Hoard

“An Eclipsian mage is, prosaically enough, a mage empowered by a pact with the god Eclipse,” Emeralaphine explained a few minutes later in her lair. Though lounging in a half-curled posture, she still towered over them in all her alabaster glory, as the other two dragons had remained in their smaller forms. Kaln wondered if this was some kind of draconic etiquette; he hadn’t seen any of his consorts enter one another’s personal chambers before. “These individuals are… Well, they both are and are not a matter of perpetual concern, as I will explain. Eclipse is a particularly squirrelly example of a fallen god.”

“A fallen god?” Kaln demanded. “Gods can fall? From what? To where?”

“It’s a misnomer, in my opinion,” she answered with a displeased grimace. “I use the term because it is widely used for the phenomenon, though I think transitioned god would be more accurate. It refers to a deity who underwent some cataclysmic event which caused them to change their divine aspect.”

Kaln straightened up further. “Divine aspects can change?”

“I see the direction of your thoughts, husband, and I would advise you to steer them elsewhere,” she said firmly. “Obviously, all of this would have been in the curriculum I am still in the process of designing to walk you through all the details of divinity, but as circumstance and my precocious daughter have not deigned to wait for the appropriate moment to make this an issue, I suppose I’d better lay it out now. Ahem. Yes, a god’s aspect can be changed, within certain unforgiving parameters. It is rather more like a chemical reaction than the initial process of apotheosis: the end result depends entirely upon the materials used and the physical operation performed. This is not a solution to any of our problems, Kaln. Changing a god’s aspect after it’s settled…can be done, but with much less control over the final outcome, and through a process of trauma so severe you lack the physical senses even to imagine it. Let’s do it right the first time.”

“Ah, yes, agreed,” he said fervently. “Thank you for the explanation.”

Emeralaphine dipped her head in a nod, then turned to stare down her long nose at Izayaroa. “You are certain this was an Eclipsian mage you saw? Not just a pretentious teenager in a silly outfit?”

“I do know the difference, thank you,” Izayaroa said dryly. “One rarely encounters them, but given the stakes, I have made certain to remember the very specific cast of Eclipse’s aura upon a mortal. It is actually not hard, if you’ve encountered it once.”

She shot a baleful look at Pheneraxa, as did Emeralaphine.

“What’s the deal with Eclipse, then?” Kaln asked before either if them could begin tearing into the increasingly nervous drake.

“Before his change, Eclipse used to be one of the bardic gods. Now… All he does is empower mages. Very small numbers of them, imbued with a very specific and unique system of magic. You recall, husband, our previous discussion in which I posed the hypothetical question of what type of magic is the most powerful?”

“Ah, yes. The first answer was that the question itself is invalid, and the second answer is portal magic. Let me guess,” he added with a sigh. “The third answer is Eclipsian magic.”

“I do like a man with pattern recognition,” she said with a languid smile, “but no, I was going to say that the joke answer is Eclipsian magic. Every system of magic has its own rules, but across them all are a few commonalities, one of which is a vague but universal sort of balance. There is no such thing as an ultimate magic, one that can do anything at all without drawbacks; creation itself appears to abhor the prospect. Thus, each system has its strengths and weaknesses. Eclipsian magic is…effectively limitless in its potential. It can achieve basically any effect imaginable, with almost no training or practice on the part of the practitioner. The balancing element is that it is virtually impossible to use. Eclipse rarely calls a mage, and they are rarely able to retain their pact for more than two or three years before losing all access to his power. Of the Eclipsian mages who do exist, conservatively ninety-five percent go the entire duration of their pact’s existence without successfully firing off a spell.”

“Wow. That’s…some joke, all right.”

“That isn’t even the punchline,” Emeralaphine snorted. “First, the requirements for an Eclipsian mage. They are…how to put this…”

“He and I were watching through the scrying mirror while Pheneraxa dealt with them,” said Izayaroa. “Only the witch was actually pacted to Eclipse, husband, but the lot of them… Well, Eclipsian mages are like that.”

“Like…that?” Kaln blinked in confusion. “Pretentious, overwrought, oblivious, melodramatic adolescents with delusions of grandeur?”

“Yes,” Emeralaphine and Izayaroa chorused.

“Obviously,” Emeralaphine continued solo, “not every such young idiot is pacted to Eclipse, but it’s a sign to watch for. The kicker, the reason they rarely stay empowered for long, is that if they experience one moment of self-awareness, of social cognizance, of realization that they look and act ridiculous and everyone is laughing at them, the pact is broken. Their power lost, permanently.”

“Wow. That seems…strangely strict, for a god who favors the kind of follower he apparently does.”

She nodded in agreement. “Then there are the conditions necessary for the mage to cast a spell. It must be…narratively significant, a holdover from Eclipse’s previous role as a god of bards. In order for the Eclipsian mage to directly access their power, they must be pressed in a way that provides satisfying emotional stakes for a hypothetical observer of the story they imagine themselves to be in. That means they can only cast when they are not only in pressing physical danger, but there is some emotional and/or philosophical question at stake.”

Kaln stared blankly at her. “That’s, uh…huh.”

“And finally, the casting method,” Emeralaphine continued. “The only forgiving thing is that it requires zero acclimation, talent of any kind, or even understanding of magic. An Eclipsian spell is cast through ritual chant—extemporaneous ritual chant. It is created on the spot, takes the form of…let us call it purple poetry, and must be accompanied by a sequence of poses and gestures and such. Only if Eclipse is satisfied with the drama of the performance will the spell fire, and only if he deems the spell attempting to be cast commensurate with the aforementioned stakes. With all those conditions, met, however… Well, as I said, there is effectively nothing such a spell cannot do.”

By now he was openly gaping. “What.”

“Bardic gods,” Izayaroa said sourly, “even ex-ones, are the most supremely annoying forces in the universe.”

“So you’re telling me,” Kaln said slowly, “that…underfed-looking girl in the goofy hat…can probably not actually do anything, but if all the circumstances happen to align and she pulls off the execution, she could…reshape the face of the continent?”

“Well put, husband. Yes, that assessment is apt.”

“That’s insane!”

“Magic can be like that, sometimes,” Emeralaphine replied, not without sympathy. “An Eclipsian mage in the vicinity is always a potential concern for the sake of what they theoretically might do, even if it’s almost certain that what they will do is nothing. In most cases, I would simply say to keep an eye on the girl from a safe distance and try not to engage with her.”

“It was a small misstep, easily fixed,” Pheneraxa said defensively. “We’ll just tell the trading company to fire that party, and—”

“I would not expect you to recognize an Eclipsian mage by sight, if you had never encountered one before,” Emeralaphine snapped, thumping her tail hard against the floor and glaring down at her daughter. “But now you transgress further into poor judgment. This matter worries me because of the involvement of bardic gods.”

“The…wait, the what?” Kaln protested. “Every explanation just makes me more confused.”

“Magic can be like that, too,” Emeralaphine agreed.

“It is not a clear-cut case,” Izayaroa said more quietly. “If we were directly engaging in any respect with a bardic god, husband, the presence of an Eclipsian mage would be an utter disaster. When one is caught in the wake of an entity that lives by narrative structure… Well, consider that if a novel or heroic epic contains anywhere in its opening a description of a famous magical sword, you can be assured that thing will be found and stuck in someone by the climax. A pompous adolescent with potentially world-reshaping magic makes a hell of a metaphorical magic sword.”

“Narrative…structure?” Kaln asked plaintively.

“Thanks to our kerfuffle with your shadowy friend, husband,” Emeralaphine answered, “you understand the difference between magic and divinity. Magic is energy; divinity is…grooves carved into creation, into which that energy flows to form predictable shapes. As do other things. A god whose aspect is related to storytelling will tend to cause events upon which they focus to transpire along distinctly literary lines.”

“I…see,” he said, finally feeling like he was beginning to follow, but still reeling from the back-to-back revelations. “But…wait. We aren’t involved with one of those.”

“It is an edge case, which is why I am concerned,” Emeralaphine said gravely. “No, there is no bardic or other narrative god directly dealing with us. If there were, I would consider the presence of that mage a certainty that we would see her cast something enormous and inconvenient exactly at the worst possible moment. Were we completely free of the influences of such beings, I’d likely dismiss her as a consideration. But there are two problems: that shadow entity, and the Jongleur.”

Kaln started to protest again, but caught himself this time. “Go on?”

“After examining it in person, I know your Entity’s aspects, and they are not bardic. But its personality is bardic enough that it may exert a small amount of that kind of influence.”

“That thing really is an enormous scenery-chewing drama queen,” Pheneraxa muttered.

“Precisely,” Emeralaphine agreed. “And the Jongleur, while not directly involved with us, is aware of you, husband, and we are nominally within his physical domain. It is…not certainty. But it concerns me that we are close enough to the current of a narrative that encountering an obvious setup such as meeting an Eclipsian mage in the forest may lead to a payoff exactly at the moment of greatest conflict.”

Kaln covered his eyes with a hand. “This is exhausting.”

“I was not kidding, husband,” said Izayaroa, stroking his back with a gentle claw. “Bardic gods are insufferable to be around.”

“If you’re worried about…about being caught in a narrative, why is this the first time you’ve mentioned it?”

“In general, I am not,” Emeralaphine said. “The shadow isn’t a bardic god, just…dramatically inclined…and the Jongleur has specifically forsworn any claim on you. But Eclipse is himself a bardic god, or close enough to one that the involvement of other bardic gods is the only thing that reliably results in his mages managing to cast their spells. It’s only the combination of that mage and this situation that concerns me. Separately, both can be dealt with. If they mix together…we will have problems.”

“Okay.” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “All right. I believe I’m up to speed now. Thank you kindly, Emeralaphine, for the patient explanations.”

“But of course, husband.”

“And now that I understand what we’re dealing with…” Kaln rounded on the youngest dragon in the group. “Dammit, Pheneraxa!”

“How was I supposed to know?” she protested, her voice rising by an octave.

“That is precisely the issue,” Emeralaphine stated, lowering her head to glare at her daughter from uncomfortably close. “You have a quick mind, child, and a respectable breadth of theoretical knowledge. What you lack is context, life experience, and the judgment which can only be attained thereby. I welcome your involvement in our affairs, Pheneraxa; I have been pleased and proud by the active role you have begun to take these last few days. But you are categorically not to make unilateral decisions affecting the entire family. Your idea was clever, but because of what you did not know, putting it blithely into effect has landed us all in this mess. Henceforth, when you have a clever idea, you will consult me or at the very least Kaln or one of your aunts before acting on it. Am I inescapably clear?”

“Yes, mother,” Pheneraxa said in the most subdued tone Kaln had ever heard from her. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, we’re both at the very least,” he said to Izayaroa. “That’s something.”

“I am honored to share the rank with you, husband.”

“So the question is what to do, then,” he said, turning back to Emeralaphine.

“I have some experience handling situations such as this from an administrative standpoint,” Izayaroa added, “but I dare to hope that your magical expertise will furnish us with better options, Emeralaphine.”

“If you are hoping for a suggestion beyond ‘wait and watch,’ Izayaroa, I’m afraid you will be disappointed.”

“As I so often am,” Izayaroa agreed, deadpan.

Kaln jumped in before they could begin sniping in earnest. “Can’t we just fire the mage and her party, like Pheneraxa suggested? I know that would be a provocation, but it’s not like she actually knows who we are, much less where.”

“In a vacuum, husband, that would be my suggestion,” Izayaroa replied. “But if we are being caught in a narrative, that would position us as the rich, out-of-touch elites in our ivory tower, playing callous games with the life of the protagonist. You have read enough stories to know where that leads.”

“Another approach you can take with Eclipsian mages is to sabotage them emotionally,” Emeralaphine added. “Just by making them see what silly little twits they’re being, you can strip them of their power. In ordinary circumstances, that is. In a story, if a dragon or godling emotionally bullies a teenager, they’re setting themselves up for an apocalyptic comeuppance two acts later.”

Kaln stared, wide-eyed and unseeing, at the wall of Emeralaphine’s hoard. “This…is the most annoying thing that has ever happened to me. And I used to be a public servant.”

“Weren’t you also betrayed by everyone you loved and imprisoned for treason?” Pheneraxa snipped.

“That was traumatic, not annoying. Very different sensations. And thanks for bringing it up.”

“You will live a long time, my love,” Izayaroa said gravely. “And not long at all into that time, you will learn to truly loathe the proximity or interest of bardic gods. That it has taken you even this long as a godling is uncommonly fortunate. Bards are drawn to interesting events like flies to dung.”

“For now, we’ll keep our distance and observe,” said Emeralaphine. “There is simply not much else we can do. Be mindful of literary tropes and watchful for them to start taking shape around you, Kaln. If it starts to look like some combination of the Jongleur, the Entity, and Eclipse are drawing us into a story pattern, we’ll have to take…ugh…narratively appropriate measures to stay on that ridiculous child’s good side, so that whatever she ends up deploying will be aimed at our enemies rather than at us. That is why we can’t afford to fire her. In the absence of such a pattern, though… Given the bardic influences hovering around our periphery, even attempting to play games like that might cause a narrative to form.”

Kaln winced. “Whether we end up in a story or not… Having someone like that running around is exactly the kind of thing the Entity can position for maximum effect.”

Both elder dragons nodded, and Pheneraxa physically cringed, dry-washing her claws.

“We will deal with it,” Izayaroa said, her voice decisive but gentle. “For now, we must see to our next steps.”

“Indeed,” Emeralaphine added. “You have two more errands to see to, husband.”

“Ah, yes,” he sighed. “There’s been a lot more running around in this godling business than I would have expected. And here I was so looking forward to some quiet time at home. I feel I’ve hardly gotten to spend any time with you at all, Emeralaphine.”

“We have eternity, Kaln,” she said, bending her neck down to very gently bump him with the tip of her huge nose. “In the here and now, events are accelerating. Best to attend to outstanding business as swiftly as possible, so that we can afford to hunker down together. The tasks before you must be done, so get them done before we have adventurers and armies and whatever that shadow is cooking up pounding on our doors to catch you away from home.”

“Excellent advice as always,” he said, stroking her face with both hands. Glossy scales slid smoothly under his fingers as she withdrew her head, smiling down at him. “Well, then. I need to go make some sort of accord with Hii-Amat, which…is the more important looming task, and will require more of my focus. Better attend to the simpler errand first. And that means…”

“What!?” Shadrach bellowed, kicking his door open so hard Pheneraxa barely had time to withdraw the fist with which she’d been pounding on it. At least he was wearing a shirt this time. “What in every nameless hell could you possibly want now?”

“Hi, Shadrach!” the blue dragon said brightly. “How’re you? How’s the research going?”

“I am going to teleport you into the rings of Tharyis!” he raged.

“Ooh!” Percy leaned to one side so she could see past Pheneraxa’s head, so far and so abruptly that Kaln had to grab her by the waist to make sure she didn’t fall off. “Can you actually do that? What about to its moons? There should be breathable atmosphere on Fmenix!”

“And what the hells is this now?” Shadrach shouted, gesticulating at her. “Another one? How is there another one? You’re an annoying dragon, there is no way you’re this good at making friends all of a sudden!”

“Right, yes,” Pheneraxa said solemnly. “Shadrach Meshabedan, this is Perseverance de Clairmont, the Princess of Boisverd. My brother kidnapped her, because he is stupid, an asshole, and a stupid asshole. And you remember Kaln. We need you to take us shopping!”

Shadrach stared up at her, open-mouthed and uncharacteristically silent in sheer rage.

“In Shamissar,” Pheneraxa clarified. “Otherwise I’d just fly there, but that’s way too far—Percy can’t ride airborne for four days. Oh, don’t make that face, obviously we brought bribes for you.”

“And I’ll treat you to lunch,” Kaln added, grinning down at him. “It’s only hospitable.”

“You know what?” Shadrach said in sudden deadly quiet. “I am beginning to truly hate you.”

“Nobody cares, Shadrach,” Pheneraxa said condescendingly. “Now c’mon, make with the magic.”