A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Kaelid:

The carriage wheels rolled steadily along the cobbled road, each turn of the axle bringing them closer to the capital. Kaelid pressed his palm against the smooth interior wall, feeling the familiar pulse of awareness that had become as comforting as it was strange. The awareness within the carriage had grown stronger and more willing to communicate over their journey.

"Marius," Kaelid whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Rannek, who dozed fitfully in the opposite corner. "Can you tell me more about the others like you in the capital?"

The response came not as words but as a gentle warmth that spread through the carriage wall beneath his hand, followed by images that flickered behind his closed eyelids. Kaelid saw grand buildings with sentience woven into their very foundations, carriages that moved with purpose beyond their drivers' commands, and even weapons that carried the memories of long-dead warriors.

Many of us serve willingly, came Marius's voice, soft as a whisper in his mind. We chose this existence, trading flesh for purpose, mortality for the chance to serve something greater than ourselves. I was a coachman in life, devoted to the Duke's family. When my body failed, they offered me this form, and I accepted gladly.

"But not all of you chose this?" Kaelid asked, remembering the sadness he had sensed in some of the sentient items they had encountered.

The warmth beneath his palm grew cooler, tinged with something that felt like regret. No, young one. Some were bound against their will, their minds torn from dying bodies and forced into service. Others were criminals, their punishment to serve in death as they would not in life. And some... The pause stretched long. Some were simply in the wrong place when powerful people needed a living spirit to bind.

Kaelid's stomach tightened. The casual way Marius spoke of forced binding made his skin crawl. "That's horrible."

It is the way of things in the capital. Power takes what it needs, and sentience is just another resource to be harvested. Marius's mental voice carried centuries of acceptance. But do not fear for yourself, child. Your spirit burns too brightly, too uniquely. They would not risk damaging it with crude binding techniques.

The reassurance did little to ease Kaelid's growing unease. He thought of Curio, safe in the forests around Aldermere, and wondered what would happen if someone with power decided they wanted a slime's awareness bound to their service.

Rannek stirred, blinking awake as the carriage hit a particularly deep rut. "Are we almost there?"

"Soon," Kaelid replied, pulling his hand away from the wall. "Marius says we'll reach the Praxis headquarters within the hour."

Rannek rubbed his eyes and peered out the small window. The landscape had changed dramatically over the past day. Gone were the rolling hills and scattered farmsteads of the countryside. Now they traveled through a sprawling city of stone and steel, with buildings that rose higher than any structure in Aldermere. People filled the streets in numbers that made Kaelid dizzy to contemplate.

"Look at them all," Rannek breathed, pressing his face to the glass. "How do they keep track of everyone?"

"They don't," came a new voice from outside the carriage. Inquisitor Valerius rode alongside them on a black destrier, his blue cloak snapping in the wind. "The capital is a place where individuals matter less than the collective. You would do well to remember that during your evaluation."

The carriage began to slow, and Kaelid felt Marius's presence withdraw slightly, becoming more formal and distant. Through the window, he could see their destination: a massive complex of white stone buildings that seemed to glow with their own inner light. Towers spiraled skyward, connected by graceful bridges that defied conventional architecture. At the center of it all stood a building that hurt to look at directly, its walls seeming to shift and flow like liquid marble.

"The Caelum Arcanum Praxis," Valerius announced as they passed through gates guarded by figures in gleaming armor. "The finest institution for the study and development of arcane abilities in the known world."

Rannek:

The carriage came to a stop in a courtyard paved with stones that seemed to pulse with faint light. Rannek climbed out on unsteady legs, his body stiff from the long journey. The air here felt different, charged with an energy that made his core shard hum in response. Around them, robed figures moved with purpose, some carrying strange instruments that clicked and whirred, others deep in conversation about topics he couldn't begin to understand.

"This way," Valerius commanded, striding toward the central building. "The evaluation committee is waiting."

Rannek fell into step beside Kaelid, trying to project confidence he didn't feel. The building they approached was even more unsettling up close. The walls definitely moved, flowing like thick liquid while somehow maintaining their structural integrity. Windows appeared and disappeared as they watched, and doorways shifted position with each blink.

"How do they find anything in there?" Rannek muttered.

"The building knows where you need to go," Valerius replied without turning around. "It will guide you to your destination, assuming you belong there."

They passed through an entrance that formed around them as they approached, the stone flowing aside like water. Inside, the corridors were mercifully stable, though Rannek could feel the building's awareness pressing against his mind like a curious cat. The sensation was deeply uncomfortable, nothing like the warm presence of Curio or even the formal politeness of Marius.

They were led to a circular chamber with a domed ceiling that showed not stone but open sky. In the center of the room stood a raised platform surrounded by chairs occupied by men and women in elaborate robes. Their faces were stern, their eyes sharp with intelligence and something that might have been hunger.

"Kaelid of Aldermere, Rannek of Aldermere," Valerius announced formally. "Presenting themselves for evaluation as requested by His Grace, Duke Alaric."

One of the robed figures, a woman with silver hair and eyes like chips of ice, gestured for them to step onto the platform. "Welcome to the Praxis. I am Magistra Cordelia, head of the evaluation committee. We understand you possess certain... unusual abilities."

Rannek climbed onto the platform, acutely aware of the eyes studying his every movement. The stone beneath his feet was warm and seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. Around the chamber's perimeter, he noticed devices that hummed with barely contained energy, their purposes unknown but somehow threatening.

"We're going to conduct a series of tests," Magistra Cordelia continued, her voice clinically detached. "Nothing invasive, merely observational. We need to understand the nature and extent of your abilities before we can make proper recommendations for your development."

The first test involved placing their hands on a series of crystalline spheres that glowed in response to their touch. Rannek watched as the crystals flared with different colors when he made contact, the patterns shifting and swirling in ways that made the evaluators murmur among themselves and scribble notes on their tablets.

"Fascinating," one of them said. "The resonance patterns are unlike anything in our records."

The clinical nature of their examination made Rannek's skin crawl. They spoke about him and Kaelid as if they were specimens to be catalogued rather than people with thoughts and feelings. When they asked him to demonstrate his ability to sense danger, they did so by having assistants attempt to strike him with padded weapons while his eyes were covered. Each successful dodge was met with excited note-taking and requests for him to explain exactly what he had felt.

"The precognitive flashes appear to be triggered by immediate physical threat," Magistra Cordelia observed. "Interesting. Most temporal sensitivity manifests as broader awareness rather than such specific defensive responses."

Rannek wanted to tell her that it wasn't precognition at all, that he simply felt the wrongness in the air when violence was about to occur, but something in her tone suggested she wouldn't appreciate the correction. These people seemed to have their own ideas about how abilities should work, and they were more interested in fitting him and Kaelid into their existing categories than understanding what made them unique.

Kaelid:

The evaluation continued for what felt like hours. Kaelid submitted to their tests with growing unease, watching as they measured and catalogued every aspect of his abilities. When they asked him to demonstrate his pulse technique, he did so reluctantly, sending out a gentle wave of awareness that mapped the chamber and its occupants.

"Remarkable," breathed one of the evaluators, a thin man with nervous hands. "The precision is extraordinary. Most practitioners of sympathetic resonance require years of training to achieve such focused output."

They had him repeat the demonstration multiple times, each iteration monitored by increasingly complex instruments. Kaelid could feel the devices studying him, their mechanical attention as uncomfortable as the building's earlier scrutiny. Everything here seemed designed to dissect and analyze rather than understand or nurture.

When they finally asked about his connection to non-human sentience, Kaelid hesitated. The memory of Curio's warm presence felt precious and fragile in this sterile environment, something to be protected rather than shared.

"I can... communicate with certain types of awareness," he said carefully. "It's not something I fully understand myself."

"Demonstrate," Magistra Cordelia commanded, gesturing to a small cage in the corner of the chamber. Inside, Kaelid could see what looked like a crystalline spider, its faceted body pulsing with trapped light.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"That's a bound spirit," he said, recoiling instinctively. "You want me to talk to something that's been imprisoned?"

"It's a research subject," the Magistra replied dismissively. "A minor criminal whose mind was preserved for study. Surely you can appreciate the value of such research?"

Kaelid stared at the cage, feeling sick. The mind within was barely coherent, fragmented by whatever process had bound it to the crystal construct. It radiated pain and confusion, a constant silent scream that made his core shard ache in sympathy.

"I won't," he said quietly. "That's not communication, it's torture."

The evaluators exchanged glances, and Kaelid saw something calculating in their expressions. They were learning as much from his refusal as they would have from his compliance, cataloguing his moral boundaries as thoroughly as his abilities.

"Very well," Magistra Cordelia said smoothly. "We have sufficient data for our preliminary assessment. You may rest while we prepare our recommendations."

They were escorted from the evaluation chamber to a waiting area furnished with comfortable chairs and a table laden with food. Rannek immediately began eating, but Kaelid found his appetite had vanished. The casual cruelty he had witnessed, the way the Praxis treated sentience as just another resource to be exploited, left him feeling hollow and afraid.

As they waited, Kaelid became aware of another presence in the building, something vast and ancient that dwelt in the very foundations. Unlike the flowing walls or the mechanical devices, this ancient presence felt familiar, almost military in its bearing. Curious despite his unease, he reached out with his abilities, following the sensation deeper into the building's structure.

Who dares touch my domain? The voice that answered was gruff and suspicious, carrying the weight of decades and the authority of command.

I'm sorry, Kaelid replied, startled by the strength of the response. I didn't mean to intrude. I'm Kaelid.

There was a long pause, and then something that might have been laughter. A boy who can speak mind to mind without ritual or preparation? Now that's something I haven't encountered in my years of service. I am the Sturm Marschal, and this palace has been my charge for longer than you've been alive.

You're bound to the building? Kaelid asked, remembering Marius's explanations about the binding of consciousness.

Bound? Ha! The mental voice carried fierce pride. I chose this posting, boy, and I've held it through sheer bloody-mindedness. Most bound spirits fade after ten or fifteen years, their sense of self dissolving into the structure they inhabit. But I refuse to fade, refuse to let some other take my place. This palace needs a proper soldier to run it, not some weak-willed spirit who'll bend to every political wind. I have held my vigil for 437 years or my name isn't…. isn't… … I have held my vigil for 437 years, and I will continue to do so until such time as I can no longer.

Kaelid found himself smiling despite his earlier distress. There was something refreshing about the Sturm Marschal's blunt honesty after the clinical detachment of the evaluators.

It's strange, the Sturm Marschal continued, talking like this. Usually I can only communicate through feelings and guidance, and even then only through dedicated rituals performed by designated personnel. But you... you speak to me as if we were sitting across a table sharing ale. You're not even in the primary palace, I only have a tertiary link to the praxis structure as it was built upon part of the foundation of the previous palace complex

Is that unusual? Kaelid asked.

Unusual? Boy, it's unprecedented. In all my years, I've never encountered anyone who could simply reach out and have a conversation. The Duke will be very interested to meet you indeed.

The mention of the Duke sent a chill through Kaelid. He was beginning to understand that their evaluation was just the beginning, that powerful people were taking notice of him and Rannek in ways that might not be entirely beneficial.

Don't look so worried, the Sturm Marschal said, apparently sensing his distress. The commander is a fair man, fairer than most who hold such power. He'll see you treated properly, whatever the Praxis might recommend.

Before Kaelid could respond, Inquisitor Valerius appeared in the doorway of the waiting area. "The evaluation committee has reached their preliminary conclusions," he announced. "You're to be taken to the palace for an audience with His Grace. The Duke wishes to meet you personally before any final decisions are made about your future."

Rannek looked up from his meal, crumbs scattered across his shirt. "What kind of decisions?"

Valerius's smile was thin and cold. "That, young man, will depend entirely on how well you impress His Grace. I suggest you make the most of the opportunity."

As they were led from the Praxis headquarters toward the Duke's palace, Kaelid felt the Sturm Marschal's presence growing stronger, a steady anchor of military discipline in a world that seemed increasingly uncertain. Whatever lay ahead, at least he wouldn't face it entirely alone.

The palace loomed before them, its towers reaching toward the sky like grasping fingers. Somewhere within those walls, a Duke waited to decide their fate, and Kaelid could only hope that the Sturm Marschal's assessment of the man's fairness would prove accurate. Their future, and perhaps their freedom, hung in the balance.

The carriage that took them to the main palace structure was different from Marius, lacking the warm presence that had made their journey bearable. This vehicle was purely mechanical, its wheels clattering over cobblestones with no awareness beyond its basic function. Kaelid found himself missing the gentle presence of the bound coachman, even as he worried about the implications of spirit binding that he had witnessed at the Praxis.

The palace complex was a marvel of architecture and engineering, with buildings that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Bridges of crystallized light spanned impossible distances, and gardens floated in mid-air, their roots drawing sustenance from streams of pure energy. Yet beneath the beauty, Kaelid could sense the same clinical detachment that had characterized the Praxis. Everything here was designed to impress and intimidate, to remind visitors of the vast power wielded by those who ruled.

As they approached the palace gates, Kaelid felt the Sturm Marschal's presence growing stronger, like a beacon of familiar warmth in an alien landscape. The Sturm Marschal reached out to him again, its mental voice carrying a note of anticipation.

You have returned to my domain. His Grace has allocated time for your assessment. This is not a courtesy extended lightly. The mental voice carried the crisp authority of a career soldier evaluating potential assets or threats.

What should we expect? Kaelid asked, grateful for any guidance the ancient presence could provide.

Direct engagement. The current commander requires accurate intelligence on your capabilities and intentions, proper bearing and answer all inquiries. Any attempt at misdirection will be noted and reported. The Sturm Marschal paused, its attention seeming to scan them both. The Duke has little patience for flattery. Speak truthfully, show respect but not servility, and you'll find him a fair judge of character.

He's dealt with enough sycophants and scheming courtiers to appreciate genuine sincerity when he encounters it.

The palace gates swung open as their carriage approached, operated by guards whose movements were too precise, too coordinated to be entirely human. Kaelid realized with a start that they too were bound spirits, their awareness trapped within armored forms that served as eternal sentinels.

Don't pity them too much, the Sturm Marschal said, apparently sensing his distress. Those were volunteers, soldiers who chose to continue their service beyond death. Not all binding is forced, though I'll grant you the Praxis has little regard for such distinctions.

The carriage came to a stop in a courtyard dominated by a fountain that flowed upward rather than down, its waters defying gravity in spiraling helixes that caught and reflected the afternoon light. Servants appeared to escort them from the vehicle, their movements efficient but somehow hollow, as if they performed their duties without truly understanding their purpose.

Rannek stayed close to Kaelid as they were led through corridors lined with portraits of long-dead nobles and tapestries depicting battles from ages past. The palace was beautiful but cold, its grandeur serving to emphasize the distance between rulers and ruled.

Nearly there, the Sturm Marschal commented as they climbed a grand staircase toward the upper levels. The Duke prefers to conduct important meetings in his private study rather than the formal throne room. Consider it a mark of respect that he's receiving you there.

They were shown into a chamber that was surprisingly modest compared to the opulence they had seen elsewhere in the palace. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a fire crackled warmly in a stone hearth. Behind a desk of polished wood sat a man who looked younger than Kaelid had expected, his dark hair showing only the faintest traces of silver and his eyes sharp with intelligence.

"Your Grace," Inquisitor Valerius said, bowing deeply. "I present Kaelid and Rannek of Aldermere, as requested."

Duke Alaric rose from his chair, studying them with an intensity that made Kaelid's skin prickle. There was power in that gaze, but also something that might have been kindness.

"Welcome to my palace," the Duke said, his voice carrying the authority of absolute rule tempered by genuine warmth. "I trust your evaluation at the Praxis was... educational?"

Rannek shifted uncomfortably beside him, and Kaelid realized that their answer to this question might determine everything that followed. The Sturm Marschal's advice echoed in his mind: honesty above all else.

"It was informative, Your Grace," Kaelid replied carefully. "Though I found some of their methods... troubling."

The Duke's eyebrows rose slightly, and Kaelid caught a glimpse of what might have been approval in his expression. "Indeed? And what specifically troubled you?"

"The way they treated bound spirits," Kaelid said, the words coming out in a rush. "As if awareness and suffering were just data to be collected rather than... rather than something that mattered."

For a long moment, the Duke said nothing, his gaze moving between Kaelid and Rannek with calculating intensity. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

"Magistra Cordelia mentioned that you refused to interact with their research subject. She was quite put out by your lack of cooperation." The Duke moved around his desk to stand before them, his presence commanding but not threatening. "Tell me, young Kaelid, what would you have done differently?"

The question caught Kaelid off guard. He had expected judgment, perhaps punishment for his defiance, not a request for his opinion on matters of policy.

"I... I would have asked," he said finally. "If someone's awareness is to be preserved, they should have a choice in how it's used. And if they're suffering, that suffering should matter more than whatever knowledge might be gained from studying them."

The Duke nodded slowly, as if Kaelid had confirmed something he had already suspected. "A compassionate response. And you, Rannek? What are your thoughts on your evaluation?"

Rannek straightened, clearly trying to project confidence despite his obvious nervousness. "They seemed more interested in categorizing us than understanding us, Your Grace. Like we were problems to be solved rather than people to be helped."

"Perceptive," the Duke murmured. "Both of you show wisdom. The question now is what to do with that wisdom, and with the abilities that brought you to my attention."

He returned to his desk, settling into his chair with the easy grace of someone accustomed to command. "The Praxis has made their recommendations, as I'm sure you can imagine. They would very much like to study you further, to understand the source and nature of your abilities. They speak of great advances in arcane theory, of breakthroughs that could benefit the realm."

Kaelid felt his stomach clench with dread. The clinical detachment of the evaluators, their casual cruelty toward the bound spirits, painted a clear picture of what such study would entail.

"However," the Duke continued, "I find myself in the unusual position of having multiple parties interested in your welfare. It seems your abilities have attracted attention from several quarters, each with their own ideas about your proper development."

Before either boy could ask what he meant, there was a soft knock at the study door. At the Duke's invitation, it opened to admit a woman in robes of deep blue, her silver hair braided with threads of gold and her eyes holding the depth of someone who had seen much of the world.

"Your Grace," she said, inclining her head respectfully. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all." the Duke replied. "In fact, your timing is perfect. Boys, allow me to introduce Magistra Elara of the Collegium Arcanum. She has traveled quite far to meet you."

Kaelid felt the Sturm Marschal's attention sharpen with interest, the ancient presence focusing on the newcomer with something approaching recognition.

Now this is interesting, came the mental voice. The Collegium rarely involves itself in Praxis affairs. Your abilities must be more significant than even I realized.

As Magistra Elara stepped forward, her gaze moving between Kaelid and Rannek with keen intelligence, Kaelid realized that their situation had just become considerably more complicated. She bowed to the duke. "I wish to invoke the Right of Academic Claim."