Master Mages Marriage - 77 Neva 3

The Will of the True Imperial was growling.

Pulsing.

Resonating.

Elya once mentioned her grandfather suffering from the same affliction. This close to the wizened man dozing off in an armchair, Nikolai could feel the seething power of blood hidden beneath the wrinkled skin and hunched back. He closed his eyes and wrestled with his blood, forcing the Will to calm itself and return to its slumber. The resonance was a common phenomenon when two True Imperials met, but this was the first time Nikolai was almost overwhelmed by the sensation. Whether it was the mutations, his blood was undergoing or the strength of Elya’s grandfather he wasn’t sure. There were a few True Imperials amongst the War Mages who’d arrived, the condition being more common amongst Imperial Mages, but the resonance then was mild.

He would have to research it.

Later.

Nikolai knelt on the Suzdal training grounds overlooking the cliffs to the south. The rock hard earth dug into his knees painfully and Nikolai clenched his teeth as the aged retainer behind him stumbled through the archaic syntax of some obscure Imperial tradition known as the ‘Cleansing’. Jarek leaned on Nikolai’s ceremonial sword, already bored with the ceremony. Nikolai could hear the boy humming a Dragon Lord hymn under his breath. A catchy tune Nikolai was tempted to sing along with. The retainer fumbled over a word, drawing groans from their surroundings as he struggled to pronounce the ancient rune for water.

“Kzchthinzek” Nikolai offered helpfully, drawing a glare from Duke Suzdal who sat on an obsidian throne before him. The Duke was dazzling in a set of crystal armour, enchanted with innumerable spells for defence and strengthening, a few of which Nikolai could barely understand. The Duke waved his arm to proceed with such power, it generated huge gusts of wind and Nikolai was forced to close his eyes at the clouds of dust rising in its wake. Which he instantly regretted when ice cold water splashed over him, drenching the light robe he’d changed into. He gasped for breath, shuddering as another Suzdal elder came forth with a bucket of water.

Nikolai was a shivering mess by the time the last of the dozen elders poured water over him.

“Imperials were born in blood, our wings taken by the Unspoken God.” The retainer intoned, switching to the common tongue. A concession to the foreign dignitaries and Dragon Lords watching the ceremony. A vat of Drake blood was dragged before him by two burly Knights, bubbling with power and energy. The beast would have been freshly slaughtered since the blood was only just beginning to disintegrate under the sunlight, crimson spouts of blood writhing from the vat to turn into bursts of hissing steam above his head.

“We toiled as slaves, our horns broken by Zuriel, Goddess of Chains.” An elder gave Jarek a gentle push and whispered instructions. Jarek dragged the sword across the earth, grunting at the effort to draw the ancient rune for binding. Pouring with sweat, the boy handed Nikolai the sword with shaky arms when he was finished before kneeling at his side. The elder who’d instructed him gave Jarek a glass of water and praised him for his help. Jarek smiled and waved at some Dragon Lords in the crowd after the elder was done.

Servants hurried towards them, tossing herbs and metal dusts into the blood as a stabiliser. The Duke rose from his throne when the vat of blood calmed, striding towards Nikolai and unsheathing his sword with practiced ease. Nikolai swallowed, trying to ignore the feeling as if the Duke was about to strike him.

“With our ancestor’s lives did we earn freedom, tearing down the walls of Eluvite, the heart of Omron, God of Blood.”

Nikolai sliced his palm with the sword, hissing at the pain. The Duke didn’t even blink as he cut his own hand. They brought their fingers together, the streams of blood mixing before falling into the vat. Nikolai took a deep breath and tried to suppress his mutated blood from sealing the wound. He didn’t want to cut himself again.

“And so we come to this day where Imperial Houses are to join. Imperials! Be prepared in defence…” A steel shield was driven into the ground beside the Duke’s throne. “In attack…” Two swords were placed in a cross on the throne, their pristine blades gleaming under the sun. “And in honour.”

A servant woke Elya’s grandfather, helping the old man from his armchair. He tottered towards them, ruddy eyes holding a powerful glow. Nikolai could see the age constricting him; the laboured breathing from just moving a few feet and the trembling hands as he pricked his finger with a dagger to add a drop of his own blood. Coughing, the old man plunged his hands into the vat, coating them thoroughly. With a deep grunt he reached out to place one hand on the Duke’s cheek and the other on Nikolai’s.

“Even amongst Imperials we are special, guardians of the Compact. Suzdals are the first and last line against the Gods. The fist of the Empire. Now you are one of us, a Suzdal, descendants of the Elanyi line. Remember your heritage Nikolai Morales as you join ours.” The retainer’s voice trailed off at the end, bowing towards the southeast, the seat of the Son of Heaven. Nikolai followed suit, saluting alongside the rest of the Suzdals.

“Welcome Nikolai. Bring honour to our House.” The Duke’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried across the entire training grounds and the crowd burst into a huge cheer as he offered his hand to help Nikolai stand. [Probably happy it’s all over.] “And take care of my daughter.” That was a whisper so quiet Nikolai barely caught the words. Nonetheless he nodded at the Duke, taking his hand.

“I promise to take care of her. Nothing will harm her as long as I’m around.”

The Duke searched his face, gauging his sincerity. Whatever he saw seemed to please him and he nodded.

“I trust you.” Nikolai grinned but before he could say anything the Duke turned away and returned to his throne, leaving behind a stinging qualification. “For now.”