The sun was just rising over the hills to the east of Luseheim, but the city streets were already filled with people and lively activity. A view Callum enjoyed from a bench before he opened the palm-sized padomharu, the lodestone needle rotated meanderingly across the face. Mhyra tracers were already imprecise, but big cities rendered them completely inutile. The Ascendant faced where the needle fixated and saw a man leaning against a wooden column with several power crates affixed to it—packed full of elucidium, no doubt. The mineral itself had no magical properties, but its use as an electrical conductor interfered with tracing instruments as an aftereffect; it was impossible to sniff out casters in cities without the assistance of a Beholden.
All the more reason to complete my ascension. Callum never felt comfortable with the methods employed by the Zherrai-Myr to maintain the peace, but the practitioners of spellcraft were just as much at fault. He couldn’t imagine undergoing the process of propitiation to be any worse than living a life on the run, to become a Beholden was to pledge your curse in opposition to Veran. The fact that so many casters faced the purifying pyre might be testament enough of the devotion Veran enjoyed—a notion that Callum quickly dismissed—No, they were too misguided to see the Mad God for who he was. The structural changes that he wished to implement within the Zherrai-Myr would be much easier when he became a Warden of the realm, like his mentor, Iadoc Ailgric. One step closer to the ear of Magister Zherrin, the founder of the organization. But that involved him taking two more lives, a tasking that was equally motivating as it was daunting.
Warden Ailgric stepped over to review the device. “I don’t know why they continue to issue these relics to us. If only Arthur Verona knew of the impediment his breakthrough would become to our cause.” The older man grimaced as he joined Callum on the bench. “But then again, business magnates like him don’t reach the heights they do by considering widespread consequences.”
Callum closed the padomharu. “Maybe this progression just shows how capable the Noorish folk are when they're not being subjugated by an overbearing god.”
A smile crept across Ailgric’s face. “Have I mentioned how your sanguine outlook has done wonders keeping me young?”
“Just wait until I earn my mantle.” Callum rolled his shoulders. “The real work begins then.”
Ailgric huffed and shook his head, clasping a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “Never let it be said that I’ve discouraged you throughout your Ascension, but I think your ideals are ambitious at best and completely unattainable at worst.” Having been in the organization for nearly a decade, there was merit to his senior’s apprehension to the Zherrai Myr changing its methods so drastically. But surely Zherrin, of all people, might be willing to reconsider.
Callum pointed to the power column. “But it’s just as you said. Just in the course of my life, this was made possible.” He turned to his mentor. “Doubtless that there were people who were averse to all of the advancements, but even they must have come around once their lives became blessed with conveniences.” He planted a clenched fist upon his knee. “I’m not questioning the mission of the Zherrai-Myr, I’m simply suggesting that we change our approach to get better outcomes.”
Warden Ailgric nodded quietly but did not return Callum’s sentiment. The Ascendant knew that his vision wouldn’t be adopted an overnight, and it was the old guard within the organization that would offer the most resistance. Iadoc Ailgric may have been an honorable man and an invaluable mentor, but gestures like these confirmed a storied career of looking the other way. Callum wasn’t so oblivious to the fact that many agents in the Zherrai-Myr relished the violence, maybe even more than he estimated; such an institution was irresistible to the depraved. How many people back in Gansberg offered to volunteer solely for the opportunity to hurt or kill others?
Callum looked out to the ebb and flow of people in the city street, considering how many here would abandon their livelihoods for the same reason without hesitation. Among the crowd, a crimson-clad man on horseback took notice of them and approached; notably he wasn’t outfitted with a longbarrel. As the Myr agent drew closer, Ailgric rose to his feet, Callum followed suit and rendered a salute along with the Warden.
“Well met, Judiczar” Ailgric began. “Warden Ailgric; my service is hereby conferred to you.”
The Judiczar returned the salute, the hand cannon affixed to his belt on full display. “Western Winds greet you, Warden.” His piercing eyes landed upon Callum.
Callum's back straightened. “Ascendent Vossen, deferring guidance to you, Judiczar.”
The higher ranking Myr nodded to them both, granting them ease. “What brings you two to Luseheim?”
“We’ve been tracking four fugitives who fled a raid earlier this week.” Ailgric explained. “Our padomharu directed us here where we lost the trace.”
“Damn things aren’t worth the coils that open them.” The Judiczar spat. “The silver would be better spent as a trinket for children.” His brow furrowed. “That being said, you are to cease your pursuit.”
Callum struggled to keep his face expressionless. We’ve come so far. He pleaded internally. We’re perfectly capable of tracking them down, why call us off?
“I wasn’t aware we were trespassing jurisdictions.” Ailgric said with a level tone. “We should have registered our arrival with th—”
“Nothing like that, Warden.” The superior cut in sharply. “A Bloodcloak of your experience would know better.” Callum briefly winced. It was that same moniker that would be challenging to reform, and here was a high-ranking Zherrai-Myr authority openly embracing it. The Judiczar continued. “All field agents in this region are being recalled.”
Ailgric stiffened. “Has the… has the Storm commenced?”
“We wouldn’t be so cordial if such a calamity were upon us.” The Judiczar said with an air of denigration. His horse whickered as if to mirror his derision. “There’s a campaign that requires all hands within 160 kilometers. Take care of whatever essential business you need in town, then report to Fort Hantyx.”
The Warden and Ascendant rendered a simultaneous salute. “At your command!” With a snort and a nod, the Judiczar rounded his horse then departed. A channel opened in the crowds, yielding to the man on horseback.
Callum exhaled deeply. “Here I was counting my good fortunes that we had twice as many casters I needed to earn my Bloodcloak.” At this point, there wasn’t much incentive to maintain the moral high ground.
Ailgric patted him on the back. “Take heart, lad. A special operation might offer a boon three times over.”
“Thankfully I won’t be facing Veran before my wardenship.” Callum muttered. Who’s to say five of his followers fallen by my hand couldn’t turn the tide, let alone two more?
“Better that we won’t have to face him at all.” The Warden said, his eyes haunted and his face gray. “There’s no purifying pyre large enough to withstand the Walker of the Winds, and I doubt there ever will be.”
Callum knew better than to ask Iadoc about his history, especially prior to the founding of the Zherrai-Myr. Nevertheless, his mentor’s reactions and statements sowed apprehension. Their efforts supposedly ensured Veran could not rise to power once again, but if the stories had even an inkling of truth within them, would the Zherrai-Myr stand any chance against the Mad God’s return? Callum pushed the thought from his mind, but the figment lingered in the outskirts—just out of sight to not be a worry, but present all the same.