Chapter 5 – Emergency Session

“No, Araphylle, the third line must curve inwards.” Jacob corrected the shaky line of Mycelial ink on the girl’s forearm with a stroke of his finger. “Think of it like a funnel that catches light.”

Eight little faces of Vyrnara girls stared at him, their purple foreheads in identical wrinkles of effort. The youngest was just six, the oldest ten. All of them were in various stages of ‘I-want-to-be-a-powerful-sorceress’ fever.

They’re so god damn cute. Jacob suppressed a smile. Just like me back then. Except I didn’t have as much trouble with learning it.

Almost six years had passed since he had passed his own Sorcery test and in which the promising daughter of the Matriarch had become a masterful Sorceress herself. At least that’s what the courtiers claimed, if they thought he wasn’t listening.

“All together now,” he instructed. “Concentrate on the connection.”

The girls raised their glyph-decorated arms. The air in the training room shimmered as eight small illumination glyphs were activated simultaneously. Well, activatedwas perhaps a bit too generous, but they tried. Five produced a steady but faint glow, two flickered like faulty neon lights, and one…

Glyssere’s glyph spat out a single, pitiful spark of light and went out again. The six-year-old girl bit her lower lip and her large eyes became suspiciously moist.

“Hey.” Jacob knelt in front of her, gently stroked her hair and squeezed her earlobe, a gesture that was as natural among Shaeravyn as shaking hands on Earth. More intimate, sure, but completely normal here. “You can’t force it. Magic is like… like breathing. You have to open yourself up to it and just let it happen.”

“The others can all do it,” Glyssere whispered.

“The others are older than you too,” Jacob reminded her, “and you know what? Even the smallest spark can grow. Some of the most powerful sorceresses started out like you.”

The other girls had stopped their exercises and were staring at him with barely concealed awe. Jacob knew that look well, a mixture of admiration, curiosity and the slightly glazed expression that his perfect face evoked in most people. [Exceptional Beauty] in action.

“Is it true,” Araphylle, one of the older girls, ventured, “that you defeated a Mawshroom? At your trial? When you were twelve?”

Jacob opened his mouth to reply something modest about luck and good timing with a suitable segue to the next topic of the lesson, when someone appeared in the doorway of the practice room.

A messenger from House Vyrnara bowed low. Her hair carried a message that caused Jacob to rise one of his lovely brows. Business of the Council of Matriarchs. Personal seal of Matriarch Vyrnara. Don’t interfere with me.

“The lesson is over for today,” he said to the girls, who couldn’t hide their disappointment. “Keep practicing the basic shapes. Glyssere, I want to see at least two sparks next week.”

The girl nodded eagerly and her grief seemed already forgotten.

Jacob followed the messenger out of the room with his mind already occupied with the message. The Council of Matriarchs was not in session because of the upcoming festivities. So, what was it about? An emergency meeting?

Let’s see what disaster has befallen us this time. Hopefully something that ruins our evening plans.

“A message from the Matriarch, luminous Shaelith,” the messenger finally said when they had reached a room where they were undisturbed and handed him a sealed message. The seal, which was modeled after the hair braiding for House Vyrnara’s house motto, was definitely genuine. Jacob’s fingers broke it open.

Northern trade expedition completely wiped out. Over two hundred dead. No survivors found. Emergency council session in one hour.

“Two hundred dead,” Jacob muttered. An entire merchant train, just… gone.

The messenger nodded grimly and was all too happy to share the gossip she knew. “The bodies were found by a Sylvyn patrol. I’ve heard it was really ugly.”

I mean, of course. When have massacres ever been beautiful?

“I assume the festivities will still take place tonight?” Jacob asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Of course, this was already decided. House Arazesre has been working on the preparations for months. A few dead traders will not postpone the presentations of the eligible breeding males.”

Jacob suppressed a snort.

Two hundred Shaeravyn lie dismembered somewhere in the forest, but heaven forbid we miss the opportunity to ogle some handsome men.

“Thank you for the message,” he said and the messenger bowed before disappearing.

Jacob stared at the message for another moment. Another reminder that the world beyond their mushroom-lit grotto was at least as deadly as the political slaughterhouse in here.

I need to prepare glyphs to protect against glamors and change before I go. And I’d best take Vyriz with me in my escort. I’d like to have at least one familiar face with me. Besides, he’ll be asking me what the emergency session was about anyway.

He stepped out in the corridor and grabbed a passing servant by the arm.

“Run to Vyriz and tell him to come to my chambers immediately.” The servant bowed and ran off as fast as she could.

As soon as he arrived in his chambers, he stripped off his training clothes. Emergency Council Session meant formal attire, and formal attire meant preparation. A lot of preparation. And he didn’t have much time.

The mycelial ink was in his dressing room, and the servants took great care to ensure that there was always enough in stock. Like any sorceress, he spent a lot of time each day selecting and applying the glyphs for the day. Jacob reached for the thinnest brush and began to draw additional protective glyphs on his skin but stopped short for a second. It was always a bit stunning to see himself naked in the mirror and sometimes it felt like trespassing to watch himself like this and he had to remind himself that this was his body and he was allowed to look at it.

He shook his head to snap himself out of it and proceeded to draw the glyphs. Defense against emotional glamor on the inside of the left thigh. With terrible contortions he drew several glyphs more for heightened awareness along the spine. Quick shield just above the heart, hidden beneath whatever he would wear.

“Emergency meeting?” Vyriz’s voice sounded from the door as he entered without knocking. “Let me guess, is it House Rynalazel complaining about the raids on their trade routes again?”

“Worse.” Jacob didn’t turn around, focused on the precise lines of the glyph on his shoulder. “Two hundred dead. The entire Northern Trade Expedition.”

Vyriz whistled softly through his teeth. “Goblins?”

“Probably. But I don’t know the details yet either.” Jacob finished the last glyph and put the brush aside. “I need the dark lilac dress. It’s on the far right. The one with the obsidian details. And the spider-silk undergarments!”

Vyriz was already moving towards Jacob’s sprawling closet. In the years since their childhood, he had grown taller an was now towering over Jacob by a head. He was also much more muscular, but his features had remained unflattering.

Of course, he still had his adorable jug ears. All in all, the kind of average that made you invisible in a society as obsessed with beauty as theirs here in Myzelemaerlazin.

Almost as average as I was back on Earth, Jacob thought with a touch of envy. Vyriz felt very comfortable with his appearance and his body.

“Here.” Vyriz handed him the spider-silk undergarments first, then the tight-fitting dress. The fabric clung tightly to Jacob’s curves and managed to both show a lot of skin while at the same time hiding the freshly applied glyphs. Not all of them, of course. It was always a matter of careful consideration which glyphs to show and which to keep hidden.

Jacob noticed how Vyriz’s gaze lingered admiringly on his naked breasts and grinned furtively.

Well… can’t be mad at him. They really are spectacular.

“I’d like you to come with me to the council session,” Jacob said as he put on the obsidian belt. “I want someone I trust to cover my back, and you can watch the council in action. Wen can grab a few more men for a full escort.”

Vyriz grinned. “Sure. Mother will be thrilled that I’m finally doing something ‘productive’.” He reached for Jacob’s hair, ready to help braid it. “What messages do you want to send today?”

Jacob looked at himself in the mirror. Most of the usual messages were self-evident. House Vyrnara above all others, Beauty is my least interesting trait, Sorceress, Virgin. But for a meeting of the Council of the Matriarchs, a crisis meeting at that, a comment was needed.

“House Vyrnara stands vigilant,” he decided, “and, uh, how about, Strength through unity.”

Vyriz braided the messages into Jacob’s hair. It was one of the many intimacies of their friendship that Jacob had come to appreciate. And Vyriz accepted his chastity, which was at least by Shaeravyn standards quite bizarre and improper, without question or complaint.

Probably helps that he gets more than enough action elsewhere.

Young Shaeravyn were notorious for their shameless experimentation, even in comparison to the average Shaeravyn who were already shockingly promiscuous by human standards, and Vyriz was no exception.

And most people assume we’re getting it on anyway and are just suspicious as to why we’re making such a secret of it.

Ironically being so close to Shaelith Vyrnara made Vyriz quite popular with other women.

“Done.” Vyriz stepped back and admired his work. “You look like a war goddess of the ancient Indarvyn.”

“Not exactly the look I was going for, but I take it.” Jacob reached for his earrings, which were simple, elongated obsidian drops with a sharp point that looked dangerous and could easily be used as a weapon if needed. “Can we go?”

“Sure.” Vyriz’s grin widened. “But we need to get some more men first. Someone has to make sure you don’t accidentally start a stampede on the way there just because you’re too good-looking.”

A short time later, Jacob strode through the crowd with his escort consisting of four armed Vyrnara guards plus Vyriz, whose hand rested casually on his rapier. And the reactions to him were regrettably quite predictable.

Conversations fell silent in mid-sentence and heads turned, when she walked past and most of the man and a few women hurriedly ran their hands through their hair to fix their braids.

An outrageously handsome son of some minor matriarch, House Gulvirin, if Jacob wasn’t mistaken, came directly towards them and already opened his mouth in greeting, when he noticed the escort. With admirable smoothness, he turned his initial bow into one directed at someone behind Jacob and his entourage, who was completely baffled as to why the vain fop was bowing to him so theatrically.

“You’d think,” Vyriz muttered, “that five armed guards would signal pretty clearly that you’re not available for small talk right now. But they’re so busy staring at you that they don’t even notice us.”

Story of my life. At least of this life.

They had to go deep down and through several lines of guards protecting the Court of the Council of Matriarchs. The council chamber lay deep in the heart of Myzelemaerlazin, in a circular, ornate hall.

From the floor rose seven thrones of living mycelium. Five for the permanent members of the Council, two for the rotating seats. Rare spores hung in the air, scattered by wickedly expensive fungi, and there was noticeable tension among those already present in the council chamber, even if the Shaeravyn were extremely adept at masking it.

Jacob took his place in the outer ring, where the daughters and other selected guests and observers sat. Vyriz and his escort positioned themselves behind him.

The seating arrangement usually followed the current political landscape. House Arazesre and Yndrala formed a block, Delzyndra kept a carefully measured distance from everyone, but with a clear bias towards House Vyrnara. The daughters of Rynalazel had positioned themselves so that they could stare directly at Jacob, who pointedly ignored them.

Not that much difference to the seating arrangement in a high school cafeteria.

Laenre caught his gaze and casually braided a message for him into her hair, signaling approval of his hair messages. Laenre’s own hair was, as always, a masterpiece of layered communication and she even managed to convey different messages depending on the angle of the observer. The matriarch of Rynalazel kept casting annoyed glances at his mother’s hair.

“The details of this attack are, frankly, a bit confusing,” Matriarch Morvelith Baerelin said. As the military leader of Myzelemaerlazin, she usually wasted not much time with pleasantries. “Two hundred Shaeravyn dead, including four sorceresses. The caravan had taken up defensive positions, so it’s safe to assume they knew the attack was coming and had at least some time to prepare. Everything points to goblins being the culprits, but the level of coordination looks quite uncharacteristic for goblin raiders.”

A glyph on Baerelin’s hand activated and an image formed in the shimmering spores over the large obsidian table in the center of the room, showing the remains of the caravan. Jacob suppressed a wince.

“The corpses, or rather what’s left of them, show traces of magical influence,” Baerelin continued. “But none that match the known signatures of goblin shamans. The magic was strange, reminiscent of human wizardry in its structure, but much more effective in a twisted way.”

“Maybe,” Xarini Rynalazel purred in her sickeningly sweet voice, “this wouldn’t have happened if House Vyrnara hadn’t expanded so aggressively into territories we’ve defended for decades.”

Even now she’s trying the old Rynalazel blame game, shamelessly exploiting the fate of our fallen for her political game. Bitch.

Xarini Rynalazel was only 195 years old, making her by far the youngest of the matriarchs. She took control of her house after her mother and two of her sisters died in quick succession under suspicious circumstances.

Laenre just smiled. “Interesting theory, Xarini. Almost as interesting as your string of recent losses to some common goblin raiders. How many Rynalazel traders were it last month alone? Three? Four? One could almost think your nonchalance with the lives of your people has emboldened the enemies of Myzelemaerlazin and is in danger of setting a trend.”

Rynalazel’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could reply, Suryenre Yndrala intervened. “The financial losses this time around are catastrophic. This caravan was set up by fourteen houses and transported luxury goods worth the annual income of a minor house. This cannot remain without consequences.”

“With respect,” Yhezevere Delzyndra said in a considered tone, “but shouldn’t we focus more on this unusual magical signature? There are no records in my archives of such twisted aberrations of magical structures. I consider it impossible that this is the work of goblins, or at least goblins alone. Goblins are the hereditary enemy, but if other forces are forming that are willing to take up hostilities against Myzelemaerlazin and if they are capable of such magical innovation, that is a most serious threat.”

“The deep mycelium whispers,” croaked the ancient Ixalenre Zinvere suddenly. The eldest sitting matriarch was nearly 600 years old, blind as a cavern olm, and it was generally agreed upon that she was not quite right in the head.

Her croaking voice sounded like it came from inside a well. “Of patterns repeating themselves. What once was will be again. The deep mycelium remembers…”

There was a brief silence in the council chamber, no one really seemed to know what to say in response. Everyone had great respect for the old, powerful and dangerous matriarch, but she was clearly as mad as a hatter.

“We can always discuss the deeper implications at a later date!” Baerelin slapped the armrest of her throne with the flat of her hand. “As a first response, we must double the border patrols effective immediately. It has to be a communal effort, regardless of whose trade routes are affected.”

After another twenty minutes of fierce negotiations, where responsibilities were assigned, favors were offered, and debts were called in, the council finally came to a typical Shaeravyn compromise. Each house would contribute or fund guards based on their overall trade route usage. Which, of course, meant more endless negotiations about the details of the allocation formula. But this could be done by lesser officials.

Jacob was already dreading the thought of having to take over the title and responsibilities of matriarch from his mother in a few hundred years’ time.

He was even more afraid of that than he was of his first concubinage. Well, maybe an assassin would catch him before then anyway.

The crowd of nobles slowly dispersed as the council ended its meeting. His mother would be busy for a while longer. The council meetings were always followed by four or six-eye conversations between the matriarchs. Jacob pushed his way between other whispering matriarchs’ daughters and some anxiously brooding advisors, Vyriz and the escort in tow.

“Did you see the way Rynalazel’s daughter was staring at you?” Vyriz did not hide his observation once they were out of earshot. “Like she was measuring you for a sarcophagus.”

“Raleyri?” Jacob snorted. “She’s been staring at me like that since our first sorcery lesson. I think she still can’t get over the fact that I got the kinesis glyph right on the first try, unlike her.”

They turned into Myzelemaerlazin’s Vyrnara complex and when they were finally back in their palace, the tension of the council session finally began to ease from Jacob’s shoulders.

“At least we have the presentation festivities tonight to distract us.” Vyriz grimaced. “Mother insists I need more ‘social exposure’.”

Jacob grinned. “Let me guess, she’s already picked out some potential concubines for you?”

Vyriz groaned. “One of them is your second cousin, Phyralith. The erratic one, with the nervous eyes, two years older than us.”

“Don’t be like that! She’s just as curvy as you like. I’m sure you’d have beautiful children. Besides, she’s your cousin too, you moss-head!” Jacob laughed his bell-bright melodic laugh to take the edge off the teasing. But Vyriz just grinned back anyway.

“You’re not wrong, she’s cute and she’s pleasant enough in bed, but as you know, I’m more into confident women who know what they want and take what they need and don’t-“

A servant approached with a tray full of moss wine and bowed low before them.

When Jacob’s eyes fell on her, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up before he even realized why. Something wasn’t right. It was her hair. The house message was almost braided right. House Vyrnara above all. So close.

A glyph on the servant’s skin lit up and in the same second Jacob’s own protective glyph over his heart flared up.

Shit.

“DOWN!” He yanked Vyriz behind him with all his might as the corridor in front of them exploded into purple fire.