Chapter 21: Consequences

“What the fuck do you think you were doing?”

The voice of Knight General Johanne De Mascione reverberated around the room, assaulting the ears of the Iron Shield standing at attention before him. The sound reflected beautifully off the curved, bare stone walls, their surfaces smoothed with a hard white render. To the unfortunate victim of this verbal tirade, the General sounded as though he were berating him from all angles.

Such an effect could be achieved with magic, but Gregory De Mascione knew his uncle better than most; this effect had been built into the very structure of the room. The principles behind the architecture were baffling but effective: Stand where Gregory stood, and all sound in the chamber converged upon you. It made for an intimidating place to be disciplined, which was precisely the point. Beyond the heavy door lay a contrastingly warm, furnished antechamber, and the tailored acoustics ensured that, despite the bellowing voice of the General in his office, no one outside would hear a word of what transpired within.
The air seemed to vibrate with each syllable, every word a hammer blow from nowhere and everywhere at once, and Gregory winced as his uncle moved in a circle around him.
“You were temporarily insane!” the older knight berated him. “That is the only reason I can think of for this complete and utter madness! Do you know how long I worked on Lord Arnias to place the Iron Shield in a position of power?”

Gregory stared at the wall, wincing in anticipation of the answer to the rhetorical question.

“HIS ENTIRE LIFE!”

The Knight General’s voice exploded all around Gregory’s head with a force that almost made him break his stoic stance and cover his ears.

Almost.

Gregory was well aware of his uncle’s work. The aging General had been manipulating politics in Grixoninia for decades, and the result had been an unprecedented level of autonomy granted to the Iron Shield in the Athnian Highlands and, to a lesser extent, Grixoninia as a whole. He was also confident that his uncle was a ranking member of the secretive splinter group—the ‘First Shield’—a collection of Iron Shield extremists who believed that all mages were a threat to the world and should be eliminated at all costs.
None of this bothered him.

“Then, just as he is about to put the Iron Shield in command of all law and order in the Athnian Highlands, you barge into his court and assault Ser Reginald.”

Gregory had the decency to look regretful. “I’m sorry, Sir. There is no excuse for my actions.”
The General glared at him. “If I believed you were playing for position, if I could believe that you were trying to manipulate something to the Iron Shield’s advantage, you would at least have my respect. Hell, don’t you dare think that I missed that you reported to him first and only came to me second. I would usually respect that kind of political manoeuvring. But this was poorly done, Gregory. A senseless loss of temper.”

The General moved to the window and looked out over the training field far below, where figures sparred like ants between the lines of sun-bleached banners. He was quiet for a full minute as he stared down from where he stood. His office, perched high in the tower for privacy, also commanded a sovereign view of the entire Iron Shield compound. The stench of Westfall never reached this high, carried away by the wind, cold and thin, sweeping down from the Shattered Spine mountains and rattling the glass window like a ghost. It carried with it the bite of snowmelt, the dry scent of old stone and steel. Across the gap, flags snapped on the opposite tower, their fabric whispering in the chill.

Finally, he spoke.

“Lord Arnias has asked for you to be debriefed, flogged, and demoted.”

Gregory tensed at the last. A demotion in the Iron Shield. He would be shamed amongst his peers for the remainder of his service.

The General continued, “I, of course, have told him that I will handle my knights in a way that I see fit. However, I am holding my decision until after your report.” The Knight General turned to look at him. “So report.”

Gregory nodded and gave his full account. It was precise and left out no detail. Every step of their journey: from Sterya, to the addition of Lieutenant Lauraphine de Matre to Revenant Company, to the battle with the necromancer, and to the discovery of Mathew.

“And you didn’t check the boy for arcane potential when you found him?” the General queried.

“Yes, Sir,” replied the knight. “Captain Deriostos slapped a bracelet on him as soon as we pulled him out of the grave. No indication on the gem at all.”

The General nodded, then signalled for Gregory to continue his report and the knight complied. Mathew’s amnesia, the village, the altercation with Donatu, the pledge of indebted servitude, and Mathew’s reluctance to take on a slave. Then he recounted the training fights with Mathew, Deriostos, and Danzt.

“The kid had basic sword skills. Good fundamentals, and he’d certainly been trained at some stage but, obviously, the Captain took him apart. Then when Danzt sparred unarmed with him…” Gregory paused.

“What happened?” pressed his uncle, breaking the silence.

“The kid’s unarmed fighting was like our sword work. All the same principles but applied without a weapon. Two bouts, each ended within seconds. The style was efficient and deadly. Deriostos was impressed. He wanted the kid to teach us how to do it.”

The General quietly absorbed the information, calculating and analysing. Gregory could see him turning it over in his mind. Then he nodded for Gregory to continue, and Gregory retold the rest of the journey up to the final altercation.

“Sir. He punched through our armour. The shields and magic resistant plate did nothing. It was like paper. He didn’t defeat the first knights that died, he butchered them.”

The General took a seat at his desk and arched his fingers in front of his face, leaning his elbows on the table and wearing a pained expression. Gregory saw a glimmer of recognition in the older knight’s eyes.

“Lieutenant Lauraphine sided with the girls. She wasn’t sympathetic to Deriostos’… philosophy. Danzt, Pheros, and I decided to follow orders and stay true to the Captain. Danzt took this to mean that he had to kill Lieutenant Lauraphine and, when she defended herself, she caught the tip of her sword in his leg and he bled like a stuck pig.”

The General muttered. “Fool. Attacking a medic; suicidal. And while this was happening the boy was killing the rest of your company, Deriostos included?”

Gregory nodded in the affirmative. “Sir… Sir, he killed two of the knights and the Captain even after he burnt out. He bested them while outnumbered and without magic, weapons or armour.”

The Knight General Johanne De Mascione was silent and still for a long while. His nephew stood at attention in exactly the same way, allowing the General to process the information.
“Our family, the Mascione line, it comes from the Mascian Empire,” the General began. “You said he had a Shadowspine accent?”

Gregory nodded.

“When the undead overran the Shadowspine Plains, the Mascian Empire was forged to hold the line. Each nation within it formed an Imperial knightly order, sworn to act as the Emperor’s will in its own lands. The Shadowspine Plains formed the Order of the Shroud. Heard of them?”

Gregory shook his head.

“No, I’m not surprised,” the General muttered. “They are incredibly secretive. The Order of the Shroud was tasked with the most difficult task of all the Imperial Orders; herding the undead. There were too many to kill and the land was so tainted that it was creating more, so the only way they could keep safe zones in the Shadowspine Plains was to herd the roaming hordes of mindless undead away from the Shadowspine Citadel and the surrounding farmlands. Often they used themselves as bait. They had to move quickly, quietly and, most importantly, they had to be able to move long distances without equipment weighing them down. When they fought, they did so empty-handed, unarmed and unarmoured.”

Gregory looked alarmed. “Against zombies and ghouls? Against incorporeal undead? How do you punch a ghost?”

The General raised an eyebrow. “How do you punch through steel? Or impale a sword through a breastplate? You do so with magic.”

“But…”

“A form of magic our armour cannot prevent. A magic that has not been seen in over 300 years: Divine magic.”

The younger knight straightened. He’d been staring at the wall, but that last statement snapped his eyes to his uncle. “But… the Gods…”

The General held up a dossier and waved it briefly at Gregory. “A report from James Brook. About twelve hours after you passed through, a young man with three young women—two identical elves and a woman with a sword—had an altercation at the inn. Apparently, the man healed a cripple of a lifelong ailment and then one of the elves spoke with the voice of the dead Goddess Bambinae.”

His nephew stared at him speechless, and the General continued.

“Now, I had put this down to drunken superstition and a clever bard telling a story that some backwater alcoholic had taken to heart. The number of corroborating reports was higher than usual, but still not enough to cause alarm. But…”

“They were there!” Gregory exclaimed, and the General nodded.

“They were there,” he affirmed. “Which means they are coming here. Actually, I would be surprised if they were not already here.”

Gregory snapped back to attention. “Let me find the traitor and wild mages, Sir. Please give me the chance to find justice for my company.”

The General shook his head with disdain, as if he knew something that Gregory did not.
“No matter your skill, Nephew, you are no match for an Imperial Knight. You saw him fight! Do you seriously believe you can best that boy in open combat without any protections? We simulate hell in training to prepare ourselves for battle. They grow up with hell all around them and CHOOSE to walk into it unarmed!”

Gregory faltered. “But with a squad, a company…”

“You actually expect me to give you a command after that stunt you pulled today? Lord Arnias wants you flogged and flayed! There has to be a reckoning—a consequence to show other knights that they are not equals to the Lord of the realm. Even if I protected you from the consequences of your actions, your disgraceful conduct means that any chance the Iron Shield had of being allowed to operate a sanctioned action in the city has been destroyed, for now.”

Gregory’s shoulders dropped. The Iron Shield had almost had complete authority in the Athnian Highlands. The last jurisdiction where they didn’t have ultimate control was Westfall itself, where the city watch still held a proud tradition. He knew how much effort his uncle had put into convincing Lord Arnias to allow the order complete autonomy in the city. He knew he’d set those efforts back months, maybe even years. The disgraced knight watched as the General sighed.

“A demotion is in order. Knight Gregory, as much as it pains me to do this, you are hereby stripped of your field commissions and hunter emblems. You will maintain your rank and benefits as recognition of your survival against an Imperial Knight and for reporting the first case of divine magic in almost three centuries. These heroic acts are all that have saved you from serving as a ‘bedpan’ for the rest of your career. You are to report to the Captain of the city watch, where you will serve as our appointed representative to the city watch, acting as messenger and intermediary between our orders.”

Anger swelled in the younger knight. He would have taken the flogging gladly over this insult to his skill and pride. He was about to react when the General eyed him with a gaze that warned him he was about to hang himself with his words.

“Your first order of business after you get acquainted with the Watch Captain is to review their practices for identifying and dealing with dangerous wild mages. I suggest a review and an account of registered arcanists in the city and a refresher course for the city watch on how to identify signs of wild mages living in secret amongst the population.”

Gregory’s gaze fixed on his uncle as the gears of understanding began to turn. The demotion still stung, but beneath the humiliation he saw the lifeline he’d been given. If he could use the city watch to hunt down Mathew, Asha, and Lauraphine, he could claw his way back to honour. Only then did he see the true brilliance of the man before him, the sheer elegance of the design—Johanne had crafted a solution that satisfied everyone, advanced his own aims, and cost him… nothing.

“Don’t disappoint me again,” his uncle warned, sternly. “Dismissed.”

Gregory saluted, turned to leave, and was almost out the door when the General spoke a final time.

“Gregory, why did you survive the divine light when the other men perished? Why did Bambinae spare you?”

The younger man simply shrugged, to which the General nodded and waved him on.

“I’m glad she did,” he muttered as he returned to his paperwork, waiting until the door closed behind the exiting Knight before muttering again.

“I’m glad she did.”