The Meaning of Honor [Belgar]

[Hadrian]

83rd Fall, 511 A.V. They had not been in Avanthal long before Hadrian began to stray. Today he left the safety of the city walls behind in order to practice those of his magics that many deemed unsafe. To be sure, a citizen could not Summon within the walls of Syliras. If Cathan were here, he might go hunting and Maledict the bones of some great dire creature. But it was just Hadrian and so he walked out into the growing cold of late autumn, his winterbane coat pulled tight around him. Adrasteios got to remain in the warmth of the stable, his lord and master still saddle sore from the ride to the seat of winter. He walked for hours, careful to find a path that he could follow back; he was no great woodsman, after all. When he found a place, flat and bare, but somewhat protected from the view of whatever traffic might pass this way, he gestured, muttering a focusing incantation, and a whirling breeze shooed away a light frosting of snow. Taking a sack of cornmeal out of his satchel, he began to deadened the breezes and began to trace out the most basic foundation of a Summoning circle. He was a little nervous after his overachieving nearly cost him his life back in Ravok, but this was a minimal circle and he would tune it to Swalden rather than Shoyden. A small circle in the middle, bisected by a cross that reached farther out to a larger circle, surrounded by one larger still. Sixteen smaller circles he laid, each like a pearl on the necklace of the outer rings. Next he poured a much larger circle, marking it at even spaces with simple runes. With the last of the cornmeal, he made three, more elaborate glyphs upon that outermost circle and then held out his hands. Energy gathered and coalesced into three discreet globes of energy: blue, green, yellow. Each floated into one of the more complex glyphs and the outer ring flashed with sudden light and then dimmed down to nearly nothing, awaiting someone attempting to cross and harm him. Then he knelt in front of the smaller, inner circle, the summoning circle, and with glyphs of res he filled in the sixteen circles with the coordinates of Swalden. Hadrian nicked the pad of his thumb with the knife he himself forged back in Syliras and let a few drops fall on the summoning circle, which began to glow with a strange light as the sacrifice of his vitae called power to his circle, the portal began to open. "Eyris grant me a Memosite," he murmured.

[Belgar]

Walking, thinking: these things were not good for him, Belgar had slowly come to realize, but he did them all the same. Training to fight had no purpose without something to fight for, and talking with humans had become increasingly difficult without her to guide him along and recover for his mistakes. Thinking led him backwards and filled him with confusion and regret, but he could not deny the catharsis that came with barefaced self-pity. So he wandered, trudging along on two short legs, wrapped in furs that were not his own. As a bear, he was volatile; she had reminded him of that constantly, made him ashamed of it. At least, if he were to think, it would be with the wise and rational mind of a human. By the time he reached the official edge of the scattered city of snow, his itching nose matched the red moisture on his eyes.

He smelled it from far off. It made him stop and raise his head from where he had stared down at the pathless snow. The scent was unmistakable. It smelled like warmth and yet was not. It was like the stench of a man’s life-blood as it poured into air and soil, without the trace odor of metal to make it real. More often than not, he only realized that he had perceived it after it had faded, but it was strong that day. Belgar’s straight human face bent into a candid glare. His teary eyes became angry.

There were tracks in the otherwise undisturbed snow, the heavy and heedless kind that could only belong to a human. He followed them stiffly. In his human form, he had to make coherent decisions. There was no way for the beast to bleed into him, he thought; the world did not work that way. And so he did not hesitate when he found his pace quickening, the smell of magic filling his nose and ripping it open. There was an enemy near. That was the only explanation. It was a threat to Avanthal, to the Vantha, and it was his duty to remove it before any harm came to them.

Nearly ten minutes had passed since the circles had been laid and the prayer spoken. Belgar had run there a man, convincing himself not to shift, to succumb, until it was necessary. But those black eyes which were so often uncolored by composure already flared bright red with certain rage. His hands moved unconsciously to untie strings and unfasten buttons. And then the snow ceased to pop beneath precise feet, instead stirred to the air by giant black paws and yellow claws. A long, loud roar announced what his feet had not already: a dire bear was charging at Hadrian, and his circles and lines and runes, undaunted in his ignorance of the magic that protected him.

A piece of Belgar thought to intimidate the stranger, to chase him away from his home. Another piece wanted the taste of a mage’s blood. As a beast, of course, he could not possibly think otherwise.

[Hadrian]

A familiar sort of stone appeared in the center of the circle and Hadrian, smiling, reached out to take it. The power of the circle shone red with his blood, then cooled into latency, only occasionally flickering, reminding him that his circle had a hold of the Memosite, which would allow him to send it back to Swalden once they had exchanged memories. He held the thing to his temple, closing his eyes and hoping to share a memory for a valuable one from the alien stone, some bit of magic or lore that would help him in the future. His meditation upon the Memosite was interrupted by the sudden wrench in the magic surrounding him, still keyed into his will and his blood. After laying his protections, he hadn't bothered to pay much attention to what was going on outside the circles. His attention was necessary for the task at hand. But a bear came charging and his malice tripped the feelers of his protective circle, giving the charged power time to well up, a wall of res slamming into him even as it transformed into ice, rock, and buffeting winds to pin him down to the ground. Hadrian frowned for a moment at the huge polar bear, and when he put two and two together, he apologized. "I'm sorry," he said. "It doesn't know you for the Icewatch. Just give me a moment..." Never mind the fact that the Icewatch bear had probably meant violent business from the violence of his protections' response. He returned to his communion with the eldritch stone, but his concentration was not recoverable. As such, he ended up sharing the smell of orange blossoms, and received something equally ephemeral. He set the Memosite back into the circle and willed it shut. When the stone disappeared, the energies began to sort of implode, and the glyphs that had made up the summoning circle disappeared, the cornmeal dispersing as if blasted by wind. He hoped some small creature would find enough of it to make use of it. Then he stood and walked through his protections, which tingled along his skin, much weakened for what they were doing now. The bear guard's eyes were a bright, angry red, and for a moment he didn't want to call off the elemental spell. But he would have to. This was the Icewatch. The last thing he wanted to do was offend the powers that be in Avanthal. Winter was fast approaching, and it would be nigh impossible to escape the winter city if escape became necessary. He Fluxed djed into his muscles until they tingled with readiness. Flight might be necessary. But he dismissed the reimantic bonds, everything crumbling away from the bear's form, the sigil circle blasted away much as the summoning circle had been. "I apologize for that. It was only to keep me safe while I worked." The bear's aura was not Jaiun's, which was good to know because he couldn't tell one polar bear from another at this point. "My name is Hadrian Aelius, sir. What seems to be the trouble?"

[Belgar]

In a single moment, the straight and unrelenting anger that drove him was exchanged for chaos and confusion. Ice, air, rock, corn, blood, and different strands of whirling, dissolving djed—all of the smells that raked his senses rendered futile any attempt at distinguishing them. He could not even smell his own fear, which rose from his aura like a frantic blond flame. In the confusion, he could not think to see or feel. He could not move, and he did not know why. But in the middle of it all, somehow his ears remained lucid. They ate up the noise of howling winds and spat out a man’s words: Common, a language the northerner had not nearly studied enough. Perhaps it was the concentration required in understanding that pulled him from other turmoils.

He knew the sound of an apology, but could not grasp its relevance as he remained pinned by the strength and noise of the elements. And then, as quickly as they had been thrown down on him, the restraints and scents were lifted. Belgar’s great white arms hoisted him gracelessly to his feet. He shook his heavy head and sneezed. His eyes were half-open, weighted by sudden exhaustion; when they cleared and faced the undaunted magic-wielder, remnants of the old red still reflected on bestial black irises. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they began to fade to another color.

The villain was impossibly tall, compared to the Vantha proportions which he was so accustomed to seeing. His expression was cordial, his posture civil. The words he said seemed well-said, though Belgar could only decipher the introduction of a name among them. He only glared down on him, dismissing the passing thought that there might be a spell on that silver tongue. Hadrian Aelius stood like her, the bear realized, and faced the promise of a mauling with the same sort of calm composure for which she had once prided herself. His troubled mind’s eye painted Seisswyn’s face onto the real and living man before him. She smiled and, because she was a figment of his memory and his opinions, whispered, “Do not forget.”

He could not weep in this form, but his eyes and aura welled with blue mourning. Despair stomped out the last of the anger and plunged him into the depths of passions through which he had only waded. Seisswyn faded, and Belgar no longer saw the reasonable and merciful man who had approached him with proper courtesy in the face of uncivilized rage. He saw chaos, destruction, and death. He roared again, a pained and guttural noise that tossed back Hadrian’s hair and dotted him with warm saliva. Then he lifted both of his giant forepaws from the writhing snow and brought them down again, intent on removing that evil from his world.

[Hadrian]

He could read only a slow, vague comprehension in the bear's aura. Perhaps he didn't speak Common, and Hadrian didn't speak Vani really at all. Perhaps he should have taken advantage of his friendship with Kye and learned his language, or while at the University in Zeltiva, but he had not and now he could only partially communicate with this bear that seemed so angry. Really, perhaps they had been luckier than he knew to meet Jaiun instead of this one when they first approached Avanthal. But then his eyes changed and his aura with it, hot spittle and breath hitting Hadrian's face and blowing his hair back. To his credit, he didn't shy away, but nerves tingling with djed snapped him quickly to attention and he stutter stepped backward with unnatural alacrity just in time to miss getting a bear hug that would likely have crushed him. His heel caught in the curve of a root and he very nearly lost his footing, but twisted around with his enhanced reflexes and then was climbing up a tree. It might not have been the wisest course of action, but it was the first thing to come to him and he did it. His soft, scholarly hands were scratched up in the process, but once he was aloft, he could breathe more easily, and once he was steady, he reached out with his aura to calm the bear. He was no expert hypnotist, but sometimes a little bit of energy correctly applied at the right time could move mountains. "I'm a friend," he promised in soothing tones. "I'm staying in Avanthal. I'm being peaceful. Please." He was no good at violence, but he could Morph himself some claws and attempt to defend himself with his Fluxed speed and strength. He didn't want to, but he wanted to die even less than that.

[Belgar]

His paws found nothing but soft snow, and the force of his own weight made him pause as the shock of impact pulsed through him. He tossed his head and mumbled a growl, which turned into another roar when he saw the coward flee. The stench of djed sparked anew and made him wary, but not enough to prevent him from pursuit. It took only a short bound to throw the beast towards the tree. But his shoulder did not have the chance to empty it of its contents with a short collision. Belgar hesitated when he heard the soft man’s soft words.

He turned his big black nose towards the human. The low branch that held him was only just higher than the dire beast’s eyes, a short jump away from wrapping his maw around a bony leg. But suddenly he stepped back. A friend, he called himself. To whom, he did not... to Avanthal, he recalled. To the Vantha. He was not a child of Morwen, but he was their friend. Belgar stepped back and pointed his nose briefly at the gound, distraught and confused. He could not decide whether that friendship made the man any more worthy of life, but until he decided, he could not yet kill him. Anyhow, the mage did speak some truth: his evil magic had not yet been used for evil, a far as he could tell. The bear looked up, sadness still swimming in his eyes, then began to glow.

A flash of light later, the bear had shrunk into a man again. Hard and sharp and tall, Belgar might seem as ferocious as his other form if it weren’t for his nudity, and the way the whites of his eyes bloomed red with new tears. His clothes sat in a pile not thirty feet distant, but the mark on the small of his chest warmed his bare feet for at least some minutes. His hands were fists at his sides and his face was straight and stiff. He thought he could be reasonable then, but the words that came to him were less so than he realized. “How dare you—” he began in Vani, without bringing himself to meet the mage’s eyes. Then he remembered.

Not concerned with honoring the foreigner with his effort, Belgar’s Common was strung together like a single word in a long song. “You...” Oh, what was the word? “You dishonor you friends in Avanthal with magic. The snow—our snow—will smell for a long time. A long time, after you have finished your evil and you leave us.” He paused, his heavy chest breathing hot white into the air. His gaze did not rise. His toes began to feel cold, but he did not move. “You will leave us.”

[Hadrian]

When the Icewatch bear shrank down to a human body, Hadrian relaxed somewhat. The part of his mind that ran a constant analysis of the world around him estimated the man was not as tall as him, though built of muscle, the which Hadrian could only emulate through Morphing or the Flux. He wondered what it was like to be strong of body in fact rather than through strength of will and discipline of magic. It was a strange thing, consorting with Kelvics all the time. He saw more naked men now than he ever had before. But he could not analyze the Vani, and the man's Common was a little shaky. He concentrated on understanding what was said, but it didn't quite make sense, even though he understood the words, at least in Common. "I... My name is Hadrian Aelius. I was escorted into Avanthal by a bear of the Icewatch by the name if Jaiun. As far as I'm aware, the practice of magic is not illegal within the realm of Queen Morwen, an it harm none. I summoned a memory-stone and nothing else, and my magical protections only disabled you. There was no harm, no foul. If there is any dishonor being done, it is being done to me. I respect you as a member of the Icewatch, but if you believe that I have broken some covenant with the Queen of Winter, then take me to Her to be judged, for in this I am innocent."

[Belgar]

“You— no—” he began, still breathing heavily. The blue in his eyes had faded barely, darkened by shallow black confusion. He had not caught half the words, but the other half stirred up his anger. It was true that his mother-goddess did not share his offense in the practice of djed. In fact, the mark her people shared granted them some access to its manipulation. If Belgar resented this, he had removed the sentiment to a place in his mind where he did not have to acknowledge it often.

When he spoke again, his words were slower and punctuated by an affected staccato. He would have to at least try to be understood, if he were to keep this man from his people. “My name is Belgar. I protect Avanthal, by word of Queen Morwen.”

Belgar huffed again like the animal he was, treading a single line through the snow. He did not bring himself any closer to Hadrian Aelius and his tree; even though he had to be sane in human form, he could not help but feel residually wary of his own volatility. So he paced. “It is not law,” Belgar conceded. “But it... it is danger.” He had forgotten the words for death or chaos. He added, “At now, it harm none, but it can harm, and it will harm. It is dishonor to put Avanthal in danger.”

His feet were soaked to the calf with tossed snow and his warm sweat was frosting in the Talderan breezes. He stopped walking. There was a shiver in his next exhale. Whether it was for the bite of cold or the sob in his throat, he did not act on it. His jaw was stiff as he restrained the piece of him that yearned to attack. “You will leave,” he insisted, “Or I will remove you.”

[Hadrian]

Though he was making some headway with sheer logic, Hadrian didn't want to get stuck up in this tree any longer than necessary. His winterbane coat was warm, but it would not keep him from dying of exposure forever. And so he concentrated on pushing his aura toward the man-shaped bear who was making the snow sublime to vapor all around him. His aura stroked the Kelvic's aura soothingly. If he could keep him calm, he might accept logic more easily, and if he took Hadrian back to be questioned, that was one thing. Slaughter and exile other things entirely. You can trust him, went the hypnotic suggestion, subtly worming its way between the cracks in his discomfort with magic. "Belgar," he said, his voice calm and soothing despite his own tension and the thrum of Fluxed djed singing in his veins and through his muscles. "You protect Avanthal, but I am not the enemy. Magic is dangerous, but so are swords, so are your paws and teeth. But you do not send swords and Icewatch bears from Avanthal. I can help protect Avanthal, as well." In fact, he did have hopes of magecrafting for Queen Morwen, but he would need an audience first, and he wasn't sure how to go about getting that. "All my friends and things are still in Avanthal. I can't leave without them."

[Belgar]

Belgar had not even realized how his throat had gone tight until he dared to breathe through it. A heavy inhale, amid Hadrian’s wave of words, relaxed him more than he anticipated. It eased the tension from his arms, as if washed away like melted snow. And though it did not lift the habitual glare that painted his face, it did inspire the Kelvic to turn his aching eyes away to regard his clothes. The man seemed reasonable enough not to strike out, even with the advantage of magic, so Belgar tentatively approached the pile and picked out the pieces that were not too touched by cold moisture.

His chafing nostrils flared against the persistent whorl of scents on the air. Djed, which was more ubiquitous than could ever know, was always a difficult thing to decipher when he did not try at it. He perceived some vague, lingering thread of it as he stepped into his clothes and pulled them over his shoulders. He glanced up at the mage’s hands, the supposed source of his djed, only once. “A sword,” he replied finally, brooding carefully around the words, “ends. A man cannot reach far, or he loses it. A bear, you can restrain.”

There he hesitated, embarrassed. His eyes had darkened towards their usual black, the sadness choked by a belated recollection of etiquette. But unlike usual, he could not manage to remove the last of the color. He could not push away that emotion which made him reckless and stupid, not even for the sake of real, intelligent conversation. His eyes averted from the peculiar blue that peered down at him from between black branches and pierced like the aurora through the dreary grey of midafternoon. “Magic... It reaches far and you cannot restrain it.” It was a hasty excuse for an offense that he could not explain, and he knew it. There were no words in Vani, much less in Common, to describe it. “It is danger, in more than blood.”

Whether because he knew it was the right thing to do, or because he needed to hold on to courtesy where there was little else to distract him, Belgar added, “Come down from there, and I will not harm you.” Only after he had said it did his eyes meet Hadrian’s again. “I am restrained.”