“Pyrrhus, why are we out here? She usually sends letters to her baba.”
The older man with a deep beard with streaks of gray looks at a younger man walking towards him, and gives him a nod, acknowledging him. “Morning, Miles.” He ignores the question and his comment.
“Pyrrhus, come on, you know something. Sooner or later she’s going to tell us, why don’t you just save her the trouble.” Miles adds, “We gave up that lucrative contract, the best contract we had in weeks. Shes out of vis due to that longevity ritual we travelled all the way across the sea for. We’re running low on silver, too. We needed that contract.”
“Miles, you and I know that it was too good to be true. There’s a reason the contracts dried up after we killed that magus. That this one showed up just as we needed it smacked of a sinister plot. Or at least that’s what she told me, and I believe her. She’s never lied to me, and I don’t think she’d start here. You’re still well filled, and by the smell of you, full of beer and wine. You’re always free to leave her service.”
“Damn it, you know I won’t.” Miles looks out over the ocean, and spies the island that is their destination. “Did she bewitch the winds, we’re making excellent time. I figured it would be evening before we arrived.”
“I don’t think she knows how to do that. Or at least not easily. We are being favored by favorable winds. Providence shines upon us, I suppose. Finally.” The tone of finally suggests that he knows a deep dark secret.
“Pyrrhus, tell us. Tell me” Miles begs.
“I’ll tell you. Soon enough. She gave me leave to inform you once she’s off the boat visiting with her baba. No one’s going to like it. Well, Onassis might not mind it much. But life is going to be different for us very soon.” Pyrrhus cuts off Miles as he begins to push for more, “I’m not saying another word, go make sure that everyone’s gear is in good repair,” dismissing Miles and giving him a job to do.
Pyrrhus looks out at the island while thinking to himself, “Ophelia, what mess have we gotten ourselves into? There are some dark days ahead, something I never thought I’d see when I was with you”.
As if on cue, Ophelia appears. Her long dark hair flowing in the breeze, wearing a simple dress that belied the power she could wield. Some of that was preference, and some of that was to appease the captain of the vessel she’d hired. But, it was clear to everyone on board that she was in charge of the men she brought with her, as if noble born or something. Not only that, the sailors could see the enormous respect and deference they all showed to her, but couldn’t understand.
“Miles said he could see the island, so I thought I’d come up on deck for the rest of the journey.” Ophelia looks up at Pyrrhus and goes on, “Have you figured out how to tell them, yet?” Pyrrhus shakes his head. “Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. I suspect you’ve hinted to Miles that no one will like it.” Pyrrhus just nods in response. “The other thing we need to think about. Well, you and I knew this day was coming. We need to find another fighter to add to our group, move up Hector, and move you into a more advisory role. Someone else needs to take command and lead the men.”
“I know. I just don’t see anyone capable enough. Onassis, maybe. But he’s already busy enough with his other duties.” Pyrrhus says unconvincingly.
“Every person does what is necessary. No one is above working hard, me included. Part of leadership is delegating. Do you know how hard it is for me to send you into battle when I can’t really help?” Ophelia asks.
Pyrrhus chides Ophelia for underestimating, or undervaluing what she adds to her group. “You can’t help? Ophelia, I’ve never understood this position you take. You think making our armor harder, less heavy isn’t helpful? You think making our blades sharp and hard, and lighting them with fire isn’t helpful? It is. You’ve delegated most of the phsycial combat to us, but you do help us, and you do lead us. Even despite Miles protestations to the contrary, we are rich men, rich because of you. Adventures the likes of which Jason and his Argonauts would be proud of.”
“I suppose you’re right. I just wish I could swing a sword.” Ophelia laments.
“I’m, for one, glad you can’t. If you’re in there swinging, you aren’t out there casting your spells.” Pyrrhus shudders. “When I saw those balls of fire coming towards us…” He swallows hard, “I thought we were dead, and then you shouted something and they all disappeared. I’d never seen you do anything like that with so many spells.”
“About that. I know you guys haven’t talked about it very much, but you need to stop it now. It’s an order, never discuss it again, with yourselves, with anyone. That only worked because I was underestimated. Combat being what it is, I need to keep my secrets for as long as possible until I develop other capacities. It may be too late, but it may not. I certainly don’t need grogs of the magi of the Order to know about my capabilities.” Her tone is series, and worried.
Pyrrhus looks at Ophelia sternly, sets his jaw, and appears to say something, but Ophelia stops him cold. “Pyrrhus, don’t even think about it, or we are done. I put up with your back talk a lot. On this, there is no negotiation and no back talk. We will be done, and if we are done and know my secrets, well, I can’t allow that to happen.” She shakes her leg, with a quarrel of metal crossbow bolts at her side.
Ophelia stares at Pyrrhus while he appears to be doing the mental calculations. He thinks about all the times she’s seen her disappear from what would surely be a killing blow. And of course, there’s the fact that she could toss him into the ocean, here and now and keep sailing on. “Ophelia, you know you don’t need to threaten me. But I’ll take your threat as it’s intended, for me to shut my mouth and realize how serious you are, and make sure the men understand that. Very well.”
“I’m sorry, Pyrrhus, it’s just…” She takes a deep breath, “I’d hoped I’d never have to threaten you. I don’t want my capabilities widely known, just yet. I thought putting the grogs who were with him down was enough of a clue that I didn’t want it discussed. I hear the whispers of you and the men now and again, and it needs to stop.” Ophelia looks out across the ocean at the island coming ever closer, she dismisses Pyrrhus, “See to it immediately.”
The rest of the journey to the island she spends in quiet contemplation. Ophelia recognizes she’s somewhat unusual in her House. She’s survived a long time in a House that can be unforgiving. Some others who gauntleted with her have already passed on. Then again, she might have played things safe, too. Perhaps Providence shined favorably upon her. Whatever the case, her life has changed, and she’s slowly coming to terms with that.
Polyaigos, and her parens, Gerasimos waiting for her. A journey to her home as a youth and young maga, but it had been many years since she’d been here. She pulled the letter out of a pouch she wore on her left side. She continued glancing at it hoping to read something different.
As soon as the boat docked, she bounded up the hill as fast as she could, leaving Pyrrhus to tell the men. They were leaving the Theban Tribunal. Their livelihood had dried up the last few years. No one was hiring her and her men to kill the magical or fae creatures that come up from time to time and harass a peaceful covenant. The last offer they had was surely a trap, an offer too good to be true. She turned it down, because she knew she was being setup for a shard. The politics of the Tribunal were something she normally avoided, but her killing of the diabolical magus angered some who either pretended he wasn’t a diabolist or disputed Ophelia’s telling of the tale. Of course, there was the doubt created where Frosty Breath of the Spoken Lie suggested she lied. It was enough that made the Tribunal split nearly evenly and not find her guilty of attacking another magus. Only by a slim margin of 2 was she exonerated and he was found guilty of diabolism posthumously.
Ophelia arrived at the watchtower, and the ancient page nodded his acknowledgment of Ophelia’s arrival, and rang a bell alerting the others within of the arrival of their guest. He then opened the door and allowed Ophelia in. The tingle of the Aegis still causing Ophelia some discomfort, she climbed the stairs, and wished she’d been met and given a token to make working magic easier.
“Ophelia, welcome. “ A rather large and powerfully built man stood at Ophelia’s entrance and crossed to her. “It’s good to see you, I wish you’d visit or write more often.” Gerasimos said to his filia. Gerasimos was something of a contradiction. Called the Simple, he was nearly 70 years post gauntlet, which suggested the Simple was either an affectation like calling a big man Tiny or a gross underestimation of his capabilities by those he opposed. Opehlia took his embrace in stride, while looking about the room.
“The three Tremere of the Tribunal, here in this very room.” Ophelia thought to herself before saying, “Are we to be lectured on the importance of Latin as the language of magic today, pater? Or duty the Order?” Ophelia asked Gerasimos pointedly, while looking at the Tremere in their formal robes.
“Come, Ophelia, I told you they would be here.” Gerasimos said trying to broker a less acrimonious conversation.
“I know. I don’t have to like it. I wish there were another way. I’ve never had to rely upon the kindness of strangers before. Indeed, I was usually the one providing the service, and now that the situation is reversed, I find it distressing.” She turned to an ancient and decrepit looking magus in Tremere robes, “My apologies, Boustaphan. I’m only here at my pater’s request, and I promised I’d hear your offer.”
The ancient Boustaphan’s voice was surprisingly strong, but he spoke in Latin, and Ophelia had to work to understand him, despite his use of short declarative sentences. “There’s a cancer in the Order. You ran into part of it. It’s bigger than you know of. We will take you in.”
Her anger betrayed her and she started to reply in Greek, and then switched to Latin, “What are you talking about?”
Boustaphan stares her down, “Not here. Go to Héviz. Prove yourself to us. We will tell you more when you are there.” He nods to the magus on his left, who produces a heavy purse. “We pay your way. We know of your present circumstance.”
It wasn’t much of a secret. She hadn’t earned a shard, so she couldn’t be ostracized, but things were happening around her, that some were trying to put her in position of getting a shard, being ostracized. Ophelia groans, her disappointment combining with the realization that it was all real. She couldn’t avoid it any longer, but she was being offered something. “Very well, I’ll go, but I want to be declared a Hoplite. If I’m to find out more about Lucius and his allies like that spoiled brat Valerian Guernici, I want the rank that goes along with hunting enemies of the Order.”
Bosutaphan’s white and bush eyebrows jumped up in some surprise, “You’re bright. You’ll do well. We didn’t think anyone knew about his past. Those two not involved with him for a long time. Still, there are things going on with them. You’ll learn, and you’ll serve.”
Ophelia nodded her understanding and acceptance. “Where is Héviz? Can you provide a translator or guide?”
Boustaphan nodded and then suddenly disappeared. A few moments later he was back. “Be in Constantinople, 10 days. Meet him at the docks.” As he says him, the image of a man appeared just in front of Boustaphan in the middle of the table. It was clearly a skilled illusion. Ophelia studied his face. “He will be dressed as merchant and will be looking to hire guards for caravan. Gentle Gift. Your men will like him.”
“Very well. I have little choice, you and everyone else here, including me knows it.” Ophelia looked at her pater out of the corner of her eye, seeing him nod. “How long have you known about this cancer?”
“Not so long as you’d think, Ophelia.” The three Tremere wordlessly disappear from council chambers, leaving Gerasimos and Ophelia alone, “I’ve pieced things together over the last few years. The House has never been right since Garus died. And even though I first sided with Lucius, he lost my support a long time ago. Do you know Mattheus Jerbitonis?” Ophelia shook her head. “He was from Constantinople, lived there in a covenant, was gone with the city was sacked. Family killed. Well, his filius was Praxiteles, who had earlier moved to the Rhine Tribunal, and assisted with Matheus getting setup in Paris. Praxiteles and Valerian faced off against each other in the Dimicatio event there back in 1228. Valerian killed him. I was there, I witnessed it. He claimed it was an accident, and the Quaesitores exonerated him. They were from two other Houses, I think, not Guernicus ones. Matheus thinks it was murder. Valerian is a spoiled brat, you’re right. He’s also very dangerous.” Gerasimos finished speaking and stood up, inviting Ophelia to walk with him downstairs to the library.
“I have a farewell gift, too. Well, gifts.” Gerasimos stopped before a table with three books before them. Each was in Greek, thankfully, and they were entitled, Unravelling the Fabric of Terram, Methods and Strategies, Vol I, Vol II and Vol III. “I think you’re going to need them.”
