[The Blackthorn Syndrome]
The Blackthorn Syndrome occupied a dark corner of Richard's memory. It had devastated the Duchy of Frostpeak in his previous life, leaving behind a legacy of silent villages. He recalled the exact mechanics of its arrival with a sense of mounting dread.
The initial spread was gradual. This slow progression allowed the danger to remain hidden behind the guise of routine seasonal illnesses. Because the symptoms appeared so ordinary, the administration's response was fatally delayed.
The early stages featured a persistent cough and a subtle, lingering exhaustion. A rising body heat defined this period, though it remained low enough to permit the afflicted to carry out their daily duties. Soldiers continued their patrols and laborers stayed at their posts. This deceptive period of functionality led the leadership to dismiss the initial signs.
The situation transformed around the tenth day. The sickness escalated with terrifying speed as the disease finally took hold. Fever intensified until it scorched the skin of the victims. Physical strength drained away in a matter of hours. Vomiting became frequent and violent, a sign that the body had reached its breaking point. At this stage, the human system reached a state of total rejection. It refused food, medicine, and even the most potent recovery tonics. The internal organs simply shut down.
The nature of the spread caused widespread confusion among the local healers. The illness refused to follow the rules of a typical contagion. It did not move through consistent physical contact or proximity. The lack of a clear infection source also led to confusion.
Entire towns were wiped out in the span of a single month. There was one town where the fires had gone out because no one remained to tend to the hearths.
A solution eventually emerged from the Falconridge Kingdom. They possessed an effective cure, having developed and stockpiled the remedy after a previous outbreak in their own lands. Frostpeak's standing treaty with Falconridge made access to the medicine possible, yet the recognition of the need had arrived too late. The delays in communication resulted in an immense loss of life that could have been avoided. It was one of the few grave errors Voltair made during his tenure as Duke.
This time, recognition came early. Richard carried the memories of the future, and he knew the exact progression of the syndrome. He understood that the healers currently working in the barracks were chasing a ghost. Swift communication with Falconridge could prevent the catastrophic outcome he had witnessed once before.
Richard resolved to inform his father. He chose to wait until the morning meal, believing a composed setting would be the best to bring up a matter as serious as this.
--
Richard entered the grand dining hall long before the food was to be served and took a seat closer to Voltair than usual.
He offered a short, direct greeting when the Duke entered the room an hour later. Voltair acknowledged him with a nod, but his mind seemed occupied as always.
Throughout the meal, Richard remained focused. He made his intent obvious through a sense of restrained anticipation. He was careful not to disrupt the formal setting of the breakfast, but he ensured his presence felt significant. The atmosphere in the hall was quiet. The clinking of porcelain and the soft footsteps of the attendants were the only sounds in the vast space.
As the meal finally ended, Voltair set down his utensils. The Duke pushed his plate aside and released a weary breath. He looked directly at his son.
'Alright, son. Something is on your mind.'
The comment caught Richard off guard. He had expected a more gradual transition into the conversation. He needed a moment to steady his thoughts, so he chose to redirect the conversation for a brief second.
'Where is Mother this morning?' Richard asked, as his mother, for some reason, was not present at the table.
Voltair answered simply, 'She's gone out with her friends. I doubt she'll return today.'
He then gave a deep sigh, 'That was not what you wanted to ask, was it?'
Richard offered nothing but a silly smile.
He admitted the truth with a steady voice. He explained that he had uncovered information tied to the well-being of the Duchy, stating that the matter required immediate attention.
Voltair glanced across the hall at the gathered attendants. He saw the way the servants lingered near the doors. He leaned closer to the table until his shadow fell across Richard's hands.
'If it is really that important, this is not the place to talk about it. We have too many ears in this hall.'
The Duke stood up and adjusted his heavy robes.
'Come to my office when you're ready.'
Richard agreed at once and watched as Voltair walked out of the hall, his long steps eventually fading from sight.
Over the next hour, Richard returned to the archives--he needed physical proof to anchor the conversation with his father. He retraced his earlier path through the massive shelves, moving with a speed that suggested he had mapped the entire hall in his mind. He retrieved the specific governor reports and archived records he had identified during his dawn search.
He was selective, pulling only the documents that clearly demonstrated the recurring irregularities and then, bundling the parchments together with a heavy twine. Without lingering to admire the vast history around him, Richard left the archives and headed straight for the Duke's office.
He arrived at the old oak doors and announced himself to the guards. They granted him entry almost instantly. The air inside the room was dense. Voltair sat behind a massive desk covered in maps and ledgers. He looked up as Richard approached.
'So, what did you wish to say? About the well-being of the Duchy?' Voltair asked. He leaned back in his chair. 'It better not be a joke, Richard.'
Richard answered immediately. 'It is no joke, Father.'
He glanced around the room and noticed a third presence. His father's personal assistant stood nearby, a quill in hand and a stack of papers tucked under one arm. Richard did not speak further. He looked back at Voltair, making his desire for privacy obvious through a steady, expectant gaze. The silence stretched until the Duke picked up on the unspoken requirement.
Voltair gestured toward the door. 'Leave us.'
The assistant bowed low and exited the room immediately.
Once they were alone, Richard stepped toward the desk.
'Father, it all started back in the Healing Chambers,' Richard began. 'Remember how I used to ask for daily reports and documents during my recovery?'
'Yes,' Voltair said. 'What about it?'
'Among those documents, I found several reports that felt....well....wrong,' Richard said.
Voltair's brow furrowed. 'Wrong? how?'
'Some of the reports from governors and mayors were extremely vague,' Richard explained. 'They focused on unimportant matters while avoiding anything substantial.'
He added that he had searched the archives for confirmation of this trend. 'Most of those reports were sent by the governors of Rjord and Monchall.'
Richard stepped forward and placed the bundle of parchments on the desk. 'Please read them, Father. I think you will understand once you see the pattern for yourself.'
Voltair leaned in and began to read. He moved through the documents in full, his eyes darting across the ink with a sharp, analytical speed. He did not speak a word until he reached the final page.
At last, he set the papers down.
'You're right, this is kind of strange, ' Voltair said. 'Especially the archived reports. This is the first time I have seen these.'
Richard understood internally how the issue had escaped attention. Someone had likely removed it from the Duke's desk on his absence or it was simply never sent here.
Voltair looked at Richard with interest, 'Do you have any ideas on how to deal with this?'
'I do,' Richard replied. 'But before that, there is something else you need to hear.'
Voltair gestured for him to continue. 'Go on. I am listening.'
'You are aware of the sickness spreading among the soldiers in the dormitories, right?' Richard asked.
'Yes,' Voltair said. 'The healers are monitoring the situation.'
'I think we should request assistance from the Falconridge Kingdom,' Richard said.
Voltair reacted with visible surprise. He straightened in his chair. 'Falconridge? This is just a seasonal sickness. We are managing it within our own borders. There is no reason to involve a foreign power in a minor health crisis.'
Richard pressed on, refusing to let the dismissal stand. 'Father, I believe it is the Blackthorn Syndrome. I looked into it, and the symptoms match exactly.'
Voltair rejected the idea at once. He shook his head. 'The Blackthorn Syndrome? Impossible. Falconridge eradicated that plague long ago. It hasn't been seen on this continent for years. You are reading too much into a simple fever, Richard.'
Richard met his father's eyes. He kept his voice even and steady. 'Maybe I am. But keeping a few hundred vials of the antidote in reserve would not harm us, would it? If I am wrong, we simply have a surplus of medicine. If I am right, we save the army before it collapses.'
Voltair fell silent. He looked at the evidence on his desk and then back at the son who had suddenly developed the instincts of a statesman. He considered the logistical cost and after a long moment of contemplation, he spoke.
'Very well. I will have them send a supply as soon as possible. We will keep it in store just in case.'
Voltair shifted his focus back to the stack of documents Richard had placed on the desk. He tapped a finger against the bundled parchment.
'And what idea do you have in mind? You know, for the reports?' Voltair asked.
Richard steadied his breathing.
'It is less of an idea and more of a request, Father,' Richard said.
Voltair's brow lifted. He leaned back slightly.
'A request?' Voltair asked curiously.
Richard met his father's eyes and replied with absolute confidence, 'Yes.'
---