Miniarc-Capital in Crisis 10
Sir Quintana gazed on the Summer Quarter with a mixture of relief and wonder. The modest house he grew up in held fond memories but he was too eager to escape the struggles of peasantry to ever consider it his home. The first year after he joined the royal army, he shared a room in the barracks with the other three members of his squad during training. Afterwards, his missions kept him on the move, living out of tents and the odd inn.
When he was accepted into the royal knights and given a room on the grounds, it was the first place he’d considered home. He balked at the political games that transpired between the palace and its spires, but he had grown to love the luxury, the lavish balls, and the deference. He had fought long and hard to join the elites and he enjoyed every moment of his reward.
When he was younger, he saw himself building a life at the king’s side. Perhaps marrying one of the lesser noble women sent to the palace to serve the women of the royal family, establish himself as a true noble. Raise a son to carry on his name, maybe sell himself to one of the prissy knight orders of the capital and train a few brats who wanted to fight their way to a better life, same as him.
Things didn’t turn out the way he’d hoped but he loved the palace all the same. He respected the king and cared for his family, especially the children he had seen grown up. He’d even helped trained Dowager, the first prince, sparking his zeal for martial arts and appreciation for the soldiers of the kingdom.
That was why his failure killed him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the king, the royal family, or the country.
The designers of the capital were fond of their walls. A wall of spotless white stone surrounded the palace and its courtyard. Nearly two centuries ago, a more fanciful king commissioned a famous artist to paint the wall with drawings of beautiful creatures and powerful monsters. He died under mysterious circumstances less than a year later, his younger brother assuming the throne. A far more pragmatic king, he sent away the artist and washed away the “disgrace”. The only thing left of the debacle were a few etches in the stone where the artist had chiseled into it to give his work more depth.
Two men dressed in golden armor stood before the grand arched entrance, the double doors thrown open. They were left open during the day, as there was far too much traffic to bother with the lengthy process of opening and closing them. The crown trusted its knights, handpicked from the best the kingdom had to offer, to provide ample security.
Joining their ranks meant more than being able to swing a sword or launch a spell. The royal knights secured royal banquets, noble weddings, and other events that required them to be fluent in the customs of the highborn. They were taught the names of all the important characters and how to discern the motives behind their often misleadingly flamboyant behaviors. No one untoward tricked their way into the king’s home. Sentry duty was one of the most important tasks of the royal guard, superseded only by shadowing members of the royal family.
Their golden helms hid their features, leaving their identities a mystery. A raised gauntlet halted him as he approached, one of the sentries stepping forward to examine his carriage while the other offered Sir Quintana a sharp nod of acknowledgement.
One of the younger knights then. The older members who’d served alongside him wouldn’t have bothered stopping him, but he didn’t expect them to be on the gate. Standing around for hours was a job for the young. It was a great way to cowl egos.
“Identity and reason for visiting?” the second sentry asked while the first opened the door to his carriage.
“Manuel Reis Quintana. I am here to see the king.” From his pocket, he pulled out a small golden badge. Engraved on the front was the head of a buck beneath a sun, the old crest of the royal family. Channeling a little mana into it made the badge shine, a simple fire spell and proof of authenticity.
Something issued to every member of the royal knights, only to be used amongst themselves. It was the fastest way to confirm the identity of one of their members for those in the know and allowed them to travel without carrying extensive papers detailing their assignments, which could be dangerous. Even after retiring, the king had given him special permission to retain custody of the badge, as he often handled “delicate” tasks for his old friend.
“Welcome to the palace, Sir Quintana.”
The second sentry retreated from the carriage and they both stepped aside. They took another step as he cracked the reins and his fevids flared up, radiating an intense heat as they started forward, trotting into the palace’s main courtyard.
He took care to stick to the middle of the road. While impolite, he thought it better he be a small inconvenience than allow his beasts of burden to accidentally eradicate the delicate artistry of the royal gardener. Luckily, there was no one else entering or leaving the palace grounds, despite him spending a little extra time on the road in order to reach the special stables capable of housing his preferred mounts.
Someone waited for him at the door to the stables as he exited, a gray-haired man with a soldier’s posture and the grooming of a nobleman, dressed in an impeccable black and white suit. Sir Quintana grimaced seeing him but quickly covered it with a neutral mask. “Ed.”
Edward, aide to the king and insufferable nag, sniffed imperiously. “The king is awaiting you.”
“I would like a moment to—"
“His Majesty is aware that you have been traveling extensively but this is a matter that cannot wait. If you would follow me.”
The manservant turned on his heel, fully expecting Sir Quintana to follow. And, despite having the power to snap the other man in two, he did, for Edward spoke with the voice of the king, which was a power of its own. A prime example of a man given power through a title, though perhaps not entirely undeserved. He had competently aided the king and his father for decades, a rock in a place where loyalties ebbed and flowed like the tide.
When most thought of the palace, they imagined a grand building filled to the brim with gold and priceless treasures. They couldn’t be blamed, as most had never set foot on the palace grounds. There was extensive wealth on display, from the plush carpets, masterwork paintings, and banners woven from expensive silk, but foremost the palace was a defensive structure. The luxuries were measures to soften the harsh stone and narrow corridors meant to hold off a siege.
Due to their haste, they didn’t see many faces and spared no greetings for those they did. Sir Quintana felt a wave of nostalgia as they ascended to the second floor. He had spent most of his tenure as a royal knight in these halls, as it held many of the more functional rooms in the palace, including the king’s study.
That was where Edward led him. He knocked sharply before announcing, “I have brought Manuel.”
“Enter!” a powerful voice called.
Edward held open the door, allowing the knight to proceed him into the room. It was the same as he remembered, the stone floor covered in a plush red carpet, the fearsome skull of the drakkon slain by Dunwayne on the left wall as a reminder of humanity’s strength, and the other wall covered by bookcases as a reminder of humanity’s knowledge. Knowledge that had been found wanting.
Sebastian kor Harvest looked up from the papers on his desk and reclined in his chair. He had the frame of a soldier, with strong arms and broad shoulders, despite having spent no time on the battlefield. His face had a few more wrinkles and his white hair, a distinct trait of the noble family, had a few more streaks of gray where age had dulled the color’s vibrancy, but the biggest change was his eyes.
The blue irises were made even more vivid by the reddened whites beside them and lacked their usual energy. It would be unbecoming to mention it, but Sir Quintana was sure if he took a wet rag to the man’s face, it would come away with the powder used to hide the dark bags under them.
Still, Sebastian mustered a smile for him. “Reis.”
The knight bowed at the waist. “Your Majesty.”
“We are beyond formalities, my friend.” Sir Quintana looked up as he heard a chair being pushed back. The king moved toward him with a hand outstretched. The knight clasped it, smiling ruefully as his friend clapped his shoulder. “You got a chance to see Bobby, yeah? How is he?”
“Good as can be expected. That mess…it hit him hard but he’s strong. Stronger than he knows.”
“With four affinities, it’s only a matter of time before he is stronger than us all.”
Sir Quintana fought the urge to frown. That wasn’t the kind of strength he meant. Too many people focused on the boy’s magical talent. When he thought of his adopted son’s strength, he thought of the little boy in the capital’s youth tournament, holding his own against opponent’s twice his age and size through pure grit. In recent years, Robert had lost that edge, that desperation to succeed and prove himself no matter the cost.
He hoped the harsh realities of the north would shatter his false confidence and give the knight back the hungry kid he’d seen so much potential in.
“We can exchange chatter later. I believe you have news for me.”
Miniarc-Capital in Crisis 10
Sir Quintana gazed on the Summer Quarter with a mixture of relief and wonder. The modest house he grew up in held fond memories but he was too eager to escape the struggles of peasantry to ever consider it his home. The first year after he joined the royal army, he shared a room in the barracks with the other three members of his squad during training. Afterwards, his missions kept him on the move, living out of tents and the odd inn.
When he was accepted into the royal knights and given a room on the grounds, it was the first place he’d considered home. He balked at the political games that transpired between the palace and its spires, but he had grown to love the luxury, the lavish balls, and the deference. He had fought long and hard to join the elites and he enjoyed every moment of his reward.
When he was younger, he saw himself building a life at the king’s side. Perhaps marrying one of the lesser noble women sent to the palace to serve the women of the royal family, establish himself as a true noble. Raise a son to carry on his name, maybe sell himself to one of the prissy knight orders of the capital and train a few brats who wanted to fight their way to a better life, same as him.
Things didn’t turn out the way he’d hoped but he loved the palace all the same. He respected the king and cared for his family, especially the children he had seen grown up. He’d even helped trained Dowager, the first prince, sparking his zeal for martial arts and appreciation for the soldiers of the kingdom.
That was why his failure killed him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the king, the royal family, or the country.
The designers of the capital were fond of their walls. A wall of spotless white stone surrounded the palace and its courtyard. Nearly two centuries ago, a more fanciful king commissioned a famous artist to paint the wall with drawings of beautiful creatures and powerful monsters. He died under mysterious circumstances less than a year later, his younger brother assuming the throne. A far more pragmatic king, he sent away the artist and washed away the “disgrace”. The only thing left of the debacle were a few etches in the stone where the artist had chiseled into it to give his work more depth.
Two men dressed in golden armor stood before the grand arched entrance, the double doors thrown open. They were left open during the day, as there was far too much traffic to bother with the lengthy process of opening and closing them. The crown trusted its knights, handpicked from the best the kingdom had to offer, to provide ample security.
Joining their ranks meant more than being able to swing a sword or launch a spell. The royal knights secured royal banquets, noble weddings, and other events that required them to be fluent in the customs of the highborn. They were taught the names of all the important characters and how to discern the motives behind their often misleadingly flamboyant behaviors. No one untoward tricked their way into the king’s home. Sentry duty was one of the most important tasks of the royal guard, superseded only by shadowing members of the royal family.
Their golden helms hid their features, leaving their identities a mystery. A raised gauntlet halted him as he approached, one of the sentries stepping forward to examine his carriage while the other offered Sir Quintana a sharp nod of acknowledgement.
One of the younger knights then. The older members who’d served alongside him wouldn’t have bothered stopping him, but he didn’t expect them to be on the gate. Standing around for hours was a job for the young. It was a great way to cowl egos.
“Identity and reason for visiting?” the second sentry asked while the first opened the door to his carriage.
“Manuel Reis Quintana. I am here to see the king.” From his pocket, he pulled out a small golden badge. Engraved on the front was the head of a buck beneath a sun, the old crest of the royal family. Channeling a little mana into it made the badge shine, a simple fire spell and proof of authenticity.
Something issued to every member of the royal knights, only to be used amongst themselves. It was the fastest way to confirm the identity of one of their members for those in the know and allowed them to travel without carrying extensive papers detailing their assignments, which could be dangerous. Even after retiring, the king had given him special permission to retain custody of the badge, as he often handled “delicate” tasks for his old friend.
“Welcome to the palace, Sir Quintana.”
The second sentry retreated from the carriage and they both stepped aside. They took another step as he cracked the reins and his fevids flared up, radiating an intense heat as they started forward, trotting into the palace’s main courtyard.
He took care to stick to the middle of the road. While impolite, he thought it better he be a small inconvenience than allow his beasts of burden to accidentally eradicate the delicate artistry of the royal gardener. Luckily, there was no one else entering or leaving the palace grounds, despite him spending a little extra time on the road in order to reach the special stables capable of housing his preferred mounts.
Someone waited for him at the door to the stables as he exited, a gray-haired man with a soldier’s posture and the grooming of a nobleman, dressed in an impeccable black and white suit. Sir Quintana grimaced seeing him but quickly covered it with a neutral mask. “Ed.”
Edward, aide to the king and insufferable nag, sniffed imperiously. “The king is awaiting you.”
“I would like a moment to—"
“His Majesty is aware that you have been traveling extensively but this is a matter that cannot wait. If you would follow me.”
The manservant turned on his heel, fully expecting Sir Quintana to follow. And, despite having the power to snap the other man in two, he did, for Edward spoke with the voice of the king, which was a power of its own. A prime example of a man given power through a title, though perhaps not entirely undeserved. He had competently aided the king and his father for decades, a rock in a place where loyalties ebbed and flowed like the tide.
When most thought of the palace, they imagined a grand building filled to the brim with gold and priceless treasures. They couldn’t be blamed, as most had never set foot on the palace grounds. There was extensive wealth on display, from the plush carpets, masterwork paintings, and banners woven from expensive silk, but foremost the palace was a defensive structure. The luxuries were measures to soften the harsh stone and narrow corridors meant to hold off a siege.
Due to their haste, they didn’t see many faces and spared no greetings for those they did. Sir Quintana felt a wave of nostalgia as they ascended to the second floor. He had spent most of his tenure as a royal knight in these halls, as it held many of the more functional rooms in the palace, including the king’s study.
That was where Edward led him. He knocked sharply before announcing, “I have brought Manuel.”
“Enter!” a powerful voice called.
Edward held open the door, allowing the knight to proceed him into the room. It was the same as he remembered, the stone floor covered in a plush red carpet, the fearsome skull of the drakkon slain by Dunwayne on the left wall as a reminder of humanity’s strength, and the other wall covered by bookcases as a reminder of humanity’s knowledge. Knowledge that had been found wanting.
Sebastian kor Harvest looked up from the papers on his desk and reclined in his chair. He had the frame of a soldier, with strong arms and broad shoulders, despite having spent no time on the battlefield. His face had a few more wrinkles and his white hair, a distinct trait of the noble family, had a few more streaks of gray where age had dulled the color’s vibrancy, but the biggest change was his eyes.
The blue irises were made even more vivid by the reddened whites beside them and lacked their usual energy. It would be unbecoming to mention it, but Sir Quintana was sure if he took a wet rag to the man’s face, it would come away with the powder used to hide the dark bags under them.
Still, Sebastian mustered a smile for him. “Reis.”
The knight bowed at the waist. “Your Majesty.”
“We are beyond formalities, my friend.” Sir Quintana looked up as he heard a chair being pushed back. The king moved toward him with a hand outstretched. The knight clasped it, smiling ruefully as his friend clapped his shoulder. “You got a chance to see Bobby, yeah? How is he?”
“Good as can be expected. That mess…it hit him hard but he’s strong. Stronger than he knows.”
“With four affinities, it’s only a matter of time before he is stronger than us all.”
Sir Quintana fought the urge to frown. That wasn’t the kind of strength he meant. Too many people focused on the boy’s magical talent. When he thought of his adopted son’s strength, he thought of the little boy in the capital’s youth tournament, holding his own against opponent’s twice his age and size through pure grit. In recent years, Robert had lost that edge, that desperation to succeed and prove himself no matter the cost.
He hoped the harsh realities of the north would shatter his false confidence and give the knight back the hungry kid he’d seen so much potential in.
“We can exchange chatter later. I believe you have news for me.”
