STORMLESS

by

Nick Stitle 

Part I: The Blood Sorcerer 

Chapter 2: The Soldier

Castien Varic took another step forward. The large chamber was quiet and empty save for the two guards who now stood behind him. Castien turned, finding them standing perfectly still in their vermillion armor.

He spun back, shifting his attention to the doors in front of him. The massive white marble body and golden handle of the middle door marked it as the most important. With a slight pull, it opened.

Castien stepped back, his footsteps quiet on the red carpet beneath his boots. It almost felt criminal that he was still wearing his muddy soldier’s shoes on the beautiful rug, but he had bigger things to worry about. It wasn’t every day that someone like him was summoned to the royal palace for yet-to-be-known reasons.

He closed his eyes for a moment, syncing his breathing to his pulse. Five beats in, six beats out, hold for three. Repeat.

Both his heartrate and his respiration slowed, effectively easing his anxiety. Castien looked up, clinging to the newfound confidence rising in his chest.

The marble door finished swinging open, revealing a man wearing hooded dark gray robes. Whisperer’s robes. Castien frowned, tilting his head. Why would they bring me here?

“I want to begin by easing your worries, Castien,” the Whisperer said. His age was rather apparent in his raspy voice, though in a way that projected wisdom, not weakness. “You are not being interrogated, and you are not being punished. We have simply called you to Summerglass this evening to… talk.”

What good conversation ever starts with that?

“If this is about the skirmish in The Highlands, I’ve already told you, I don’t know what more there is to say,” Castien said, his voice shaky.

The Whisperer tilted his head, seeming to smile beneath his hood. “It is about that, actually.” The Whisperer looked up, then lowered his gaze once again. “Although, we have nothing more to ask you regarding how you were able to resist the Whisperer’s spells.” The Whisperer turned around, waving to Castien as he started back into the room he had come from.

Castien hesitated, but followed. He looked around, bidding goodbye to the marble walls and white pillars of the waiting room.

The Whisperer shut the door behind Castien, effectively trapping him in the office. A large wooden desk lay before him, complete with one chair on each side. One of the seats was leather, the other was made of wood. Castien didn’t have to ask to know which one was meant for him.

He slid into the wooden chair, settling down against the uncomfortable back-rest, then looked around at the rest of the room. A bookshelf covered the entirety of the back wall, filled to the brim with tomes and volumes that Castien didn’t recognize. To his right was a wall decorated only with a painting of a Mistveil. It was made up mostly of random gray swirls, but, so were Mistveils, Castien supposed. On his other side were a series of hooks and hangers, many of which were occupied by gray robes that matched the ones the Whisperer wore.

The Whisperer slid into the leather chair, and placed his hands on the desk, lacing his fingers together. A single lamp stood to his right, the bright gray Whisperer Crystal glowing beneath the translucent shade.

“Are you comfortable?” the Whisperer asked, raising a gray eyebrow. “Not really,” Castien admitted.

The Whisperer huffed a laugh, lowering his hood to reveal the balding remains of an aging man’s hair. “I assumed as much. You don’t exactly seem at ease.” The Whisperer gave a knowing smile.

Castien raised an eyebrow. Of course, the Whisperer was referring to Castien’s emotions. The Whisperer was likely reading his thoughts at this very moment. Castien looked to the side, letting his vision trail off. Indeed, he felt a slight fuzz at the back of his mind.

“I assume that if you know about the skirmish, then you know that Whispering doesn’t work on me,” Castien said, turning his attention back to the Whisperer.

“Remarkable.” The Whisperer breathed. “Who would’ve thought that such abilities hide behind those bright blue eyes? I have, of course, heard the stories. But I had never thought that one could truly be so… resistant. Especially a Stormless,” he added.

“Could you please tell me why I’ve been brought here tonight?” Castien asked, his voice still unsteady. “I don’t mean to be rude, but, as I’m sure you can tell, I’m made quite anxious by members of your Sect.”

“Hmm,” the Whisperer said. “Now why would that be?”

“Forgive me if I’m not too keen on having my emotions constantly read and analyzed, but I’m also not terribly fond of having someone else put thoughts in my head.”

“Yet you can resist such inputs, correct?” 

“I…” Castien trailed off. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He found his heartbeat, attuning his mind to the steady rhythm. Opening his eyes, Castien forced himself to speak. “Listen, I'd really just like to know why I’m here. Please.”

The Whisperer’s brown eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room. “You have made yourself quite well known among Arvendon’s troops,” the Whisperer started. “And it is because of the stories that we have heard that we have brought you here tonight.” The Whisperer extended his wrinkled hand over the table. “My name is Estmar, and I will be conducting your interview.”

“Interview?” Castien raised an eyebrow again. “I’m already in Arvendon’s army, aren’t I?”

“Ah yes, but you are being considered for a special mission of sorts, you see. And my superiors would like me to conduct a few tests to see if you are up to the task.”

Could this have something to do with the commotion at the palace earlier today? Castien turned around, still feeling the slight fuzz at the back of his mind. The door was closed, but he had no doubt that the guards stood just beyond it. It would seem that he didn’t have much of a choice when it came to whether or not he wanted to continue.

“Am I allowed to ask what this mission pertains to?”

“If you pass my tests, then you will be given all the information you need, I assure you of that. However, until then I’m afraid that I must keep those details under wraps,” Estmar said, offering a warm smile.

Castien did not smile back. 

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to begin by asking you a few questions.” Estmar said.

“Of course.”

Estmar leaned forward, his wrinkled brow furrowing as he produced a piece of paper from the desk and began reading it. “Can you tell me about the events of the skirmish that you were involved in?”

“The one in The Highlands?” Castien asked.

Estmar nodded, smiling once again. 

“Well,” Castien started. His thoughts drifted back to that cold night many months ago. “The Frostfall that day had ended, and the camp was beginning to settle down for the evening, no different from any other night.”

“And then?” Estmar prodded, lowering the paper slightly.

“I began to feel something strange in the air,” Castien said, keeping his gaze forward. “I quickly recognized that our squadron was being influenced by a Whisperer who was trying to…” Castien trailed off. “It was almost like he was trying to force us to sleep.”

“The Lullaby, also known as the Sleeping Curse. Yes, I am quite familiar with it,” Estmar mumbled. “Please, continue.”

“I called for our captain, told him that I was worried about an ambush,” Castien said. “And he told me that we had nothing to worry about, and that I was imagining things.”

“Because you would have no way of knowing if there was a Whisperer in the mountains that night, right?” Estmar tilted his head, his eyes not quite hostile. No, just curious.

“Right,” Castien said. “The others didn’t feel a thing.”

“Yet, you did,” Estmar said. He stared into Castien’s eyes, as if searching for something. “If you wouldn’t mind me asking, where did you learn to not only detect, but to resist the influence of Whisperers?”

“I didn’t,” Castien said plainly. He kept his face solid, forcing his heart rate to slow. “I didn’t learn it from anywhere.” Castien steeled himself, catching the slight change in Estmar’s composure.

That was a lie, wasn’t it?

“I’m not lying,” Castien said firmly.

Estmar’s eyes unfocused, then refocused on Castien once again. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “Never have I seen one of the Stormless bear such remarkable abilities.”

Castien snapped his gaze back to Estmar and glared. That was not a term he was particularly fond of.

“Now,” Estmar continued, “I would like to try to plant some thoughts in your mind. Would that be alright?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Estmar laughed again, “You catch on quickly, don’t you, Castien?” Estmar’s withered lips cracked into a full-toothed grin.

Castien had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for jokes. “Yes.” He sighed, trying his very best to keep his composure. “You may do what you please.”

“Very well,” Estmar said. He lowered the paper once again, this time setting it on the table. Estmar let his hands rest before him and closed his eyes.

Castien called back to his training. He closed his eyes as well, falling back into the smoke and mirrors of his mind, steeling his thoughts in preparation of the battle ahead.

Can you hear me, Castien?

“Yes,” Castien said, keeping his eyes closed.

Ah, interesting indeed. So far as I can tell your mind feels quite the same as the others I have infiltrated.

“Take a look around if you want. I have nothing to hide.”

Precisely what I figured. However, I would actually prefer it if you tried to keep me from your thoughts.

“And why would that be?” Castien asked.

 I simply want to see if you are truly as “special” as I have heard.

“Very well then,” Castien said, keeping his eyes shut. He synced his pulse to his breathing once again. Five beats in, six beats out, hold for three. Repeat, he told himself.

Castien centered his thoughts, focusing on the synced rhythm of his respiration and heartbeat. His thoughts melted into picture. He unraveled them, slowly. One by one, he felt them release within his mind, his conscience coming undone as he continued focusing on his heartbeat. His breaths echoed in his thoughts, radiating through the endless caverns of emptiness.

The pulse focused upon itself, undulating and twisting in his mind’s eye. Castien saw his shadow standing in a dark room with his hands raised above himself. He felt the beating of his heart as it swam alongside his breaths. He had power. This place within himself… it was unlike anything he would ever feel in the real world.

He unwrapped his thoughts, feeling a slight pull. It was as if something were altering them, if only slightly. He held his thoughts firmly in his phantom hands, continuing to count the synced inhale and exhale of his respiration and peeling the thoughts from his conscious mind. It was working. The tension in his face faded. His body began to sag. His eyes relaxed, now hanging open in the dim room.

And finally, he let go.

Darkness enveloped him. The only sound was that of his own heartbeat, echoed by his timed breathing. Time passed slowly, and it wasn’t until several minutes had gone by that Castien felt the pull dissipate.

He peeled his eyes open, finding Estmar grinning widely across the table. Castien smiled uncertainly, though he felt a strange sense of pride.

“I must admit, I am truly astonished.” Estmar tossed his hands up. “You mean to tell me that you truly didn’t feel a thing?”

“Not enough to constitute any sort of response, as you have seen.” Castien smiled once again, the time the feeling of warmth and pride within him growing into a full-fledged excitement.

“Well then,” Estmar said, leaning back in his leather chair. “I have exhausted my trials it seems. You have passed. The King will be pleased.” Estmar slipped the paper back into the desk.

“The King himself called for me?” His heart picked up, the steady drum in his mind increasing its pace. He felt a rising excitement in his veins, born of adrenaline.

“I told you that this mission was special, did I not?” Estmar raised a gray eyebrow, his face taking on a strange seriousness. “This afternoon our King was attacked by someone who claims to be from one of the Lost Sects.”

“Wait,” Castien said. “There were rumors of someone posing as a Blood Sorcerer roaming the city this morning.”

“It seems that this person may not have been posing after all,” Estmar said. “He threatened His Majesty, and fled the city before we could capture him.”

“How in Niventia’s Light could he have fled the city unnoticed?" 

“Don’t,” Estmar said, raising a wrinkled hand. “I know. I am confused as well, but I promise you that all of your questions will be answered soon.”

Castien settled into his chair, allowing his eyes to wander back to the painting of the Mistveil hanging on the wall. “The King is sending an expedition to follow the Blood Sorcerer and track down where, exactly, he came from,” Estmar continued. “That is all I can tell you now—for it is all I know.”

“An expedition?” Castien asked, tilting his head. 

“Indeed,” Estmar said. “He has already sent Commander Knyvet to pursue the Blood Sorcerer and keep track of his whereabouts. Tomorrow morning you are expected to report to the palace at the eighth bell. General Surge will meet you and the others assigned to your crew there. He will be leading your mission.”

“General—” Castien gaped. His heart quickened once again. “General Surge?” Estmar laughed. “He’s not as cold as his reputation may have you believe, though, between you and me, he’s not exactly the kindest man I’ve ever met either.”

Castien slid back into his seat, eyes wide. He exhaled, his mind almost rejecting it.

General Surge…

“The guards will escort you back to your barracks. Your presence is expected tomorrow, so don’t be late.” Estmar stood up.

Castien remained in his chair for a moment. It wasn’t until Estmar opened the door that Castien came to.

“Well come on then.” Estmar said, waving Castien out the door.

Castien stumbled to his feet. His legs feeling unsteady. He passed the pair of guards that had been waiting outside. The room beyond seemed smaller now, somehow. Castien started forward, a heavy fog still smothering his thoughts.

“Oh, and Castien,” Estmar called.

Castien turned, meeting those soft eyes once again.

Estmar tapped his head, smiling.

Castien frowned, then began to feel the slight tingle in his thoughts once again.

Estmar winked. Good luck.