Legends Never Die: Schoolyard Days (ch. 182) (Patreon)

A year had passed since Magnus arrived at the university, and he found himself at the forefront of a lecture hall. Before him was a tablet made of wax for note-taking, which he did so with a sharp rod of iron pinched between two fingers. His teacher paced at the front of the lecture hall, a slate board marked with chalk that denoted their current topic of lecture. 

“What is it that creates a successful kingdom?” Nikolaos, a Greek man questioned with the faintest of accents. He was amongst the many who had chosen to leave Rome when his father returned, nearly twenty years ago now as Magnus was seventeen. A man grown. “The answer is not a good king or victory in war or even good governance -- though those things certainly apply. They feed into a central principle. Momentum.” 

“The Achaemenid Empire, under the rulership of Darius the Third, was by all indications a flourishing empire when Alexander the Third conquered it. They possessed a sophisticated governance, robust administration -- the satrap model they used is not indifferent from the models we use today, be they Jarl, Duke, King or Strategos. Then, why is it that Alexander could simply sweep in from Macedon, win a few battles, and make himself King of Persia? Setting aside that he didn't -- the answer is that the Achaemenids ran out of momentum.”

Magnus was aware of the glances at him. He could feel them on his back, and he could practically hear their thoughts: how much of this applied to him? To his family? Would there be a day when some random conqueror would blaze a trail and simply absorb everything his father built like it was natural? 

“The Persian Empire was founded by Cyrus the Great some thirteen hundred years ago. At the time, they were primarily a nomadic people, not unlike the Khazars of today, and there is a possibility that they are sibling peoples. Persia enjoyed roughly two centuries of prosperity, expanding in every direction, and even the glorious last stand of the Spartan King Leonidas and Xerxes’ failure to conquer the Greek city-states were, by all accounts, minor inconveniences.” Nikolaos continued. “Thus, the Persian Empire was flourishing. The Achaemenid dynasty was not.” 

Magnus continued to take notes, but the words felt targeted even if Nikolaos’ gaze didn't linger on him in particular. 

“It was plagued with a series of dynastic issues related to succession. Brother killing brother, Queen Mothers undercutting their sons to make them look weak -- all of this exacerbated due to the fact that the King's presence was considered a commodity to be leveraged with a chosen few. The people did not know their King. They did not see him. However, they felt the effect of messy family dynamics when their farms were ravaged, their sons never returned from war, or they starved because of inefficient stewards.” Nikolaos smiled as his point wound to a close. 

“Which is why, upon Alexander's arrival, most simply didn't care when Alexander became their king instead of Darius. The dynasty had no momentum behind it. It was a still stone at the cusp of rolling downhill before Alexander moved it. And, for ten glorious years, he ruled over the Persian Empire until his own dynasty came to an abrupt end with him.” 

The lesson continued after the opening, addressing the broad topics they would be covering over the next six months. Though it was something of a concern there needed to be an entire lecture dedicated to the idea that peasants did, in fact, need to eat and they would be quite cross if they didn't have any food. He couldn't even assume the lecture pertained to preventing a famine or mitigating the severity, because both were separate lectures. 

It came with assigned reading, which could be found inside the library. Examples pulled from the history of rulers making mistakes or pulling victory from the jaws of defeat. Magnus had already read many of them -- a boon on being a prince, something he learned to exploit ruthlessly. He had no interest in false modesty. If he was going to be first in line because of the blood in his veins, he was going to take full advantage of it. Something that saved him from the struggle of getting his hands on one of the few copies of a text, or worse, being forced to borrow someone's second-hand notes. 

Towards the end of the hour, Magnus felt like he could gain something from the class. Nikolaos seemed well-read and clever. One who would certainly present the best version of himself as he was teaching one of the princes of the Empire. 

When the lecture ended, Magnus covered his wax tablet with a leather cover and rose to his feet. The class was not a small one, but it was smaller than some of the broader topics, with only thirty students in attendance. However, the number was inflated as several students had servants taking their notes for them. As soon as he made to leave, several others moved to join him. 

“What else is on the agenda for today, Prince Magnus?” Prince Marcin questioned, falling in step next to Magnus. He was a few years older than Magnus at around twenty, dirty blonde hair with blue eyes. Magnus was largely ambivalent about him, but welcomed his companionship all the same as he could use Marcin just as much as Marcin was using him. 

“A lecture on economics,” Magnus answered, three more trailing behind him. Olaf, Anundr, and Cynefrith, who were the sons of important Jarls in Denmark, Pomerania, and Saxony respectively. A… faction, for lack of a better word, that he began to cultivate. “Wessex lies on a natural trade route. It'll be important to learn to take full advantage of it.” 

There was a swell of pride in Magnus’ chest as he uttered the words. It had been a journey to convince his father he was worthy to assume the crown of Wessex once their conquest was complete, but he had managed it. He had edged out all other candidates by pure merit -- excellent grades, passing every test at the university and Father's own, while distinguishing himself at public events. 

“That's in a few hours, is it not?” Marcin questioned, earning a nod from Magnus. “Then we'll have plenty of time to swing by the sparring hall.” 

Two Truths and a Lie 

Hopes to see either Scathach or Aife at the sparring hall. 

Intends to best user to improve his own social standing. 

Desires a more natural opening to discuss a political matter. 

After a year of knowing Marcin, Magnus could more readily spot the lie. While Marcin doubtlessly desired to win, if only for the prestige, it would cost him far more if he did. Which was partly why sparring with Marcin was tedious -- he didn't try his best, even when he couldn't win, even if he was. Meaning the other two were true. 

“So it would seem,” Magnus agreed easily enough. They made their way through the halls of the university, passing by other students who bowed or knelt as they did so. Magnus made sure to acknowledge the gestures but swiftly moved on to one of the sparring grounds. 

There was a dedicated field where squad tactics were practiced, and seasonal games were held. It was a pounded flat patch of dirt with crescent-shaped stands framing one side. They were empty for the moment, save for a few who watched the various spars. 

Among them was another bout between Scathach and Aife. They wielded spears, standing across from one another with expressions of absolute concentration before Aife made the first move. Scathach had always been the better of the two, and while Aife was never someone she could defeat easily, there was a night and day difference once they received their Blessings. 

There hadn't been much of a change initially. Aife received the general boost in physical ability that they all did with her Blessing, but so had Scathach. The difference grew over time. Over months of bouts, training, and dedication to increasing every value she saw with Know Thyself. That ever-present gap between them began to shrink. Slowly, of course, but enough so that Magnus could see the tension in Scathach. 

Scathach didn't bother hiding what she thought about it. It was plastered on her face for all to see -- a wide, manic smile on her face and eyes that burned with jubilation. She wasn't mad she was one move away from losing. The only time Magnus had seen her so unreserved with her joy was the time she talked Father into sparring with her seriously. 

She enjoyed that defeat -- which had been complete, total, and utter -- more than most enjoyed their victories. 

However, while Aife had bridged the gap… Scathach wasn't entirely without tricks of her own. Her Binding Vows were something of a fascination to Magnus, especially when Scathach told him the findings of her experimentation. A vow's power was proportionate to the risk involved and what was sacrificed. A vow could be nullified, making it useful for a burst of power, but only if what was offered was not expended after the vow was made. 

Scathach could make a vow to never touch a spear again, and with that vow, she probably could defeat Father. But after the fight was done, she really couldn't touch a spear again without consequence. Scathach didn't know what those consequences would be. Only judging by a sense of admitted foreboding that they would be ‘bad.’ 

“Center, right shoulder,” Scathach said, using a Binding Vow. Telling Aide how she would win in exchange for increased physical ability. 

Aife was almost her equal in pure skill, but the increase in physical ability was the deciding factor. Aife moved a touch too slowly to block the spearbutt that slammed into her stomach, cracking the ceramic armor they were forced to wear in sparring. She skidded back an inch from the sheer impact, wincing, but she was still able to bring her spear up in time to block the swing down on her right shoulder. The force of it drove Aife to a knee, her spear cracking. Alongside Scathach's. 

For a split second, there was silence on the training field. It was for that reason Aife's words carried. “It's a draw,” Aife uttered with a smile that wasn't unlike a wolf who smelled blood. 

It was matched by Scathach. “The next bout won't be,” she promised, paying no mind to the sound of clapping. Their sparring was a common sight on Gotland, but that didn't make it any less incredible to see. He and Ragnar had an edge with two Blessings, but with their one each, they surpassed them in pure skill and ability. They dedicated themselves to bringing warriors to the exclusion of everything else. 

Something that became apparent when Scathach's smile slid right off her face when she saw Marcin. “Oh. It's you,” Scathach didn't bother to hide her disdain for him. 

“A wonderful bout,” Marcin continued without pause, throwing on a smile and inadvertently confirming why Scathach hated him. 

Scathach was unrepentantly herself, all of the time, even when it would behoove her to… not be. She wasn't like him or Ragnar, who could see the fake smiles and still deal with them with an equally fake smile. She met them with snarls, harsh words, and made her distaste for them no subtle thing. 

“I do hope you are unharmed, Princess Aife,” Marcin said, approaching and offering a hand. Aife glanced at it for a moment before deciding to take it. 

“A few bruises. Nothing worth mentioning,” Aife replied shyly, thus revealing the reason why Magnus didn't care for him much. 

Aife wasn't a shy woman. She could be every bit as brash, rude, and stubborn as her twin. Magnus genuinely wasn't sure if it was possible for her to be shy until he saw it with his own eyes. For all that Scathach despised Marcin, Aife liked him. 

Marcin wasn't devoid of charm. He was clever, and as the quick wars that expanded Poland proved, he was a capable general and popular leader. Magnus could, logically, accept that he was a reasonable match for her. He could even be glad that Aife was fond of her potential husband. 

But, as their older brother, even if it was only by a few months, he simply couldn't approve. 

“I’ll take your word for it. The two of you are the greater warriors here, after all,” Marcin said with a smile, making Scathach’s expression pinch. 

“You have a really annoying habit of saying the right thing,” Scathach remarked, tossing her broken spear to the side. There was a crease in Marcin’s expression, but Scathach lost interest in the conversation. “It makes everything you say seem fake,” she decided on a parting remark before simply walking away in the opposite direction. 

“Don’t mind her,” Aife sniffed. “She’s just sore that I’m getting closer to winning.” She spoke a bit louder to make sure her sister heard, but Scathach didn’t rise to the bait. Her smile dimmed ever so slightly, but she turned to Magnus and Marcin. “What brings you two by?”

“Opportunity,” Marcin replied smoothly as he bent down to pick up Scathach’s discarded spear and took Aife’s splintered one. “Magnus and I had a few hours until our next lecture, and I thought to be the first to bring a rumor to your ears.” He said with a small smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

At Magnus’ raised eyebrow, Marcin continued. “Godwin will be attending the university.” 

Godwin, son of Godfrey. The would be king and heir of Denmark. They were… something. Magnus wasn’t entirely certain what -- if they were a problem, then Father would have already had them killed. Or, rather, he would have had Aunt Morrigan kill them by possessing their horses, bucking them off, then dancing on their skulls with hooves.

Godfrey, for all of Magnus’ expectations for the man during Harald’s wedding, did nothing of importance during the wedding beyond show his face. He hadn’t confronted his father. He hadn’t made a scene. He just went around the room, speaking to nobles and cultivating influence. In the years since, it was a trend that had continued. 

Godfrey seemed to be on a tour of the kingdoms. From Sweden to Novograd to Finland to Estonia. Curiously, he bypassed Lithuania on his journeys, as it was ruled by Uncle Halfdan. His was a name that seemed to come up with increasing frequency, but he hadn’t yet done anything to seem to merit the attention he received. 

Now, he was sending his son to university. It could be because he wanted his son to receive a quality education, but it seemed more likely he wanted Godwin to do exactly what Magnus was doing -- cultivating influence, establishing a faction. 

For Magnus’ part, he was doing so because when he became king of Wessex, he would need stout allies to help him settle the primarily Christian lands. Who would be rather unhappy with their pagan king. They would become his Jarls, something they knew, so even if their friendship was purely out of self-interest, Magnus knew they would obey his commands-

“So?” Aife questioned, making Magnus swallow a sigh. She, like her sister, was completely deaf to politics. Completely uninterested. 

“So, his father was in Poland quite recently.” That, Magnus already knew as Marcin had already mentioned as such. “And he had quite a bit to say about the invasion next year.” He said the words with a small smile, as if to say, ‘ask me more.’ 

There was a reason why he was being so forthcoming. Marcin, and Poland at large, was still conforming to the requirements to joining the empire diplomatically, but one of the sticking points they were… struggling with was the right for the heir to call himself Prince. They, in short, desired the privilege Norway possessed. Even if half of the reason why Father allowed Norway that privilege was to make it a bit easier to separate the Hoffers. 

As things were going, Poland was set to join the empire without that privilege, but Marcin was doing what he could to tip things in his favor. As if they would be so grateful for gossip that they allowed him the privilege. 

“I’m aware,” Magnus admitted to Marcin, making his expression tighten ever so slightly as they began to walk. “He’s cultivating a faction and sought to drag your father into it.”

“He refused, of course,” Marcin said, switching tactics seamlessly. And, to their credit, his father had refused rather stoutly. Largely because he didn’t want to jeopardize their chances of joining the empire. Which was largely motivated by the fear Father would break up the kingdom by supporting rebellions. “He rattled on about your father’s greed and lust for power.”

Aife snorted softly at that, but Magnus was unsurprised by the tactic. People like Godfrey didn’t have many ways to criticize his father. At least, not without drawing the ire from his many supporters. Usually, it was protests about how tightly bound they were to the throne, mourning privileges lost or that they never had like the Jarls before them. Another more recent one was Father risked too much by overextending. 

‘Is a dozen crowns not enough?’ was their favored saying. They wanted to twist the formation of the empire from Father wanting to protect them from Roman influence into a monument to his own ambition and ego. 

“We would be better off if my father was more ambitious,” Magnus scoffed as they made their way through the gardens. “It’d make him less inclined to tolerate the whining of his lessers who have what they do because he gave it to them.”

“Do you think anything would come of it?” Aife asked, and the fact that she had to really said it all about her complete and utter non-interest in politics. Because it really should have been obvious. 

‘Yes. And it will happen next year.’ He wanted to say as much, and perhaps he would in a more private setting. Instead, he offered a small shrug. “Unlikely,” he lied. “Not without a moment of weakness, and Father isn’t likely to ever give them one.” 

“No, he will not-” Marcin began to agree readily, only to be cut off by a shout. 

“YESSSSSSSSSS!” Someone screamed at the top of their lungs. “I’m going to be RICH! HAHAHA!” The sheer unreserved and unrestrained joy in his tone. Their attention snapped in the direction of the source, revealing… 

He was around Magnus’ age, but he looked like death warmed over. He was painfully pale, messy brown curls, with pronounced black bags under his eyes and sunken in cheeks like he was on the edge of starvation. Quite the feat, given food was included in the tuition. At a glance, he seemed like he should be imparting his final words instead of jumping in the air with an energy that couldn’t be contained. 

Curiosity got the better of Magnus and he walked over to see that he was kneeling over a cup. “What-”

“Who are you? No, never mind, I don’t care,” he dismissed Magnus a glance. Then he paused, turning to Magnus once more. “Oh, wait. I do care. You’re prince… something.” Aife didn’t even bother to restrain her laughter at the ignoble address. “That’s perfect! Look! Look!” He made a gesture to the tankard. 

Now more than a little wary, but still curious, he did. What he found inside was just baffling. A leaf floated in what looked like water with a thin needle resting on top of it. “... What exactly am I looking at?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He questioned, looking at Magnus like he was particularly stupid. “I’ve done it! I’ve created a navigation tool independent of the stars, the sun, and shoreline!” He declared, making Magnus narrow his eyes into slits. 

“How?” Magnus questioned sharply, kneeling near the cup to inspect it anew. But what he saw was still painfully underwhelming. A needle on a leaf. At least until the man who knelt next to him gently nudged the leaf. 

Yet, the leaf slowly turned back to its original position. Magnus moved the leaf with a finger, making a larger adjustment, and ignored Aife’s protest of boredom as he watched the leaf once more point in the same direction. 

There were a number of contracts offered at the university and the empire at large. Each one for an innovation on existing practices or the creation of something entirely new. Among them was one Father desired above all others -- a means for independent navigation. So, a ship could sail without needing the guidance of the North Star, the sun casting a shadow, or following the coastline. It would allow them to use the new version of longships to their full potential. 

The prize offered was one hundred pounds of gold and silver. 

Magnus clapped him on the back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Your name?”

“My name?” He seemed caught off by the question before his expression pinched, like he had to dig through his memory to recall. “Leif?”

“Well, Leif, you’re right. You are going to be rich.”