Chapter 11: Chapter 10: A Piece on the Board

Chapter 10

A Piece on the Board

> A Stone Wyrm was discovered burrowing beneath Northwatch Dam during repairs. The beast was exterminated with a rotating drill in the recommended fashion, resulting in an acceptable casualty rate of 16 laborers. The body of the wyrm was removed, revealing a tunnel stretching an unknown distance underground, likely several hundred miles. Three teams have explored the tunnel, each reporting whisper-like sounds that grow in intensity the deeper one travels. Quarantine of the area is recommended until an expedition with proper equipment can be allocated for investigation.

>

>

> — Material Requisition Form No. CCLXXVI-B

> Lucius Petrinus Libratus, Scribe, Imperial Engineering Corps

Godfrey’s heart thumped in his chest as he led Speaker Rinthess through the winding corridors of the Magistrate’s home. The heavy silence between them was oppressive, and Godfrey could feel Rinthess’s piercing gaze on the back of his neck with every step. The Speaker’s presence was unnerving, a constant reminder of the precariousness of the situation. Godfrey knew he had to play his part perfectly, but the fear of making a mistake gnawed at him.

The air grew cooler as they descended a narrow staircase, the stone walls closing in around them. Godfrey focused on keeping his breathing steady, trying to recall the details of Elara’s plan. He had to act like this was just another night of sneaking into the library, that nothing was out of the ordinary. The ruse had to be convincing—there could be no hint of hesitation, no sign of the panic roiling inside him.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Godfrey paused, turning to face the Speaker. Rinthess’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes seemed to bore into Godfrey’s soul, searching for any sign of deceit. Her face, severe yet undeniably handsome, was framed by high cheekbones and a strong jawline, giving her an austere beauty that was both captivating and intimidating. Godfrey swallowed hard and forced a smile.

“It’s just through here,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. He turned back to the wooden door in front of them, his hand trembling slightly as he pushed it open.

The door creaked on its hinges, revealing a dimly lit room lined with shelves. The secret library was small, more like a large closet than a room, with a low ceiling that made it feel even more cramped. Dust motes danced in the narrow beams of light that filtered through the cracks in the walls, giving the space a musty, forgotten atmosphere.

Godfrey stepped inside, gesturing for Rinthess to follow. “This is it,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “I’ve been sneaking in here for months, ever since I found out about it.”

Rinthess entered the room slowly, her gaze sweeping over the shelves. The Speaker’s expression remained inscrutable, but Godfrey could sense her keen interest. Rinthess’s eyes lingered on the ancient tomes and scrolls, and for a moment, Godfrey feared that the Speaker would somehow see through the deception.

“Which book did you find the song in?” Rinthess asked, her voice calm but with an edge of curiosity.

Godfrey looked to the bookshelf which was supposed to hold the book, and with a wave of relief which almost swept him off his feet, he saw a book he recognized from his time in Elara’s study. Godfrey moved to the far end of the room, where Elara’s planted book rested on a shelf. His fingers brushed the spine of the tome, a mix of relief and fear coursing through him. “This one,” he said, pulling it from the shelf and handing it to Rinthess. “I found it here, hidden behind some other books. The notes in the margins… they helped me figure out how to sing the song.”

Rinthess took the book from Godfrey, her long fingers delicately turning the pages. Her eyes scanned the text, lingering on the margin notes that Elara had so carefully forged. The room seemed to hold its breath as the Speaker studied the book, her expression unreadable.

Godfrey’s mind raced. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, the tension in the air growing thicker with each passing moment.

Finally, Rinthess looked up, meeting Godfrey’s gaze with those piercing eyes. “This is an unusual find,” she said, her tone even, but with a hint of something that made Godfrey’s blood run cold. “How fortunate for you to have stumbled upon it.”

Godfrey nodded, his mouth dry. “I… I’ve always been drawn to old books,” he lied. “I guess I got lucky.”

Rinthess closed the book, holding it with a reverence that suggested she knew its value went far beyond what Godfrey had claimed. “Luck,” the Speaker echoed, though her tone suggested she didn’t believe in such things. She stepped closer to Godfrey, her gaze never wavering. “Tell me, Godfrey, what else have you read in this library? Anything else of interest?”

Godfrey’s was ready for this. “Histories,” he said quickly, trying to sound casual. “Very different from what Master Bertie teaches. They go back further, but don’t have much military action so I usually lost interest.”

The Speaker laughed suddenly. “You’re a very interesting young man, Godfrey,” she said softly, almost as if she were speaking to himself. “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Godfrey forced a nervous laugh, trying to brush off the comment. “I’m just a farm boy who likes to read,” he said, though he could hear the tremor in his own voice.

Rinthess’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a gleam in her eyes that made Godfrey’s stomach churn. “Perhaps,” the Speaker said, her voice smooth and unsettling. “Or perhaps you’re something more.”

Before Godfrey could respond, Rinthess turned her attention back to the book in her hands. She opened it again, flipping through the pages with a deliberate slowness that made Godfrey’s heart pound in his chest. The Speaker seemed to be searching for something, though what that was, Godfrey couldn’t say.

Finally, Rinthess closed the book once more, her expression thoughtful. “This will require further study,” she said, almost to herself. Then, turning her gaze back to Godfrey, she added, “But for now, I think you’ve done quite enough. Tell me, Godfrey, what do you know about the Tongue?”

Godfrey's breath hitched slightly at the question, his mind racing as he tried to maintain his composure. This was not a part of the plan. He knew he had to tread carefully—one wrong word could lead to disaster. Rinthess’ intense gaze bore into him, waiting for a response.

“I know that the Tongue are...the Empire’s most trusted advisors and enforcers in peacetime, and powerful combatants during times of war,” Godfrey began cautiously, choosing his words with care. “You speak the will of the Empire, ensure that its laws are upheld, and its secrets...protected.” He swallowed, trying to gauge Rinthess’ reaction, but her expression remained unreadable.

“Is that all you know?” Rinthess asked, her tone almost disinterested, but the sharpness in her eyes betrayed the weight behind her question.

Godfrey hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “I know that you’re more than just advisors. The Tongue are...trained in ways most people don’t understand. You can...sense things, feel the truth behind words. Some say you can even...” he trailed off, not sure how much to reveal.

“Even what?” Rinthess pressed, her voice softening ever so slightly, as if coaxing the truth out of him.

Godfrey hesitated, his throat dry as he gathered his thoughts. “Even...control a person’s mind,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And heal wounds that should be fatal. That’s what people say about the Tongue—that you can do things most can’t even imagine.”

Rinthess’s expression remained impassive, but Godfrey thought he saw a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe satisfaction. “You’ve been listening to tales spun by those who fear what they do not understand,” she said, her tone measured. “But there is truth in some of those tales. The Tongue do possess abilities that set us apart, and yes, we can influence minds, heal injuries that would otherwise lead to death. These are gifts given to us by the Empire, to serve the greater good.”

She paused, her gaze locking onto Godfrey’s. “But such power comes with great responsibility—and great scrutiny. Which is why your little...performance has drawn my attention.”

Rinthess let the silence stretch for a moment, her gaze still locked on Godfrey’s. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she asked, “Do you know the most fundamental thing about the Tongue, Godfrey?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “We are all female.”

Godfrey swallowed, the realization dawning on him that he was treading on very dangerous ground. The severity in Rinthess’s expression made it clear that his fate hung by a thread, and that thread was held firmly in her grasp.

She stepped closer, her presence looming over him like a shadow. “You see, Godfrey,” she continued, her voice low and almost tender, “someone with your...abilities, especially a male, is an anomaly. And anomalies are often...dealt with. I could take you with me right now, place you somewhere dark, cold, and far from here. You would never see the light of day again, never breathe the fresh air of the outside world. It would be painful, of course, but necessary. For the safety of the Empire.”

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Her words wrapped around Godfrey like a vise, squeezing the breath from his lungs. His heart raced, and for a brief moment, he felt the icy grip of terror clawing at him.

Rinthess let the silence stretch once more, savoring the tension in the air. Then, her tone softened, almost as if she were offering him a lifeline. “But,” she said, “there is another path you might take. I could see to it that you earn an induction into the Hand. I expect you to prove yourself worthy of such an honor, of course. You’ll have to find your way there on your own merit, but know that I’ll be watching closely to handle the minor details. Oh, and please work on your ability to craft a lie; you may well need it in when dealing with nobility.”

She circled him slowly, her eyes never leaving his, and when she finally stopped in front of him, she added with a sly smile, “And as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll do something for you now. I’ll read your Resonance, Godfrey. It will allow me to always...keep an eye on you. A small price to pay for my mercy, don’t you think?”

Before Godfrey could muster a response, Rinthess moved with a speed and precision that left him no time to react. Her hand shot out, gripping him by the throat with surprising strength, and she shoved him against the cold stone wall. The force of the impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and his hands instinctively reached up to claw at hers, but it was like trying to pry open a steel vise.

Rinthess’s eyes locked onto his, a cold fire burning within them. Then, without warning, she began to chant—an intricate sequence of sounds that defied comprehension. The language was not simply harsh or guttural; it was a precise, almost mathematical arrangement of phonemes, each sound a calculated strike, as if Rinthess were manipulating the very fabric of reality around them. The chant resonated with an eerie, otherworldly power, each syllable crafted to find and exploit the unique frequency of Godfrey’s being.

The words twisted through the air, weaving an invisible web of energy that tightened around him, probing into his core, searching for something deeply embedded within his essence. His head pounded as the vibrations of her chant seemed to sync with the rhythm of his heartbeat, amplifying the pressure until it felt like his entire body was vibrating in response.

The pain intensified, spreading from his skull down his spine and radiating out through his limbs, as though his very bones were being tuned to a frequency only she could control. His vision blurred, and the world around him dimmed, the light seeming to waver and flicker under the assault of the chant’s relentless precision, and time lost all meaning.

Moments and eternities later, the pressure on his throat released, and Godfrey collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. The chant ceased, leaving behind an unnatural stillness in the air, and in his body, but the sensation of something foreign, something invasive, having searched through him, and found him wanting, remained.

Rinthess stepped back, her expression inscrutable, though a faint glimmer of satisfaction and confusion played in her eyes. “There,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Your frequency…” She trailed off, her brows knitting together in a moment of rare uncertainty before she shook herself, returning her gaze to Godfrey with renewed intensity.

Godfrey, still reeling from the experience, scrambled to find his voice. “Um… thank you, ma’am?” he managed, his tone unsure as he tried to grasp at anything that might diffuse the tension. “My uncles already had a plan for me to impress some recruiters at our winter festival.”

Rinthess’s eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting as if weighing his words carefully. “Recruiters?” she repeated, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “And you think that will be enough?”

Godfrey swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. “They’ve trained me well,” he said, hoping to project confidence. “I’ve been working hard, and they believe I can make a strong impression.”

For a moment, Rinthess said nothing, her gaze boring into him as if she could see straight through to his thoughts. Then, slowly, she nodded, though the confusion in her eyes hadn’t entirely faded. “Very well,” she finally said, her tone measured. “I will speak to the correct persons and smooth your way through. But know this, Godfrey—your path is no longer your own. I will be watching, and should you falter, should you disappoint… there will be consequences. I don’t believe your story for a moment, and I will take no action against the Magistrate for your clear attempt to frame him. I am giving you a great gift. Expect me to call upon your debt, at my convenience.”

With that, Rinthess left the room, leaving Godfrey alone, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a leaden shroud.

XXX

Godfrey moved through his sword forms with a fury that matched the fire burning inside him. The early morning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. His movements were precise, each swing of his sword slicing through the air with a controlled intensity. Sweat dripped down his brow, but he paid it no mind, his focus entirely on the blade in his hand and the forms he had drilled into his body over countless hours.

He barely registered the world around him—only the sound of his own breathing, the rustle of leaves underfoot, and the familiar weight of the sword in his grip. Each form flowed into the next, a seamless dance of steel and muscle, but his mind was far from the present. The words of Rinthess echoed in his head, mingling with the fear and determination that had driven him out into the forest before dawn. He began to sing a soft, slow song; a song of mourning, but he didn’t know the name of it.

Unbeknownst to Godfrey, Hawker had been watching him for some time, hidden among the trees. The old soldier’s keen eyes missed nothing—the tension in Godfrey’s shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands, the way his movements were just a fraction too sharp, too aggressive. Hawker understood what drove the boy to push himself so hard; he’d seen it before, in others who had faced the kind of pressure that Godfrey now bore.

Finally, Hawker stepped out from the shadows, his presence quiet but unmistakable. He watched Godfrey for a moment longer, then spoke up in his usual gruff tone. “You’re tensing up on the downward stroke, lad,” he noted, his voice cutting through the rhythmic swish of the sword. “Loosen your grip a little—let the blade do the work.”

Godfrey’s movements faltered for a split second, the lyrics of his song falling from his mind, the sudden intrusion pulling him out of his singular focus. But he quickly adjusted, his grip easing slightly on the hilt as he incorporated Hawker’s advice. He continued through the form, the sword now moving with a smoother, more fluid motion.

Hawker nodded approvingly but said nothing more, watching as Godfrey resumed his practice with renewed focus. He circled around him slowly, observing each form, each swing, occasionally offering another piece of advice—a subtle shift in stance, a reminder to keep his elbows in, a note on the balance of his footwork. With each correction, Godfrey adjusted, incorporating the feedback with a determination that was palpable.

For a time, the two of them existed in a silent rhythm—Godfrey’s relentless practice and Hawker’s quiet observations, the only sounds the whisper of the blade and the rustle of the forest around them.

Some time later, Godfrey and Hawker sat against a large fallen log, the rough bark pressing against their backs as they caught their breath. The mid-morning autumn sun filtered through the canopy above, its warmth tempered by the cool breeze that rustled the leaves. Around them, fans of mushrooms sprouted from the log, their caps providing a dappled shade that softened the light, casting a peaceful glow over the quiet forest.

Godfrey stared ahead, his mind still whirling from the intensity of his practice. The sweat on his brow had dried, but the tension in his muscles remained, a reminder of the effort he had poured into each swing of his sword. He glanced over at Hawker, who sat beside him, his expression unreadable as always. The older man had removed his cloak and laid it across his lap, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings with the same vigilance he always had, even in moments of rest.

“Better,” Hawker said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, measured, the words carrying the weight of experience. “You’re learning to control your strength, to let the blade move with you instead of against you. But you’re still letting your thoughts get the better of you.”

Godfrey exhaled slowly, nodding. “I know,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “It’s just... everything that’s happened. It’s hard to focus.”

Hawker turned his gaze to Godfrey, his eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not wrong to feel that way, lad. But you’ve got to learn to put it aside, at least while you’re holding a sword. The world’s not going to wait for you to sort out your thoughts before it comes at you. And believe me, it's already come at you, and it's not going to stop coming at you any time soon. You have to be ready, clear-headed, even when everything around you is chaos.”

“I know that, Uncle Hawker!” Godfrey yelled, “You talk in platitudes! There is an absolute fucking storm coming down on me because I sang a song! That Tongue has a grip in me now, and I’m sure I’ll have to dance to her tune even if I become the best swordsman in the Empire. You didn’t see the way she looked at me, Uncle. Like I was a new, shiny knife she was going to use to cut someone’s throat.”

Godfrey shook his head. “I’m not ready for this, but I think I know how to get some answers. Elara knows something, Uncle.”

Hawker nodded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Then you talk to her. But you do it carefully, Godfrey. We don’t know what she’s playing at, or if she’s involved in something bigger than we can see. But if you think she has answers, it’s worth finding out.”

Godfrey nodded, the weight of his decision settling over him like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t sure what he would find when he confronted Elara, but he knew it was a step he had to take. The storm Hawker spoke of was already bearing down on him, and if he didn’t start making sense of the chaos, it would consume him.

“Just remember,” Hawker added, his voice low but firm, “whatever you find out, keep your wits about you. And don’t go it alone. We’re all in this now, whether we like it or not.”

Godfrey looked at his uncle, the weight of their situation reflected in both their eyes. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with dangers they couldn’t yet see, but at least Godfrey knew he wasn’t facing it alone.

“Thanks, Uncle,” Godfrey replied, his voice steadier, more resolute.

Hawker gave a curt nod and rose to his feet. “Good. Now, listen, lad,” he began, his tone rough but laced with a fierce protectiveness. “I can’t begin to imagine the storm you’re about to walk into, but I’ve been through my share of shit. Me, John, and Tarlow—we’ve waded through mud and blood together. Maybe I do talk in platitudes sometimes, but there’s truth in them. My ultimate lesson is to get stronger, because that evil bitch is just a Speaker, so she’s just a cog in the machine, dancing to her superiors’ tunes, just like you’ll be dancing to hers. But if you get strong enough, mark my words, everyone will be dancing to yours.”

Godfrey grunted, the weight of that truth settling over him. “And what would that make me, Uncle? The strongest man in the world?”

“No, lad,” Hawker said plainly as he strode from the clearing, his voice carrying the finality of a prophecy, “That would make you Emperor.”