Noble Arcana

Many people say that no plans survive first contact. Those people have simply never planned well enough.

Vaughn Morrow in a letter to Chorde Morrow

After too few hours of sleep, Solomon awoke to The World smiling through Melissa’s face. It was an odd sight that had somehow grown mundane to him.

“Good morning, World. How are you?”

“This one is indifferent, as always. Is your part of the transaction prepared?”

Solomon nodded as he walked over to his desk, pulling out the papers he’d prepared and the gold he’d set aside. Once that was done he turned to The World.

“There it is.”

The World nodded and in an instant the items were replaced by those which he’d traded for.

After that Melissa returned, blinking away whatever kind of fog a being like The World left behind.

“Breakfast Solomon?”

“Toast and honey with an extra cup of coffee this morning.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“There might have been, had I managed to get much at all.”

She bowed and left the room.

Solomon slid over to his desk and calmly placed the letters and scrolls he’d received into a drawer until breakfast arrived. After Melissa was gone, the door locked, and several gulps of coffee settled in his stomach, he opened the drawer again to retrieve everything. At the top was a letter written in a now familiar script.

Page,

I hope these help with whatever you’re planning next.

KoP

Beneath the Knight’s writing were the instructions for attending the Arcana using a ritual spell. It was a complex series of runes within a summoning circle drawn with ink thick with manarite dust and blood, and an invocation for The World.

He considered memorizing it using Perfect Recall, but he was unsure of how the recall would fare when he left Moonfallow. His mana was far more stable than it had been, but when he’d visited Etling it had begun to roil again and he imagined the same would happen when he went to bring the Crimson Command to his brother. No, he needed to make sure he had it completely memorized without the aid of the spell.

He read further, finding the instructions for the Compel spell he’d purchased. It seemed relatively simple on the surface. One needed to push mana out through their mouth as they spoke and say a single word command with absolute authority. It was very important that it was spoken without hesitation or restraint, or the spell would fail and cause greater damage to the caster’s vocal chords than it would have otherwise.

For Solomon this wasn’t a tremendous concern. He’d been giving orders without hesitation from the age of five. He reviewed the spell several more times, attempting to work some mana through his throat in the way it described.

After some experimentation he slid the letter to the side and unraveled a scroll. It was a dark and faded thing that smelled faintly of decay. He unraveled it and found it to be the Curse of Impotence he’d bought.

Curse of Impotence

Ingredients:

Hair from the target

Curdled milk

A small twig or branch

1 Drop of blood from the caster

Wrap the hair of the target around the twig and place it within the curdled milk. Add a single drop of blood to the mixture while saying the following phrase and moving mana into the concoction.

Wither, waste, wane

Joy is no longer to be found,

Search for it in vain,

You shall remain soft like fresh ground,

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Those you try to please shall only frown.

The rhyme was a bit forced, but he supposed that as long as the spell worked that didn’t matter. He wasn’t certain of how exactly he’d retrieve hair from Jude, but seeing as he’d be heading back to the Morrow Estate soon he was sure that his family would all sit together for at least one awkward meal or perhaps even avoid each other across the ballroom at a small party. There would be opportunities. The other elements of the spell were very simple. Looking at it, he couldn’t help but feel that it resembled a Volk magic spell. Were all curses in this format? Was there a link between the two types of magic? He filed those questions into the back of his mind for later.

He carefully rolled the musty scroll and slipped it into his jacket, adding the letter from the Knight of Pentacles as well. He then made his way to the library and locked the door. He placed his new treasures within and checked the small bag he’d prepared for that evening. The dagger, ink, sulfur, sprig of holly, key and oil were all in place, as was the firebottle he’d made. He was taking a number of risks, he knew that. In general he felt as if he hadn’t been acting with the same forethought and consideration as he had in the past. The mistakes had begun to pile up. At the same time that’s why he felt he needed to take action. He needed more ways to address mistakes and be able to quickly react to problems.

He left his library and headed out to the atrium, calling for the carriage to be pulled around so that he could head into town early. He attempted to keep his mind focused on the roads, rebuilding, and hiring of some skilled labor, but at this point much of it was simply one status report or another and so he found his mind frequently wandering. Things would move more quickly once the logging and mining interests were firmly in place, but until then he truly had little to do aside from make the occasional minor decision. Eventually he’d need to push a census forward and let the town select a new mayor, but he wanted things firmly in place before then.

The afternoon passed glacially and Solomon left early to return to his library and complete yet another review of everything he had in place, followed by some more review and practice of the spells he’d received that morning.

The evening was worse. He ate, bathed, and then was forced to simply lay in bed, his prepared bag hidden in a nearby dresser. He kept himself distracted by weaving spells in his mind, practicing the mouthing of rituals and incantations he’d learned to test how they felt in his mouth. He wished he could wait just a bit longer to properly master those new spells he’d accessed the previous evening, but Viscount Byar had warned him that he could no longer keep the Etling guard from interfering with his business in Moonfallow and they would arrive the next day.

At midnight he rose and donned a simple black coat over a dark shirt and trousers. A freshly made black handkerchief in his pocket.

He tore the corner from it carefully and clutched it in his hand, reaching toward the darkness in front of himself with an open hand as he let his mana flow.

“Shadow, I ask respectfully that you walk with me. It’s a beautiful night for it.”

The darkness responded to his mana and covered him head to toe in shadow. He carefully lifted his window before retrieving his bag and climbing carefully out of it. He landed without grace, but there was no one to notice. He walked to the edge of the estate, where the Black Wood began and a few steps further, where he’d runemarked a tree. He popped the cork on a blood vial and drew some of it out with magic, placing it on a shadowy palm. He returned the vial to his coat and placed the bloodied hand against the tree.

He fell into it, falling rapidly through whatever ethereal place it was that connected all of the trees of the black wood. He found the other marks he’d placed quickly, focusing on the furthest one. He reached toward it, pumping mana through himself as he did so, and he launched quickly toward it. Once he was above it in an arc he released most of the mana allowing himself to slow down.

He emerged from the tree only a bit too quickly, rolling roughly a few times, but not enough to damage his homunculi. At least, he hoped not.

He pushed himself up. He was closer to Moonfallow now, the tree he’d emerged from was part of a small patch that was encroaching on the town itself. He checked his hand, finding that the shadow he’d called was still comfortably wrapped around him.

He made his way carefully into town. Luckily, only lamps on the main streets were usually lit so he was nearly invisible as he made his way carefully through the side streets and alleys. He wasn’t too familiar with them, but his sense of direction and familiarity with landmarks eventually got him to his target, the watch station.

He looked around carefully, noting that there was no one in the street, but there was some light coming from the watch station window. There was a small house across the street where two or three guards would sleep every night, ready to be woken in an emergency. In the station itself there would usually be only one man that was meant to stay up the night to respond to any residents that needed their help.

Solomon risked crossing the well lit street, and slipped into the alley next to the station. He had a key for the front entrance, but he didn’t want to risk alerting the guard on duty. He approached a side entrance and pulled the worn key and holly sprig from his bag. He pointed them at the door.

“Tumble click and set, by holly’s sting and the key’s duty met.”

He heard a soft click and carefully returned his reagents to his pack before gently pushing the door open. He quietly walked inside, finding where he stood was only barely lit by a candle in the main room of the station. He closed the door carefully and walked through to where he saw a guard named Barklay idly shuffling a deck of tarot cards as he yawned.

Solomon moved behind him and tested his new spell for the first time.

“Sleep,” he said, adding mana to his voice and speaking without whispering, the loudness of his own voice nearly catching him off guard.

The man fell forward in his chair suddenly and Solomon awkwardly lunged to catch his head as he fell, gently resting it on the desk. His mana had been perfectly aligned as he’d cast, just as it was when he used Blood Control. Another link to whatever his focus was.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he moved. He’d made a habit of sneaking around the Morrow Estate as a child, and had gotten quite good at it. So good in fact he’d seen things that haunted the corners of his mind. Still, he’d never really considered himself adept at skullduggery. Sneaking into the jail of a watchstation was not something he’d ever envisioned for himself.

He opened the door to the small jail with its three cells and made his way back to the furthest of them. Inside was Dukat, his would-be assassin.