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Description
The triskelion used as the mark of the followers of the Goddesses of magic was a simple thing, but each ranking pendant could reveal many things to the trained eye. The specialty, skill, and rank of it's wielder was revealed by the color, vibrance, and opacity of the triskele. Normal pendants began as clear glass, and were filled with color as their bearers gained power. The colors revealed the primary focus the mage had undertaken, correlating with the thirteen colors of the goddesses, as the clarity and distinction of each colored band revealed the skill had in each class. The further in rank a mage rose, the more opaque the pendant became.

Only one pendant was not in the least transparent. Only the pendant in which all of the thirteen bands was shown in stark contrast one from the other, each glowing slightly, but strongly. Only one pendant appeared to be alive with the power of the magic within it. Only the pendant of the Archcardinal, the pendant that hung from Arrats' outstretched hand.

"Test it, if you believe it false." Smiling warmly, Arrats offered the pendant to the guard who had questioned. "It will likely become empty in your hands." The guard took the pendant, and when Arrats lifted her hand, the color did fade, though not entirely: three bands still kept a slight glow to them. She smiled at this, "It seems you've had some small amount of training yourself, soldier."

He reached into his breastplate and pulled out a similar pendant. His was smaller, but the same bands glowed on both now. "My mother was an initiate at the Tower here before she had me," he explained, returning Arrats' pendant to her. It returned to its original coloration as soon as it was in her possession. "She requested that I learn the basics of combat magic and healing spells when I became a soldier. I am by no means a mage, madam, but I can get by without if I must."

Arrats smiled. "Your mother had much wisdom."

"And her son prays to have inherited some portion of it," he answered with a salute. He turned and exited the throne room, followed by the other guards.

When the doors were closed behind them, Arrats asked the princess, "I do not know your military's insignia, so I do not recognize his rank. Nevertheless, my dear, I would say he may be overdue for a promotion. Were he not yours, I would not hesitate to steal him away."

"If you would like him, Archcardinal," the princess said, "you may have him. We have a great many guards. Perhaps too many."

Arrats tutted at the princess. This was a thing that infuriated Selice, but she refused to reveal herself rankled before so esteemed a guest. Arrats was about to say something when the old man--still sprawled comfortably on the floor, as though he'd forgotten where he was--said, "Girly, ye may have too many guards, t' be sure. But even 'f ye have an army, their trainin' matters more'n their numbers. One well trained soldier--th' one ye just saw here, say--is worth more'n a hundred men in armor. Ye're wantin' f'r cuttin' yer guard? That's fine, ye should be gettin' rid o' th' ones what obeyed blindly, not th' one what disobeyed out o' loyalty."

Selice was infuriated by her guests, but she refused to allow herself to seem so. What's more, she knew there was wisdom in the old man's words. So, more graciously than she could stand--almost--she thanked him.

To which thanks he responded, "There's nothin' f'r ye t' be thankin' f'r, girly. Advice 's a thing as should be freely given an' freely taken. May be, one day ye'll be th' one givin' me th' wisdom I'm f'r needin' then. 'f it won't trouble me any, I'll help t' keep ye alive 'til then."

"In any case," Arrats said, "we need to see the king. It is urgent, to be sure, and even if he is bedridden, I would much like to speak for a short time with him myself, let alone what Inlé needs."

"I'm sorry, but it's still impossible," Selice said more somberly. She had been beginning to fray, feeling pressed by these three drifters. But the return to the topic of the king calmed her like a bucket of cold water. She decided that the truth would be the only way to make them understand. In resignation, the princess softly said, "The king ... father is dead."

Her eyes refused to look up then, refused to show their tears. She refused to show her pain to strangers. Despite this, she found herself suddenly held in a firm, tender embrace. She was engulfed in the scent of loam and wind: earthy, soothing, calming. Hints of wood-fires under the night sky and cool rain on parched soil drifted in and out. As though magically compelled, Selice released what little composure she had left, and began to silently allow the tears to roll from her closed eyes.

"There, girl," the old man's voice said from closer than the princess had suspected. "Let that go. 'tis a fine thing t' cry when ye must."

In the back of her mind, Selice was ashamed she had thought so ill of the old man. She'd thought him dirty and disgusting, but as he held her in consolation, she realized that he was unsophisticated, but not unintelligent. He was simply unimpressed by the baubles society so craved. He was simple as dirt. But, like dirt, his simple appearance hid the complexity of the components forming his nature. She did not know this so much as feel it.

She knew little then but the grief of a girl who'd just lost her father.

Description
The triskelion used as the mark of the followers of the Goddesses of magic was a simple thing, but each ranking pendant could reveal many things to the trained eye. The specialty, skill, and rank of it's wielder was revealed by the color, vibrance, and opacity of the triskele. Normal pendants began as clear glass, and were filled with color as their bearers gained power. The colors revealed the primary focus the mage had undertaken, correlating with the thirteen colors of the goddesses, as the clarity and distinction of each colored band revealed the skill had in each class. The further in rank a mage rose, the more opaque the pendant became.

Only one pendant was not in the least transparent. Only the pendant in which all of the thirteen bands was shown in stark contrast one from the other, each glowing slightly, but strongly. Only one pendant appeared to be alive with the power of the magic within it. Only the pendant of the Archcardinal, the pendant that hung from Arrats' outstretched hand.

"Test it, if you believe it false." Smiling warmly, Arrats offered the pendant to the guard who had questioned. "It will likely become empty in your hands." The guard took the pendant, and when Arrats lifted her hand, the color did fade, though not entirely: three bands still kept a slight glow to them. She smiled at this, "It seems you've had some small amount of training yourself, soldier."

He reached into his breastplate and pulled out a similar pendant. His was smaller, but the same bands glowed on both now. "My mother was an initiate at the Tower here before she had me," he explained, returning Arrats' pendant to her. It returned to its original coloration as soon as it was in her possession. "She requested that I learn the basics of combat magic and healing spells when I became a soldier. I am by no means a mage, madam, but I can get by without if I must."

Arrats smiled. "Your mother had much wisdom."

"And her son prays to have inherited some portion of it," he answered with a salute. He turned and exited the throne room, followed by the other guards.

When the doors were closed behind them, Arrats asked the princess, "I do not know your military's insignia, so I do not recognize his rank. Nevertheless, my dear, I would say he may be overdue for a promotion. Were he not yours, I would not hesitate to steal him away."

"If you would like him, Archcardinal," the princess said, "you may have him. We have a great many guards. Perhaps too many."

Arrats tutted at the princess. This was a thing that infuriated Selice, but she refused to reveal herself rankled before so esteemed a guest. Arrats was about to say something when the old man--still sprawled comfortably on the floor, as though he'd forgotten where he was--said, "Girly, ye may have too many guards, t' be sure. But even 'f ye have an army, their trainin' matters more'n their numbers. One well trained soldier--th' one ye just saw here, say--is worth more'n a hundred men in armor. Ye're wantin' f'r cuttin' yer guard? That's fine, ye should be gettin' rid o' th' ones what obeyed blindly, not th' one what disobeyed out o' loyalty."

Selice was infuriated by her guests, but she refused to allow herself to seem so. What's more, she knew there was wisdom in the old man's words. So, more graciously than she could stand--almost--she thanked him.

To which thanks he responded, "There's nothin' f'r ye t' be thankin' f'r, girly. Advice 's a thing as should be freely given an' freely taken. May be, one day ye'll be th' one givin' me th' wisdom I'm f'r needin' then. 'f it won't trouble me any, I'll help t' keep ye alive 'til then."

"In any case," Arrats said, "we need to see the king. It is urgent, to be sure, and even if he is bedridden, I would much like to speak for a short time with him myself, let alone what Inlé needs."

"I'm sorry, but it's still impossible," Selice said more somberly. She had been beginning to fray, feeling pressed by these three drifters. But the return to the topic of the king calmed her like a bucket of cold water. She decided that the truth would be the only way to make them understand. In resignation, the princess softly said, "The king ... father is dead."

Her eyes refused to look up then, refused to show their tears. She refused to show her pain to strangers. Despite this, she found herself suddenly held in a firm, tender embrace. She was engulfed in the scent of loam and wind: earthy, soothing, calming. Hints of wood-fires under the night sky and cool rain on parched soil drifted in and out. As though magically compelled, Selice released what little composure she had left, and began to silently allow the tears to roll from her closed eyes.

"There, girl," the old man's voice said from closer than the princess had suspected. "Let that go. 'tis a fine thing t' cry when ye must."

In the back of her mind, Selice was ashamed she had thought so ill of the old man. She'd thought him dirty and disgusting, but as he held her in consolation, she realized that he was unsophisticated, but not unintelligent. He was simply unimpressed by the baubles society so craved. He was simple as dirt. But, like dirt, his simple appearance hid the complexity of the components forming his nature. She did not know this so much as feel it.

She knew little then but the grief of a girl who'd just lost her father.