The road to the North began with a rumble of wheels and a chorus of sneers.
We were an hour out of the capital, stopped for a brief watering break near a stream. My "elite" guard—twenty knights assigned by the King—had gathered in a circle. They weren't patrolling. They were laughing.
"The Cripple Prince and the Whale Princess," one of them snorted. He was a broad-shouldered man named Ser Garrick, wearing polished plate armor that cost more than my entire Northern budget. "I give them a week. The Prince will die of a cough, and the savages will feast on the wife for a month."
They laughed. It wasn't subtle. They wanted me to hear it. They wanted to establish the hierarchy: they were the strong protectors, and I was the baggage.
I sat on the tailgate of the supply wagon, watching them.
"They are disrespectful," Elara murmured. She was sitting beside me, her large frame making the wood creak slightly. Her face was impassive, but her knuckles were white. "Shall I kill them? I can make it look like an accident."
"Inefficient," I said, pulling a sketchbook from my pocket. "Dead guards can't patrol the walls. We need to reformat their operating system. They need to fear us."
I looked at Tessa, who was sitting in the wagon bed, nervously playing with a scrap of iron. Then I looked at Elara's massive, insulated arms.
An idea sparked. A classic high-school prank, scaled up for medieval warfare.
"Tessa," I whispered. "I need you."
The smithy girl jumped. "Yes, Duke?"
"I need two copper plates and a jar of salt water," I said, rummaging through the "junk" crate I had packed. I found a glass jar of pickled eggs, dumped the eggs, and filled it with brine from the salt pork barrel. I lined the inside and outside with flattened copper scraps.
A Leyden Jar. The world's first capacitor.
I handed the jar to Tessa. "Hold the inner wire with your right hand (positive). Hold the outer coating with your left (negative). Push your energy into it until the glass hums."
Tessa frowned, but she did it. The air around the jar began to distort. The glass grew warm. She was pumping pure electromagnetic potential into the dielectric fluid.
"Stop," I ordered. "That's enough to kill a horse."
I turned to Elara. "Give me your hand."
I took her right glove—a heavy, elbow-length velvet thing. I wove a copper wire from the palm, up the sleeve.
"Tessa, hand the jar to the Princess. Elara, tuck this jar deep into your armpit. Your... insulation will hide the bulk."
Elara looked confused but tucked the charged jar against her side. It vanished completely under her layers of grey wool and soft tissue.
"Connect this wire to the jar's lead," I instructed. "Now, listen carefully. This glove is now a live circuit. Do not touch your own skin. Do not touch metal. Only touch the target."
Elara looked at her gloved hand. "What will it do?"
"Science," I grinned. "Now, go challenge Ser Garrick."
Elara stepped down from the wagon. The ground didn't make a sound, but her presence was undeniable. She walked toward the circle of knights like a storm front.
"Ser Garrick," she said. Her voice was soft, but it cut through their laughter like a razor.
The big knight turned, smirking. "Princess? Need a boost back into the wagon?"
"I require a sparring partner," she said calmly. "I wish to test the quality of my husband's guard."
The knights roared with laughter. Garrick wiped a tear from his eye. "You? Spar with me? Lady, I don't want to hurt you. If you fall, you might cause an earthquake."
"First blood," Elara said, raising her velvet-gloved hand. "Or first fall. Unless you are afraid of a woman?"
Garrick's smile vanished. His ego had been pricked. "Fine. But don't cry to the King when I bruise you."
He drew his wooden training sword. He didn't bother with a shield. He assumed she was slow.
He assumed wrong.
"Begin," I called out from the wagon.
Garrick lunged—a sloppy, overconfident swing meant to swat her aside.
Elara didn't block. She didn't retreat. She flowed.
She stepped inside his guard with that terrifying, silent speed. She moved 250 pounds of mass with the agility of a dancer. Garrick's sword hit empty air.
Before he could recover, Elara was behind him.
"Touch," she whispered.
She didn't punch him. She simply placed her gloved palm firmly on the back of his helmet.
CRACK.
It sounded like a whip snapping. A brilliant blue arc of plasma jumped from her glove to the steel helmet.
Garrick didn't scream. He just stiffened, his entire body going rigid as thousands of volts dumped directly into his nervous system. His eyes rolled back into his head.
He dropped like a stone. CLANG.
Smoke curled up from the visor of his helmet. The smell of ozone filled the clearing.
The other knights froze. Their jaws literally dropped. They looked from the twitching body of their strongest warrior to the fat Princess standing over him.
Elara looked at her hand. She stared at the smoke rising from her fingertips.
Lightning magic? I saw the thought race through her mind. High-tier elemental magic? Me?
She looked at me, bewildered.
I sat on the wagon, suppressed a wince. Note to self: Reduce capacitance next time. That wasn't a static shock; that was a defibrillator.
I hopped down and walked into the circle of terrified knights. I stood beside my wife.
"My wife is... modest," I lied smoothly, addressing the pale-faced guards. "She prefers not to use her sorcery. But let this be a lesson."
I poked Garrick's unconscious body with my boot.
"The North is dangerous. We are dangerous." I looked at the knights. "If you disrespect us again, she won't use the 'stun' setting next time."
I turned to Elara, who was still looking at her hand like it was a holy relic.
"Come, my dear," I said, guiding her back to the wagon. "You might have overcooked him slightly."
As we walked away, leaving twenty terrified men in our wake, Elara leaned in, her voice shaking with excitement.
"Valian... I... I am a mage?"
"Better," I whispered, taking the hot jar from under her arm. "You're a conduit."