Chapter 30 - Collisions

“With you as my allies, my enemies want for nothing!”

- Final words of War King Herodius

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Taliesin stood in the freezing rain of his own creation and watched as the wall burned. He and his closest bodyguards stood aside as his recruits joined the Jarl’s House Guards in a vain attempt to extinguish the blaze on the outside of the town’s walls. Taliesin, for his part, maintained the [Gentle Rain] spell to prevent the flames from spreading, but a solid twenty feet of wall was burning with unnatural colors from the alchemical brew painted upon it. He considered other ways he could possibly do more, but now wasn’t the time to experiment with trying to move dirt with large scale spatial magic, or risk fanning the flames with wind magic. He might well do more harm than good.

He had to admit, it was a brilliant bit of sabotage. As the minutes ticked by, more guards and loyal militia trickled in, and something of a work gang formed. Buckets were filled with mud and sand, passed up the line, and tossed on the blaze. Some of the sand would stick to the blazing tar and glass over, but it was a few tiny flecks of progress out of each bucket that sloshed uselessly against the walls.

The Jarl arrived with his own retinue, including a furious Arbiter Katla and sympathetic Lady Solveig, and began treating burns and cuts. Lady Solveig spoke with all who approached, offering kind words and gentle directions as to how they could help the effort.

By late afternoon, the flames had mostly died out. The alchemical fuel was gone, and the timbers themselves were charcoaled and wet. More than a few looked on the brink of snapping outright, and none of them looked strong enough to put up more than a token barrier to a determined assault. The mood was downright grim, and everyone was grimy from soot and smoke as the effort was called to a halt. The Jarl led a mostly silent procession back into Buverik, while Taliesin and his men followed in behind the crowd of guards and militia.

Once inside the walls, the Jarl allowed Taliesin to catch up to him.

“I’m going to see how bad it is on the inside,” said Gunther. “Will you join me?”

“Of course, Jarl Gunther,” said Taliesin tiredly. He’d been enchanting or casting all day, and was more ready for an ale and a nap than a conversation.

Thankfully, the Jarl wasn’t in the mood for idle small talk, either. They walked in companionable silence through the town, the large group of Taliesin’s men, the Jarl’s guard, and the loyal militia, all trudged together. Then they rounded the corner to see how bad the damage was on the back side where Taliesin had first found the saboteurs.

Sheriff Hallfred stood there with several dozen militia and his own tax collectors. All of them were grimy and tired, having formed a bucket brigade of their own to throw muddy snow and slush on their side of the wall. Every last one of them looked as tired as Taliesin felt, perhaps with the exception of the mountainous retainer, Ulfgrim, who just looked sooty.

The Sheriff wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and spread a smudge of soot across it by accident. His eyes caught on the Jarl, and he openly snarled.

“Look who finally bothered to show up,” he said loudly. “Along with his pet mage. Or is he your puppet master?”

Taliesin noticed Captain Haeming and a large number of men who looked like brothers or cousins - likely fellow Windrime clan members - working alongside the Sheriff and renegade militia who supported the Sheriff. No doubt the young Jarl noticed them too.

“Who do you think was busy putting out the flames, you insolent fool?” retorted Gunther. “Surely not you, who were pissing on dry wood.”

Cries of protest erupted from the tired men surrounding the Sheriff at having their efforts to save their town’s walls be so casually dismissed.

“At least we’re not actively harboring a rogue mage who murders good, honest clan members with his magic,” shouted one of Captain Haeming’s men. “I bet he started the fire on the wall, too!”

This time the shouts of anger and protest came from the Jarl’s men. They moved forward aggressively.

“Traitors!” shouted someone from the Jarl’s camp.

“Puppets!”

“Hey! Calm down!” shouted Hallfred, and his backers quieted, but looked ready to jump into a brawl. “We’ll get our justice. That villain will get his reckoning soon.”

“Hallfred, you’re a backstabber and a traitor,” growled Gunther. “I’ve half a mind to take your head right now and put it on a spike.”

Angry shouts mixed with self-righteous cheers as both factions erupted in noise once more. But this time Gunther quieted them. “But we’re not the villains here. We’re protecting our town and our people from monsters. When we’ve triumphed in battle, and proven in the eyes of the gods that we were their chosen champions, they’ll see how their petty, jumped up Sheriff is just a con man. He’s just a greedy little tax collector who got too big for his boots, without even a drop of nobility in his veins!”

This time, the cheers outweighed the angry muttering, and somehow the flames were dampened enough for the confrontation to end. Taliesin had no doubt that they’d fire up once more.

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“How dare those ungrateful bastards side with that snake?” shouted Gunther as he paced back and forth in front of an untouched washbasin. “And how are we so vulnerable to fire? What’s the point of a wall if they can just burn it down?”

“Milord, we soaked the palisades in a salt solution just last summer at your grandfather’s order. Against natural fire, it should have been enough.”

“We’ve lost at least half the militia - on the eve of battle, no less - if the Windrime Clan has chosen Hallfred! And you, Stormlord. Was rain really the best you could do? You couldn’t just magic away the fire?”

Taliesin frowned. “Jarl Gunther, just because I’m a guest under your roof doesn’t mean I’m one of your subjects. You will take care not to abuse me. But I will humor your question if I could just magic away the fire. First of all, I must ask, what part of Stormlord implies fire? I specialized in the weather, and branched out from there into spatial magics and how they correlate with the universe. I do not cast fire spells.

“Secondly, that was an alchemical fire. They used shamanistic magics to enhance the natural, flammable properties of the tar. I would have to figure out how to dispel shaman magic, which is by its very nature, subtle and woven into the natural world, and then determine how to dispel the flames. Now, did you want me to do all of that for hours on end, or would you rather I rain water from the skies above directly onto the flames?”

Jarl Gunther grunted and then waved a hand to concede the point, before finally splashing water on his face and scrubbing hard with a small undyed towel.

“I must see to my men,” he finally spat out.

“Milord Jarl, we have a prisoner we must discuss…” said Brant to the angry Jarl as the pair walked out of the room.

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Unbelievable.

Taliesin paced in his own quarters after washing and changing to clothes that didn’t stink of smoke. He’d dismissed his retainers and servants and ignored the mountain of half-finished enchantments and spellform experiments in his study. He was far too angry to work.

It was always the same with peasants and the ignorant. The first minute something went wrong, it was time to blame it on ill omens, or curses, or magic in general. Bad weather? It must be witches. Dead cow? A wizard’s curse. Lost a battle? Blame the oracles. It’s never bad luck for the weather, mistreatment for the cow, or poor planning for the war. Magic is to blame, and practitioners are the scapegoats. Why would any of them take two seconds to look at their own actions and take responsibility for themselves?

Taliesin had been burning the candle at both ends, trying to equip his men and ward the town, while building up his own ability to fight, all before the gnoll army finally caught up to them. Countless hours had gone into spellwork, and beginning to build the tools that built the tools that he would need to even get to the fundamentals of proper enchanting work. With his spellforms, he was both recreating spells he’d lost in the battle with Balidar the Destroyer, and inventing a system of magic that was far and away more efficient and powerful than what he’d learned in his previous world. On top of all that, he had his obligations to his host, and endless hours on his knees in the snow, carving away enchantments to secure the town’s walls.

Was there any appreciation for any of that?

No, of course there wasn’t! Instead, when he found the saboteurs before they could set even more of the town’s walls on fire, he got blamed for starting it! When he did what he could do to slow the spread of the flames, he got charged with failing to put them out. Always, they want him to do that gods-forsaken fire magic, as if he’d ever touch the stuff after what he’d seen. On top of all that, the Sheriff had attempted to strongarm him into being a petty minion, then tried to outright murder him. It was enough to drive a man to madness.

Taliesin fumed. Was this what he got from trying to cooperate? Was he being too kind in this harsh land? He had more power at his fingertips than just about anyone around him. His varingjar had proven loyal, and the factions in this town were splintering its strength.

Perhaps he should just… take over? As much as it was hard for him to believe, he was actually considering it. He had the power. Taliesin could just end the Sheriff outright, and just co-opt the Jarl’s weak support. That part he wasn’t sure about, because he liked Gunther well enough on a personal level. Then he’d have to rule through fear and pure magical might. He disliked the idea of that too.

Before he could even follow that train of thought, he’d talked himself out of it again. It was a crazy idea, a rash reaction to his anger. He didn’t mind the idea of ending the corrupt Sheriff. But at the end of the day, Taliesin wasn’t hotheaded enough to alienate everyone he’d met in this realm by a mad power grab. If there was one thing he’d learned in his many years, it was that the sentence of death was often dealt far too swiftly. There was a thread he could follow though.

What if he turned that might and just smashed the enemy army before it arrived? He could lay waste with his most powerful spells and resolve the problem before it got here. He’d have to find it first, which meant scouting reports. From what he’d heard, the Jarl’s scouts only had a rough approximation.

That really didn’t solve the problem of the petty factions, the cheap accusations, or the Jarl barking at him like a servant. Taliesin seesawed back and forth, torn between his slowly calming anger, and the growing idea of destroying the enemy army by himself.

A knock at the door was soon followed by Viggo entering the room. The portly steward looked cowed as he approached the Stormlord, which disheartened Taliesin. His people had no reason to fear him.

“Do not fret, Viggo. My anger is not directed at any of our people. I’m frustrated by the situation and angry with the Sheriff. Although I am annoyed enough with waiting that I’m half-tempted to go and destroy the enemy army myself.”

Viggo looked shocked at the proclamation, and replied, “Milord, I hesitate to remind you, but the gnoll army likely has more yeti troops in their ranks. Didn’t one of them knock you out of the sky with a wagon back in the village?”

Taliesin winced. “It was a wagon wheel, yes. That hurt quite a bit.”

“Wouldn’t they have more projectiles to throw your direction? Especially if you’re spending your magic on destroying the gnoll warriors? And won’t there be shamans there, too?”

A deep frown marred Taliesin’s face. “You speak entirely too much sense. I presume you’re implying that I might be biting off more than I can chew?”

“No doubt you are supremely capable, Lord Taliesin. I just worry that even you could be overwhelmed by sheer dint of numbers.”

“That is plausible,” replied Taliesin, his frown lessening. “Not to mention, my own vestments still aren’t to the level I’d like them to be. My defenses aren’t even to the level they were the last time I faced the full might of an army.”

Viggo paled once more, only this time at the realization that his new master was not just overreaching, but had already once done what he proposed doing. Of course, Taliesin failed to mention that he had definitely not destroyed Balidar’s army, nor even come close to decimating it.

“Ah… milord, there was a purpose to my visit.”

“Oh? Well, out with it.”

“It seems young Aina has been arrested by the Jarl’s guards. She slew a thrall.”

“Indeed? That seems odd that she’d be caught doing that, considering her Forging,” said Taliesin as he rubbed absently at his jaw. Once again, he vaguely missed having his long beard to stroke.

“I would think that to be the case as well, but there are many, many witnesses who watched her cut him down in the middle of a market. She made no effort to hide it.”

At last, Taliesin found his humor once again. He laughed uproariously. “Is that so? She was so angry she killed him in the street?”

“Milord?” Viggo questioned.

“I suspect we may have finally discovered who dumped her in that ditch, Viggo.”