Writing a dramaticized history text, as I am now, can be a curiously challenging affair. There always comes times in a person’s life when not much is occurring to them, but to tell the story chronologically one must cover distant events. Sometimes, the person in question had no knowledge of them at all, only getting confronted with the consequences much later. This is a failing on their knowledge, not in the grand narrative of life.

Some readers might find themselves intellectually superior for thinking they know a better way of how to handle such knowledge conveyance, but that is of no matter. The truth is that there is no good way at all. Any method of exposition for such details can be called clumsy, slow, or difficult to understand. The best way would be to presume prior knowledge and carry on, but that would presume the reader has touched some other, inferior, text before reading this and that is not the purpose of this writing. As such, I have made the choices I’ve made, and I expect I shall again in the future.

To understand the decisions of my pupil and his companions it is required to understand the circumstances of politics and war and engineering and magic, and a dozen other aspects of life that simply cannot be reduced into the written form, not in the guise of a narrative at the least. Perhaps if you read ten thousand personal diaries each concurrently and kept them all straight within your mind you might not need such a simplification, but again, that is not the purpose of this text.

Thus, I bring you my reader, to a scene of dinner conversation, with our little cast of travelers adrift between Rackvidd and the Misty Isles, sailing around rocky coves and dawdling for their burdened charges. With little for entertainment, gossip both personal and political is the best food for their minds.

“The war is going as well as could be expected,” Golden said entirely conversationally. He, Aisha, Sera, and Thornby were all sat down to dinner around the captain’s table. As much as Thorny would have preferred something grand and private, they only had his own cabin to sit in with the door closed. It provided a pleasant view out the back window and had a door, but four was a crowd.

“I thought nothing had been declared?” Thornby responded. He still had not been properly acquainted with Golden, knowing him only as Aisha’s legal representative.

The Divine Beast in human form was not using his utensils properly. While they had all been served slats of fish pulled from the ocean that day, everyone else ate with a fork. Golden sliced his into strips and picked them up with his hand, skin and all. After sliding one down his throat like a spaghetti noodle, he shrugged. “War begins before the declaration. The prince has moved a small army to Jumeaux to make a statement and build a presence. He’s running roughshod over the people because the bishop is still on her expedition to the south and left a rather incompetent steward behind. The man can manage affairs certainly, but has no head for politics.”

“Jumeaux is a friend of Vassermark, isn’t it?” Aisha asked.

Sera frowned, clearing her mouth with a bit of wine. “Holy cities like that are independent, aren’t they?”

“There’s independent from taxes and independent from military duties,” Golden said. “The king extracts only a yearly gift from Jumeaux, but there is an understanding that they will support military endeavors. Free passage through their land, levied supplies of food, and so on. The prince is currently abusing them with that agreement, eating through their granaries in the name of prosecuting heretics. The real question is whether he will go north or east from there. North would secure Vassermark more against Skaldheim and in general be more profitable, but if he does cause a general uprising, he could get stuck in one of their cities for the winter. East would be safer and envelop Giordana along with Raymi’s forces. Unfortunately for him, he lacks the skills to split his forces and take both. Either way, he can only move once his father declares a proper war.”

“So,” Thornby said, sneering. “He’s trying to provoke an attack.”

Sera frowned. “Is he smart enough to do that? I’ve met him more than once and find him to be a profoundly average fellow. Tricking your enemy into a blunder is no easy feat.”

“Indeed,” Golden said. “I dare say it’s a good thing the bishop has been absent. He might have been tempted to… despoil her as a means of provocation. He’s not one to respect the other faiths, you see.”

Aisha shifted back in her chair, her belly feeling uneasy even in the mild rocking of the evening waves, and Golden’s blithe reference cast horrid images into her mind. Within the moment, she had no choice but to set her utensils down and push her plate in.

Thornby noticed and scowled at the other man. “Perhaps you should keep that kind of speculation to yourself.”

Golden laughed and sucked down another slice of fish. “The speculation that matters is when the war will begin, and how much it will cost Vassermark. If it costs them so dearly that they look weak, Skaldheim might invade in full force. Would Lord Ashe be able to keep them in check if that happened?”

“Them?” Thornby asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man. “Are you not Vassish yourself?”

“I belong to no nation, for I make no decisions and I pay no taxes. I am simply in certain employment at the moment. Think of me as an impartial outsider. It’s what lets me speak so objectively.”

“He’s from Giordana,” Aisha said, staring at Golden with half-lidded eyes. “The real question is whether Giordana belongs to Vassermark at the moment or not.”

Sera scratched her chin and asked, “Would a war against Jumeaux be considered a civil war then? Conquest? Police action?”

“Subjugation,” Thornby answered, and rose from the table. “I think I’ve lost my appetite. For the evening, perhaps we’ll have some music? I have a touch of talent, but not as much as Aisha. I think the two of us could make something pleasant as the sun goes down, what do you say?”

“I’d be happy to,” she said, also rising from the table. Some of the sailors soon came in, cleaning up the table and taking away the plates. All to clear out the space and clean up for the next day. Meanwhile, Thornby led the way into the bottom of the hull. He held a small candle before him, casting light and shadows between the crates and barrels. The squeaking of rats could be heard, their claws scratching against the wood as they fled.

Thornby was bent over, digging open chests to retrieve his own instrument–a crystalline flute–when Aisha asked, “Do you have a stigmata, captain?” She sat upon a barrel of wine, one leg crossed over the other and eyes fixed upon his face.

In the candle light, the contours of his cheeks and mouth were stark and sallow. No twist of a grin could make him seem anything less than serious, and likewise her own face seemed cut in the mold of some tense, emotional mask. The shadows gave them both an unusual intensity, and he answered truthfully, “Yes, but I have never used it.”

“That would be a first.”

“It’s a very unusual ability, and one I don’t relish the thought of using…” When Aisha didn’t respond, he answered her curiosity. “It’s not a grand secret, but I’ve been told that it can interfere with other people’s abilities.”

“Captain Thornby, I think that’s exactly the kind of ability you would need to keep hidden.”

He smiled ruefully and fetched out the flute at last. Still in a wooden case for safety, he drummed it upon his thigh. “It’s not easily used. You must think I’m a danger to Lord Solhart, but I assure you only one person in the world will feel the touch of my stigmata, and it is not him.”

“Only one? You say that like the rumors are–”

“The rumors are true, and if I ever meet that witch again, I’ll kill her. My blade will find no other sheathe. You have my word,” he said, putting a hand to his heart and bowing.