Brian Rathbone: Regent

Chase shared her frustration. Since the end of what was now called the Herald War, it seemed every bit of news from the Greatland was tied in some way to a man most called Thorakis the Builder. Some called him Thorakis the Savior, but that name was less popular here on the Godfist. Regardless, the man's accomplishments were undeniable, and already people around the world, including present company, were trying to figure out how to duplicate some of his feats. The establishment of an enormous fishery had been his initial achievement. Feeding the masses gave him the ability to effect great change. Every achievement brought more people to his cause, and those people further increased his ability to achieve the otherwise unachievable.

"Whatever the cause," Brother Vaughn finally said. "I don't think we can expect any help from the Greatland any time soon. I suggest we continue as we have been, and we are bound to discover new things over time."

His statement was greeted by silence. It sounded all too familiar, and since most of their meetings ended on a similar note, it did not inspire confidence.

"On Catrin's behalf," Chase said, "I'll note that we still have approximately a thousand herald globes. With no sign of Kyrien, we don't expect to have more any time soon. I suggest we hold on to them. If we can't produce more, then we'll need to get more for the ones we have. We've orders for ten times the amount we have, so it won't take long before the offering prices start to go up. I also know that Catrin wants several hundred to remain within the hold at all times, so there really are very few that remain to be sold."

"We'll have to keep an even closer watch on those we have," Brother Vaughn said. "I know those within the hold are trustworthy, but greed can make people do things they normally would not."

"Agreed," Chase said. "Based on Prios's last report, there are no places available within the academy, but people continue to arrive on every ship in from the Greatland and the Falcon Isles. Now we even have ships coming from Garaway and Foss. We need to figure out what to do with these people."

It was an increasingly troubling problem. Most of those who came seeking entrance to the Herald's Academy were turned away, and the majority had no way to return home. The fact was that most of them were misfits and outcasts, sent to the Godfist by their families with the anticipation that they would not return. In the absence of any quantifiable method of judging each person's potential, the academy had simply accepted all those who came until there were more than Prios and his staff could handle. After that, everyone was turned away with few exceptions. Generally only those who had manifested powerful abilities on their own were admitted. In some cases students of less potential had to be excused. It was a difficult and disconcerting process.

"We also need to figure out who will maintain order until Prios can return to his duties," Chase added, and again silence filled the hall. "And most importantly, we need to figure out a way to help Catrin and Prios. There must be something we can do, and Brother Vaughn, I think you are the man to figure out exactly what that is. Unfortunately I also think you are the man to run the academy in Prios's absence."

"I'll do everything I can to achieve both, but I'm going to need some help."

"We'll do what we can to get you what you need," Chase said.

"I've an idea," Mirta said. "I know I'm no expert, but I remember the tale of Catrin's astral travel to find the Firstland. She had no stone and metal throne, as she had at Ohmahold, and she became lost. Was it not the dragons who assisted her return? Did she not say that they aided her?"

The rest of the group seemed dubious, but it was Brother Vaughn who gave their concerns a voice. "While our memories agree, I don't see how that will help us at this particular time. Catrin has been calling out to Kyrien for years, and he has not returned."

"But we could try," Mirta interrupted. "Perhaps this is something the academy could help with. Maybe they can call out to the dragons and ask for help. What harm can it cause?"

Brother Vaughn nodded slowly, his deep brown eyes thoughtful. "I don't suppose I see any harm in it, and it might help the people to feel they are doing something productive. We must, of course, continue to keep Catrin and Prios's actual condition secret. Perhaps we could just tell everyone that we need them to call the dragons here so we can obtain more dragon ore."

"Maybe you should just throw the dragons a party," Martik added with a smirk.

"I hadn't thought of that!" Mirta exclaimed.

Martik rolled his eyes.

Black sails crowded the horizon beneath a roiling mass of darkness. Unlike any storm clouds Pelivor had ever seen, towering formations curled in on themselves and emanated malevolence, as if the clouds themselves wished to destroy him and everyone else aboard the Slippery Eel. Even if the storm were simply a storm, the fleet of black ships drew ever closer, and Pelivor could feel their intent. It made his knees tremble.

"You just need to believe you can do it," Kenward repeated, as if those words could somehow convince Pelivor that he could do something that only the most powerful person on all of Godsland could do. Though he considered Catrin a friend, she was the Herald of Istra, and he was nothing compared to her. Though he'd shown the slightest spark of talent with Istra's powers, it had been only that, literally, a spark.

"I'm trying," Pelivor said, doing his best not to let his annoyance put an edge on his voice. Though Kenward was the captain of the Slippery Eel, he was also a friend. Cold air pressed his loose-fitting silks to him, and his normally tight and deeply tanned skin drew even tighter, making him look as if he were carved from stone.

"I know, but-"

He didn't have to finish the statement; both could see the darkness closing in on them. The towering clouds looked as if they would swallow the world, and sudden bursts of lightning illuminated them from within, dark silhouettes standing out against the temporarily lit backdrop. Pelivor took a deep breath and tried to calm himself with no success. Lives depended on him, and he had no reason to believe he would succeed. All he had to go by were Kenward's descriptions of what Catrin had done, and those were decidedly vague. Perhaps if she were here, she could teach him, but she wasn't here. He also didn't have her dragon ore figurine or staff to draw energy from; the only power within his grasp was what he could draw from the air around him. He could feel it, smell it, and even taste it, but he had no idea how to gather it or focus it. He might as well try to gather fog with a bucket.

Walking back to the bow, Pelivor couldn't help feeling like a charlatan as he spread his arms wide. The crew remained silent, watching him, willing him to succeed, knowing another failure would likely mean death for them all. That thought made Pelivor ill. When Grubb approached with a mug of aromatic broth, it was all Pelivor could do to force it down.

"It'll cure what ails ya," the ship's cook said, his voice steady and a half smile on his face. Pelivor wished he shared the man's confidence, and it must have shown. "Don't worry. That man's been trying to kill me for years, and he ain't succeeded yet," he said, jerking a thumb in Kenward's direction.

Handing the empty mug back to Grubb, Pelivor hoped this day would not change that. Ever since they'd left the Greatland bound for the Godfist, loaded with precious cargo, he'd had a bad feeling in his gut, and since the appearance of the black fleet, his fears had only grown.

Kenward paced from bow to stern and tried to avoid making eye contact with Pelivor, knowing the man was near his breaking point and there was nothing he could say to ease the burden. For years the Slippery Eel had been among the fastest ships on the water and had evaded even the most determined pursuers, but she was weighed down, and the ships behind them moved faster than any he'd seen before. He wondered again if the unnatural storm drove them to such great speed or if some new design allowed them to cut the waves faster than ships that had come before. Using his looking glass, he could see nothing that distinguished those ships from any other, and he came, once again, to the conclusion that some malevolent force drove them forward. The sense of impending evil was the most telling factor, and Kenward felt a rare wave of fear overtake him. Despite his efforts to hide the fear from his crew, he knew they could sense it, and that alone was enough to put them all on edge.