Day 68

Day 68

“I'll admit, sir, I'm a bit surprised.”
“Well don't be,” he starts amicably.  “I was born in Caithness; lived there 'til I was about your age.  Wasn't until the war really went underway that I moved to the main hall, and I've been here ever since.  Still know a few things about the place, so they told me to tell you about it.”
“We'd be grateful for any expertise,” Rodrick answers.  It's oddly diplomatic of him.  This must be part of his getting ready for the trip.
Professor Moore, if he notices, says nothing about it.  Instead he smiles and nods, and when he returns to the subject it's with a noticeable bit more energy.  “How to put it, Caithness has a sort of dual perspective on a great many things.  Take Megalos, for instance.  When it broke off from us, it was under a duke who didn't even notice that it had happened for seventeen years.  They see us as antiquated, but at the same time we're effectively the origin of their entire culture.  It's almost a paternal relationship; the parent isn't 'down' with all of the new things, but it's where they came from.”

“And now they're readying for war against their parent,” I note.
“Well, yes, it's odd, but it has to do with the one issue which they aren't of two minds about: monsters.  See, they saw the passing of the reconciliation doctrine to have been a sort of treason against humanity itself.”
“Understandable.”
“True, but it doesn't completely explain the venom.  Another thing you need to remember is that it was hit harder by the last war than Megalos.  We had greater defenses, more natural resources, and – most importantly – a more dedicated and cohesive army than the rest of the world at the time.  They, on the other hand, had quite the opposite.  For them, not even the threat of officers killing mutineers and deserters was sufficient to stop the tide of men leaving for the other side, and even if it did often those officers were doing the same.  They lost more men to defection than to actual combat.”  He pauses for a moment, staring as though concerned by the far wall.  “Caithness is a land of those who were left behind by husbands, fathers, and sons, seemingly for the very enemy that sought their destruction.

I see now.  “So we've 'deserted' the human side, too, have we?”
He nods gravely.  “At least in their eyes, yes.”
I quickly note that “It seems odd, they've produced some fine paladins.”  In part this is simply to distract the professor from a darkening mood.
If anything, though, it seems to worsen.  His voice is dry as he nods and says “True, true.”
“Did you lose someone that way, sir,” Rodrick asks.
“I did.”  He raises a hand before either of us can say anything, and smiles again.  “Don't worry, that wound's long healed.”

I wait a long moment before I voice the question that's been troubling me.  “Why did so many defect, sir?”
“Ah,” he starts, lifting a finger vaguely in my direction, “that's getting to the heart of the one greatest difference between Megalos and Caithness, or rather the people thereof.  The culture of the former stresses civic-mindedness and duty.  The culture of the latter stresses individualism.”
“And if you aren't fighting for others, there's no reason to fight monsters at all, is there?”  I suppress a bitter laugh at the sad thought.
“And as the war dragged on, and their population had dwindled to almost a third what it would have been had no one left, they called upon mages.  With the wall, there was no more means of escape; they either succeeded or failed as one.  The cost was great, though, and trade became almost impossible – thus the state of their economy.”

“I'll say, sir, that you aren't painting a picture of a threat.  They're the remnant of one of the old duchies, they don't have the wealth for arms, and they're trapped in their country?  How are they a concern?”
“In a word?  Mages.  Our mages head off to the tower college, and avoid any political entanglements.  The mages in Caithness, though, are kept in a national college.”
“Duty-bound versus individualist, except for magic,” Rodrick summarizes.
“Something like that,” the professor says, nodding his head to the side, “but you don't need to worry yourselves about strategy or warfare.  If all goes well, that won't be a concern for anyone.”  He waits for a moment, glancing between the two of us, before clapping his hands together and asking “So, any questions?”

I glance to Rodrick, who's pursing his lips and shaking his head.  “No sir,” he says, before I echo him.
“Well that's good.  I'll let you two be on your way then; be sure to call if you've any more questions, though.”
We both rise to our feet at the same time.  We both give a short “Thank you, sir,” before filing out of the office.  The library stretches out behind us as we head out the bronze doors.  “You all packed,” he asks me.
I turn to him, slightly incredulously.  “I should think we both are.”
“Yeah,” he answers.  “Of course.”  His eyes are locked straight ahead, like we were marching.
I exhale slowly through my nose.  “You've got two hours before we're due at the station.  You'd best hurry.”
He glances downward toward the hallway floor.  “Yeah,” he says, his voice dry and slightly deeper.  “I'll meet you there, Vic.”

I feel bad for him.  Procrastination is a painful trait to have.

---

I realize that I may have acquired a bad habit.  I've spent, I think, two months now watching people.  Giving reports back to the main hall on the condition of Min meant that I had to see what its people were doing.  I waited outside of bars, around the mall, in the streets and restaurants, and I watched them live their lives.  Now, here I am, sitting in this train station and doing the same thing.  It's like it's become a default state.

I watch, and I note the monsters around me.  They're few in number – a fact that means only that I focus my attention solely on those few, and the people around them.  Few of them are alone.  I assume those are the ones heading to a specific location, and simply waiting for their train.  They're the odd ones, judging from their peers.  The majority of them either have a man traveling with them, or else seat themselves next to one of the single men nearby.  To their credit, most men ignore them, or else give the slightest amount of small talk and avoid looking at the things.  The monsters are persistent, though I can tell from the glances my way that they're avoiding doing anything more than talk while a paladin watches.  And then there are the couples, which are no less unpleasant to look at here than they are anywhere else.

It's thirty minutes before the train is scheduled to arrive that I see Rodrick approaching the station with a middle-aged man in a suit.  I recognize the description: seven feet tall and slightly overweight makes the diplomat we're charged with physically imposing in spite of his otherwise bookish features.  His glasses are thick, and make his close-set eyes seem even smaller on his wide face.  I rise to my feet as he approaches.  “Sir.”
“Victor, I trust,” the man says happily, and his voice is deep and booming enough to convey his size all on its own.  “Please, Otho.  I'm already sick of the formality, and I haven't even left home yet.”  He laughs, and it echoes through the station.
His good humor is infectious.  “All right, Otho.  Then we're only missing our mage.”
“I'm sure he'll be here soon.  I've worked with him before; he's too punctual for his own good.”

The two of us stand for a good twenty minutes – Otho suggested stretching the legs before an almost day-long trip by train.  He seems like the sort to go through everything by tried-and-true methods.  A trait I have an appreciation for.  He talks idly about older trips back and forth as an envoy to the Northlands, and even Al Wazif and the monster-ridden isles of Araterre.  “You'd be amazed,” he said while leaning in and only barely lowering his voice, “the economic impact I had.”
I raised an eyebrow to this incredulously.  “Economic, sir?”
“Oh yes,” he noted, his smile widening.  “I could walk into an empty tavern, and suddenly business was booming.”  Then he laughed again, and then Rodrick and I were, too.  He seems to be quite the raconteur, which is something that makes me more comfortable with the trip.  I'm glad to know that the man sent to smooth over relations is so confident.  From what I'd heard, I'd worried that Caithness was working itself into an unthinking hatred for us, and there'd been a sense of futility in trying to reason with them.

Our train arrives, and he claps his hands while taking a few slow steps toward it.  “Well then, shall we?”
Rodrick's the one to voice his concern, “The mage hasn't arrive, though.”
He continues walking, waving a hand back toward us as though trying to wave off the words.  “He'll be here.  And if he's not,” he adds quickly after, “then we'll get to watch a mage board a moving train.  Won't that be fun?”

The train is almost empty, and few people seem intent to board it.  We took one of the first compartments from the door, and Rodrick and I settled ourselves across from our charge.  He, meanwhile, dropped onto his seat and immediately set himself to wondering when we'd be receiving refreshments.  The seats are soft green cloth, and seem to've acquired a sort of indentation from the people who've ridden before.
Looking out the window and idly listening to him discuss the “delightful little butter cookies” that he gets whenever he's on the train, I stared out at the citizens getting ready to travel.  There'll be three stops between here and the border, and then it'll be four days before I set foot on Megalan soil again.  I'll be, for the first time, leaving my homeland.

As it turns, my concern about the mage wasn't necessary.  At a little less than five minutes from when the train was set to depart, a robed older man steps out of seeming nothingness, to the slight shock of a handful of observers.  He looks around him, eyes wide and brow raised, as though he was unaware of what had happened.  When his gaze settles on our train, he spends a moment staring at it before removing his ring, pulling a ticket out of it, and returning it to his finger.  I can feel Rodrick's shoulder against mine as he and I both watch the wizard glance between ticket and car before setting off toward us at a slow pace.

Otho lifts himself from his seat and leans out the compartment's door as he calls out “Jacobs?  Did we wake you up, old boy?”
He leans back inside, and is followed by a man as tall as himself, sporting the robes of a tower wizard.  He dips his head, either to greet us or to step into the compartment.  Rodrick and I rise and introduce ourselves, offering our hands before he can offer his.  “Allen Jacobs,” he introduces himself.  “And no, no, I was awake this time, at least.  I swear, one day I'll forget about a teleportation I'd prepared and I'll be in the loo when it goes off.”
I stare incredulously even as he laughs.  Did he really prepare a spell like that and then forget that it existed?  Did he really cast a spell that reshapes the world and use that as an alarm clock so that he wouldn't be late in getting here?  How powerful is the man we're traveling with?  It strikes me that if the territory is as hostile to us as we'd thought, then maybe the only reason Rodrick and I are here is for show, and Jacobs is the actual defense should issues arise.

The two quickly settle into conversation, discussing nieces and family weddings, apparently long friends.  It seems that traveling together isn't that uncommon a thing for the two of them; it explains why Otho hadn't been concerned with his lateness.  Soon after, there's a rumbling underfoot, and the station outside my window seems to, inch by inch, start to move away from me.  We leave it behind soon after, and then the city itself as we pick up speed heading into the idyllic pastures beyond.

I wait for the two to finish catching up before I turn back to them.  Suddenly curious, I ask “Mister Jacobs, might I ask if you've been to Caithness before?”
“Please, young man, Jacobs will suffice,” he says, raising a hand.  “And I imagine I've been just about everywhere three or four times by now.  I'm the head of teleportation and travel magics at the college, and that's not just out of a passing interest in the subject.”  He smiles pleasantly, but there's a hint of awkwardness to it; it's as though he was copying the man next to him more than anything else.  “With that said, I haven't seen the place since, well, darker times,” he says as his voice slows and loses its upbeat tone.  “I moved a lot of troops around during the war.  The last I saw of Caithness was before it sealed itself away completely, shortly before the final days and the most impressive bit of magitech that Rylan put together.”   He gestures vaguely toward my neck, as though I somehow needed more specificity.

“It could still help to know,” Rodrick says, sounding progressively less certain as he continues.
Jacobs exhales as he leans back in his chair.  “I'm sorry, but I don't really think it will be.  If they're still like that – still like how I saw them, then I'm afraid that things are much worse than I'd imagined.  They've rebuilt since, aren't afraid for their lives; I'm sure that they're a much different people than they were.”
“I'm sure we all are,” Otho quickly adds.  The light fidgeting and quickness to reenter the conversation makes me think that he's one of those people who want to be part of every conversation.

The trip, after that, largely involved Rodrick and I catching up on our side of the compartment with Otho and Jacobs discussing what changes they'd seen in their families in the past year.  Almost evenly spaced – at least, that's how it felt – our train paused at Yibyorak, Hyrnan, at the edge of the dark elf-infested Blackwoods, and then Craine, and then we crossed one last river making our way to the edge of Megalos.

Staring out the window I listen to the three other men conversing about random aspects of their lives.  The woods pass by my window, barely lit by the fading light of the day.  They stopped being interesting to look at many hours ago, but having anything to look at helps let my mind rest.  Having nothing interesting or moving to look at forces me to remember my word training, and the act of reminiscing on those long days makes my stomach churn.
“I'm surprised; didn't think you'd take a trip staying away from her for that long.”
I glance back to my companions as Jacobs shifts in his sheet.  “It's new, yes, but I made a few manastones before I left.”
I continue to stare tiredly in his general direction before my eyes refocus, and I find myself sitting up straight in my chair.  He notes my interest at the moment that my mind finally returns to its normal speed and recognizes what was previously just a strange feeling in my gut.  The mage is an incubus.

“Oh yes,” Otho pipes up, “gentlemen, it's probably best not to mention that our friend here is married; it might make things more difficult for our mission here.”  I look to Rodrick, who glances back toward me with a conciliatory half-smile.  “The tower mages have always been a bit less, how to say, strictly opposed to monsters.”
“Suffice to say that I'm as dedicated to this trip as the rest of you.  The tower college wants nothing less than meaningless bloodshed.”
Pretty words that sound practiced.  I turn back to my window, swallowing to try to clear the bitter taste from my mouth.  I've spent the past half-day just idly chatting with a race traitor.  They hide themselves so well sometimes – the ones who don't have obvious physical changes, anyway.

I reposition myself in my seat, trying to get comfortable so that I can sleep for the rest of the trip.  Suddenly I find myself wanting to get done with this mission as soon as possible.  The inch of cloth that supports my shoulder isn't soft enough to keep it from getting sore, nor is the wooden panels of the train a pleasant place to rest my head, and between the two my neck quickly gets sore from the awkward position.  Still, I've grown accustomed to discomfort, and sleep comes surprisingly quickly.

I wake up only briefly, sometime around midnight.  My companions are all gazing out the window.  There's a massive wall of stone.  We seem to be passing through it.  I'm not in Megalos anymore.  The realization isn't accompanied by any emotion.

I watch for a while as we slowly come out the other side, and then fall asleep again.