speak yet. “I was… My name is… I can’t remember. I can’t remember!” Its voice rose, panic leaking through.

  “Your name is Stathis. The past is gone, there is only the present.” Aspasia’s voice left no room for doubt. “You have been very lucky. You have been born by my hand and so you are worthy of participation in the Compact. Serve well and you may rise to undreamed of heights. Defy the Great Masters and you will die the final death.”

  Nael nodded at her words. To be part of the Compact was a great honour and an illustration of Aspasia’s unparalled skill. To raise a vampire of sufficient power to be granted that while using poor materials in the middle of a field was no less than he would expect from a Great Master and yet more than impressive. He would not have been able to achieve the same.

  He watched with a warm feeling of satisfaction in his heart as Stathis knelt before Aspasia and swore allegiance to her. Soon, they would be ready for the next attack on Fort Statvinger and then, on to the rest of the so-called People’s Republic of Itria.

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  Dramatis personae:

  Nael - Lord, one day I too will have flawless porcelain skin.

  Aspasia - Liche, my poetry is almost as beautiful as I am.

  Unnamed Republican Prisoner - Cantrist, did not think much of Aspasia's poetry.