“He means to march upon Nephilim itself! Does he not realize how many men that will take? How much money and resources must be mustered? The Nobles won’t support it! Certainly not with Shadowmurk continuing to spread. How much farmland this year alone has been lost? You have to feed an army somehow. The other Dukes will oppose any plan that doesn’t involve securing the coast no matter what promises the Holy Father makes!”
My Father was in a mood.
Alaric was excited, at least. The first Crusade in over two centuries against the Elves was a chance for glory, loot and an opportunity to acquire new skills and traits amongst the deserts, rocky crags and battlefields. I would be excited too if my reason for going was more than just learning to bandage wounds and gathering supplies for the Alchemists. I would also have to find the right moment to reveal my class to the others. I was still not certain how to go about it.
Someone else who was in a mood, yet was often so quiet as to not even be noticed, was my mother. She sat straight backed in her chair, eyes fixed on Alaric. My mother comes from an old family. Her father had been a powerful Warlord who had been kicked out of every duchy he had ever set foot in, but battled courageously against rogue Ural tribes, Orcs, Infernals and anything else that stood in his way. Apparently Errol takes after him, which I can believe since he is also a violent luddite. Mother is not a talker. What she does do is sew, dance, compose poetry and take tea with other noble women of Ordheim. She has no Class nor do I believe she ever sought one. I always thought it strange that such a small, diminutive woman came from such an imposing warrior. Many others have as well. That is, until one gets to know the woman behind the calm veneer.
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Alaric finally saw her looking at him and the smile immediately fled his face and he suddenly took a great interest in his soup. My father also saw her face and looked embarrassed for his outburst and mumbled an apology to her under his breath. Yes, Elena Ordheim had a quiet way about her, but underneath was someone who had inherited her father’s intimidation if nothing else. I only wish my Lore Sight could reveal other people’s skills and traits. I had always wondered if my mother, despite not having a class, had any. Some skills could be inherited by blood, after all. It was just rare.
“When do you leave?” My mother asked me in her soft voice, her tone not betraying sadness, anger or any other emotion for that matter.
“My ship leaves in a week. I will be with Brother Bernabo and the other Novices. We will be in Port Tyren most of the time.”
“Safe place. Very safe place,” my father mumbled, looking into his wine glass. My mother ignored him.
“You will write to me every second week and see to it the letter goes out on one of the vessels the Church owns. They are more reliable than trade ships.” She wasn’t asking me a question.
“Yes, Mother.”
My mother nodded and that was the end of it. She cooly glanced at Alaric for a moment, then went back to her own soup. It was quiet for a few minutes as everyone ate in silence, even Tanis, until the question everyone knew was coming was asked.
“Father, I would join with one of the Orders so that I might win my spurs in the East and…” Alaric stopped short when my father started clearing his throat loudly.
“No,” my Mother said. Again, with the silence that seemed to stretch forever I wished I could see if she was using some skill, but the rest of the evening was a mixture of arguing, pleading, shouting (mostly from Alaric) and finally resignation. I paid it little attention. I was making my own plans in my own mind. And the soup was good.
