Winds of Vesperia - Necessities
A new story set midway through last game, after the humans' first meeting with Queen Sela of Phalaborwa. Just because.
Necessities
Amber sat at her desk, her gaze fixed on the floating illusion before her. The collar was a perfect replica of the one she had worn only hours ago, the arcane symbols precisely etched around the wooden band, the hinges carefully forged, the delicate release mechanism precisely set. Shadows played about its surface as it caught the flickering candlelight.
There was a knock on the door, a staccato series of taps. The rhythm was one that Amber had used many times to ensure that she was not disturbing whoever was on the other side of the door, that they were not preparing spells or in the midst of deep concentration. It was a precaution that the Mage Corps had incorporated early in their history.
Amber sighed. “Come in.”
The door creaked open and her former apprentice stepped gingerly into the small cabin. “Archmagus?”
Amber looked up from the desk and shook the brooding thoughts from her mind. “Yes, Mika, what can I do for you?”
Her ex-apprentice’s eyes flicked to the illusion. For a moment, he allowed himself to be distracted. He cleared his throat. “What was it like?”
Amber did not need to be a member of the Diplomatic Corps to know what he was asking. “Come in,” she said quietly. “Close the door.”
Mika shut the door behind him and took a seat on an empty chair. The cabin was cramped, but Amber didn’t mind. It reminded her of home, where even the admiralty had quarters that barely rivaled some of the petty merchants’ homes here in Vesperia.
Amber turned her gaze back to the collar a moment more, then dismissed the illusion with a thought and turned back to Mika. “It was… disconcerting,” she said.
Mika leaned forward. “How?”
Amber searched for an apt comparison. “It was like having your clothing removed,” she said at last. “Intense vulnerability. It was knowing, physically within my body, that I could not cast spells. That I might incant and gesture and pull the proper components, yet be as effective as a child in their first clutch. What is a mage without magic?” She shook her head. Even thinking about it made her uncomfortable.
If Mika had been someone else, someone like Tam or Nessa, he might have argued. He might have tried to reassure her that she had other skills, that her learning was as great an asset as her spells. He might have told her that she was overreacting. But Mika was a mage of the Mage Corps. He knew as well as she did that a mage without magic was no better than a common scholar, and would rank just as low in the priorities of the fleet.
“Why did you let them do it?” he asked.
“I had to be at the negotiations,” she said. “And I understood their precautions - an unknown archmage in the presence of their queen presented a risk they were unwilling to take. I would have requested the same thing if I had been in Lord Jericho’s place.”
“But why did you go along with it?” Mika pressed.
Amber looked at him chidingly. “What choice did I have? Stay aboard the ship? Refuse to put it on?” She shook her head. “They have the power in these negotiations. We must play by their rules.”
For a moment, the two mages were silent, the gentle patter of the rain against the porthole the only sound in the small room.
“They’re going to make you put it on again, you know,” Mika said softly. “When you go you back to meet the queen again.”
Amber closed her eyes. “I know.”
“Are you going to do it?”
Amber opened her eyes and barely held herself back from glaring at him. “Of course I’m going to do it,” she said, her words coming out sharper than she’d intended.
“But…” Mika’s voice trailed off.
“But what?”
Mika licked his lips. “But how can you bear to do it a second time?”
Amber sighed and turned to face the window, watching the rain come down. When she turned back, her eyes were focused. Her voice was soft and even. “I do what I must. We need their queen. We need her to speak on our behalf. We need - we desperately need - for the fleet to get through the rift. They don’t have much time. From what the reports have said, the engines are failing. The shields are failing. We must make as favorable an impression as possible with the elven monarchs - that is the mission we were given by Admiral Vash. And if that means I need to put on that thrice-cursed collar to do it, then that is what I will do. What does my discomfort mean compared to the survival of all humanity?”
Mika nodded slowly and said nothing.
For the first time since he’d entered, Amber noticed the crystal Mika held in his left hand. “Is that why you came here,” she asked after a moment. “To question me about the antimagic collar?”
Mika shook himself and cleared his throat in embarrassment. He rose from the chair and stood at parade rest. “No, Archmagus,” he said.
Amber looked at him, bemused. “Out with it.”
Mika cleared his throat again. “We received a communiqué from the Council. They’ve asked for another round of clarifications to your last report.”
Amber barely held herself back from rolling her eyes. Instead, she held out her hand, and Mika dropped the crystal into it as though releasing a hot coal. “Of course they did,” Amber muttered. “Why should only six rounds of clarifications be enough when they could get a seventh?”
Mika hesitated. “Do you want me to…?”
Amber waved a hand. “No, no. It’s all right. I’ll take care of this. You can go back to whatever you were doing. Let me know when we receive word from the Phalaborwans.”
Mika nodded and left, leaving Amber alone in the small cabin. With a sigh, she put the crystal down in its reader and got back to work.
*****
Her Skyness Sela Dwinddare lounged on a sofa in her private quarters, a glass of wine in her hand. Duke Jericho Corranik sat at the far end, delicately holding the stem of his own glass. A bottle of wine sat on a low table beside them, already half-finished.
“You know I don’t like those collars,” Sela said.
“I know.”
“And yet you used it anyway.” There was recrimination in her voice.
Jericho returned her gaze impassively. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Jericho placed the glass gently down on the low table. “It was necessary. She is more powerful than you know,” he said.
Sela regarded him. “How powerful? As powerful as you?”
Jericho released a slow exhale as he considered this. “Yes,” he said at last. “Likely more powerful than me.”
Sela’s eyes widened. “In a hundred years, I’ve never heard you say that of anyone.”
Jericho shrugged. “In a hundred years, I’ve never met someone who was my match.”
“How do you know?” asked Sela, taking a sip of wine. “Was there some sort of mage battle? I’d be terribly disappointed if I missed a mage battle because I had to attend to matters of state.”
A hint of a smile touched Jericho’s lips. “No, nothing as grandiose as that,” he said. “It was mostly observation and deduction, with a small amount of divination thrown in for good measure. I could give you the details…”
Sela waved a hand. “I believe you. I don’t need you to launch into minutiae. But even if she’s as powerful as you say, what of it? Why was the collar necessary?”
Jericho gave her a look that reminded her that, no matter that she was monarch over thousands of subjects, he was her first commander and he was still capable of lecturing her as such. Sela held back a smile and allowed herself to appear appropriately chastised for asking a foolish question. “It was necessary,” Jericho said, “because a mage of such power unchecked in your presence could have caused irrevocable harm, to you and to the realm.”
Sela shook her head. “What harm? So much as a move, and I’d have skewered her.”
Jericho bristled. “How many times do we need to have this conversation? A powerful enough mage would ensure that you never get close. There are any number of ways a powerful caster could prevent you. A force-sphere. Domination. She could polymorph you into a frog or turn your body to stone. She could blind you by uttering a single word. She could turn you into an imbecile with a gesture. Do not think that just because you wield one of the most powerful weapons in Vesperia that you are somehow untouchable.”
Sela took a sip of wine. “Fine,” she said. “Then you would have--”
“Done nothing,” Jericho finished for her. “I would attempt to protect you, of course, but even I can’t plan for every possible eventuality when there are archmages involved.”
Sela shook her head in exasperation. “You say all this like it was guaranteed. How do we know they mean us ill will?”
“We don’t,” said Jericho reasonably. “They seem quite sincere in their request. But we had no way of knowing that when we allowed them into your presence. For all we knew, they were assassins sent to kill you.”
Sela looked at him sharply. “Why would the humans send assassins after me?”
Jericho gave her a level glance. “Perhaps we’re not the first people they’ve spoken to. Perhaps they’ve made other alliances. Alliances with people who want you dead. Do I need to remind you that you still have no heirs? If you die, the Phalaborwan royal line dies with you.”
“You don’t need to remind me,” Sela snapped. “And I don’t want to have that conversation with you now.”
“Of course, Skyness.” Jericho paused and picked his wine glass off the table and took a long sip.
“The point is, they’re not assassins,” Sela said after a moment.
“That seems to be the case,” Jericho agreed.
“So are you going to make her wear the collar at the signing?”
Jericho considered this. “Yes,” he said at last.
“Why?!” Sela threw up her free hand in exasperation.
“We still don’t know their true intentions. Even if they truly want our help, I don’t want her… unduly influencing the proceedings.”
Sela leaned back against the couch. “You’re afraid of her,” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips.
Jericho raised an eyebrow. “Afraid? Me?”
“Aren’t you?”
Jericho swirled the wine around in his glass, staring at the patterns. “No,” he said after a moment. “But I’m… cautious. Sela, it took me centuries to reach my level of skill. The humans live barely a hundred years. I’m hardly an expert in their physiology, but the members of this envoy don’t appear old. To have gained her level of mastery in a few decades…” He shook his head. “And she’s expendable enough that they were willing to send her on a mission they knew she might not return from. That means there are others who are at least as powerful as she is, perhaps many others.”
“Imagine what a boon that could be in the war,” Sela suggested.
Jericho nodded. “If they side with us. If they agree to commit their people. First we need to convince the Queen of De Aar to let them in at all, past the Falan soldiers who guard the rift.”
Sela stood up abruptly. “I’m tired of this conversation,” she said. “I don’t want to think about this anymore - the humans or Falan or the Queen of De Aar - for the rest of the afternoon. In fact, I declare as Skyness that there will be no speaking whatsoever in my presence for the next two hours, starting in precisely thirty seconds.”
A smile touched the edges of Jericho’s lips. “Oh? And what do you propose should fill the next two hours of your time if we are not to speak?”
Sela smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. “If you can’t come up with something to amuse me, I’ve chosen the wrong advisor and I suppose I’ll have to revoke your title and feed you to the alligators.”
Jericho stood and placed his wine glass on the table. With one hand he took hold of Sela’s wrist and pulled her against him. His other hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. “Well,” he said, “we can’t have that.”
Necessities
Amber sat at her desk, her gaze fixed on the floating illusion before her. The collar was a perfect replica of the one she had worn only hours ago, the arcane symbols precisely etched around the wooden band, the hinges carefully forged, the delicate release mechanism precisely set. Shadows played about its surface as it caught the flickering candlelight.
There was a knock on the door, a staccato series of taps. The rhythm was one that Amber had used many times to ensure that she was not disturbing whoever was on the other side of the door, that they were not preparing spells or in the midst of deep concentration. It was a precaution that the Mage Corps had incorporated early in their history.
Amber sighed. “Come in.”
The door creaked open and her former apprentice stepped gingerly into the small cabin. “Archmagus?”
Amber looked up from the desk and shook the brooding thoughts from her mind. “Yes, Mika, what can I do for you?”
Her ex-apprentice’s eyes flicked to the illusion. For a moment, he allowed himself to be distracted. He cleared his throat. “What was it like?”
Amber did not need to be a member of the Diplomatic Corps to know what he was asking. “Come in,” she said quietly. “Close the door.”
Mika shut the door behind him and took a seat on an empty chair. The cabin was cramped, but Amber didn’t mind. It reminded her of home, where even the admiralty had quarters that barely rivaled some of the petty merchants’ homes here in Vesperia.
Amber turned her gaze back to the collar a moment more, then dismissed the illusion with a thought and turned back to Mika. “It was… disconcerting,” she said.
Mika leaned forward. “How?”
Amber searched for an apt comparison. “It was like having your clothing removed,” she said at last. “Intense vulnerability. It was knowing, physically within my body, that I could not cast spells. That I might incant and gesture and pull the proper components, yet be as effective as a child in their first clutch. What is a mage without magic?” She shook her head. Even thinking about it made her uncomfortable.
If Mika had been someone else, someone like Tam or Nessa, he might have argued. He might have tried to reassure her that she had other skills, that her learning was as great an asset as her spells. He might have told her that she was overreacting. But Mika was a mage of the Mage Corps. He knew as well as she did that a mage without magic was no better than a common scholar, and would rank just as low in the priorities of the fleet.
“Why did you let them do it?” he asked.
“I had to be at the negotiations,” she said. “And I understood their precautions - an unknown archmage in the presence of their queen presented a risk they were unwilling to take. I would have requested the same thing if I had been in Lord Jericho’s place.”
“But why did you go along with it?” Mika pressed.
Amber looked at him chidingly. “What choice did I have? Stay aboard the ship? Refuse to put it on?” She shook her head. “They have the power in these negotiations. We must play by their rules.”
For a moment, the two mages were silent, the gentle patter of the rain against the porthole the only sound in the small room.
“They’re going to make you put it on again, you know,” Mika said softly. “When you go you back to meet the queen again.”
Amber closed her eyes. “I know.”
“Are you going to do it?”
Amber opened her eyes and barely held herself back from glaring at him. “Of course I’m going to do it,” she said, her words coming out sharper than she’d intended.
“But…” Mika’s voice trailed off.
“But what?”
Mika licked his lips. “But how can you bear to do it a second time?”
Amber sighed and turned to face the window, watching the rain come down. When she turned back, her eyes were focused. Her voice was soft and even. “I do what I must. We need their queen. We need her to speak on our behalf. We need - we desperately need - for the fleet to get through the rift. They don’t have much time. From what the reports have said, the engines are failing. The shields are failing. We must make as favorable an impression as possible with the elven monarchs - that is the mission we were given by Admiral Vash. And if that means I need to put on that thrice-cursed collar to do it, then that is what I will do. What does my discomfort mean compared to the survival of all humanity?”
Mika nodded slowly and said nothing.
For the first time since he’d entered, Amber noticed the crystal Mika held in his left hand. “Is that why you came here,” she asked after a moment. “To question me about the antimagic collar?”
Mika shook himself and cleared his throat in embarrassment. He rose from the chair and stood at parade rest. “No, Archmagus,” he said.
Amber looked at him, bemused. “Out with it.”
Mika cleared his throat again. “We received a communiqué from the Council. They’ve asked for another round of clarifications to your last report.”
Amber barely held herself back from rolling her eyes. Instead, she held out her hand, and Mika dropped the crystal into it as though releasing a hot coal. “Of course they did,” Amber muttered. “Why should only six rounds of clarifications be enough when they could get a seventh?”
Mika hesitated. “Do you want me to…?”
Amber waved a hand. “No, no. It’s all right. I’ll take care of this. You can go back to whatever you were doing. Let me know when we receive word from the Phalaborwans.”
Mika nodded and left, leaving Amber alone in the small cabin. With a sigh, she put the crystal down in its reader and got back to work.
*****
Her Skyness Sela Dwinddare lounged on a sofa in her private quarters, a glass of wine in her hand. Duke Jericho Corranik sat at the far end, delicately holding the stem of his own glass. A bottle of wine sat on a low table beside them, already half-finished.
“You know I don’t like those collars,” Sela said.
“I know.”
“And yet you used it anyway.” There was recrimination in her voice.
Jericho returned her gaze impassively. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Jericho placed the glass gently down on the low table. “It was necessary. She is more powerful than you know,” he said.
Sela regarded him. “How powerful? As powerful as you?”
Jericho released a slow exhale as he considered this. “Yes,” he said at last. “Likely more powerful than me.”
Sela’s eyes widened. “In a hundred years, I’ve never heard you say that of anyone.”
Jericho shrugged. “In a hundred years, I’ve never met someone who was my match.”
“How do you know?” asked Sela, taking a sip of wine. “Was there some sort of mage battle? I’d be terribly disappointed if I missed a mage battle because I had to attend to matters of state.”
A hint of a smile touched Jericho’s lips. “No, nothing as grandiose as that,” he said. “It was mostly observation and deduction, with a small amount of divination thrown in for good measure. I could give you the details…”
Sela waved a hand. “I believe you. I don’t need you to launch into minutiae. But even if she’s as powerful as you say, what of it? Why was the collar necessary?”
Jericho gave her a look that reminded her that, no matter that she was monarch over thousands of subjects, he was her first commander and he was still capable of lecturing her as such. Sela held back a smile and allowed herself to appear appropriately chastised for asking a foolish question. “It was necessary,” Jericho said, “because a mage of such power unchecked in your presence could have caused irrevocable harm, to you and to the realm.”
Sela shook her head. “What harm? So much as a move, and I’d have skewered her.”
Jericho bristled. “How many times do we need to have this conversation? A powerful enough mage would ensure that you never get close. There are any number of ways a powerful caster could prevent you. A force-sphere. Domination. She could polymorph you into a frog or turn your body to stone. She could blind you by uttering a single word. She could turn you into an imbecile with a gesture. Do not think that just because you wield one of the most powerful weapons in Vesperia that you are somehow untouchable.”
Sela took a sip of wine. “Fine,” she said. “Then you would have--”
“Done nothing,” Jericho finished for her. “I would attempt to protect you, of course, but even I can’t plan for every possible eventuality when there are archmages involved.”
Sela shook her head in exasperation. “You say all this like it was guaranteed. How do we know they mean us ill will?”
“We don’t,” said Jericho reasonably. “They seem quite sincere in their request. But we had no way of knowing that when we allowed them into your presence. For all we knew, they were assassins sent to kill you.”
Sela looked at him sharply. “Why would the humans send assassins after me?”
Jericho gave her a level glance. “Perhaps we’re not the first people they’ve spoken to. Perhaps they’ve made other alliances. Alliances with people who want you dead. Do I need to remind you that you still have no heirs? If you die, the Phalaborwan royal line dies with you.”
“You don’t need to remind me,” Sela snapped. “And I don’t want to have that conversation with you now.”
“Of course, Skyness.” Jericho paused and picked his wine glass off the table and took a long sip.
“The point is, they’re not assassins,” Sela said after a moment.
“That seems to be the case,” Jericho agreed.
“So are you going to make her wear the collar at the signing?”
Jericho considered this. “Yes,” he said at last.
“Why?!” Sela threw up her free hand in exasperation.
“We still don’t know their true intentions. Even if they truly want our help, I don’t want her… unduly influencing the proceedings.”
Sela leaned back against the couch. “You’re afraid of her,” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips.
Jericho raised an eyebrow. “Afraid? Me?”
“Aren’t you?”
Jericho swirled the wine around in his glass, staring at the patterns. “No,” he said after a moment. “But I’m… cautious. Sela, it took me centuries to reach my level of skill. The humans live barely a hundred years. I’m hardly an expert in their physiology, but the members of this envoy don’t appear old. To have gained her level of mastery in a few decades…” He shook his head. “And she’s expendable enough that they were willing to send her on a mission they knew she might not return from. That means there are others who are at least as powerful as she is, perhaps many others.”
“Imagine what a boon that could be in the war,” Sela suggested.
Jericho nodded. “If they side with us. If they agree to commit their people. First we need to convince the Queen of De Aar to let them in at all, past the Falan soldiers who guard the rift.”
Sela stood up abruptly. “I’m tired of this conversation,” she said. “I don’t want to think about this anymore - the humans or Falan or the Queen of De Aar - for the rest of the afternoon. In fact, I declare as Skyness that there will be no speaking whatsoever in my presence for the next two hours, starting in precisely thirty seconds.”
A smile touched the edges of Jericho’s lips. “Oh? And what do you propose should fill the next two hours of your time if we are not to speak?”
Sela smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. “If you can’t come up with something to amuse me, I’ve chosen the wrong advisor and I suppose I’ll have to revoke your title and feed you to the alligators.”
Jericho stood and placed his wine glass on the table. With one hand he took hold of Sela’s wrist and pulled her against him. His other hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. “Well,” he said, “we can’t have that.”