Tales of the Vangen: The Siege of Middengard (Book 2)

Chapter 18: Complications

{Treachery sits in the heart of every Middenite. Even my own. Despite my open derision for The Game, I must begrudgingly accept myself as its pawn. Every day I feel my father's careless hand guide me closer and closer towards the other side of the chessboard. Closer towards the real enemy. If I survive, I will have the chance to become something more. Something even greater than myself."

-an excerpt from the personal journals of Brand Golbeggar, heir to house Golbeggar

"But, that's not possible." Brand stood rooted to the spot, staring at Uncle Raylein as if he were a ghost. He might as well have been, all things considered. "You're...you're..."

"Dead?" Uncle Raylein stood up, brushing off an invisible fleck of dust from his impeccably strange clothes, lips curling back with an amused smile. "A slight exaggeration, honestly. I would call it more," he paused, waving a hand lazily in the air. "A temporary leave of absence. But, that is beside the point. How are you my boy?"

Brand didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Seeing Uncle Raylein after everything he'd dealt with so far felt as much a breath of fresh air as a punch in the guts. He took a wary step towards the man, wondering if at any moment he might simply disappear. Like a heat mirage in a furnace. Only when he was a few feet away did the honest truth settle in. His uncle was alive. The only family member who ever truly loved him. The only family member that he ever truly loved back. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around his uncle in an embrace, and the matter settled itself. He was alive and he was here.

"My boy," he heard his uncle say, one hand pressing into his curly hair and petting him gently. "It truly has been far too long."

"I've missed you so much uncle," Brand muttered, pressing his face against his uncle's clothes in order to hide the tears.

"As have I. We've a lot to talk about." He turned, scooping up the Magi's blueprints off the table, holding the paper gently between thumb and forefinger. "Such as how you came to acquire some personal documents of mine."

A hard, sinking feeling hit Brand in the stomach and he felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle as he pondered what to say. The truth, it simply had to be. "My father gave them to me after he told me you were dead. He wants me to make Magnus's Golden Heart for the Stelecasters."

Uncle Raylein snorted. "A tall order for someone such as you." He stared down at the blueprint, gray eyes scanning over Brand's notes along the margins. "But a surprising amount of progress, all things considered." Had that been pride in his voice, or amusement? Brand couldn't tell. "I dare say you've made a lot more headway then I ever did figuring out this daft bastards' cyphers. How did you do it?"

Brand beamed, eager to share his knowledge with his uncle. "I started by learning Byzan. Mostly in written form, although I soon discovered there were slight differences when it came to the alloys. The Magi has a habit of mixing his Byzan with our Midderlin, blending the two dialects together."

"Well, well," beamed Uncle Raylein. "That's quite a find. Any chance you figured out anything else beyond that?"

Brand felt his smile weaken. "No, not exactly. I know the Magi uses both languages simultaneously, I don't really know anything beyond that. Such as how he found the means for bending gold."

"Ah yes, the greatest mystery to ever plague our kind." Uncle Raylein leaned over, placing the blueprint back on the table and scooping up the lump of gold ore beside it. "To think that the softest metal in the world would be the hardest to master. An irony I have spent years trying to understand." He peered over to Brand. "I take it you haven't had much luck yourself?"

"None," Brand admitted. "Every time I've tried to pour my magick into it, the metal just forces it all back. Like it's actively trying to repel me."