Wartorn: Resurrection

RAVEN (2)

THE COUNCIL CHAMBER in the Governor's Palace was the largest single indoor space in the city-state of Felk. Here the governor would traditionally meet with his advisors to hear their reports and discuss plans for the running of what was at that time the second largest territory on the Isthmus, smaller only to the mighty state of Petgrad in the south.

Here, too, the governor would hold public trials and audiences once every lune, listening to cases and petitions from any who would seek his judgment or support. In those days, the space was opulently furnished and decorated, both to impress visitors and to remind them of the wealth and power the governor controlled.

Now, it was just a big room, the expensive furnishings gone, and there was no governor of Felk. Matokin was much more than that. It was said he took no hand in the day-to-day operation of his growing empire, preferring to leave minor matters to his underlings with whom he consulted in private. Nor did he conduct public hearings. He believed his time and the national treasury were better spent elsewhere, and felt no need or desire to remind anyone of his power.

Raven, both curious and anxious, paused at the periphery to survey. The space was huge, like a cavern inside this palace. It swallowed even the crowded bustle that infested the place.

The crowd of people ebbed and flowed. There were groupings of men and women huddled together in discussion, occasionally melding with other groups for brief consultation or argument before dividing again. A constant stream of messengers brushed past her, both arriving and leaving.

There was no doubt in her mind that what she was viewing was the nerve center of the empire she was sworn to serve, and she knew instinctively that there were dozens of decisions being made within her sight that would affect thousands of people.

As to exactly what her part in this was to be, or why she had been summoned here, she hadn't a clue.

Unwilling to interrupt any of the huddled planners, Raven approached a woman who was standing alone studying a scroll. "Excuse me?"

Dark eyes fastened on her, and she felt she had been weighed, measured, scrutinized, and dismissed as unimportant all in the space of a heartbeat.

"Well?"

"I was told to report here to Matokin, but I'm unfamiliar with the procedure."

That earned her three more heartbeats of examination.

"The middle door there in the far wall," the woman said at last. 'The one with the guard in front of it. Give your name to the guard and wait to be summoned."

"Thank you," Raven said, but the woman had already returned her attention to the scroll.

Feeling even smaller than before, Raven undertook the journey across the length of the room and eventually stepped up to the guard in front of the indicated door.

The guard stared at her, expressionless.

"My name is Raven," she said, trying to draw herself up, though even with her efforts she barely came midway up on the guard's chest. "From the Academy. I was told to report to Matokin."

The guard did not so much as blink.

"They're waiting for you," he said.

Turning, he banged his fist twice on the door, then stepped back, urging her forward with a quick jerk of his head.

Bracing herself as best she could against the fearful unknown, Raven pushed the door open.

Beyond was a small, unimpressive room, barely half the size of some of the classrooms back at the Academy. There were no decorations other than a large map of the Isthmus hanging on one wall. Scrolls and parchments cluttered the place, giving the appearance of a scholar's retreat, but it wasn't the room or its furnishings that captured Raven's attention. Rather, her eyes were drawn to the two men whose dialogue she had apparently interrupted.

The one behind the small desk was short and heavyset, more portly than muscular. He had dark hair and lively, dancing eyes. The soft blue robe he was wearing appeared to be more of a lounging or sleeping garment than a uniform, but there was no doubt in Raven's mind of his identity or rank. This was Matokin, the most powerful man on the Isthmus and engineer of Felk's growing empire.

Matokin's hair was dark. Just like hers. Just like her mother's.

Raven's heart beat hard. She felt almost giddy, though she would never have admitted to the emotion and showed nothing of it on her face. Here was a lifetime's worth of fantasies coming true. Here was her father! Of course, she meant to stick to her vow to keep that secret, even from him.

The other man in the room, lounging on a heavily cushioned chair, was long and lizard-lean. His soft hands had exceptionally long fingers, while his angular features housed eyes that, at the moment, were flat and expression-less.

"This must be Raven," Matokin said, inclining his head toward her slightly. "If not, the guard will regret it. Eh, Abraxis?"

Abraxis. Raven recognized the name. He was the chief of the internal security for the growing empire. He was supposedly responsible for the terminations that befell those of untrained magical ability who didn't pass muster. Politically, he was second in power.

Whether or not Matokin's comment was meant in jest was left uncertain, as the man on the cushions gave no reaction either by word or gesture, but instead continued staring at the intruder.

"I am Raven, Lord," she said. "I was told that you wished to see me." With great effort she kept her voice from quivering completely out of control.

"Yes. We've been reviewing your records," Matokin said, gesturing vaguely at the small clutter on his desk, "and wished to meet you in the flesh. You seem to be making excellent progress, though your instructors' praise seems grudging at times."

"At the school, we work at perfecting control of the magical arts to the best of our individual abilities," Raven said. "We are discouraged from comparing our efforts to those of our fellow classmates, or from seeking approval from the instructors."

"Do you find the discipline and rules at the Academy to be harsh and demanding?" Abraxis asked, speaking for the first time.

"Words like harsh and demanding are relative terms," Raven said with a shrug. "I myself do not feel the conditions at the school to be unreasonable. We are living in difficult times and fighting an expansionist war. If we are to achieve our goals, it means accepting as normal conditions that, in other circumstances, might be deemed harsh and demanding."

"And what do you think those goals are, Raven?" Matokin said with a smile.

That smile nearly undid her. Her father was smiling at her. But she kept control.

"To unite the city-states of the Isthmus under one strong rule, specifically yours, Lord Matokin."

"Yes," Matokin was nodding. "Indeed."

"We have a posting for you," Abraxis said.

Raven's already fast-beating heart gave a sharp start.

"A ... p-posting?"

She winced inwardly, hating the timid sound of her voice. She was off guard. She hadn't yet graduated the Academy. She wasn't a full-fledged mage, not by anyone's measure. She had an aptitude, yes. She was most certainly dedicated to learning the magical arts. But she could only perform tricks at best at this point.

Had some error occurred? Had they meant to summon someone else here?

"Really, Abraxis," Matokin said mildly. "No need to unsettle the girl."

Raven felt a rush of gratitude toward her father.

"There's been no mistake," Matokin continued, as if reading her thoughts. Considering what magical powers he was reputed to possess, perhaps he was. "We know that you are still studying at the Academy. You're no wizard yet, but I'd wager you'll make a fine one someday. Discipline is as key as any innate talent."

She flushed, feeling her face heat. Neither of the men remarked on it.

"Our general in the field, Lord Weisel, has made a specific personnel request."

"He requested me?" she blurted.

This time Abraxis laughed, but it didn't sound as pleasant as Matokin's laughter.

"No," said Matokin. "He wanted a student straight out of the Academy. Someone absolutely fresh."

"Why, my Lord?"

"In his communication," Abraxis said, "he made mention of a desire to be kept thoroughly updated on any magical advances, so that he can immediately implement the techniques against the enemy."

"It's a lie, of course," Matokin added.

Raven's eyes widened. She of course knew Weisel's name. He was a military man, supposedly a brilliant strategist, but not a magician.

"Our Weisel wants to learn about magic," Matokin said.

Raven was confused. "But... doesn't he have wizards with him? A whole company of them?" Naturally many of them were graduates from the Academy.

"He does," Abraxis put in. "But they are under strict orders not to divulge any specifics about magical procedures to the general."

"Why not?" she asked, before she could catch herself.

Abraxis's flat eyes darkened. "It's not your place to ask that of anyone in this room, girl. Understood?"

"Yes, Lord."

"We're sending you to him," Matokin said, businesslike now, moving papers around on the desk. "You are free to divulge to Weisel anything you're able to. In fact, your orders are to supply him with whatever information you've accumulated in your time at the Academy. If Weisel asks about a spell, you answer him to the best of your ability."

"But that's not all there is to this posting," Abraxis said.

Once more Raven, braced herself. She would obey, whatever the order. Of course she would. She was loyal. To the empire. To her father.

"You will spy on our general," Matokin said. "You will become his confidant. You will become whatever else that we subsequently instruct you to become. You will inform us via one of our Far Speak wizards what information Weisel is seeking. These are your orders."

Raven stepped forward and took the scroll that Matokin held out. Her fingers very nearly brushed his. Her father had one last thing to say. "Go now and justify our confidence in you." Raven went. She would do just that.