Noble Arcana

The best deals are made when you’re holding a blade and they aren’t.

A dwarven proverb

The cook brought out a series of local dishes. There was more Ichthyn meat, local vegetables, and a small dessert made of native fruits. All of it was served with different dips and sauces which all tended toward being tangy or sour. Throughout the meal they made light conversation about the food, the weather, and Solomon’s trip. Once they had completed the dessert the thick sweet coffee concoction was brought to them. Solomon found it much more enjoyable to drink on its own.

He took a long sip and placed the cup he’d be given back down delicately.

“Thank you for the meal, general.”

He raised his own cup in response and took a long sip.

“There’s something I wish to discuss with you. Something sensitive.”

The general let out a long sigh. “I can guess what this is about. I know that Grand Duke Morrow would like me to return to the homeland to marry his sister, but things here are still too delicate. I need to be here to ensure that the empire maintains its strong hold on Manacht. There’s nothing that can be done about it.”

Solomon shook his head. “You misunderstand. I’m not here on my brother’s behalf. I’m here on my sister’s.”

The general frowned.

“You have been betrothed for more than a decade. She is nearing the age of being unmarriable to someone of her own status. I am not here to ask you to return and marry her, I’m asking you to break the betrothal entirely, for her sake.”

His frown deepened and he silently took another long sip of his coffee.

“I’m afraid I won’t do that. This betrothal has been in place a long time, and I wouldn’t want people to believe that the Clyturns break their obligations.”

“You don’t think that keeping my sister in limbo is worse?”

“I will return to Drakthiss to marry her eventually. When things here are more settled. I don’t know how many ways I can say it.”

Solomon lifted a napkin and wiped his face before standing.

“Does your family know about your paramour and bastard?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m almost certain that they do, given it took me less than half an hour to find out and confirm it. Are your promises of betrothal a comfortable way to avoid your family’s criticism? Is my sister’s status and honor a convenient price to pay for you to live among the natives and play pretend?”

“How dare you!” replied the general standing.

“Sit,” replied Solomon, casting compulsion on the man.

The general sat, though his face remained twisted in anger.

“I don’t believe my brother the Grand Duke knew of what you’ve been doing, and I don’t wish to tell him. If I do, he would break the betrothal anyway and make your behaviour widely known. If you break the betrothal though you can save yourself and my sister embarrassment.”

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“I don’t believe you would do that. It would harm your sister just as much as it would me.”

Solomon fought to keep his expression neutral. He was right, it would be an embarrassment for her though it wasn’t in any way her fault and Solomon wouldn’t put her through that if he didn’t have to.

“Please consider my sister’s feelings here. As well as those of your local mistress and child. Think of what actions are best for them.”

There was a softening in the man’s expression, for just a moment Solomon thought he might see reason, then his face twisted into a scowl again.

“Whatever you have heard or think you know, it is false. Everything is as it always has been. I will return to Drakthiss to marry your sister as soon as I am able. Until then I will do you the favor of forgetting this conversation and your false accusations ever took place.”

He took one more sip of his coffee and took the coat from the back of his chair, putting it on before withdrawing the pre-written letter from his coat. He approached Clyturn and placed it down with a pen from his pocket next to it.

“Sign it,” he asked politely, giving the man a final chance.

The general glanced down and scoffed, standing to look at Solomon. He was shorter than him, but much broader and he could feel the menace radiating from him. Unfortunately for the general, Solomon had already faced far more intimidating foes.

Solomon sighed.

”Fine. Be difficult. I ask that you reconsider while I’m on the front delivering the blade,” he wove compel into his voice as he spoke. He wasn’t sure of how well it would work as it wasn’t a simple instruction. ”When I return, we’ll speak again.”

The general frowned, a bit of his intimidating aura fading.

Solomon retrieved the letter and turned to walk to the door, opening it before turning back.

“Thank you for lunch.” His voice was scratchy and painful. It had been the most pushback he’d ever received from casting compulsion.

The man simply nodded, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed.

With that he turned and left the general’s rooms, heading back through the converted castle and out the front gate. He was aware of the dangers of what he’d done. From what the Knight of Pentacles had told him, compel was impossible to detect and people’s minds would fill in an excuse for their actions in post. Would that excuse keep the general from seeking retribution? Solomon couldn’t be sure. If he did then he would be in significant danger considering the resources he had in the region. Of course, they didn’t know that he had the means to protect himself if needed.

They reached the carriage and made their way back to Manacht. Once they had returned to their hotel. He noticed that the general had wavered a number of times throughout the discussion. He hoped that by the time he returned he would see reason.

He spent the rest of the evening continuing his study of advanced runes and piecing together more of what his uncle had left behind.

The next morning he and Edmure left the hotel with a light bag and Crimson Command. Their room would be maintained in their absence and their things kept safe. Outside the hotel waited the squad that was heading to join up with Vaughn’s men and would be escorting them to the front.

It was a group of roughly twenty human men and ten untoss. Several of the men were on horseback and there was a wagon being drawn by two Ichtyn. Solomon was surprised to see that five of the human men were glowing faintly with mana in his vision. One of them had blue boots and wore a light blue robe, the other four wore form fitting uniforms much like those of the military, but in the same light blue as the other’s robes. He hadn’t anticipated travelling with Union auxiliaries.

A sergeant got down off his horse and approached him along with the blue booted auxiliary.

The auxiliary had a shaved head and one of his eyes seemed to be made of blue crystal. He was just a bit older than Solomon and his mana moved in a calm steady pattern all throughout his body. The sergeant was an older man with scarred hands and a burn across the side of his face. They both bowed as they reached him.

“Lord Morrow, I’m Sergeant Zane Cliff and this is Battlemage Jakul. We are heading to deliver supplies to your brother and join with his company at the mine. As such we will be escorting you and Crimson Command to him as well.”

They shook hands.

“Thank you Sergeant. I’ll do my best to stay out from underfoot and keep my complaints to a minimum.”

“That would be most appreciated, Lord Morrow.”

“I’d be careful not to make promises you can’t keep,” said Jakul with a smile, his voice surprisingly high and airy.

“Perhaps I’ll just ensure that all of my complaining and being underfoot is aimed more at you then.”

“That would certainly be my preference,” said the sergeant.