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Taylor — Bostkirk

While Kasper checked in with home through the mirror, Taylor collected his loot: the four statues and everything that spilled out from their inventory, including enough trapped souls to fill a sack. 

The totems weren't exactly tiny, and he wasn't sure how they needed to be stored. That magician had kept them loose in his inventory, apparently without issue, but that guy was a maniac necromancer. Taylor decided to keep the bag with his monster parts and consult with Rasmusen later. Better yet, maybe Death was willing to answer some questions. These souls belonged with Her, not chained to Aarden, so perhaps they counted as a godly topic and not a worldly one.

On a whim, Taylor took a closer look at the coach. Silas and his gang had run non-stop from Midway to Bostkirk at impressive speed, and there was something strange about that dragonid. It stood unnaturally still and, now that he looked closer, it wasn't breathing. It didn't move or complain when Taylor placed a hand on its side and felt the conjured body. Words of command wove into the construct: words to bring it to life, make it run, make it fight, and…

"Death take you," he said in Mi'iri. The dragonid fell as if slain on the spot, and its body dispersed like a disbanded spirit. In its place lay a totem the size of Taylor's palm, carved from jade.

You have unlocked [Soul Handling]
You may purchase [Soul Handling] for 300 skill points.
Quest: [Free Imprisoned Souls 0/2]. Release trapped souls to Death's embrace. Gives significant rewards that increase with additional sets. Requires [Soul Handling].

He stared at the notifications. Three hundred points was a massive price. A class user earned six hundred by the time they reached the end of third tier, not counting bonus points for major quests and titles. Taylor hadn't spent any of his so far, preferring to accumulate "potential" that magnified his effect on other people. If he took the trade, then his teaching would be less effective.

Then again, this was precisely what skill points were for: obtaining skills he couldn't get on his own. He was sorely tempted just to hit the button and not worry about the price. Here was an ability he'd never had before, one he might be able to carry forward into future lives. It called to him.

Taylor put the dragonid stone with the others and stuffed the carriage in his satchel.

What would he do with Soul Handling, aside from freeing the trapped souls in his possession without using dangerous chemicals? Was there any legitimate use for the skill? Maybe if he ran into ghosts or other soul-bound undead, he could banish them more effectively. He hesitated to think any further than that. The possibilities were borderline disturbing, from resurrection to speaking with ancestors to instant death spells to binding souls permanently into constructs.

"Why am I not surprised to find you at the center of this?"

Tylor startled, and stared at the man talking to him. He wasn't one of Keeva's people.

"Barnard?" the man reminded him, "Minister of City Affairs?"

"I remember now." Taylor slipped the totem into his bag. "I was thinking. It's been a long day."

"I'm sure. I have reports of mass monster deaths in Crossroad, a kidnapped child, and alarms going off in my neighborhood from extreme and suspicious mana use. I come over here and find Keeva has acquired some gruesome new statuary with faces I recognize, and not in a good way. And here you are, surrounded by spirits, turning a dragonid into a rock." He shook his dismayed head. "Care to fill a guy in, before the governor demands an explanation?"

"Sure, but not here. I don't trust Augberg hospitality, their excellent sandwiches notwithstanding."

Taylor brightened as a new idea took hold of him. Among the items he'd recovered was a communication mirror, much like his own but standard IEF issue. Maybe the governor would be willing to do more than take a report.

"Barnard, how does Governor Edgcomb feel about imperials running amok in her province, defying the will of the emperor?"

"She loves it. Hunting wayward imperials is her favorite sport. Why? Is all of this someone's unsanctioned operation?"

Taylor brightened. "Have I got a story for you…"

Taylor and Kasper sat on a hard bench in an empty hallway in the governor's palace, near a pair of guards and double doors that led to the "small" audience chamber. Normally, they'd never get near that door without a summons from the governor. But tonight they had drafted in behind Minister Barnard, who parked them there while he passed through the guarded doors.

"Mind your manners with this one," Taylor warned his little brother.

"Should I say nice things to her, too?" Flattery was a new skill, and Kasper was discovering its many uses.

"Best not to, unless you mean it. She'll sniff out puffery like a bad cheese. Estfold has had plenty of worse governors and not many better ones. So let's stay on her good side. If she speaks to you, address her as Your Excellency."

They were in the hallway long enough for the day to catch up to them. Kasper lay down on the bench with his head in Taylor's lap and dozed off. Taylor himself started to drift, but woke suddenly when the doors opened and someone came out to get them: Enzo, the governor's elderly catkin magician. His fur used to be orange, but it had mostly turned gray.

"Of course you're in the middle of this."

Taylor smirked at the old magician. "You're not even the first person to say that today."

Enzo held out his hand. "I need to examine the mirror before I let Her Excellency handle it."

"Help yourself." Taylor popped it from his inventory into the magician's hand.

Enzo opened and closed it, turned it over, and muttered spells at it. He waved a crooked silver wire at it, and then a bronze one, and finally an iron one. 

"Leave your satchel here. As agreed, you may watch but do not speak. You will stand where you are told to stand, and you will not move unless bidden." The magician eyed them both. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Kasper, while Taylor merely nodded.

They proceed together into the audience room, where a large round mirror dominated the decor. It had a smaller mirror mounted in front of it, with a mount that fit an IEF coms device perfectly. It was a viewing device that let several people participate on both ends without crowding around a tiny bit of glass. The entire assemblage was mounted on wheels.

Enzo pointed to a small circular rug off to one side, and Taylor took his place without a word, dragging Kasper with him. The magician put the mirror into Governor Syndony Edgcomb's waiting hands. She mounted it on the viewing platform herself. She stood still for a few seconds, either to compose herself or savor the moment. After a breath, she activated the mirror.

They waited uncertainly. There was a chance the other end wasn't listening for the chime. They might be calling at an unexpected time. Or Princess Rebecca had learned her plan had failed and ditched the incriminating device. She could have lost the mirror and was unable to answer it.

Just as Taylor began to think she wouldn't answer, Rebecca's image snapped to life in the big mirror, facing the governor. Her hair was as red as he remembered, but her confidence had lost its edge. She scanned the Iron Lady's unfamiliar face.

Taylor's hand closed on Kasper's, a silent reminder not to move or speak.

"Who are you? Where is Silas?"

"Silas is dead," said the governor with an ugly sneer, "and he took many lives with him. But don't fret, little sweet, I have your treat right here." She motioned for Kasper to come to her, but Kasper didn't move. Taylor had to whisper, "play along," and shove him forward.

The moment the cub got close enough to the governor, she grabbed him roughly and held him in an uncomfortable headlock. "How much is he worth to you?"

Rebecca paled at the mention of the dead, then looked off to the side, as if waiting for instructions.

"Syndony," said a masculine voice, "is that you?"

"Well, that's a disappointment," she complained, "I've caught someone who's already caught." She let Kasper go with a kindly pat on his head, then bent over to point at a tea cart at the other end of the room. Kasper ran for the food, leaving Taylor behind.

Rebecca was hauled aside by armored hands, and a regal visage took her place. The governor bowed before his image. "Your Imperial Majesty."

"Governor. Good to see you haven't missed a step. What's this about Silas being dead?"

"As I understand it, Silas and his three closest are statues now. If you're in the market for gruesome garden ornaments, I could ship them to you."

"Hmmm. I think not. I have basements full of ugly statuary. How did it happen? Did paladins get them?"

"The envoy caught up with them first. He surprised Silas's party and dispatched them in a single move. It seems we found the limit to the young man's mercy. There are many lives to account for, and not all of them were inconsequential."

Enzo whispered into Kasper's ear and pressed a tray of treats and sandwiches into his hands, then sent him running in Taylor's direction, across the viewing mirror's range. Emperor Osmund's face flickered with amusement as the boy absconded with so much food. But what he didn't see was Kasper leading Taylor away, out of the room.

"He said we should go," Kasper clarified, once they were through the doors, "before the emperor figured out you were there."

Kasper was welcomed home as a hero: praised, toasted, and hugged until he squirmed. Taylor thanked everyone, disbanded all his spirits except the Army of Lightness, and sat his favorite spirits and mortals around the dinner table. He even included the confirmed spy, since the imperials were so keen on keeping tabs on him. 

In hindsight, it was entirely possible that Emperor Osmund guessed Taylor was with the governor but chose not to talk to him. They had both ignored his presence, conveniently avoiding any conversation that might end in confrontation. An emperor's mildest wish was a command, and Taylor was the kind of person who would say no. It might be better for everyone if the two of them never locked eyes.

"This house isn't safe. How quickly can we pack it up?" Taylor asked his staff.

"If you're carrying the boxes," said Chambers, "we can leave in a day. Where are we going?"

"The wilderness, at first. I have a very safe place where I can put up a house for a while. I'll help you make runs into various towns for whatever we need, every few days. But that's temporary. Our goal is to live somewhere you'll be safe from imperials, zealots, and others. I need some time to work out the details.

"Rasmusen, Faith, Briallen, you may tell your masters I remain their ally. I don't hold any grudges against the imperium or the church over this. But I may be unavailable for a little while. I need to think of my household right now.

"Cecilia…," he began.

"I'm out," said Cecilia. The table's eyes turned toward her. "Thank you, but I'm not going."

"You're too vulnerable on your own. You should come with me. It's not safe otherwise."

"It's never safe." 

Taylor was about to object, was marshalling reasons to convince her, but Cecilia reached across the table for his hand and held it. 

"Listen, Brother. The place where I grew up is overrun with monsters. Half of the people I used to know are dead, and the rest are scattered across the empire. Our brother is dead. Our mother is dead. Our father is a criminal. My fiancé was a brute. No matter how hard I tried to believe otherwise, I have never been safe. But now, for the first time in my life, I'm doing what I want to do, where I want to do it, with the friends I choose. 

"I love that you came and got me, and I'd go with you again in a heartbeat. But I'm not giving up my life at the Academy. I won't be safe, not if it means living in a cage again."

Taylor squeezed her hand. He badly wanted to force her into a deep sleep, carry her to the Other Place, and lock her in. But if Cecilia didn't want to go, he shouldn't force her. She had the right to choose her own life.

"I understand." He pulled his hand from hers before he could change his mind. It would be too easy to force her.

Faith stood. "I'll start packing my things and let Mom know we're leaving."

"Do it tomorrow," Taylor suggested. "Let's have a feast tonight. I'm sure we can get a table somewhere."

"Don't you dare!" Cook stood and tightened her apron. "There are dishes I have never shown you, Young Master, and I'll not be robbed by your generosity! You'll have your feast ready in under an hour. Blake, open the wine cabinet! Chambers, the good porcelain! Jalil, where's that instrument of yours?"

Taylor retreated upstairs while the preparations were made. He wasn't nearly as calm about the situation, now that the danger had passed. He'd killed four people without batting an eye. He'd had good reasons to do it. Even Briallen didn't question his decision. But his hands were trembling, and he felt an urge to dump Silas and his gang out of his bag and into an ocean so he would never need to think of them again.

Objectively, he knew it wasn't reasonable to be upset about the deaths of such bad people. He'd killed much larger groups of people in his past lives and it seldom bothered him this much. But a new body meant a new brain, and big first experiences engraved themselves deeply into gray matter. He would never be truly rid of Ophelia because she was the first friendly face ever to show up at his door, and his first (and only, he hoped) childish crush. He would never truly be rid of Otis because of all the primal hopes he dashed on their first meeting. He would never forget the first place he found where he was at peace, by Saria's stream. Or the first time he stood among a crowd of townsfolk in Mourne, and they didn't instantly hate him. Killing someone for the first time was on the same list.

Ophelia caught up with him before he could close his door. "I want to come with you," she said, looking every bit as beautiful as the first day he laid eyes on her. He had grown since then, and he was slightly taller than her now. He knew the number of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the exact shape of her ears. He had the insane thought that he should kiss her.

He invited her into his room and shut the door behind her, followed by a privacy barrier. He put distance between them under the pretext of unloading the items he recovered from the mercenaries. He tried not to look at her, while he was intensely aware that she was watching him.

She stood with her hands clasped before her, like Chambers did when she was expecting orders. 

Taylor placed the soul-binding stones onto his workbench one by one, arranged in a grid.

"You're going to offer to serve me," he predicted, "but not for my sake. I know what you really want: a path to Arc-Home."

"I can help you. I have served in every provincial government and client state. I know governors and ministers all over the Gordian Empire. In the arcaic world, I know all the great craftsmen, sages, magicians, and politicians. You're stuck on your Uroda project, right? I can get you unstuck. Let me prove my worth, and then decide."

Such confidence! When they first met, he had imagined she was very young for an arc, a woman just beginning her career. An ingénue. But she could be three hundred years old, and he wouldn't be surprised. He had had dinner with her large family in Bostkirk a few times, but he'd never sussed out exactly how everyone was related. Now that he thought about it, her exact place in that clan was a mystery to him.

"The path to Arc-Home isn't a straight one. It will take years. If you're going to work for me, you will swear an oath to keep my secrets. Fair warning, the last time someone broke an oath with me, it caused the Silent Season."

The arc didn't hesitate. "I'm in."

"Maybe you should think about it a little more."

"I said, I'm in. Sir."