The Fey Conquest, # 9— "Discipline and Sorry News"

[Short stories. Images generated by hotpot.ai]

After the Village of the Goat was dealt with, there was some time of traveling through sparsely populated areas. A party of scouts of their war-band had been ambushed by dark espers, killing three of his men and four of the Fey Folk levies. They answered by sending men on horseback, fully trained and armed with runes, which were acquired from slain espers. The dark espers were routed, and they collected the magicite left behind by their bodies, but few of their number were willing to accept dark magicite. There was often pain when fusing magicite with the body for ordinary espers, yet with dark magicite the pain was excruciating, and lasted longer than the alternative. A few of their number had actually gone mad, and were difficult to be dealt with mercifully while on the war-path.

Swain was in a dark mood, and though it may sound ignoble, Fey Folk could be replaced by levies. His countrymen in Ivalice could not. He knew most of his men by name. Sharid, an expert on disciplinary measures, had been most useful in keeping the Fey Folk in line, without abject cruelty. He had been burned with dark fire, unable to be healed and in horrible pain. Numyst paid him mercy by ending his life with a mace.

“Boys. Get the maps.”

Jason, as he often did, attempted to bully his fellow squire Nute into getting the maps, harrying him when he resisted. Once again, the two Fey boys began scuffling, pulling hair, throwing jabs, and otherwise not getting the maps as instructed.

Posy, the “squire” that he took only because she refused to leave his side, obediently got the maps without fanfare, and with polite sweetness handed them to Swain, her eyes eager for approval. Swain’s eyes were on his male squires, Jason now having Nute in an amateur headlock.

Numyst, Krest, and Minus looked at each other in alarm, knowing the look on their Lord’s face.

Swain put his hand to Posy’s face, and with a touch more force than he would otherwise intend, pinched her cheek. But he wasn’t angry at Posy.

Swain, in a dark but stately fashion, strode up to his squires and took them by the hair, his strength far surpassing theirs. Nute struggled less, Jason struggled more, yet they were likened to rag dolls in Swain’s iron grip.

Swain dragged them to Posy, who was standing without, suppressing a smirk.

“Imagine,” said Swain in a quiet fury, “Me telling you to get the maps one time, and then you did it. LOOK at Posy,” he forced their heads to look at her. “Did I ask for Posy to get the maps?” then he barked, “Did I!!?” “Jason always makes me—” Nute began. “—DON’T make excuses!!”

His men were laughing at the spectacle, as well as the look of terror on the faces of the Fey Boys.

Swain continued. “I didn’t ask Posy to get the maps, but she got them for me, sweet as peanut brittle.” His men laughed heartily at his selection of words. “... but I asked you two to GET THE F#%KING MAPS!!!” this part he roared with terrible fury, and at this he tossed them to the ground with measured violence. His men laughed all the more.

Nute was crying and scrambled off, knowing the Separatists despised such frailty, while Jason Mure sulked in a brooding manner, yet refused to rise in cold fury.

“Next time I’ll have you flogged,” he said with authority, making sure Nute could hear him. Then he strode off to meet with Numyst, Krest, Minus One, and his other two trusted officers, with Posy in tow.

Meanwhile, Maka was attended by Neverglyn and Jaryst, two of the four Lancers from the Order of the Spear, along with Warren the mage adept.

“We have seven novices that have become acolytes,” said Warren, “definitely bonded with their pact-espers. The others are progressing steadily.” He had the sense to relate himself as humble and more disciplined, having been relegated to schooling novice mages. He sought Maka’s approval, and she gave him a polite nod. He wasn’t all bad.

“Our seers and volunteer scouts have ascertained the route to Steel and Forge is secure,” said Neverglyn. This was the news she had been searching for, though the most pressing matter was the Net region, Southwest of Iceglass Fountain, and South of Sovereign Valley.

“What about the Nets? Who is this monster?” Jaryst, appointed to this matter, said, “They call him Weez. The Badger. That would be…” he didn’t know the right word. “—An understatement!?” said Maka.

After butchering and enslaving the Town of the Crab Esper, Jaryst reported Weez had, from there, did the same to the Village of the Eel. He was obviously moving on to the Town of the Cod Esper, which at least was larger and fortified, unlike the other two townships.

“He enslaves with a crack of a whip and a rod to the back,” said Jaryst. “He rudely arms his captives and sends them first into battle, and he’s—” Jaryst was at a loss for words.

She had already heard this. Weez invoked terror to the Fey who disobeyed him, but would allow them to keep runes and plunder if they obeyed. For those who ran, resisted, or even protested, his cruelty was unspeakable. Those who served ate better, and after thinning out the Fey herd, he gained a number who had been broken into his service, far more terrified of Weez than of their targets, and resigned themselves to being auxiliaries to the Separatists.

“Are the Nets fleeing to Stonehall? Is Fenix worth anything!?” “They are, Milady,” said Neverglyn, “But some don’t see the urgency. They trust in the espers.” ‘Idiots’, was what she wanted to say. “They are naive! We need to— galvanize them! They need to understand what’s happening!” “Fenix is doing his best. He and his lieutenants are seeing to the matter personally.”

She couldn’t think of a way to do more than this, except send more messengers to the Net People.

“Well, galvanize more militia. We need to do everything we can. More messengers! Make sure they aren't hapless fools!” Neverglyn and Jaryst looked at each other. “Anything more, Milady?” “We’ve received visions of the Far East and the North East, as well as a band making its way to the Valley. Who are they!?”

Maka had run out of tears, for the nonce. She was becoming hardened and accustomed to her role, even enjoying her authority, but her building weariness was taxing. She knew what must be done, and it concerned Leonyde. No one trifled with Leonyde, the Sovereign Esper, his presence alone causing tangible fear. But as much as they held the Sovereign Esper in dread and in awe, she needed his blessing to win this war, even though it was contrary to Naori’s oracle.

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