A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Kerethin :

Spring had fully embraced Aldermere. The village hummed with renewed energy as winter's grip finally released, bringing with it longer days and warmer air. Market stalls overflowed with early vegetables, and children played in the commons until dusk called them home.

She had noticed the stranger first during her morning patrol of the village. As the schoolteacher, she made it her business to know who belonged and who didn't, especially with children running about freely. This man moved wrong, his steps too measured, his gaze too searching for someone simply passing through.

The flash of bright blue with silver symbols caught her eye immediately as his normally dull cloak was blown open briefly by the passing wind and the movement of people in the square. Not merchant's garb. Not pilgrim's robes. Something official and unwelcome, her slitted eyes narrowed at him, and she fell into old hunting rhythms to stalk this prey.

She watched from the schoolhouse window as he approached Old Tomas, who was mending a fishing net outside his cottage. The conversation was brief and one-sided, the stranger doing most of the talking while Tomas shook his head repeatedly, his weathered face creased with confusion and growing alarm. The man moved on toward the inn, leaving Tomas staring after him with obvious distress.

Kerethin's scales prickled with unease. Something about this stranger felt wrong.

By midday, the village buzzed with nervous energy. Word spread as it always did in small places, from house to house, growing in urgency with each telling. The stranger had questioned the miller about unusual lights in the forest. He'd asked Hewitt's mother about strange sounds at night. His inquiries were too specific, too targeted.

When the crowd began gathering outside the inn, she ended her afternoon lessons early and made her way to the village center. Her height gave her advantage, allowing her to see over most of the assembled villagers. The stranger stood with his hood down now, revealing sharp cheekbones, a neatly trimmed beard, and cold eyes that surveyed the crowd with undisguised disdain. He stood unnaturally straight, one hand resting on an ornate silver pendant at his chest.

Everything about him radiated authority and contempt in equal measure.

She felt her jaw clench, the muscles along her neck tightening. Twenty years of teaching had taught her to recognize bullies in all their forms. This man wore authority like a weapon.

She pushed through the crowd, her height cutting a direct path forward.

"Your questions upset our people," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet square. "If you have official business, state it plainly. Otherwise, I suggest you enjoy our hospitality quietly and move on."

The stranger's lips curled into something too sharp to be a smile. "I answer to the Duke, not to the sensibilities of village folk. My inquiries will continue as needed."

Arrogance. Pure, distilled arrogance. She felt her scales flush slightly, a physiological response she couldn't entirely suppress. Behind her, she sensed Brannic's approach, his familiar presence steadying her. He positioned himself slightly behind her, not protectively but supportively. This was her confrontation to lead.

"Then perhaps you should speak with those who represent the village," came Elder Myra's voice. The old woman emerged from the crowd, her walking stick tapping against the cobblestones. Despite her age, she moved with purpose, her weathered face set in lines of quiet authority.

Brannic's presence solidified beside her, his scaled form towering over most of the gathered villagers. The stranger's eyes widened fractionally at Brannic's appearance before his composure returned, but Kerethin caught the moment of surprise. Good. Let him realize that Aldermere wasn't defenseless.

"Very well," the man said, his tone suggesting he was granting them a great favor. "I am Inquisitor Valerius, sent by Duke Alaric and the Caelum Arcanum Praxis to investigate reports of unregistered arcane manifestations in this region."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Arcane manifestations. The Praxis. She'd heard whispers of their work in other villages, their methods of rooting out unauthorized magic users. Her mind immediately went to the children in her care, to Kaelid and Rannek who she'd noticed displaying unusual abilities they thought hidden.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, fear threading through confused voices.

"Arcane manifestations?" Elder Myra repeated, her voice betraying nothing. "You'll find little of the arcane here, Inquisitor. We are simple people with simple ways."

Valerius made a dismissive gesture. "Reports suggest otherwise. Unusual lights in the forest. A report from the militia commander about someones arm, and I quote, 'healing in a day that should have taken weeks'. The Praxis monitors such occurrences closely, as unregistered magic poses significant risks."

She felt Brannic's tension through their bond. His people had always lived on the edge of suspicion when it came to their natural abilities.

"Our forests have always held mysteries," Brannic said, his deep voice rumbling with controlled emotion. "Phosphorescent fungi. Reflective minerals in the streams. Natural explanations for natural phenomena."

"Perhaps," Valerius conceded, though his tone made clear he believed nothing of the sort. "Nevertheless, I am empowered to conduct a thorough investigation. I expect full cooperation from all residents."

He unfastened his cloak with deliberate movements, revealing formal attire beneath. His doublet was midnight blue, embroidered with silver threads that formed complex patterns across the chest. At his hip hung a slender rod of polished metal, not quite a weapon but clearly a symbol of authority.

"By the authority of Duke Alaric and the Caelum Arcanum Praxis," he announced, his voice taking on a formal cadence, "I hereby declare an official inquiry into potential violations of the Arcane Registration Edict. All residents are required to report any unusual occurrences or abilities, regardless of how insignificant they may seem."

The crowd's murmuring grew louder, tinged with fear and confusion. Kerethin scanned the faces around her, seeing her neighbors transformed from confident villagers into worried, uncertain people. This was what the Praxis did, she realized. They didn't just hunt magic, they poisoned communities with suspicion and fear.

"This is unnecessary," she said firmly, letting her teacher's authority ring through her words. "You're frightening people without cause."

"Fear is a natural response to the unknown," Valerius replied smoothly. "Those with nothing to hide have nothing to fear."

The casual cruelty of the statement made Kerethin's hands clench into fists. She'd heard similar words from too many petty tyrants over the years, always spoken by those who held power over others, always used to justify overreach and abuse.

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Elder Myra stepped forward, placing herself between Valerius and the villagers. Though she barely reached the Inquisitor's shoulder, her presence seemed to expand, filling the space between them with quiet steel.

"Inquisitor Valerius," the elder said, her voice carrying a weight that silenced the crowd, "Aldermere has stood for generations, loyal to the Duke and respectful of the laws. We will cooperate with your inquiry, as is our duty. But I suggest you conduct your investigation with greater care for the people you question. Suspicion is a poison that spreads quickly and lingers long after the truth is found."

For a moment, Valerius seemed taken aback by her directness. Then his expression hardened, the mask of civility slipping to reveal something colder beneath.

"Your concern is noted, Elder. However, my methods are sanctioned by the Praxis and have proven effective. I will begin formal interviews tomorrow. The innkeeper will provide a suitable space."

He turned and strode back into the inn, his blue vest disappearing through the doorway.

As the crowd began to disperse, she caught sight of Kaelid and Rannek at the edge of the gathering, their young faces pale with worry. Elder Myra's gaze found the boys as well, and she gave them the slightest shake of her head, a clear warning to stay away.

"We need to talk," she said quietly to Brannic and Elder Myra as the villagers scattered to their homes.

The three of them moved away from the inn, heads bent in urgent conversation. The warm spring day suddenly felt cold, charged with the electric tension that preceded storms. Kerethin's scales prickled again, but this time it wasn't just danger she sensed.

Kaelid :

Evening found him, Rannek, and Marta huddled in the small storage room behind the bakery. The space smelled of flour and dried herbs, and their whispered conversation was occasionally punctuated by the creak of the cooling ovens.

"He's asking about magic," Marta said, her usual confidence dimmed by worry. "About things that can't be explained. That has to mean you two."

"But how could he know?" Rannek insisted. "We've been careful. Only a few people know about our abilities."

"Someone could have seen something," he suggested. "The pulse creates a visible shimmer sometimes. Or maybe someone noticed how we move during training, how we can anticipate things."

The possibility hung heavy between them. They had grown comfortable with their abilities, perhaps too comfortable.

"What happens if he finds out?" Marta asked the question they'd all been avoiding.

He remembered fragments of conversation from their time in Highpass, whispers about the Praxis and its strict control over anything deemed magical. "I don't know exactly. But in Highpass, people spoke of the Praxis taking children with unusual abilities for special training."

"Taking them where?" Rannek's voice had a slight tremor.

"Away," he said simply. "To the capital, I think. To study and serve the Duke."

Marta's expression hardened. "They can't just take people. There are laws."

"The Praxis is the law when it comes to magic," he replied, recalling more fragments from Highpass. "At least, that's what people said."

They fell silent, each contemplating the implications. The storage room suddenly felt too small, too confining.

"We should talk to Elder Myra," Rannek finally said. "She'll know what to do."

"And Brannic," Marta added. "He wouldn't let anyone take you."

Kaelid nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. Brannic was strong, and Elder Myra was wise, but the Inquisitor represented powers beyond their village, perhaps beyond their ability to resist.

"We should go home before we're missed," he said, standing up. "Meet at Elder Myra's garden tomorrow morning?"

They agreed and slipped out of the bakery one by one, careful not to draw attention. As he made his way home through the darkening village, he noticed how quiet the streets had become. No evening gatherings outside cottages, no children playing final games before bedtime. Doors were closed, windows shuttered. Aldermere had withdrawn into itself, like an animal sensing a predator.

The inn stood at the village center, light spilling from its windows onto the empty square. As he passed, he glanced up and froze. Inquisitor Valerius stood at an upper window, his silhouette sharp against the warm light behind him. Though he couldn't see the man's eyes, he felt the weight of his gaze, cold and assessing.

The core shard in his chest pulsed with warmth, a warning he didn't need. He hurried on, keeping to the shadows until he reached home.

---

Doran was waiting when he entered, his weathered face creased with concern. "You're late," he said, looking up from the knife he was sharpening. "Where have you been?"

"With Rannek and Marta," he answered truthfully, if incompletely. "Lost track of time."

His uncle studied him for a moment, then nodded toward the table where a simple meal waited. "Eat. Your mother's already gone to bed. Early start at the weaving shed tomorrow."

He sat and began to eat mechanically, his mind still on the Inquisitor and what his presence might mean. Doran returned to his knife, the rhythmic scrape of stone against metal filling the silence between them.

"You've heard about the visitor?" Doran finally asked, not looking up from his work.

"Yes, the Inquisitor."

"Mm." Doran tested the knife's edge with his thumb. "Fancy title for a man who upsets women and children with his questions."

He pushed his food around his plate. "What does he want?"

"Claims to be investigating strange occurrences. Magic, he says." Doran set the knife down and fixed him with a direct gaze. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

The question hung in the air between them. Hid heart hammered in his chest. Doran had always been observant, had always seemed to sense when he wasn't telling the whole truth. But how much did he suspect?

"No," he said, the lie bitter on his tongue. "Why would I?"

Doran held his gaze a moment longer, then sighed. "No reason. Just curious why you and Rannek spend so much time in the eastern forest. Where the strange lights have been seen."

His mouth went dry. "We explore. That's all."

"Mm." Doran picked up the knife again, turning it in the lamplight. "Well, might be best to stay close to the village for a while. Until our visitor moves on."

"Yes, uncle," Kaelid agreed, relief washing through him. Whether Doran believed him or not, he wasn't pressing further tonight.

They finished the meal in silence. As he prepared for bed, he heard Doran step outside, probably for his nightly pipe. Through the small window, he watched his uncle stand in the yard, looking toward the village center where the inn's lights still burned. Doran's posture was tense, vigilant, like the village hunters when they sensed a predator nearby.

In his room, he retrieved the journal from its hiding place beneath a loose floorboard. He hadn't dared bring it out since the Inquisitor's arrival, but now he needed its insights.

Opening to a blank page, he placed his hand on the paper and focused. "What can you tell me about the Caelum Arcanum Praxis?" he whispered.

The journal remained still for a moment, then words began to flow across the page:

CAELUM ARCANUM PRAXIS
CLASSIFICATION: Governmental regulatory body
PRIMARY FUNCTION: Identification, registration, and oversight of arcane practitioners and phenomena
AUTHORITY: Direct mandate from the sovereign, superseding local governance in matters of arcane significance
METHODS: Investigation, testing, conscription (when deemed necessary)
HISTORICAL NOTE: Established 147 years ago following the Mage Rebellion. Originally created to prevent unregulated magic use, evolved to control all arcane resources within the realm.

Kaelid's unease deepened as he read. "Conscription," he murmured. His suspicions had been correct.

"What happens to unregistered magic users?" he asked next.

PROTOCOL FOR UNREGISTERED PRACTITIONERS:
CHILDREN (UNDER 16): Mandatory relocation to Praxis educational facilities. Family visitation rights vary based on security classification.
ADULTS: Assessment of threat level, followed by either registration and monitoring, conscription into service, or containment for those deemed dangerous.
COMPLIANCE RATE: 94% voluntary registration after identification
NON-COMPLIANCE CONSEQUENCES: Severe, including indefinite detention

The words blurred as tears filled his eyes. Mandatory relocation. Separation from family. The journal's clinical description couldn't mask the human cost of such policies.

He closed the book quickly as he heard Doran's footsteps returning. Hiding the journal, he slipped into bed and pretended to sleep, his mind racing with fears and half-formed plans.

The core shard in his chest pulsed gently, as if trying to reassure him. But for the first time since receiving it, he wondered if the shard's gifts were worth the price they might demand.

Outside, a cool spring breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers through the village. In the inn, Inquisitor Valerius prepared for tomorrow's interviews, methodical and patient. And throughout Aldermere, people lay awake, wondering what the morning would bring.

The unwelcome visitor had changed everything with his mere presence. Whatever innocence Aldermere had maintained was now tarnished by suspicion and fear, a shadow that would not easily lift.