A Writing Project (Critique and Advice Welcome)

Mage · September 19, 2021

Alrighty, I have had some ideas rolling around in my head for a couple of years now. It started with a magic system, which led to a world, which led to a character, which led to more characters, and finally, some semblance of a plot is coming together. Since I don't have ambitions to ever publish this piece I thought I'd just have fun with it and try to improve my writing by seeking the help of my fellow writers on the shard.

I am very much an outline writer and haven't created an outline yet for the whole story, but I do have the exposition planned out pretty well, and I think I am ready to hammer out the details of the plot while I start writing (wow that's a run-on sentence).

So, I'll just post my work and progress here and occasionally ask for advice. Any critique is welcome.

First question: Is a prologue where someone attempts to assassinate a king too derivative of the prologue in tWoK? I'm sure that my idea for this prologue is unconsciously inspired by Szeth and Gavilar, but the execution is very different and the characters involved are completely different. If it is too derivative I have a few other prologue ideas that I could pull out of my back pocket.

Thank you in advance.

Content to date:

Chapters

Prologue:

Spoiler

Prologue: The First Variance

Ahmni walked down the dusty main street of Zey Village, holding a package from his father’s tailor shop, thinking of how close he was to freedom. He technically was free, but on days like this, slaving away for his father, he sure didn’t feel free. In two weeks he would reach his twentieth year, and be able to go join an exploring party. In the 500 years since his people had sailed to this land, they had never been able to go too far away from the river. The river was the lifeline of his people, but there had to be more on this large continent than just the river and dust.

Excitedly tossing the bundle of clothes into the air, then catching it, just before it hit the ground, Ahmni set off at a run. It would soon get dark, and the priest did not see people after the sun went down. He viewed it as some sort of profanity to the Sun God. Ahmni had little patience for religion. He doubted he would worry much about it once he was exploring the wilderness. Religion or not, his father would be upset if Ahmni didn’t deliver the priest’s tunic before night.

Out of breath, Ahmni reached the priest’s house and rapped on the door. There was no answer, but light was coming from the window, and Ahmni could discern frantic noises coming from the house. Ahmni knocked once more, then let himself in.

The place was a mess. Random twigs of olive wood littered the floor and papers depicting the stars were strewn across a small desk. How strange. What was the point of drawing the stars? The stars simply were, drawing a map of them wouldn’t be useful to you like a map of the land would. And the twigs. Not that Ahmni cared, but wasn’t it blasphemy to disrespect the gift of the olive tree that the Sun God had supposedly given to their ancestors?

“Hello,” Ahmni called, “I have brought the clothing you purchased.” Ahmni had always disliked the sound of his voice. It wasn’t nearly deep enough for a man of his age and size.

There was once again no response. Ahmni set the bundle of clothing on the table and was about to leave, but his curiosity about the strange mess was too much. He wandered back further into the house, and came across the old priest working furiously at another desk. He had a bottle of glowing olive oil on his desk for light.

“Hello,” Ahmni tried again. This time the priest looked up.

“Ah, you. I have no time for you right now. I believe the fate of our entire world is at stake.”

Ahmni hadn’t expected that. The reclusive priest rarely addressed the public, but come to think of it, it was around the time of his annual harvest prayer. It would make more sense if he was preparing his remarks for that.

“What do you mean?” Ahmni inquired.

“Ah! I don’t have time for this, but I was going to tell the village at some point. Our God is dying, and if he dies our planet Melush dies. The Sun God’s chosen servants are killing themselves as well. Out of cowardice or loyalty I don’t know, but I am not going to kill myself. I am going to fix our problem yes?”

“The Sun God is dying?” Ahmni had never heard the Sun God spoken of this way, as if he were a tangible being and not just the vague omniscient presence that watched from a distance and punished the sinners.

“Again, I have not time for your questions either the other priests will come kill me or the Sun God will die, but have you noticed the increased dimness of the light from the Sun God? Or how his light does not charge the oil as fully? This is the problem. It is subtle no? But it is happening.”

By this point Ahmni was uncomfortable with the whole situation. Maybe the old priest’s mind had cracked. But the scariest thing was that Ahmni had noticed the decreased light from the sun, and how oil lamps weren’t glowing as brightly. Ahmni took a step closer to the desk, and the priest gasped.

“What?” Ahmni asked, jumping back in fright at the sudden loud noise.

“You are one of them!” the priest exclaimed, “Perhaps the strongest one I have ever seen. With you we could buy our planet much more time then we could with me. Come over here!” He dragged Ahmni over to a closet. This whole situation was getting stranger and stranger. All Ahmni wanted to do was get back to his father’s home and finish his miserable apprenticeship. He didn’t need strange old men making his life worse. But you are intrigued, A voice said in the back of his mind. That was true. Whatever was going on with the sun itched at his explorer’s senses. He wanted to know more about the world around him, even the heavens. Perhaps that meant that there was some use to mapping the stars. Ahmni allowed the priest to drag him to the closet.

When the priest opened the closet door it was Ahmni who gasped. There was a hole in the floor filled to the brim with glowing olive oil. Ahmni had never seen so much in one place. The olive trees were sacred, so each family only received a portion to light their homes, and aid in their worship.

“Get in,” The priest urged.

“Get…in?” Ahmni replied. As one who worked with clothes often, he knew that oil was one of the hardest things to wash out. When Ahmni hesitated the old man pushed him in.

“Now what?” Ahmni asked, sputtering the slimy sweet liquid out of his mouth. A brown curl of Ahmni’s hair fell in front of his face, slick with oil. He pushed it aside.

The priest shoved an olive staff into his hands, “Dip the staff into the glory pool, then channel the power.”

Channel the power? What did that mean? However, Ahmni obediently inserted the staff into the glowing surface, sending a ripple through the golden liquid. He was supposed to channel the power. There certainly was power to the liquid. It captured the healing properties of the sun, and allowed them to be used at night. It was said that in the wars against their ancestor’s traitorous brother, great soldiers had used the sunlight to accomplish magical feats. Is that was the old man meant?

At that moment Ahmni felt something. Something that he had felt a few times before when standing in bright sunlight and contemplating the nature of God. He had not felt this since he had begun to doubt his faith. Now he felt it again. Ahmni seized onto that glimmer of power, and channeled it up through the staff and into himself. The light of the pool grew dimmer, the way it did when you healed someone using oil.

“Okay,” Ahmni said hesitantly. This was certainly the strangest day of his life, and his mind had not yet fully accepted the reality of what was happening.

The priest scurried back to his desk and retrieved a paper. He shoved it in Ahmni’s face, “Do you know this star?”

Ahmni nodded. It was a common navigation star. If you knew how to find that one and had a map of the land, then you could never be lost.

“Use the power to pull yourself towards it. I have already done the calculations. If you exempt the planet, its orbital velocity and the slight change in distance will send our planet to a new star and set up the orbit perfectly.”

Ahmni didn’t understand half of the words the old priest had just said, but he oriented the staff toward the star, carefully keeping it dipped in the pool. Then, using the power he pulled toward where he knew the star was. It was much like pulling with your arms, but done in your mind. The priest dipped his hand in the pool, and appeared thoughtful.

“Very good, pull just a little more. Good, good. Now, exempt the planet.”

“What?” Ahmni asked. Tonight was proving to be a night of questions.

“Just release the planet and everything on it from the pull toward the star that you are making.”

Ahmni sensed with his mind, and realized that he could in fact feel the planet beneath his feet. It was immense, nearly to the point of inconceivability. He released it, and everything on it. With that, the glow in the pool faded, and he could no longer feel the power. He then realized that the glow of the sun was also fading, more rapidly than sunset could explain.

Ahmni dashed to the window to see that the sun was shrinking down, until it became just another star. The other stars were changing as well, moving at impossible speeds across the sky.

“What did I just do?” Ahmni asked. He had felt the power in that pool, and within himself. He had instinctively known the great things it could accomplish, and the great havoc it could wreak.

“You moved Melush from its orbit around the Sun God, into another solar system. The sun is on the other side of the planet, but in a few hours we will see the fruits of your…” The priest cut off with a strange gurgling sound. Ahmni spun around in shock to see the priest down on his knees, hand futilely attempting to staunch the bleeding from his throat. A man stood above him wearing priestly robes, and holding a bloodied long bladed dagger.

The man threw the dagger at Ahmni, and it plunged into his chest. It took a few seconds for the pain to kick in. D*** it hurt! And he was…he was…his mind refused to confront the fact. The other man, which Ahmni presumed to be one of the priests that the old priest had claimed were coming to kill him, calmly strolled over and retrieved the dagger from Ahmni’s ribs. Then he took the dagger and plunged it into his own heart, the mass suicide among the priests that the old priest had also mentioned.

Ahmni’s mind finally began to accept the reality of his situation. He was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. No! There had to be something he could do. He had not yet lived his life, and explored the world. Ahmni’s desperate eyes fixed on the glowing bottle of oil that the old priest had been using for light. Ahmni pulled himself over to the desk, feeling his life slipping away. Just as the blackness started to close in, Ahmni feebly uncorked the bottle and drank its contents, then the darkness took him. The darkness of sleep, and mercifully not the darkness of death.

He awoke later, not knowing how much time had passed since he had fallen unconscious. Through examining the hole in his tunic, it appeared that his wound was completely gone. Ahmni stood up and stepped over the bodies of the priests to the window. It was still dark, but the night sky was completely unfamiliar. Ahmni stepped away from the window and back to the desk. He began to glance through the notes. If he understood them correctly, the process of moving the planet would have to be repeated about once every year. Hopefully there would be enough in these notes to know where to pull with his newfound powers in order to keep the planet alive.

It seemed that the course of Ahmni’s life had changed in a night. His theology had completely been turned on its head, and he had taken on a grave new responsibility. His responsibility would not allow him to explore the land. Instead, he would be exploring the stars. He still didn’t fully comprehend what had just happened.

Ahmni stepped outside to escape the smell of blood from the house. He would have to report these deaths. Or did he? He had saved the entire planet. Did that not give him the mantle of the dying Sun God? Perhaps he was some sort of god as well.

A small light from the horizon caught his eye. The sun was coming up again. It was dawn once again, but different. This star was subtly different from the dying one that they had left. Ahmni had created a variance of dawn.

Chapter 1:

Spoiler

The darkness was ironic. Koerik felt that the burning heat of her hatred should illuminate the entire small cell. But it remained dark, oppressively dark. Two weeks in this confinement and her hatred had not dampened any. Her will and sanity, however, were beginning to break.

Any reasonable king would have at least brought Koerik out to talk about why she had betrayed him. No! I didn’t betray him, she reminded herself. Any reasonable king would not have imprisoned her in the first place, but Koerik’s imprisonment was not the sole cause of her hatred.

Koerik slammed a fist against the thick wooden wall. The pain of the impact flared through her knuckles, but she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, ignoring it. If she could but escape then she could flee to Havathelem and never have to see the king again. Koerik opened her eyes again and the darkness reminded her of her anger. No, she could not flee. That would be a betrayal of her people to a tyrannical coward. Once she escaped she would bring justice to the king.

Koerik ran her fingers down the wall of olive wood, searching for any weaknesses. This prison was built especially for people like her. Jeborers, who could channel the energy of souls and bend everything in space and time. Everything except for human beings and the wood of olive trees. It didn’t matter anyway. It took an infusion of blood from another dying person to take their soul and fuel the magic. There was one other way to fuel Jebory…No! She could not think of that. The cost was too high. Higher than rotting away in the dark? Only able to see the light once per day when they gave her food?

Koerik confronted the atrocity in her mind. It was a thing all Jeborers feared, and the first thing they were taught to avoid: consuming their own soul to power their magic. She shuddered at the thought and for a second felt a source of power within her, just beyond where the power of borrowed souls usually lay. It tempted her. With that well of power she couldn’t directly touch the olive wood, but she knew a few other tricks. After all, she had been captain of the king’s elite Jeborer guard for 15 years. Was it worth it? She could rot away her life and leave her people to the mercies of a tyrant, or she could get her revenge, gain freedom for Vogstrom, but potentially lose her soul. The decision now seemed simple.

The power flickered on the edge of her consciousness again. This time Koerik swallowed her repulsion and reached for it. She gasped and fell back as she confronted her soul. When she used the souls of others it was always raw power. This power however had a shape and a story. Her story. Clawing her way free from the disorienting reflection of herself, Koerik took control of the power and began to make preparations. Jebory could do many strange things by bending space and time, but it couldn’t change the size of things. Otherwise Koerik could simply expand the air inside her cell and burst the walls outward. They had taken everything solid from her when throwing her into prison, knowing that she could use Jebory to make a tool out of anything hard. Well, almost everything. There was one item however that they did not know about. Koerik reached into her mouth and popped free a small nugget of metal: A false tooth to replace one she had knocked out in her early days as a soldier.

Koerik took a deep breath and ripped a tiny bit of the power off of her soul. Pain wrenched through her chest, but she gritted her teeth and pushed the power into the world, carefully bending the space around her until the iron tooth was long, thin, and pointed. She grasped the now-pick in one hand and slammed the point into the wall. If she could just get a tiny hole then she could be free. Koerik slammed the pick again. After a 20 year military career she was stronger than most men, but this wall was a foot thick of solid wood. Slam. Slam! SLAM!

Finally a tiny beam of light burst into the room. With great relief Koerik released her grip on her soul and the iron pick twisted back into a tooth. To her horror, but not her surprise, Koerik found that something was missing inside of her. She had only taken a tiny portion, but it was still noticeable. That fact didn’t give her any comfort for what she had to do next.

Koerik seized her soul again and tore off a larger portion of power. Mentally, she pushed the power through the hole she had made and used it to bend the floor beneath her. The wooden cell shook as the stone floor undulated. Koerik reached out to the walls and bent them inward as well. Finally she heard a crack, then another as the cage shattered. She was free.

By the time her eyes adjusted to the light, the soldiers on guard were getting to her feet. They stared at her for a moment. A mix of shock, confusion, and uncertainty in their eyes and faces. Koerik had been their commanding officer until just two weeks ago. Finally they dashed away to alert the rest of the palace. She did not have much time.

Koerik began to run through the halls of the castle that she had grown up in. A left, two rights and then three flights up the back staircase took her to the chambers of the king. She burst through the door and without looking grabbed a decorative sword off the wall. Dansen, king of Vogstrom, looked up from the desk where he was writing. A look of annoyance quickly turned to terror when he saw the sword in Koerik’s hand and the look of murder on her face. Growling, she plunged the sword toward his heart, but it suddenly bent to the right and grazed off his shoulder.

Koerik spun around in shock. The princess Silvan stood in the doorway, hands outstretched and a look of pain on her face. It appeared that Koerik was not the only one this day who had sacrificed a bit of her own soul for a moment of magic. The closer one was to the royal line, the more likely they were to be a Jeborer. Both Dansen and Silvan had the talent, but neither had ever used it for fear of the negative side effects.

“Silvan,” Koerik hissed, “You have to understand that I don’t want to hurt you.” Her voice was hoarse. It had been days since she had used it.

“I won’t let you kill my father! I don’t know what your disagreement was, but can we not resolve it in some other way?” The girl was confident. Koerik had always liked her.

Disagreement. That word did not come close to describing the complexity of Koerik’s relationship to Dansen.

“If this disagreement could be so easily resolved as you say, then why do you not know what it is? Why would he lock up his most trusted general just to keep its secret.”

“I don’t know,” Silvan’s confidence slipped to desperation for a moment, and then returned, “I don’t want to hurt you either. You were always kind to me, but if you threaten my father again I will have to kill you.”

“You are untrained girl. You know that will end with both of us dead.”

“I am loyal to the king, and will pay any price to save his life.”

Koerik growled again. She still held the sword pointed to Dansen’s heart, but didn’t dare move it. Silvan meant what she said. She had always been so blindly loyal to her father.

“Leave here Koerik. The king’s protectors that you trained yourself are on their way. You can’t kill them all, and I doubt your conscience would let you. You still have time to get out of the castle safely. Go to Taamugot, or Havathelem. I don’t care, but don’t come back.”

Koerik looked back at the king. The same look of terror remained on his face. Dansen was too cowardly to even stand up for himself, leaving the job to his daughter who had no combative training. Koerik reluctantly dropped the sword and pushed past Silvan into the hallway. She strode in the opposite direction from where she knew the Protectors would come.

If Koerik had half of a year then she could gather the king’s other enemies, train troops and collect supplies. At that point she could see her revenge fulfilled. Her only hope was that her weakened soul lasted that long.

Chapter 2:

Spoiler

Chapter 2: The Negotiation

There were more important things in life than being comfortable. Self-respect and fashion for one. Or so Sehrum’s father had told him. The day was very hot, but in compliance to his father’s wishes, Sehrum donned his new coat: long and black, with golden buttons. He needed to be presentable for the negotiation.

“It looks good on you. I think it was a wise purchase,” his Father said.

“Thank you,” Sehrum automatically responded to the compliment, “But I still don’t understand why you are sending me.”

“I’ve told you before,” Moshrah replied, seeming toward the end of his patience, “You need practice. You might be inheriting my empire if your brother…”

They sat in silence for a moment, not wanting to confront that painful subject. Finally Sehrum spoke, “I think this negotiation is too important though. There is a very high probability of me failing you.”

Moshrah pondered on this for a second, though Sehrum had made all these same points before. His father liked to seem fair minded and considerate of all viewpoints, even if he had already made up his mind. No, he needed to be fair to his father. Perhaps he truly was considering Sehrum’s arguments one more time. Sehrum had solved many a problem by searching through what seemed to be valid work time and again until he found the minute error that made all the difference. With a start Sehrum realized that his father had begun talking, presenting counter-arguments to each of his points.

“I’ll go,” Sehrum interrupted, “From what I have observed, once you have acquired a knowledge base for a skill the best way to engrain it is through practice. I may botch this contract, but perhaps will do better on the next one.”

“That’s more like it,” Moshrah said. Then his voice lowered, “But please son, do your best not to fail on this contract. Learning is great, but so is money.”

Sehrum chuckled. Despite their differences and disagreements, he shared his father’s sarcastic sense of humor.

Moshrah checked the clock above the hearth, “A few more minutes until you should start walking to the harbor. You remember our goals for this negotiation?”

“Yes.”

“The margin within we are willing to bargain?”

“Yes.”

“The rates of other fleets if he is charging more?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I like Yachim. He has benefits beyond his shipping rates, but maybe if we scare him a little he will cut us a better deal. Let’s see, anything else you need to remember” Moshrah thought for a moment, “Oh! His wife’s name so you can ask after her health?”

“What? I don’t see what that has to do with a negotiation about money and boats.”

“It’s called courtesy Sehrum. If you take a personal interest in his life he will trust you more and want to help you out like a friend.”

“Reducing to the pure economics he should ship for whomever is willing to give him a reliable high rate contract,” Sehrum mumbled. He knew his father was right. People did care if you engaged them in useless small-talk. They gave better deals to those who were proficient in such useless niceties. In Sehrum’s opinion the world would move more efficiently if people separated emotions from business.

“I know,” His father replied, “You and I recognize that in free-market economies only the numbers should matter, but not everyone thinks like you and I.”

Sehrum nodded. It was not a perfect world. One couldn’t give trust freely, and instead had to establish it by social means. Perhaps researchers at the university had done studies to see what phrasings, questions, and other social actions led to greater trust. It would be fascinating to see, and useful to learn. Sehrum’s social instincts were…underdeveloped. He needed to learn and analyze to fake his way through social situations.

“Perhaps you should get going son, and her name is Zarah by the way.” Moshrah said, waking Sehrum from his pondering.

“Right. Zarah,” Sehrum stood, collecting his satchel, hat, and gold-topped cane, then walking out the door. The door of his quarters opened onto a covered balcony walkway, looking down onto a courtyard. While placing his hat over his long hair, Sehrum looked out from the balcony across the city of Zeyash. The Moshrah family complex stood on a hill to the east of Zeyash. Sehrum’s eyes fell on the port, his destination, then were drawn across the ocean to the horizon. He had never traveled beyond there. Sehrum had visited cities upriver, and along the Havath coast, but none of those journeys had taken him beyond the horizon. His father had traveled to Vogstrom, and invited Sehrum to join him on that voyage, but Sehrum had declined. Why make yourself miserable on a sea voyage when everything interesting and necessary was within your home nation?

But perhaps there could be something across the sea: scholars exploring new fronts in mathematics, a social culture that actually made sense. No, the last one was impossible, but the first one held some appeal. Musing on these thoughts Sehrum descended a staircase to the main floor of the courtyard and began the hour long walk to the harbor.

It was annoying, not to be able to requisition one of his father’s coaches. It cost money to pay more drivers and keep more horses to have carriages available at all times, and his father, despite his wealth, was a frugal man. Well, frugal was not exactly the correct word. Moshrah was motivated by money. If he considered an expensive purchase and investment then he would freely spend that money. For instance, their large mansion-complex on the second highest hill in the city. That signaled success to producers, causing them to trust his business to ship their goods. A carriage for Sehrum however, accomplished no such purpose. It was worth paying Sehrum a little extra for the long walk, than paying to have him lazily carted to the harbor.

Sehrum mostly passed the time graphing polar equations in his head, and estimating volumes of irregular polyhedrons. With diverting distractions and lengthy legs, the journey did not seem so long, and he arrived at the harbor. The place was bustling, with workers loading and unloading ships, small sailboats transferring passengers and guiding the large ships. This port was the heart of Zeyash. It caused the small town settled by his ancestors to grow into this metropolis.

In addition to the port activities, businesses had sprung up around the port. Vendors were selling food to workers on their break. Several banks lined the streets closest to the water. Convenient for merchants and sailors who needed to store, invest, or borrow money. Then there was the crowded negotiation yard. Those who sold goods on land, bargaining for the best prices with those who moved goods over water. This was where Sehrum would find his appointment. The banner of Yachim flew over a table in the negotiation area. Sehrum approached him.

“Hullo! Yachim,” Sehrum shouted over the chaos of the yard, “I am Sehrum, son of Moshrah. He has sent me to negotiate a contract. How is Zarah, your wife?” Stagnation! That sounded too forced. To his surprise, Yachim smiled, extended his hand to shake and responded.

“She is well. Thank you for asking! I believe we have met before. You were a lot smaller though, and accompanying your father on business.”

Sehrum took his hand and shook it, “Oh really?” This is where the conversation got unpredictable. He had practiced that first line in his head hundreds of times, and he had practiced negotiation with his father. Small talk however was unknown territory. So Sehrum decided to skip it.

“Shall we get to business then?” Sehrum said, taking a seat.

Yachim nodded and took a seat as well. He removed papers from a satchel, so Sehrum did the same. Moshrah had trained him in the art of negotiation itself, but many of negotiation’s nuances could only be learned through hard experience.

There was a moment of silence, so Sehrum decided he would begin, “I have here a list of the goods we would like to ship, and the dates we will be needing to ship them. These are all estimates of course. Everything depends on the inland producers and the will of the Mover, but based on historical data, we believe that these will prove quite accurate.” He handed the papers to Yachim who began looking them over, a thoughtful finger to his chin.

“Hmm. Each of these shipments would take up at least two of my boats. And it looks like you will be shipping about twice a year. A three month round trip journey. I would have to keep three of my ships solely for your shipments. I think 5000 Yomer per year would be fair.”

Five thousand Yomer! That was nearly twice the upper limit of 3000 that his father had given him.

“We were hoping to ship at closer to 2000 per year. That is more than the average price among the other major…”

Yachim cut Sehrum off, “Son, you probably haven’t heard, but there is unrest across the sea to the north. Something about an assassination attempt on their king. It has given courage to the factions, and now the royal family is in danger of losing their seat. That leads to dangerous waters up north, and I am afraid down here too, once news breaks. I need the extra as insurance for my ships and your shipments.”

Sehrum took a moment to work through his words. Vogstrom on the brink of civil war? This was completely unexpected. Sehrum did not do well with unexpected. He could do fine at anything if he had practiced and planned, but he had trouble adapting. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally finding the words to speak.

“We would be willing to extend the contract for a few more years, just so that you can have a secure client during these times,” He grasped for more reasons, “And we would also insure our own goods, so that you don’t have that liability.”

“I’m sorry lad. I would like to have your father’s business, but the uncertainty of prices and safety are just not worth giving you a discount that large.”

Sehrum sat in silence for a moment, not sure how to continue. He had made all the arguments he could think of and none of it worked. A ship behind him began to unload with a rather large amount of people. That was odd, since all the ships Sehrum had ever seen were solely freight. He shrugged off the distraction and turned his attention back to the negotiation. His father would know what to do. He had years of practice and the natural talent to go with it. Sehrum had neither.

While opening his mouth to make some desperate argument, Sehrum noticed that Yachim wasn’t paying attention to the conversation either. Sehrum closed his mouth and followed Yachim’s gaze back to the boat with the people unloading.

“Vogish,” Yachim whispered. Once Sehrum heard that he immediately noticed the oddity. These people were not Havath. Their features were a few shades lighter and the men seemed to be on average shorter. Sehrum also noticed that they were garbed as soldiers. A port-guard captain approached the group and a discussion began between him and the Vogish leader. The bustle of the port morphed into a hush as everyone turned their attention from their dealing to the increasingly heated interaction between the soldiers.

Havathelem and Vogstrom weren’t currently enemies. The two continents had only rediscovered each other some 15 years hence. However, their histories claimed that the nations originated as warring tribes, the conflict growing so great that the Havath people decided to flee across the ocean instead of continuing the conflict. Their religious differences did not help either. The Havath worshipped The Mover: A god that they had tangible proof of. Moshrah attended meetings with the Mover a few times a year, and the Mover often called on Sehrum’s mother to do investigative work. The Vogish instead worshiped the Sun God, whose face had never been seen and who didn’t bless humanity in any noticeable way.

When the soldiers bared steel, silence became screams. Both Sehrum and Yachim jumped to their feet, but then went in opposite directions. Sehrum began to quickly back away from the fight, whereas Yachim ran toward it. Was the man a fool? He was not as young or strong as those soldiers. He would get himself killed!

Soon however, Sehrum realized what Yachim’s true purpose was. The man began yelling at the soldiers to stop. When Yachim’s desperate cries reached the soldiers, the battle slowed to a halt. It seemed only two had been killed and a handful wounded out of the 50 or so involved in the conflict. Sehrum was too far away to make out words, but it seemed that Yachim was now negotiating a peace between the Havath and Vogish soldiers. The old fleet master didn’t have skills in the sword, but he was a master of negotiation. Sehrum felt that he should have helped, but rationality told him he did not have any relevant skills. Rationality overcame feeling. He was primarily a mathematician and the important fact was that he was safe.

Now that the adrenaline had passed only questions remained. Who would be bringing such a large collection of Vogish soldiers to Havathelem? How could royal troops be so undisciplined as to immediately enter into an altercation with local soldiers? Sehrum looked up at the deck of the ship, searching for any clues that he could tell his mother. She likely would be able to pull some sort of answers out of this mess of information. Sehrum wouldn’t be surprised if she already knew about the incident by the time he got home.

On the deck of the ship he spotted two people: a regal woman, and nervous, older man. Skills learned from his mother told him they were Vogish by their lighter skin tones, and wealthy by their class of dress.

The woman looked at him, and he looked away. Whatever this mess was, he didn’t want to be a part of it. Better if she wasn’t able to recognize his face.

Yachim seemed to have finished smoothing the rift between the two sides, and the respective captains were disciplining their soldiers. Sehrum approached Yachim, “That was courageous of you Yachim. I…feel as though I should have done something too. How did you know they would listen?”

“Persuasion and negotiation are not only skills for business. There are many applications for them. Now, where were we?”

“At an impasse. Your prices are fair given the current stability, but it is outside my power to bend further in the negotiation. I will take your options back to my father and see what he thinks.”

His father had given him that last line if Yachim wasn’t giving the prices they needed and Sehrum was unable to convince him. It seemed to work, and Sehrum suspected that his father had used it a time or two himself. Yachim nodded, “I hope we meet again lad. You have potential as a great man of business, and I wish we could have come to an agreement. Give your father my best and let him know I am still open to working with him in the future.”

With that Sehrum collected his belongings and began the journey home. While thinking on what he would tell his father his mind drifted toward his place in life. His current lot was not the worst it could be. Yes, Sehrum wasn’t the gregarious businessman his father wanted, nor was he courageous like Yachim, but life was comfortable and he had his mind for numbers. The life of an intellectual was not a poor life at all.

Chapter 3:

Spoiler

Chapter 3: Disembarking

Silvan watched in horror from the deck of the ship as her father’s guards began to fight with the Havath guards. What were they thinking! Their plan for bringing peace back to Vogstrom and finding Koerik was stopped in its tracks. They could have peacefully requested that the leader of Havathelem, The Mover he was called, grant them temporary sanctuary in Havathelem. They could then contact allies and gather their strength to strike back at Koerik. How could these guards be so short sighted as to let a petty skirmish ruin all that? She ducked down before anyone on the docks could see her. Her father was already hiding behind the rail.

“What are they thinking? Why would they do this?” Silvan hissed to her father.

“It’s Koerik,” the king replied, a mix of terror and anger in his voice, “She was their leader, and somehow she got to them and corrupted their minds. I don’t think that we can trust anyone.”

That couldn’t be strictly true. Vogish people outside of the military and court would likely be loyal to Dansen. It was simply Koerik’s blinding charisma that had turned the troops away from their king. Once they got ashore they could get in touch with loyal members of her father’s spy network. First though, they needed to disembark.

The Havath guards wouldn’t be friendly to the people who had brought hostile soldiers to their country, but they could talk to them and smooth the situation over.

“Father, I think we are going to need to talk to them and just be open and honest. We can accept responsibility for our soldiers, make restitution, and then go to The Mover and request sanctuary.”

The king vigorously shook his head, “No. We can’t take any risks. I know Koerik, and if she wants me dead she will use every mean at her disposal to kill me. She has agents in the city. I know it, and any hint we are here, they will report back to her. No, we cannot talk to the Havath. The tighter we hold our identity, the more time we will have to prepare.”

Silvan gave him a considering look before poking up for another glance at the docks. It seemed that an old man had intervened and stopped the fighting. Dansen’s soldiers were surrendering their swords. It seemed an agreement had been reached. They could use that.

She ducked back down, “It looks like the fighting has stopped. If we can get to the soldiers quick enough we can make sure they don’t tell the Havath too much.”

She thought for a moment, “We could go talk to the Havath authorities under false identities. An auxiliary noble house perhaps. Then once we receive sanctuary we can fade into the background and start gathering our allies.”

“Okay. I suppose you can speak to them. While they are distracted I will get myself, your mother, and your brother off the boat. Afterwards we can meet at the house of one of my spies.”

She froze for a second, not having expected her father to send her alone. If their cover story worked, then they all could enjoy the protection of the Havath government. If the Havath didn’t know who they were either then they would be even safer from Koerik.

Dansen patted his pockets for a moment before coming out with a piece of paper, “Here are instructions for how to reach the house of my spy. You are the finest daughter a king could hope for. Sun God be with you till we meet again.”

With that the king scrambled back to the hold and climbed down the ladder. Silvan stood back up. This would work even with her alone. It made sense. As a princess, she was less important to Vogstrom than the king, but she also felt that it should be the king who fixed the mistakes of those under him. He should take responsibility for the actions of his subjects, and face the consequences of his failures. Silvan stopped herself short. No! She would not talk ill of her father. If anyone needed to face consequences it was Koerik. This was her falt. Silvan walked to the gangplank and began to descend.

“You there, stop!” One of the Havath guards commanded. Silvan raised her hands, but continued forward warily. In accented Havath she said, “I apologize for the actions of my troops, and will make a full financial recompense for any damage done.” She had to choose her words carefully. If she offered to take responsibility they might hang her for the people her troops had killed. It was ironic how Koerik had been the one to teach her much about negotiation, tactics, and even the Havath language. Now Silvan was using this training to counter Koerik.

“Who are you?” The captain inquired.

“I am Brijan of the Vogish family Gordal,” Silvan declared, inventing a name and selecting a house, “You likely have heard of the growing unrest in our country, and our house is seeking for sanctuary. My father has sent me here to establish a base of operations so we can continue commerce from Havathelem until the situation settles. May I speak to your leader…the Mover to request this sanctuary?”

The captain and all the guards, including her own, sat in stunned silence. Perhaps she had been to blunt and wordy. That had always been a failing of hers. It was a trait she shared with Koerik. She again tried to shove those thoughts away. Koerik: her hero, her mentor. A traitor.

After a moment the captain looked her up and down, likely noting her fine dress and bejeweled signet ring, then nodded to himself, “I didn’t understand half of what you said, nor do I have the authority to carry out the other half, but I can take you to talk to the Mover.”

Silvan walked the remainder of the gangplank then addressed the captain, “You may discipline my men according to the laws of your land. They acted against our strict orders and deserve punishment.”

The guard nodded, left some instructions with his men, then began to lead her through a maze of roads in a general Southwest direction. A few other guards joined in the procession, leaving the remainder of their comrades to deal with her troops. As they walked past the other side of the boat, Silvan caught a glance of her family, all soaked, climbing the stone steps from the harbor. Good. They had escaped undetected.

They continued through the streets until at last they climbed a hill to a large building. The guard approached the door of the building where another pair of guards stood. He explained the situation: what had happened with the Vogish soldiers, who Silvan claimed she was, and what she had requested.

The door guard thought for a moment then responded, “She looks Vogish, and her clothes are fine enough for nobility. We can let her in. Has she been searched?”

The other guard responded in the negative. Silvan raised her arms while they felt her for weapons. She had none of course. Hopefully one of her family members had taken her sword to the safe house. The guard was surprisingly gentle in his search. Silvan had known a few guards that would have been rougher, especially with a woman. This country seemed so civilized, educated, and wealthy. Why had her father not wanted to make a treaty with them? They could have provided valuable tariff-free trade, and been a powerful ally against Taamugot.

After the guard finished his search they waved her through the open front of the building and led her to a door with a plaque saying simply, “MOVER.” A man who appeared to be a secretary, sat at a desk outside the door. The guard introduced the situation, and the secretary asked a few brief questions of Silvan.

After a moment of thought the secretary pushed open the door. It led into a spacious, but not grandiose, office. She had expected Havathelem to have given their god something more like a throne room. She had also expected the Mover himself to be more, not the plain man she saw in front of her. He was young too, or at least appeared that way. They said he was over one thousand years old, but he appeared to be about Silvan’s age. He wore his long dark hair back in a tail. That was understandable, it could be annoying to work over papers when hair was falling down around your eyes. At the thought Silvan brushed a lock of her own light brown hair behind her ear.

“My Lord,” The guard began, gesturing toward Silvan, “I normally would have brought foreign visitors to the governor, but she claims to know more information about the unrest in Vogstrom we’ve been hearing rumors about.”

“Alright, allow her in, I’d like to hear what she knows” The Mover replied, voice slightly accented, and not as deep as she had imagined, but her expectations had already been turned on their heads.

Silvan stepped into the room and curtsied deeply. She was not sure if it was customary to wait until the Mover addressed you to speak, but she began telling the lie she had formulated anyway. The best way to control a conversation was to be direct and decisive, “My Lord, I am Brijan of house Gordal. It seems you have heard of the unrest plaguing my country, and so, on behalf of my father, Marquis of house Gordal, I am here to request temporary sanctuary so that we might establish a base of operation in Havathelem, and move the remainder of house Gordal away from the chaos. Once the turmoil has settled we would return to Vogstrom, but continue commerce with Havathelem.”

Not bad, but also not the smoothest lie she had ever told. The Mover’s face furrowed in a slightly confused look of consideration, “Of course you will be allowed sanctuary here. You simply need to return to the docks and file your arrival with the customs office. Then you will be allowed to purchase property and have most of the rights of citizen ship. At least I think that is the current law.” He shot a glance at his secretary, standing inside the doorway. The secretary nodded vigorously.

“But,” The Mover continued emphatically, “That is not why I allowed you here to see me. You claim to be a high ranking noble in Vogstrom. What can you tell me of the current situation? I hesitate to call it a civil war before I know more.”

Silvan’s heart began to pound faster at the word claim. Did the Mover doubt her story? She was in fact a high ranking noble. Higher than she claimed, but she worried all the same. The Mover gestured to a chair, “I of course wouldn’t want you to give the report standing. Sit down please….Great, now what can you tell me of Vogstrom’s political state.”

Silvan hesitated. She hadn’t planned this far ahead. She now knew how to get what her family needed from Havathelem, but this god wanted more. She could give him the complete truth, but that might implicate a hole in her story. Well, she was rather adept at thinking on the go, so Silvan began to improvise:

“There were rumors of a disagreement between the king and the chief of his protectors. Koerik was her name. The king imprisoned her for reasons related to their argument. A few weeks later Koerik broke free and attempted to assassinate the king. This ignited the restless Vogish factions to full rebellion. Koerik disappeared, but now the king is in danger of losing his throne. Last I heard the king was making an attempt to gather his allies.”

Not a word of what she had said contained untruth, but she had excluded some important points. Hopefully the Mover did not know too much and would be satisfied with this.

“So what rumors have been circulating as to the location of the usurper and the king?” Light of the sun! He was not satisfied. The Mover continued, “I assume the king has disappeared too? From my limited interaction with him he seemed like the kind of man who wouldn’t want to stick around if the factions became dangerous.”

Silvan clenched her fists at this blatant insult of her father’s courage, but she couldn’t say anything. Not without spoiling their chances in this country. The problem was the Mover’s words were true. They had left the country. It wasn’t out of cowardice, Silvan told herself. It had been wisdom. They would maximize effectiveness from Havathelem.

“We have heard a little about Koerik trying to recruit an army, but rumors have been sparse and it doesn’t seem that the king was able to use these rumors to pinpoint Koerik’s location,” Silvan informed, “He likely would have quashed the rebellion if he could have.”

“Hmm…Moshrah’s wife could probably find it for me. Tell me, do you know any of the places that recruitment rumors have been heard?”

Silvan told him the few places that people had reported seeing the general and young men and women disappearing. The Mover wrote these places down, “Thank you. You have been quite helpful. If you need business contacts then call on a man named Moshrah. He is one of the wealthiest merchants in Havathelem and can help you get connected. Tell him that I sent you. A man can’t say no to his god.”

The Mover dismissed Silvan. She left the god’s palace with hope. If the Mover, purportedly the most powerful man in the world, was on their side then Koerik presented a much smaller threat. Silvan removed the paper from the pocket of her green dress and set off to make sense of Zeyash’s address system.

Chapter 4:

Spoiler

Chapter 4: Triangulation

Sehrum sat at his desk sipping chilled water and attempting to divide by infinity when his mother entered the room. Rehal scanned the room, her keen eyes seeming to pick up on every minor detail, then sat down in a chair opposite Sehrum. She looked at him for a few more seconds before speaking:

“There was violence at the port and you are now scared and doubting yourself. The division of labor seems less important when untrained civilians are caught in between two groups of hostile soldiers.”

Stagnation! It was like she could read his mind. Sehrum had returned to the complex, told his father that they hadn’t gotten the contract and that he would write up a full report. Here he was, hours later, still doing math.

“How could you tell this time?” It always seemed obvious once she pointed it out, but right now he was perplexed as to how she knew so much about his thoughts.

“Well, you have been working at some math or another for the last hour and have very little written down. Usually you would have moved on. You didn’t give a logical explanation to your father of why he shouldn’t send you to negotiations, like I would have expected. I suspect that indicates either self-doubt or resignation. And finally you pulled out your sword and it is laying on your bed.”

Sehrum glanced at his bed. Dath Rehl. He had completely forgotten about that. When he got back he had considered starting to wear it on him, before deciding that it likely wouldn’t increase his safety any. Clearly he hadn’t thought to put it away.

“Fair enough,” Sehrum sighed and started stowing away his math problems, “I’ll go report to father now. It isn’t that I am ashamed of myself. I accept my strengths and my weaknesses. I am a better mathematician. Father is a better negotiator. Yachim is courageous. I am cautious and pragmatic. It’s just that situations like these blur the correct course of action.”

Rehal nodded, no doubt picking apart his words and inferring exactly what occurred at the harbor, “When you have two options, both of which seem good, and you cannot determine which is better, it may be the case that both choices are acceptable.”

Sehrum stood, “I’ll tell you more about it once I talk to father. It isn’t as much a debate between good and good, it is more a debate between right and smart. But we can discuss ethics later.”

Both Sehrum and his mother exited his room. “I’ll be in my office,” Rehal said, walking toward her office on the west side of the complex. Sehrum descended the stairs crossing the courtyard south toward Moshrah’s office. He knocked once then let himself in.

“Ah. Sehrum. I was wondering when you would come give me a full report. I’m sorry that you weren’t able to get the contract. I thought that Yachim would have readily accepted the contract for under 3000, but he must really be scared. Your mother probably can find out if that should be a legitimate concern for us and I’ll find out who is still shipping. But I can’t do that until I have your report. Go on son.”

“Well, I offered him 2000 initially, and he said he couldn’t do it for less than 5. He cited the unrest in Vogstrom, which we really don’t know much about, as the reason for his wariness. I offered up to 3000 and to insure our own goods in addition to a stable long term contract in these turbulent times, but none of them worked. And then something happened…”

“What was it,” Moshrah prompted.

“A Vogish boat arrived with soldiers and a few wealthier looking people. There was a skirmish between the soldiers and the dock guards, and a few men were killed before Yachim was able to intervene and negotiate a peace.”

“That man was always too foolhardy, which is why I am surprised that he isn’t willing to take a risk during these turbulent times. I’ll need to think about this and gain more information before I can make a decision. Well, I’ll think on it. Go tell your mother what you saw. She’ll be able to make some tenuous connection none of us thought of that will turn out to be true. It always does.”

Moshrah’s voice became more somber, “Thank you for doing this negotiation. I know it isn’t your preferred type of work but it is good practice for your future and it is good to have a fresh face representing our company. I love you Sehrum.”

“I love you too father,” Sehrum automatically replied, interpreting the torrent of words and stepping out of the office. He walked back up the stairs to his mother’s office. His mother waited inside, already having prepared paper and pen for both her and Sehrum. She claimed that writing, sketching, and diagraming helped one to think and remember. Sehrum took her word for it. He took a seat and grabbed one of the pens and ink bottles. A map of the harbor seemed like an appropriate start to his sketching.

“You can skip the part about the negotiation. I’ll leave that for Moshrah to worry about. Tell me about the soldiers.”

Sehrum thought back to the events at the docks and related every color, sound, and scent he could remember. He was particularly proud when he recalled his observations of the wealthy people on deck. His mother noted each one on a sheet of paper, then began drawing unintelligible diagrams. She was no doubt making connections that seemed far-fetched at first, but with more investigation would turn out to be true.

This continued for a few minutes. Rehal occasionally would ask clarifying questions to which Sehrum would respond as well as he could.

Finally Rehal concluded, “I believe that these people are some kind of merchant nobility, but that of course isn’t certain. Everything else is speculation on motivations and how this will affect the future. I need more evidence though…”

“It has only been a few hours,” Sehrum said, “As these foreigners take more actions rumors will spread and you can figure out what they are doing and what they want.”

“Yes. Hmm. Would you mind staying around to answer more questions? I think I am going to prepare a list of places and people to investigate. I’d appreciate your first hand insight.”

So they continued. The questions were fewer and further between though, so Sehrum pulled out a bit of his own work. Rehal had developed quite the extensive to-do list when there was a knock at the door. A half second later Moshrah burst in, mostly composed, but with an edge of franticness.

“What is it Love?” Rehal inquired.

“The Mover is here,” Moshrah replied in a whisper, “I set the servants to making a meal so he can dine with us. He said he needed to speak to you. There is nothing to worry about. He just has never dined at our house before, so I am somewhat panicked.”

“The only reason he has ever needed me before is for investigative work, but he has always just sent letters,” Rehal mused, “Perhaps this is something more important. Or something entirely different.”

Sehrum perked up at this conversation. He had never before met the Mover. One who had lived so long and knew so much about the cosmos had to have fascinating insights into the way the universe functioned. Yes, much of the Mover’s knowledge was published and available in the library, but there had to be so much more to learn by speaking to him.

“Father, may I join the dinner?” Sehrum asked, rising from his seat.

“I suppose. You are heir to my empire, and considering the unknown nature of this meeting it would be best to have our business, political, and mathematical experts present.”

Moshrah and Rehal rushed out of the room to prepare to meet god. Sehrum lingered in the room for a moment then returned to his room to make his own preparations. Unfortunately he did not know what those preparations were. What was one supposed to do when god came for a visit? Moshrah knew, but he was too busy at present to be bothered.

Sehrum checked his mirror, touched up his hair, and splashed some water on his face. That should suffice. As he was walking out the door he spotted his sword on the bed. Perhaps that would present a good image to the Mover. He strapped it on and descended to the bottom floor. He entered the dining room to find the Mover sitting at the head of their large table, looking at some papers. There was no sign of his father or mother.

As silently as possible Sehrum took a seat near the table’s opposite end. Without looking up the Mover spoke, “So I finally get to meet the youngest genius in this family full of geniuses.”

Dath Rehl. What did one say to a compliment from God?

“Thank you, my Lord…it is a greater honor than I can imagine meeting you as well.”

“The first of many meetings I hope. Once you rise to your father’s place we will work together often, and in our advancing world the need is growing for people with your mathematical talents.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” He needed to think of something different to say. All conversations were tedious, but if this one, his first time speaking with the Mover, continued like this it would be more tedious than the rest. Sehrum recalled as much as he could of what his parents had taught him of conversation. Did those rules even apply when speaking with God? He hoped so because it was all he knew. Their theology taught that the Mover had once been a man until the Sun God passed his mantle to him. It would most likely work.

Common interests. It was easiest for both parties to speak about an interest that they shared. “My Lord Mover,” Sehrum began, “What sorts of calculations do you use to move the planet?”

The Mover smiled and looked up from his papers. It seemed he had expected Sehrum to ask something like this. Sehrum continued and the Mover nodded as he spoke, “The research indicates that all the stars, galaxies, and planets are constantly in motion. We can’t mathematically deal with objects moving in circles. They exist in a state of constant acceleration.”

“I see why you would be confused. There are a couple of things that you are overlooking. First of all when dealing with the scale of planets we can afford to be off by a few miles. While there isn’t a way to specifically predict the motion of these planets and suns, there are ways to make accurate estimates. Now that I think about it, even if we could make exact calculations our instruments aren’t precise enough for it to matter, but we are attempting to develop mathematical processes to deal with constant change. Secondly, using this much power has…changed me. After a thousand years of exploring the stars with my mind, I have developed instincts that allow me to smoothly navigate without mishap.”

Sehrum sat in silence, taking in what the Mover had just told him. “Wow,” was all he was able to stutter out.

“In a few weeks I will issue a contract for a new project I am working on. I know you have done most of your work on architectural engineering projects, but if you are interested in solving these types of problems then I would invite you to apply. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread word about this contract, at least until I officially issue it.”

“I will consider that. It sounds like fascinating work,” Sehrum said. He did want to apply. To work personally with the Mover on projects that involved the cosmos and the fate of the world would be his dream. The part of him trained by his father however, noted how much the Mover sounded like a businessman.

At that moment Moshrah and Rehal entered. They had changed into their finest clothing. Sehrum looked down at his own garb. It was business dress, but far from his finest. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now.

“My Lord, we are having food prepared, but it will not be ready for a few minutes,” Moshrah apologized, stepping toward the Mover and shaking his hand. Rehal took the Mover’s hand next. They all sat down as the Mover said, “Don’t worry yourselves about it. We can begin discussing business now and then eat when the food arrives.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, and the Mover passed around sheets of paper to Moshrah, Rehal, and Sehrum. Each listed a town name and some various numbers to the side.

“I suspect that at least Rehal, if not all of you, have heard about the commotion on the docks today?” The Mover began.

They all nodded, and Sehrum considered mentioning that he had been there, but decided against it.

“Good. Well, the Vogish people who arrived on that ship were a family of noble merchants. The dock guards escorted the daughter of this family to speak to me. I offered her sanctuary in Havathelem in exchange for information. I suspect that you all have also heard about the political unrest in Vogstrom. I mean to prevent that from exploding into a civil war. I fear that the chaos and destruction from that could spill over into Havathelem, as we unfortunately saw this morning. Now, the information on your papers is a summary of what I got from the Vogish noblewoman.”

At this point the Mover pulled a thick sheave of paper out of his bag which he unfolded into a large map. Moshrah gestured to Sehrum to help him spread it across the table. Sehrum obeyed.

“Each name on your paper corresponds to a village marked on this map. It seems as though a rogue Vogish general is trying to raise an army and overthrow the current monarchy. I have not decided whether I wish this to happen or not. Civil war means chaos and death, but the current king is not accepting my requests to more fully open up trade and travel between our nations. That is beside the point though. Either way I would like to know where this general, Koerik is her name, has based her operations. The first column of numbers is the number of times people have reported seeing Koerik in each village. The second column is the number people who have stolen away to join this rogue army. The third column is just a reliability score I have assigned to the data from each village.”

Sehrum scanned the columns of numbers. None of the reliability scores were very high, probably because all of this had come from second hand reports. Well, they had to work with what they had.

The Mover made one final comment, “Rehal, I assume that you could get an estimate of distance from each city based on the numbers, and then Sehrum you no doubt would be able to find a point based on radii and other points.”

Sehrum was surprised to be mentioned, but he nodded his head. It was simple trigonometry. His mother began looking at the map, “The geological features of the area will have an influence on how often Koerik’s recruiters visited. It was wise of you to mark them here my Lord.”

The Mover nodded his gratitude, and Rehal returned to pouring over the map, muttering to herself under her breath. Finally she looked up and said, “Your work, as always, is very important. Serhum and I can work through the night and have the figures to you by the third waking hour.”

“Excellent. I greatly appreciate everything that your family does for this nation and for our planet. When you come to deliver your findings I will be sure to compensate you for your time.”

At that moment the food arrived and all began to eat. Sehrum sighed to himself. He always appreciated a good night of sleep after a day spent mostly walking. Sehrum was by no means unhealthy, but he wasn’t exactly fit either. The trip to the docks was exhausting. But when one’s god called…

They finished the meal, the Mover continuing the conversation by asking many questions about everyone. Sehrum had not expected the god to be so friendly, nor for him to have the time to spare to converse with them. Once they were done the servants began cleaning up and the Mover transported himself away in a stretch of color.

Thus began the work. Rehal would make estimates of various numbers such as how likely the king’s guard in a certain city was to catch an illegal recruiting party based on how often they visited, or the travel rates in the surrounding area based on geography and time of year. Then she would give Sehrum the numbers explaining to him what she wanted computed. Sehrum would translate her words into formulas then return the finished products.

In the end they had a grouping of circles surrounding each city where recruiting had been reported. Based on the circles drawn on the map they had a rough estimate of this Koerik’s location, but Sehrum still made one final calculation with the equation of the circles to more exactly triangulate a center and confidence radius. Sehrum slapped his pen down onto the wood of the desk. Hours of work like this left him in a state of mental exhaustion. Somewhat satisfying, but exhaustion nonetheless. He checked his watch: still two hours to waking. He could get at least three hours of sleep before he once again had to make the walk to the harbor.

Characters

Sehrum

Spoiler

Motivation: Gain knowledge, find acceptance and comradery/love

Flaws: Oblivious, Hyperfocuses, Distractable (ADHD?), Has lived a comfortable wealthy life and doesn’t understand the plight of the poor. Indecisive.

Skills: Solid moral compass. A genius.

Goals:

1. Gain the contract with Ahmni

2. Find out more about the mysterious woman (Silvan)

3. Solve the Glory shortage (find the math, fails)

4. Balance his duties from his father, with duties from Ahmni. Choose between the two?

a. His indecision will lead to him not being there when Ahmni is kidnapped. Perhaps he could of done something, and blames himself

5. Rescue Ahmni when he is kidnapped by Koerik

6. Win love of Silvan

Silvan

Spoiler

Silvan:

Motivation: Protect her father, regain status in Havathelem (compulsively rather than conscious).

Flaws: Single minded (not oblivious like Sehrum, but loses perspective), blind to Dansen’s flaws, Destination before Journey, manipulativeish (good at influencing, likes control, but not necessarily malicious)

Skills: Pro influencer (there isn’t any social media, but if there was…), Natural leader, goal oriented/blunt/focused

Goals:

1. Get family out of Vogstrom

2. Secure power in Havathelem. Enough wealth to secure safety and begin working on Vogstrom

3. Dip into religion, disprove divinity of Ahmni? At least investigate him. Subconsciously is interested in Sehrum, Ahmni’s assistant. Some goal to get her involved with them.

4. Uncover Koerik in Havathelem. Notices suspicious stuff and starts investigating and pulling strings

5. Rescue her father from Koerik

6. Cope with the fact that her father was a horrible person and Koerik was right(ish)

7. Win love of Sehrum

Dansen

Spoiler

Motivation: Save his own skin. Beneath that he wants control and to oppress his people, but self-preservation is his first priority. Maybe buried very deeply is some familial bonds that motivate him, but that is very deep.

Flaws: Where to begin with the horrible book one throwaway villain? He is a coward and paranoid. He will sacrifice anything to save himself. He is a tyrant and likes the feeling of control, but deludes himself that what he is doing is best for his people. When he sees Havathelem and realizes that his kingdom is far inferior despite its superior resources, he tries to hide from the truth, hide the truth from his people, and betrays his best friend Koerik to do it. Dirty tyrannical [insert naughty word of choice].

Skills: Daes Damar. He knows how to play the game and influence things from the background. This is different from Silvan, she manipulates on a smaller scale. Dansen can do the larger scale. If he wasn’t such a coward, he probably could have conquered the world (maybe. Ahmni alone could probably take out an army or two, but excluding pseudo-deities he could have conquered the world.)

Goals:

1. Get out of Vogstrom

2. Through his children gain power in Havathelem

3. Take back his kingdom

4. Save his own skin at the expense of everyone else

Koerik

Spoiler

Motivation: Revenge on the king. Over the course of the book all goals will seem less and less important compared to that. In the end she will have a realization that revenge shouldn’t be her goal (but the king still needs to die for the good of the kingdom and revenge is just a little bonus)

Flaws: Has lost her sense of self-preservation (a sort of foil to the king). Has the single sighted goal of revenge. Is slowly losing her conscience due to being desensitized and a side effect of tapping her own soul for magic.

Skills: An excellent general, soldier, and Jeborer. Strong sense of justice (this is sort of corrupted into revenge). Really nice to Silvan. She was kind of the cool older sister/aunt figure to her.

Goals:

1. Assassinate the king

2. Stir up the chaos caused by the king’s departure to either lure him back or ensure he never regains the throne

3. Organize a rebellion to overthrow the government

4. Kidnap the king when she realizes he isn’t coming back

5. Save Ahmni and the royal family from her own armies

Ahmni

Spoiler

Ahmni: (speaking of pseudo deities)

Motivation: Protect his people. This single motivation has consumed his mind for the last thousand years. Deep inside though, and it is uncovered throughout the books, he wants the sungod to come back. He knows that the sungod is dead, but has some whattayoucallit, imposter syndrome. Despite the fact that he is doing a bloody ridiculously hard job, and doing it dang well, he feels like the sun god would have done it better. So he thinks the best way to keep the world alive is to somehow impossibly bring the sungod back.

Flaws: Anger issues. Think Brad Pitt’s Billy Beane from Moneyball. Is slipping toward an ends justify the means mentality, but does have a good amount of morality left, but is seriously considering killing a few, to save the many.

Skills: The most powerful Chosen in history. He beats the second most powerful (Havel) by 10fold, and the third most powerful (Ahmni) by 20fold. He is also incredibly skilled in that field, able to yeet the planet around through the stars without crashing it into stuff. He is(ish) an idealist of freedom and rights, and has been able to maintain a free government in his country for a thousand years. So politically competent, and scientifically brilliant, but needs Sehrum as a mathematical complement

Goals:

1. Get more of the glorified oil

a. Find someone brilliant enough to help him. Work on a solution

b. Or kill people and steal their souls in order to save the world

2. Make sure the political unrest in Vogstrom doesn’t endanger the world

3. Stop the unrest that has entered his own country

4. Escape from Koerik

Edited March 21, 2022 by Mage

Frustration · September 19, 2021

1 minute ago, Mage said:

First question: Is a prologue where someone attempts to assassinate a king too derivative of the prologue in tWoK?

No.

You'd be surprised how often kings dying is a prologue

Mage · September 19, 2021

Just now, Frustration said:

No.

You'd be surprised how often kings dying is a prologue

You're not wrong. Okay, on your word I'll begin writing that and hopefully post a rough draft of it here later today.

Mage · September 20, 2021

I'm not sure if I'm allowed to double post in a topic like this, but if not just let me know.

Here is the prologue. I literally just finished writing it, so it hasn't been edited/revised in the slightest. If anyone has advice on not info-dumping too much, but also not leaving the reader confused I would appreciate it.

Spoiler

Prologue