Airlean Tales S2E2: Delegation

Karis Caelute had been a child when she’d first seen the Atlanteans.

She’d been walking along the harbor, hand-in-hand with her father. The day had been beautiful—sunny and clear and gentle, the ocean breeze playfully dancing through the sails of docking trading vessels and trawlers. One particular ship caught her attention, as it hoisted neither sails nor masts; rather, it arced out of the surface of the ocean like a whale, crystalline horn jutting from the prow and glittering under the sun. Had it not been inanimate, Karis would have thought it a mythical sea creature.

“Papa,” she said, squeezing her father’s hand and pointing, “what’s that?”

Her father glanced over and smiled. “That’s a ship from the country of Atlantis, little plum.”

“But there’s no sails.”

“It uses mana to propel through the water. They can sail both over and under the ocean’s surface.”

It was a curious thought. School had taught her that Atlantis was the birthplace of manacraft, thriving with ancient runic magic and modern magitech alike. But she hadn’t quite realized that their ships could sail underwater! How much mana did such a task demand? She imagined it was a great amount.

Karis watched as several humanoid beings milled around the whale-ship. Most of them wore strange headpieces that dipped over their faces or jutted from their ears. Gilded patterns adorned their loose, flowing robes and draping fabrics.

“What are those?” she asked, pointing again. “Fairies?”

“Citizens of Atlantis, little plum. Human, not fae.”

“They look strange.”

She remembered how her father had paused. Young as she was, she hadn’t been able to place the mysterious emotion that flickered over his face. “They may wear different clothes, but their hearts beat with life, the same as yours and mine.”

Karis hadn’t realized until much later what he meant. For her own father had been a foreigner, a man of Yueraian birth who had struggled to earn a place in Airlea, sometimes spurned for his sharp features or different clothing.

Putting the memory from her mind, an older and wiser Karis examined the Atlantean envoy before her.

Simon Kourios was collected. It was the best word she could think of to describe him. He stood a whole head taller than her, with broad shoulders yet a wiry frame. Everything was long—his pale hair, his slender, scholarly robe, his aristocratic nose, the vibrant sash crossed over one shoulder. He made her think of a willow: tall and endlessly calm.

It made Karis wish to trust him, which paradoxically made her distrust him. Disarming people were often the most dangerous of all.

Seeing that she and Halcyon had made no move to lower their weapons, Simon spread his hands. “My apologies,” he said. “It wasn’t our intention to alarm you. Does this remain neutral territory in the realms of the landwalkers?”

Karis waited for a moment, but Halcyon said nothing. His whole frame was taut from head to foot, a coiled spring. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have guessed that he was afraid.

Well, she could not blame him for being caught off guard. It had been over a decade since any Airlean had made international contact. She was no less unbalanced by this surprise encounter.

Still, it would be better not to offend. Karis sheathed her weapon and delicately cleared her throat.

“Forgive us,” she said, making the small shift to the common tongue to match the envoy. “We did not expect your arrival.”

“You can say ‘survival,’” said Simon with surprising honesty. “We, too, were not certain that any of the landwalker realms had remained. It’s good to see you are well.” His gaze turned to Halcyon, who stared back, utterly motionless. A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Might I ask your names?”

“Halcyon Yuden,” said Halcyon curtly.

Karis nudged him lightly in the side. A little rude there, Hal. “I am Karis Caelute,” she said. “Second Rank of the Royal Hunters of Airlea. We would be happy to accompany you to the capital and introduce you to the—ah—” She paused. It had been years since the kingdom had accepted dignitaries. Perhaps the High Ambassador of the Magistracy of Culture would do? They oversaw the larger part of cultural and foreign affairs.

“The Guildmaster,” Halcyon finished before she could speak again. “The Magistrate of the Royal Hunters. Her authority is second only to the king.”

Karis stared at him, alarmed. What is he saying? She appreciated Guildmaster Nicolina Cotton as much as anybody, but the woman was hardly second to the king.

“Excellent,” Simon said. “That would be most appreciated.” He frowned lightly at Halcyon, who turned abruptly and stalked back to the main road before Karis could stop him.

Halcyon brooded the whole journey. Karis had no way of reading the myriad thoughts beneath his stony facade, and it made her wonder. He had always been the type to keep his thoughts to himself, but this was something different. He was more than guarded; he was hostile, keeping his glaive close at his side, sneaking glances at the Atlantean delegation from time to time.

Bandying pleasant conversation was up to Karis alone.

“Have you made contact with other countries?” she tried as their little company walked down the path. She paused, hoping Simon wouldn’t take offense at the question.

“Not yet,” Simon replied. “We sent another delegation to search for Yuerai. The steel route opening would be a great boon.”

“So it would,” said Karis, pleased. Yueraian steel was widely coveted for its mana conductive properties. She was lucky to have a rapier, Celeste, with a blade forged from the rare metal.

“What of Zuhad and Drâkvul?” Simon asked, his own gaze bright with interest. “And has Kahu Tei passed the skies?”

Karis searched for words. How could she possibly admit that Airlea had been too weak and battered by the Storm and its failing monarchy to send out delegations? The kingdom could not fund expeditions, and any wayfaring cartographers who’d set out of their own accord had never returned.

“We’ve yet to receive news of other nations,” she said diplomatically—but deep down, she wondered. Zuhad lay across the deadly Bone Canyon, right in the heart of the great Nilwe Desert; Drâkvul, in the northern fjords beyond the Noadic Range. But Kahu Tei, the loosely connected network of floating islands, usually passed over Airlea every few years, borne by wind currents and atmospheric mana. Yet there had been no sign of the flying nation since before the Great Storm.

Simon only nodded. It was difficult to read anything past his placid features; did he see past her ruse? Did he think Airlea to be weak? Or did he simply accept her shoddy attempt at an explanation?

Why did she have to speak with a man as frustratingly unreadable as Halcyon Yuden?

“Your lands appear to be thriving,” Simon said, nodding at the surrounding swaths of verdant, blooming fields. “It’s good to see that much has remained.”

“Yes,” Karis began, then paused. Did Atlantis covet the fertile soil of Airlea? Did they seek to invade?

“Our crops are flourishing, and certainly lends to the strength of our nation,” she continued cautiously. “They do say that a well-fed nation is a well-led nation.” Airlea has strength yet, you nosy mole.

“Oh, really?” Simon laughed warmly. “In Atlantis, we say that a well-read nation is a well-led nation. Have you heard of that, Lord Yuden?”

Halcyon said nothing, which alarmed Karis. At this rate, he would singlehandedly start a war by stiffing the official emissary this much.

“I see,” she tried. She forced out an airy laugh. “Atlantis was famed for its Library of the Ancients. Is it as grand as the tales make it out to be?”

Simon’s eyes lit up with what appeared to be pride, and much to Karis’s relief, he chatted about libraries and books the rest of the way to Mythaven. The Library is one of the finest wonders of the world, he gushed, filled with endless knowledge of tomes and scrolls since man could first put thoughts to paper. But the best section, perhaps, is History—now the thing about historical tales is that they are often delivered from a single restricted point of view…

This led to quite a winded spiel about history and how narrative bias warped the chronicling of events. Karis did her best to nod along, secretly grateful for Simon’s academic preoccupations. With his rambling, he came across as nothing but a passionate scholar. It almost made Karis like him—but of course, she wasn’t naive. It could all be a ruse, a way to lower her guard. She knew nothing about Atlantis’s intentions, and until proven otherwise, she would assume the worst.

Even the world’s most innocent face could conceal a knife behind the back.

Karis was relieved when Mythaven approached in the distance, a citadel that shone even in the dead of night with the warm glow of mana lamps. She was not certain how much longer she could stave Simon’s attentions off with library questions. Already, he was inching into dangerous topics that left her floundering: Where are the trade caravans? Wasn’t there a village here? How fares the king?

She was not well-versed enough in diplomacy to read him. She felt like a blind man scrabbling down a cliff. Worse yet, Halcyon was of no help; every time she tried to catch his attention, he avoided her gaze blatantly.

Rude, she seethed. Leaving me to row this sinking vessel alone.

They reached Mythaven’s frontal gatehouse, a grand structure of pale stone with vibrant flags drifting in the evening breeze. The guards at the gate raised their spears, but relaxed when they saw Karis and Halcyon.

“Lady Caelute, Lord Yuden,” they said, saluting. “May we inquire…?”

“At ease,” Karis commanded. “These are envoys from the nation of Atlantis. They are to be treated as honored guests.”

The guards stared uncomprehendingly for a solid minute, and Karis could not fault them. No one could possibly have expected the sudden arrival of a foreign nation. They probably would have thought her jesting in poor taste, were she not Karis Caelute, famed Second Hunter of the guild and rumored to be incapable of humor. (She was entirely capable of humor. It wasn’t her fault that most people were not funny.)

“Ah,” said the guard on the right with a young, round face. He bowed hesitantly. “Welcome to Airlea.”

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” said Simon. Was that a sarcastic jab? Karis couldn’t tell.

She ushered the Atlantean delegation through the gate. The city was quiet in the stillness of pre-dawn, cold fog gathering in the deep crevices between gabled homes. The few townspeople out on the streets gawked openly at the foreign troupe of soldiers and their striking, shimmering accouterments before they scuttled on their way. Simon looked around curiously, but the rest of the Atlantean warriors kept their gazes fixed ahead in an eerie show of discipline. Have they no curiosity? Karis wondered. Or do they refuse to lower their guard in this hostile territory? As usual, they were impossible to read. Perhaps she had spent too long out of society. Perhaps withdrawing from aristocratic gatherings had dulled her wits.

The delegation proceeded through the broad avenues of Mythaven, passing vacant shops and silent taverns. Under Karis’s direction, it moved from the main thoroughfare to the wealthier roads that surrounded the royal palace, which sat in the very center of the city. In the daytime, the palace would have shimmered under the sun, a beautiful tapestry of arches and stained glass windows, but beneath the dim glow of mana lamps, it was closer to a looming shadow.

“Many years since I’ve last been here, yet some things never change,” Simon said cryptically, looking up at the darkened palace.

“You’ve…been here before, Lord Envoy?” Karis said.

“Not as an envoy, but as a scholar.”

Well, that certainly made her a fool, explaining things that he already knew. But Simon read her expression and only smiled.

“Not to worry, I didn’t see much of the country. I studied animals.”

“Animals,” Karis repeated suspiciously. An awfully innocuous topic for an Atlantean to travel the ocean.

“Meat and furs are a precious commodity, Lady Caelute. Particularly when your nation is at the bottom of the ocean and lacks the fields to nourish flocks.”

Karis hadn’t considered such a restriction, but it did seem inconvenient. “Would you not have an endless bounty in the sea itself? The shellfish, the kelp…”

Simon’s smile did not falter. “Airlea possesses a land blessed with fertility by the leylines, yet you still desire the variety of seafood. It’s a coveted privilege to not tire of what one eats.”

Oh, they were most certainly looking to invade. Wonderful. Just what Karis’s struggling country needed.

Shockingly, Halcyon chose that moment to finally open his mouth. “And did you find a solution in your studies, Lord Envoy?”

Simon should have seized that moment to accuse Halcyon of his taciturn silence and overall breach of behavior, but he did not. He only fixed Halcyon with a strange look. “A solution was indeed found, Lord Yuden.”

Halcyon’s fingers clamped on his glaive. “Will you act on it?”

Asters forfend, did he have to be so obvious? Karis swore she was about to witness a war unfolding before her very eyes. Before Halcyon could inflame the situation further, she stepped forward with a disarming smile.

“Here we are,” she said quickly. She gestured before her. “The Guild of the Royal Hunters, the greatest soldiers of the nation.”

Thankfully, Simon was distracted—and, in Karis’s opinion, for good reason. The building before them was beautifully constructed of oak and pale stone, carefully pruned vines flourishing around the walls with little white blossoms. Most of the magistracy buildings boasted this sophisticated style of architecture, for Airlea’s origins were tied with nature. With Aster Arthus’s kingship ordained by a sword from a stone and a lady of a lake, nature had just as much a part in Airlean history as humanity. Even the nation’s crest was a tree, the natural bridge between the air and the lea.

As Karis opened the guild door for the delegation to pass through, she sent a pointed glare in Halcyon’s direction. What do you think you’re doing?

Halcyon lowered his gaze and passed by her without a word. Insufferable man.

The interior of the guild was much more approachable than its exterior, dressed like a well-off tavern with coffered ceilings, iron chandeliers, and round tables of maple wood. It was mostly empty at this late hour, but a handful of Hunters were spread throughout the room, some drinking from tankards, others muttering to themselves while flipping coins. The few sober ones glanced up, only to send the unfamiliar visitors a sizzling glower. Hardly a flattering image of the nation’s best.

Karis ignored them and marched right through the guild to the opposite end, where the door to the guildmaster’s study lay. Any other magistrate would have long retired for the evening, but there was no doubt in Karis’s mind as she threw the door wide open.

“You could knock, Caelute,” said a woman’s dry voice from within the study.

“We’ve important guests, Guildmaster,” said Karis by way of reply. She stepped aside and gestured Simon through the door. The delegation filtered through while Halcyon took a place in the far corner.

The study was unassuming, as magistrate studies went. Instead of gilded ornaments or burnished lions, the study was crammed with towering shelves packed tightly with books and papers. More than a magistrate’s study, it looked like a national archive. In a way, it was. Those papers were records, Karis knew—battle reports, contracts, wills and wishes of the dead. More of the guildmaster’s time was spent organizing papers and meetings than organizing battles.

Behind the study’s solid oaken desk, Guildmaster Nicolina Cotton was seated in a high-backed ornate chair that was far too large for her. Not that the chair was particularly massive. No, at just over four feet tall, Nicolina’s stature was exceptionally diminutive. Only her grey eyes, piercing yet shadowed with darker memories, hinted at her true age.

“Pardon the intrusion,” said Karis, “but it could not wait.” She did not bother to ask what Nicolina was doing in the study so long after work hours had concluded. Sometimes she wondered if the woman ever slept.

Nicolina’s gaze took in the newcomers—the flowing scalemail and harsh crowns of the Atlantean soldiers, Simon’s prestigious garb, Halcyon’s tight expression. She leaned back and knitted her fingers together.

“Pardon the lukewarm welcome, Lord Envoy,” she said evenly. “It’s been some time since we last received a delegation.”

Simon smiled in his placid, unreadable way. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “We did not send word ahead of time. You must be the guildmaster. Owen Gallagher?”

Nicolina’s mouth twitched, as if she very much wanted to burst out into laughter. “That’s who I look like, is it?”

Thankfully, Simon did not look offended, but rather amused. “It’s not my place to assume,” he said. “But if I am honest, I was rather surprised to find the guildmaster had shrunk two feet.”

Owen Gallagher. The Guildmaster from over a decade ago. Karis had been too young to know him particularly well, but she did know one thing—he had once been Nicolina’s fiancé, now dead.

Still, no dismay crossed Nicolina’s features. “I am Nicolina Cotton, Guildmaster and Magistrate of the Royal Hunters. I welcome you to Airlea, flourishing kingdom of growth.”

Simon bowed politely. “I am Simon Kourios, delegate of Senator Xiphia Kairhea Vascea, Prime Consul to the Warmonger Dominion, here to reestablish diplomatic relations between our countries. Might I be granted audience to the king’s hall?”

The king’s hall has been closed for a decade, Karis thought to herself, but that was no information to divulge to a foreign power. Since the death of his wife, Airlea’s king had slowly spiraled into a space between madness and indolence. The crisis of the Great Storm only served to further separate him as he shut the palace gates, refusing to surface when his citizens needed him most. Nicolina and the other six national magistrates had been left in a blind scramble, holding the country together by a thread.

But Nicolina did not seem fazed at Simon’s request. “I will send word to the palace at once,” she said.

The palace. More like the crown prince, the only royal left who seemed to care anything for the state of the country. The king would certainly send away any messenger requesting his presence.

It would truly be a miracle if Airlea could escape this encounter without a declaration of war.

“Do you have a ship that needs docking?” Nicolina continued, drawing her feathered pen like a sword.

A ship! Karis flushed from embarrassment. Of course the Atlantean delegation wouldn’t have swum the entire distance between their countries. And yet, because she hadn’t seen a ship, Karis hadn’t offered them a place to dock. She must have looked like an insensitive brute, or at the very least, an idiot. Thank the Asters that Nicolina had been alive at a time when Atlantis and Airlea had traded freely.

Simon seemed unperturbed and merely nodded. “We weighed anchor off the southeastern coast. We did not wish to impose a craft within any landwalker borders.”

“The gesture is appreciated. Go and bring your craft to dock. I’ll clear it with the Magistracy of Commerce.”

Simon bowed and gestured to his delegation. In an impressive show of discipline, they turned as one and marched out the door, footfalls in synchronization as they disappeared in the night.

Nicolina waited for several long moments before she spoke. “Well,” she said, her voice immediately falling to a drier tone, “that’s certainly one way to wake me up.”

“They appeared without warning while Yuden and I were hunting stragglers,” Karis said. “I apologize for the late notice, Guildmaster.”

“Speaking of Yuden,” Nicolina said, looking right at where Halcyon loomed in the corner, “you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I have nothing helpful to add,” he said blandly.

Nicolina waited for him to continue, but he made it clear that he did not intend to speak.

“Well,” she eventually said to break his long silence, “I suppose we shouldn’t be that surprised. Atlantis is one of the world’s oldest civilizations and the birthplace of magitech. It’s already survived plunging to the bottom of the ocean. The question is—what do we do about it?”

“Must we do anything in particular?” said Karis. “They will likely pose their request soon enough.”

“You have a point. No country would expend the resources to send out an expedition unless they had good reason. Not in this climate.” Nicolina rubbed her chin. “In the meantime, we’ll just prove to be good hosts. Caelute, can you fetch Fairwen?”

“Fairwen? Azalea Fairwen?”

Karis knew the shy village girl well. As a fledgling Hunter, she’d earned a name for herself just months ago when she’d slain a Class Five beast, saving Airlea from certain doom. But since then, Azalea had disappeared from the public eye, turning to indulge in quieter hobbies—baking pastries, mostly, and tending houseplants.

“I have no idea how long it’ll take to find the crown prince,” Nicolina said. “Until then, we’ll need a guide to take the delegate on a delightful tour through the city.”

“But why Fairwen?”

“Have you explored Mythaven? Have you gone anywhere other than between the battlefield and the guild?”

Karis opened her mouth, then closed it.

“Fairwen will enjoy the assignment. She loves the city dearly, and she has a hospitable spirit.” Nicolina tapped her papers into a clean pile and slid them into a drawer. “Also, I’m trying to transition her out of hunting and into diplomatic work, so it’d be a good opportunity.”

“Diplomatic work!” Karis exclaimed. “But her marksmanship is unmatched!”

“And she hates killing things. What am I supposed to do?”

Karis sullenly acknowledged that this was a fair point.

“She’s not leaving the Hunter’s Guild,” Nicolina said. “She has integrity, wits, and an insane memory for bylaws. I fully intend to train her up as the next guildmaster. And that means getting her practice in diplomacy.”

The next guildmaster. Nicolina had sat upon that chair for as long as Karis could remember. It was hard to imagine a day when she was no longer there, when someone else would take her place. But if there had to be a replacement, then Nicolina was correct: Azalea Fairwen would make a strong one.

“Very well,” Karis said. “I’ll find Fairwen and inform her of the assignment.” She nodded her head. “Good evening, Guildmaster.”

“Try to get some sleep,” Halcyon added. The only thing he’d bothered to say.

Karis stepped out of the guildmaster’s study and proceeded through the tavern area, keeping her stride even and unaffected. Once she was outdoors, she shuffled aside and waited until Halcyon passed through the doorway. She seized his arm, pulling him around the edge of the building for privacy.

“Yuden, what is going on in that head of yours?” she whispered fiercely.

Halcyon’s eyes cut to her, and she nearly stepped back. It had been a long time since she had seen him look so cold and foreboding. He had warmed to her over the years, so much that she’d forgotten this was the image most people saw. The image she had first seen.

“What do you mean?” he said shortly.

He wished to be cold? Then two could play at that game. Karis drew herself upright, fixing him with a frigid look.

“You’ve made no attempt to hide your hatred of the Atlantean envoy,” she said.

“I’m not a diplomat.”

“You could have afforded common courtesy.” When Halcyon didn’t respond, she pressed forward. “If you believe the delegation to be planning mischief, then now would be a good time for you to share.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

His gaze turned scathing. “Not your problem.”

Karis’s jaw slackened as Halcyon fired his windsoles and leapt away. Well! She didn’t know why she had bothered. If he was so keen on being miserable, then she would simply let him. What did it matter to her? Nothing. Halcyon had made that expressly clear.

Fuming, Karis turned her steps to the south sector of Mythaven. Let that troublesome boy be on his own. She had a task to fulfill.

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