Discordant Note | TBATE

Toren Daen

I began my preparations later that day. The expedition would be leaving in two days in the early afternoon out the South Gate. I planned to reach the forest ahead of them and lie in wait, but I knew I needed to hone some of my magic beforehand.

Namely, what skills I could use for stealth. Perhaps I should have done this before charging toward the Joan estate, but I never planned on getting in any way close last night. But if I wanted to trail a group of mages with powerful escorts, I needed to be quiet and stealthy. Even in the depths of the Clarwood Forest, I maintained a moderate level of stealth. I fought more often than I hid when it came to the treetops, something that couldn't be done now.

I began by walking slowly across the rooftop in the early afternoon, listening to the slight tip-tap of my feet on the cobbles as I moved. I drank in the sound, my mana-enhanced ears absorbing every vibration they could.

My two mana affinities were fire and sound. I took naturally to fire: it was energy in one of its purest natural expressions: chemical reactions and the burning of fuel. It was heat: atoms rubbing together to generate friction. My fire spells came to me intuitively after a small amount of practice, the understanding clicking in my brain subconsciously amidst everything else I knew.

But sound magic was where my understanding truly shined. It was difficult to explain how intuitive working with sound mana was; certainly more so than fire. I felt like if I tried hard enough, I could hear the mana itself. Every push and pull of mana seemed to create some sort of resonance that only I could hear.

And so I was trying to test out a new spell. It wasn't one of my template spells: those were for quick, efficient use in combat. This was a utility spell, something I sorely lacked. I wouldn't be able to deploy it in a split second or focus it with awesome power, but that wasn't what I needed.

I was going to completely eliminate the sound of my steps. But to do that, I needed to understand how that sound was made; how it traveled through the atmosphere. I had to know how sound mana reacted to the vibrations in the air.

Feeling confident, I focused my intent, drawing a flow of mana from my core. I could change the pitch and octave of sounds easily enough by now: I used that to alter my voice as Dusk. The next step should be relatively simple: instead of changing the octave three steps diagonally, lower the volume. I sent my will out as a spell and took a hesitant step, waiting for the tap of a boot on stone.

I still heard my footfall, and to my credit, it was far quieter than before. The problem, however, was that it resounded out in a way that sounded something between a DJ's reverb and sheet metal wobbling in the wind. Even that sound was quiet, but far more noticeable because of how long it lasted.

I snorted. That was kind of amusing. I would just have to try again.

—

I was not amused by the time I finally managed to muffle every single step I took consistently near the end of the evening. It would take practice over the next couple of days as the passive application of mana required significant concentration, but I hoped the spell would reach a manageable level of mental focus soon enough.

Practicing with magic in a safer setting than the deep Clarwood Forest allowed me to do some more concrete testing. I could only maintain several spells at a time right now before splitting my attention became too difficult and one of them collapsed, sputtering out or exploding on the wind. Some were more difficult than others, of course: spells that lingered or required constant attention like the sound muffling spell took more focus and mana than a couple of fireballs.

A single push and pull with my telekinesis crest took barely any mana at all, but the longer I held the effect and the more force I tried to use, the more strain I felt on my mind and my core. The maximum I could hold a push or pull differed depending on how much force I was exerting, too. Ultimately, I knew I needed to practice and hone every aspect of my magic. But there was one in particular where I was seeing great returns.

My 'template casting' method of visualization was an amazing fusion of the Alacryan and Dicathian spellcasting methods.

Alacryan runes provided power without insight, at least initially. For instance, I still wasn't entirely sure how my telekinetic pushes and pulls used mana to affect the world, but I could use it anyway. As I figured it out, I would grow in power, but I was limited to what my rune was designed for. The spellforms also offloaded some of the mental strain required to maintain spells, which was absurdly useful. The rune essentially acted as a funnel, strengthening the effect as it went through. But runes lacked in versatility; locked into their intended purpose.

Dicathian magic was dependent entirely on a mage's understanding and insight. If you had less than adequate knowledge of mana, you couldn't cast a spell. In terms of power, Dicathian spellcasting paled in comparison to the Alacryan runes. But it made up for that in sheer versatility: as long as you understood what mana could do, you could do anything.

With my template casting, I could make as many 'spellforms' in my mind as I desired, as long as I had the initial insight and understanding to cast the spell myself. I would have to bear the full brunt of the spell on my mind, but it would be more focused and powerful than most Dicathian mages could manage. And Alacryans had to cross their fingers and hope with every Bestowment Ceremony for their next rune, while I could add more pseudo-spellforms as I learned. My method might not quite have the power of Alacryan runes. It might not quite have the versatility of Dicathian magic. But it was a perfect middle ground.

As the night began to take over the sky, I sat in front of my small fire, taking shelter in the warmth. As it flickered and popped, I pushed and pulled on the fire mana coalescing around the flame. The mana weaved and danced in an imitation of tongues of fire to my senses. Or was fire a mere imitation of mana?

There were probably philosophical debates about that across the world. Which came first? The element, or the mana affinity?

These amusing thoughts lulled me to sleep, the pleasant warmth soothing my nerves.

Lawrent Joan

I read through another stack of parchment pertaining to Blood Joan's preparations for the acidbeam hornet nest harvest. I signed my name in a messy crawl, finalizing the purchase of some low-tier beastwards. They were incredibly expensive but necessary to efficiently take down something as dangerous as a nest.

The paper from their hives was rich in mana, considering the insectoid mana beasts formed it from the native mana-infused clarwood trees. When powdered, it became an essential ingredient in many high-class elixirs, artifacts, and more due to its unique properties. But the greatest use of the nest paper granted profit far beyond anything else. Not very many people knew of the paper's best use, which was what my Blood harvested it for. Through acidbeam paper, the path to true wealth opened.

Though our usual supplier of acidbeam paper had recently run out, causing me to hastily put together this expedition. I stewed on the extra cost, but sacrifices had to be made to create our product.

My study was sparse and bare, except for the lighting artifacts around the room set to a low burn. The shadows helped focus me on what needed to be done for the night.

I looked up from my desk as three crisp knocks resounded on the hardwood of my study door. I waited a moment, then answered. "State your business."

A feminine voice spoke from behind the door. "We have developments on the escaped Rats."

I narrowed my eyes. "Enter," I said at last.

Kaelan strode in slowly, her steps measured and sure. Her sandy-blonde hair–something all of Blood Joan shared–was cut short. She claimed it made covering it for covert missions easier. Several steps behind her, Dornar loped at a more casual pace.

I watched them from behind my desk, not yet setting down my pen. Papers and ledgers for the upcoming Clarwood Forest expedition needed to be finalized, and they waited for no one.

Kaelan stopped a respectable distance from me, ever cognizant of her position in the family. Dornar leaned against a bookshelf, displaying less decorum than I would care to see.

"Head," Kaelan said, bowing slightly.

"Sister," I responded. Dornar smirked, but didn't speak. "What news do you have that bares interrupting me?"

"As you know, we laid a trap for the Rats the night before last," she said, steel gray eyes meeting my own for a moment. "They managed to escape the grounds."

I nodded for her to continue. "There were two of those slum Rats," Kaelan continued. "And five of our men. One of our better-trained squads," she continued. "Yet every single member of the squad was incapacitated. Some were more wounded than others, but all were taken down."

I set my pen down and moved the papers from my desk to the side, finally giving Kaelan my full attention. "The question was how. Have you discovered why?"

We had been prepared for the break-in with a well-armed force to apprehend the Rats. That they escaped the estate wasn't unexpected, but instead of reporting back, the strike team was found in their own blood and badly hurt.

"I had suspicions when I saw the bodies," Kaelan said, her eyes gleaming slightly. "But it was confirmed recently. One of the men woke up: one of our casters. She had valuable information." Kaelan paused, thinking about her next words. "Do you remember the incident two months ago where the young scion… injured himself?"

I tilted my head, not seeing the direction this was going. But Kaelan was dutiful: I knew that if she was changing the topic, it was only to provide needed context. I snorted in distaste. "Lawris was a fool for the actions he took," I said, speaking my mind on the matter. I had done so many times, but my own spawn's ineptitude never failed to burn me. "His mission was to covertly root out supporters of the Rats in the dregs of East Fiachra," I sneered. "To find more information. He failed utterly, defeated by two slum mages himself. A training mission to teach him the benefits of subtlety and stealth and he failed every single point."

Kaelan shifted slightly. "Yes… That operation was supposed to go off without a hitch. But in the middle of interrogating a suspect, he was interrupted by two young mages. They worked brilliantly as a team and overwhelmed him with ease." Kaelan peered up at me once more. "They recognized the sigil of Blood Joan, so I interfered. We can't leave traces there, after all." A look I couldn't read crossed my sister's face. "I slew one of the boys, but left the other alive."

A bark of laughter made me slowly turn to Dornar. "Don't forget, dear sister, what those boys did to you!" the youngest brother chided. "You weren't exactly gentle with them after that!"

Dornar liked picking fights, but a raised brow from me silenced his amusement. It did not wipe it away, however. Kaelan ground her teeth near audibly, anger thrumming through her before she steadied herself. "Indeed. One of the mages, a boy with a sort of telekinesis rune, managed to wound me."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my desk and steepling my fingers. For this to happen was surprising: Kaelan's few Emblems made her one of the support pillars of Blood Joan as a whole, along with her extensive combat experience. For her to be hurt by a street mage was no small thing. "How did this happen?" I demanded, steel in my voice.

"He fired metal at me, faster than I was ready to react. It got through my lightning cloak. Once he damaged me, I ended the other boy as soon as he attacked me again," Kaelan replied. "The fight was effectively over afterward."

I narrowed my eyes, not missing the hidden implication. "You let the telekinesis user live?" I asked calmly. One who had spilled the Blood of Joan shouldn't be allowed to walk so freely. Lawris had only recently recovered from his wounds, whining about his Blood being tarnished and his pride stained.

Dornar spoke up again, his amusement palpable. "Our dear sister likes to pretend she's all protocol, but she has a wicked streak a mile long," he said with a winning smile. "Apparently, she knifed the kid's brother in front of him. The boy lost all will to fight after watching his poor sibling bleed out all over him."

Kaelan was glaring at Dornar with barely restrained fire. "I figured he would make a proper challenge for the scion to destroy," she bit out. "I had been wounded by him, yes, but the scion was the first to be hurt. Retribution was his to take when he healed."

Dornar smirked. "From what I heard, the boy was practically broken after you killed his brother," my own brother said. "We both know the real reason you let him live. Dying was too much of a mercy for the kid. Admit it, sis: you're a vindictive bitch."

Dornar was in charge of Blood Joan's information network, so it made sense that he knew so much. But between Dornar's prods of our sister's short temper and the straying of the topic, my patience was wearing thin. Kaelan opened her mouth to retort, venom writ across her face.

"Enough," I snapped, flaring my mana to accentuate my irritation. "Tell me the point of this. No more petty fighting," I said. Both Kaelan and Dornar settled, their squabbles stalled for now. "How does this tie into the failed assault on the Rats?"

"The telekinesis user used an attack that opened a very distinct pattern of wounds across the scion's body," Kaelan said. "Like a dozen holes poked into his back. Very few spells have that kind of mark. And one of our strikers emerged last night with the exact same wounds. The caster that recently awoke told us that once they cornered the Rats, another figure dropped from the roofs, knocking out their shield. Then he worked with the Rats to eliminate our task force from two sides."

I growled lowly. "So this boy is one of the Rats?" I said. The Rats had been a plague on the Bloods of Fiachra for the past year, looting and stealing from half of the lower Bloods of the city. They had gained a reputation for success. But they were a scourge to all that was civilized and needed to be put down. Especially since, according to Dornar's latest reports, they appeared to be targeting our… enterprises. "What is his name, and why isn't he dead yet?"

Kaelan seemed to hesitate for a step. "His name is Toren of Named Blood Daen, Head," my sister replied. "And he left the city a day after his brother's death. We thought he never intended to return."

The rest of my sister's sentence faded away as the name rang about in my head. Daen.

My father had eliminated Named Blood Daen in a masterstroke of political maneuvering three decades ago. After the Daens had misstepped in their support of the Sehz-Clarian war against Vechor, they had been left vulnerable and exposed. Our Blood, a small family at the time, took the first step in cementing their rise to power by wiping out the old Named Blood.

But when you put down a dog, you do not allow its pups to bite you. You leave no chance for them to break your skin. You burn the litter with the mother. The fact that survivors of Blood Daen existed at all was unacceptable. That the survivors wounded my son, no matter how much of a wretch he was, demanded fire and death in return.

"How did this happen?" I asked, staring hard at Dornar. He was our chief of information. He should've known if a remnant of our old enemies lived and done something about it. "Tell me why I should not have you punished."

Dornar shrugged, but I could see the slightly unnerved look in his eyes. "From the records we have, it seems Pops knew a young girl managed to avoid the massacre he planned. He searched for her for years after, but didn't manage to find her." Dornar shook his head. "Our networks were always the weakest in East Fiachra, with all the unads and useless vagrants prowling about. We didn't know she managed to reproduce until about two months ago."

I quietly seethed. If it got out to any of our rivals that an old, defeated foe had managed to humiliate the next Head of Blood Joan, our reputation would plummet to the ground. The amount of influence we would lose…

"Make sure no word of this incident leaves this room," I reiterated. I had given the order the first time I learned of my spawn's incident, but it was doubly true now. Kaelan nodded, but Dornar huffed. I stared at him until he relented.

"Fine, boss."

I furrowed my brow. "Do we have any more information on the Rats, other than this new member?" I asked, still angered by the setback we had taken last night. Our trap had almost caught them, the same as Named Blood Daen had been ensnared so many years ago.

Dornar shook his head. "These are the things you gotta take slow," he said with a lazy smile. "There's a reason I knew they'd attack us eventually, dear brother. Just watch and wait."

I looked back to my desk. Blood Joan's finances were thinner than I desired; the war against the Dicathian savages sapped many of our resources. And our resources for our premium products were running thin. Instead of buying the acidbeam paper through an intermediary, as was the custom, Blood Joan was forced to try to acquire the substance ourselves.

"See that you know something more by the next time I call on you," I said, dismissal clear in my tone. As my siblings shuffled out–Kaelan with a respectful nod and Dornar with a bow that was dangerously close to mocking–I couldn't help but ruminate over the future. Turbulent times were ahead, and as always, Blood Joan would scrabble and claw to the top.