“Finally, he is gone!”
Nelvana’s head snapped up, awakened from her half-sleeping state by the Loremaster’s whispered exclamation. It was still dark, but she had the feeling that it was getting near dawn. She shivered and pulled her coat closer about her. “You mean Minister Maas?”
“Yesss.” Moje hissed. “It’s just the Elf now and a couple of other cronies not far away; I should be able to handle them with no trouble.” He snapped his fingers impatiently at the dozing polemen. “Wake up, by the Lords! We don’t have much time! Move the boat around the corner and up about twenty feet.”
“But we’ll be out on the Great Canal, anyone could see us!” One of them whined.
“Shut up and do it!” Nelvana snapped. As the servants grudgingly loosened their poles from there they’d jammed them into the muddy canal bottom and started the skiff moving, she edged closer to the Loremaster. “What are we going to do?”
“We aren’t going to do anything.” Luronen Moje huffed back at her. “You are going to stay here where it’s relatively safe, and keep watch. I will go in and get the boy.”
The heiress to House Baragon glared, but did not argue. She knew she would probably just be a liability.
Moje turned to the side of the skiff facing to the ancient stone wall they were hugging. There were no windows or openings of any kind until about fifteen feet above the water line, high above them. Yet the Loremaster held out his hands towards the black, algae-stained wall as if trying to sense an opening. “Slowly!” He whispered when they pushed along with more speed. “Don’t bump the wall! Here… ease up against it… stop! Now hold!” He stood up then, managing to balance himself on the unsteady boat before extending his right hand and pointing to the wall with his finger. He muttered a low incantation, then made as if to draw a large oval in front of himself. A few feet away, a glimmering light appeared on the wall, tracing a shape to match the movement of his finger. When the oval was complete, there was a soft whoosh, and everything inside that perimeter was… gone. Where there had been solid stone was now a smooth-walled tunnel into darkness.
Nelvana stifled a gasp. She’d never seen magic like this before.
The Loremaster barely hesitated before jumping off the skiff and into the tunnel.
Nelvana waited, waited for what seemed like an eternity, though was probably only a few minutes as the sky above them perceptively lightened. The young Baragon heiress absently noticed some plants growing out of cracks in the wall just above the waterline. Among the many hardy weeds, there was one with a few small blue flowers sprinkled among dark green leaves. She thought it strange that the plant would have blossoms so early in the year, then realized it might be the chellis plant, which was known to bloom in winter. The flowers had a scent that was actually a mild stimulant when inhaled deeply.
It seemed that surely the Loremaster would have returned with Lukas by now, she thought. And the longer they stayed out here in the light, the more likely they were to be noticed for who they were. Traffic was already growing on the Great Canal, and they were drawing curious looks from skiff-runners.
Finally, Nelvana decided that something must have gone wrong. She shrugged off her coat, drew her dagger and moved towards the hole in the wall. “You boys stay here unless you’re attacked, you hear me?” She gave both youths her best imperious glare.
“Yes, M’sura.” The older boy, Faden, nodded, though he obviously wasn’t too happy about it.
Nelvana crept along the tunnel, which sloped up slightly and went on longer than she would have guessed. The walls at the base of the building must be twenty feet thick! She thought as her eyes adjusted to the dimness beyond. What she saw left her gaping.
In the center of the room, tied to a heavy chair and head drooping on his chest, was Lukas. She barely recognized him; his face was so bruised and swollen. Standing in front of Lukas, a knife in his hand poised to cut the Viscount’s bonds, was Luronen Moje. But he wasn’t moving: he stood in that odd position as if frozen in time.
Nelvana Baragon slipped into the room, trying to stay in the shadowy perimeter and so away from the two lamps on pedestals near Lukas and Moje. As she moved towards the door of the chamber (which, strangely, stood partway open) she found probable reason for the Loremaster’s strange predicament. Sprawled on the floor were Seylars and Security Minister Maas. Both appeared to be asleep.
She was at a loss. This entire scene had an unreal feeling to it. The Loremaster was possibly a victim of a spell cast by Maas, and perhaps Maas and the Red Dragon were felled by an enchantment cast by Moje at the same time. For a fleeting moment her curious mind wondered how often such a thing could happen: spell-users disabling each other at once in some sort of magical duel?
Then she snapped back to the here-and-now and forced herself to face the current dilemma. How could she break the spell on the Loremaster? Maas and Seylars looked to be merely asleep, while Luronen Moje’s condition, with his eyes staring fixed ahead, looked more… serious. At least he did seem to be breathing, though very slowly and shallowly.
Maybe Lukas could help her; he knew something of the Essænce. She knelt at to his side and, trying not to look too carefully at his bloody, puffy and purple fingers, began sawing at his leather bonds with her dagger. “Lukas!” She hissed. “Lukas wake up! I need your help!” Then she gasped when she looked up and saw his face more clearly. She could barely recognize the wreck that had been the handsome—almost beautiful--young man.
“Whaaa?” He groaned. “Please, no more. I don’t know anything.” His speech was slurred through his swollen lips, and his head lolled forward.
“It’s me! Nelvana! Lukas please, we have to get out of here!” She whispered urgently, even as she cut the straps holding his wrists and ankles. “The Loremaster is paralyzed, what can we do?”
“Uh, I… don’t know. It wears off, I think.” Lukas started to say something else but he was interrupted by a fit of -- frighteningly loud to Nelvana -- coughing.
Rather than question Lukas further, she cut the strap across his chest and caught him as he fell forward. The young woman thanked the Lords that she was not one of the delicate tiny girls that some young men of the Sel-kai social elite preferred, as she staggered to her feet with Lukas over her shoulder. She shuffled to the skiff, where the boys took her heavy burden and gently laid him in the bottom of the boat. Then, as she turned back to the tunnel, the little chellis blossoms caught her eye again. She tore a handful from the rocks and ran inside. Couldn’t hurt… she thought as she crushed the flowers, then hurried up to the Loremaster. She held the moist, fragrant mess of leaves and blossoms up to his face and tried to gently shake him, even as she glanced nervously over to the sleeping Truthsayer and Red Dragon.
At first there seemed to be no effect, then suddenly Moje took a deep shuddering breath and blinked. He staggered back, then grabbed on to Nelvana for support. “By the Lords, what happened?”
“I think you and Minister Maas took each other out with spells at the same instant.” She nodded to the bodies on the floor.
Luronen Moje furrowed his brows. “Interesting. Yes, I think perhaps the Security Minister laid a trap for us. Troubling.” Then he looked at the chair. “You have gotten Ridgeston out of here already? Excellent work! Let’s make our own exit.”
But Nelvana Baragon wondered what to do about the Truthsayer. “We can’t just leave Maas like this!? Shouldn’t he be… arrested… or something?”
“We already had that discussion, my dear. Is it because you have seen the betrayal of your Security Minister with your own eyes? Or does your outrage after seeing what he did to Lukas change things? You need to decide what to do about Maas; I’ll work through my own channels, but I can’t officially take any direct action. As it is, I took a huge risk by intervening in this way. The only real witness is the Viscount Ridgeston, and of course he’s a foreigner. You have much to think about.”
As they carried on their hushed conversation, they had made their way out of the cell and onto the skiff. With a curt command, Nelvana directed the boys to push off, and at the same time Luronen Moje gestured to the hole he had created in the stone, and the opening closed as if it had never been there.
Nelvana unfolded a blanket she had brought and tucked it around the shivering Lukas.
As the skiff moved out into growing boat traffic on the Great Canal, Nelvana Baragon watched the first pale rays of the sun touch the highest towers in Sel-kai. This was her city; she had been born here, lived all her life here. Koren Maas had betrayed the Prince, betrayed the City. If he would consort with Red Dragons, kidnap and torture foreign nobility, what other crimes might he be up to? He had to be stopped.
Loyalty was very important to Nelvana. Loyalty to her family was paramount – she’d found it ironic that, according to Lukas, it was a rare trait amongst the families of the dynastic, feudal government of Rhakhaan. Even assassination of one’s own relatives was common if it meant gaining power, wealth, or influence at the royal court. She could not imagine turning against her father, no matter what the personal cost. But openly accusing the Truthsayer of treason was a very dangerous proposition; she could make enemies not only for herself, but for the entire Baragon family.
The Loremaster was right: she had much to think about.
Voriig sailed high above the Melurian Straits, once again in his natural dragon form. The meeting with Thule and the Essænce Lord had not yielded anything of substance, yet it had been interesting. The Silver Dragon breathed in the frigid air with relish, exhaled an electricity-charged plume of breath. He was nearing the Emerian coast; why not pay a visit to Sel-kai and that fragile city in the sky those arrogant little mammals built. Maybe give them a little thrill.
Voriig’s steely lips pulled back from huge teeth that shone like chrome in the dawn. It was as close to a smile as he got in dragon-form.
They had brought the semi-conscious Lukas Austrenos to Ruuth the Herbalist, who had in turn called out of bed a trusted Lay Healer friend, Jerius. Now, an hour or so later, the four of them: Ruuth, Jerius, Luronen and Nelvana, gathered around the newly healed Lukas. A sheet covered most of his body, but his face was still puffy, and where he had been wounded there was now pink skin – and scars.
“His recovery will take some time.” Jerius sighed. “I can heal all the actual damage, but I’m afraid there will be some scarring no matter what we do. He will never be quite the same.”
“It’ll give him some character.” Moje said, trying to reassure Nelvana. “Surely you didn’t only like him for his pretty face?” He added derisively when she continued to look distraught.
“No, of course not.” She wrung her handkerchief in her hands.
“I have a few herbs that might help.” Ruuth volunteered. I’ll make some poultices.”
“Right now though, we should leave him to rest.” Jerius said, tilting his head and massaging the side of his neck, which made a series of loud cracking sounds. “There was quite a bit of internal damage as well, and though he is healed, his body still needs to recover from the trauma.”
They all filed out and Ruuth closed the door behind her.
For a few moments Lukas seemed to be alone and asleep in the room, chest slowly rising and falling in the dim lamplight. Then the air in the corner wavered, and from nowhere materialized Patrick O’Kiran. He pulled a palm-sized device from his belt, adjusted a few tiny controls, and began to wave it slowly over Lukas’ face. A flickering blue light spilled over the youth’s features, and as it did the scars began to fade, the swelling to lessen, the pink skin to match that of the boy’s normal coloring. After a couple of minutes, the device beeped and the light went out. Patrick looked at a readout on the panel, made an adjustment, and then passed the instrument over the rest of Lukas’ body. The light flickered again briefly a couple of times, then beeped again. Patrick looked at the readout. “Amazing,” he muttered, “Broken ribs, punctured lung, kidney almost destroyed, broken fingers, all completely healed without any sort of technology, just this bizarre magic.” He returned the tissue knitter to his belt. “You owe me one, Kulthean, for the cosmetic work at least.” He said almost inaudibly. Then he became invisible again and slipped out the door.
A moment later, Lukas opened his eyes. “Thank you, whoever you are.” He whispered.
Journal of Kalen Avanir
TE 6051, Orhan 1, day 17
Nomikos Library, Ormian Island
Off the southern Jaiman coast
I wasn’t sure I would survive this first week of training. Starting with day two, every muscle screamed in agony. Even Jad suffered as Kyan Kim pushed each of us to our limit.
Not that Kim is a harsh or cruel teacher; quite the opposite. He has a manner which makes you want to do your best and so justify his expressed faith in your abilities. Though I obviously lag behind Jad in agility and reflexes, and am no match for Sten in strength, Kim remains encouraging. We have been practicing with padded wood swords that have a similar weight and balance to a Saren, learning basic techniques for this type of blade. The fighting style is indeed radically different than the standard broadsword-and-shield combat we are familiar with, which consists mainly of battering away at your opponent. When Kim demonstrates with his Saren (I found it interesting that a mortal preferred an Elven-sword as his blade of choice) it is like a dance, the blade an extension of his body.
Even without a weapon Kim seems unstoppable; it must be related to his training as a Changramai Monk -- though some of his movements remind me of the fighting style I saw years ago at Gryphon College.
One morning when Sten expressed doubt in the value of the Changramai art against armed opponents, Kim insisted that all four of us -- Jad, T’tania, Sten and me – charge him with our weapons, and hold back nothing. We did, attacking him from all directions. The monk seemed to effortlessly dodge our blades or deflect them with his wrist-guards, making no offensive moves of his own. After keeping us at bay for several rounds of attacks, he suddenly disarmed Jad with a whirling kick to his arm, swept my legs out from under me, flipped the much heavier Sten onto his back with a thud that shook the earth, and twisted T’tania’s arm around behind her, forcing the Dúranak to drop her long kynac with a cry of pain. Kim released her to nurse her wrist, then stood over us, not even winded. He had made his point.
Here I should say more about the swords that Randae has so generously given us (though we are rarely allowed to use them in practice; only in a few drills where we are sparring with him). In design they are indeed Sareni, light and strong sabers of High-elven make. Jad is more taken with his than I am, but I do find pleasure in how excited he is that the swords are a matched set, magically bound together somehow. I have tried to get Randae to reveal the exact nature of the swords’ link, but every time he has demurred.
The pommel-stones are crystalline orbs that seem to glow with an inner light when both swords are drawn. The blades themselves have a strange, shimmering appearance. At times they seem almost transparent, at others a brilliant mirror-bright silver. Their edge is as keen as a shaving razor, yet never needs to be sharpened. In fact it seems as if the blade itself never strikes a surface; some magical aura is the real cutting power. When Jad or I fight using the swords against others, sparks cascade off the blades, and the other weapon is sometimes damaged. I wonder indeed how much Randae paid for these swords—if indeed they could have been bought with mere gold.
Finally, the Loremaster for some reason has decided that I have an aptitude for the Essence. (He thinks Jad has certain spell capabilities as well, and that he might learn some of the maneuvering spells that Kim utilizes.) For me, however, Randae has scheduled more intensive study. He is determined that I become some sort of Magician. All I want to do is master the powers of the Phoenix, but the Loremaster insists that trying to use it without proper training would be like a child being given a loaded crossbow. So it appears that I have no choice.
Kalen and Jad’s instructors set different goals for each of them based on their strengths and weaknesses. Jad and Sten spent most of their day in combat exercises and physical training, while Kalen and T’tania split their time between physical and Essænce instruction. T’tania already had considerable skill with her long kynac, and there was not much that Kim could teach her in that area, since proper use of the long black, flexible blade required a certain specialized training of its own. He could help her with her throwing-weapon skills, and teach her some unarmed combat moves. Sten had strength and stamina, but he would never be skilled with a weapon that required a lot of quickness or agility.
As the weeks passed, Jad displayed not only a natural talent with the saren, but as Randae had predicted, an aptitude towards the Mentalist disciplines. He quickly mastered several Monk’s powers under Kim’s tutelage. Also in the way of the Changramai, he began developing the skill of parrying attacks using only wrist-guards instead of a cumbersome shield. Still, he had a ways to go before he could deflect thrown weapons and even arrows like the Monk could.
Kalen too made progress, in his case in the realm of Essænce powers. This is due no doubt to the skill and patience of his teacher, the Lady Augrytas. From the beginning she showed an uncanny — and sometimes annoying — ability to get to the root of problems and address them pointedly. She pronounced Kalen’s aptitude to be towards that of a scholarly Bard, which meant he was best suited to the realm of the Essence. Within weeks he was casting spells of Detection, information gathering and others. He was also studying the discipline of Fire Law, which was normally reserved for pure Mages, but because he was studying with an expert, he was able to learn it.
A few mornings a week they would all help perform chores around the compound. As Randae put it, “I’m not going to completely pay your way to stay here, and no Kalen, I don’t want your father’s gold. I want you all to earn your keep around here. It will be educational for you.” So they cleaned, helped in the refectory kitchen, and in the spring assisted the gardening staff. Jad showed some aptitude in this last duty, and was soon promoted to helping the Nomikos herbalist in her special garden.
To pass the time in the evenings, the four would often play games in their suite, including Orhan and Charón, (which Sten showed a skill for; something that secretly surprised T’tania, as it was considered to be a cerebral game of strategy), and Siege, and any number of card games. As the weeks passed they all grew to be friends after a fashion, though there were inevitable tensions and rivalries.
Once a week or so Kim would come by and take them all down to the town for dinner in one of the port’s several inns. While the Nomikos refectory food was a healthy diet and a better variety than one could find in most places, it was always a welcome diversion to get out of the library complex for an evening.
A week or so after their arrival, Kalen sent word to his parents of his and Jad’s whereabouts, and his father told him that it was best if they remained where they were. Though the main storm had long passed, northern Jaiman was still covered in deep snow. Frelik’s armies — tending to be in less permanent shelter — were not faring well under these circumstances.
In Sel-kai, Lukas recovered quickly, and within a few days was his old self. Jerius pronounced his healing to be ‘miraculous’ and Ruuth’s skills with her anti-scarring poultice to be unsurpassed. Ruuth’s response was a curt “I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
Nevertheless, the Viscount insisted on paying the Herbalist and the Healer a handsome fee, along with his profuse thanks. He was just heading out of Ruuth’s shop – where he had been convalescing – back to his inn, when he literally bumped into Patrick at the door. He stopped and stared at the fair-skinned redhead. “Don’t I know you, sur?” His mind had been a muddle the morning when they healed him, and he half thought he had dreamed of the young man in his room who waved a very strange magical device over his face.
“I don’t think so.” Patrick looked away. He was not immune to the Viscount’s charms. In fact he wondered if he was not a victim of some sort of enchantment.
“No, I do believe we have met.” He ran his fingers lightly over one side of his face – the side that had been practically ruined by Seylars' tools of torture. “Let me buy you a drink at least and maybe I can refresh your memory.” Lukas grinned. “There is a tavern not far from here in the Old City called the Eastern Standard, have you heard of it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well then, are you busy now? It’s almost the evening Quintar; not too early for a drink.”
“Well, I… suppose I could have a drink.” It dawned on Patrick that this Lukas might be helpful to him. From what he had seen on the Naristral, he had some magical ability, and he seemed to know his way around the region. It might indeed be useful to have him along on his journey to the Watching Isle.
The two young men left the shop just as Ruuth emerged from the back room. She smiled to herself and shook her head. “Here we go again.” She muttered, as she began inspecting her herb beds.
The weather grew warmer, and spring came to Ormian. Though the climate was always mild on this sheltered island, the spring meant flowers and the deciduous trees shedding their old colored leaves for bright green new ones.
One evening after practice and lessons, T’tania and Sten were alone in the sitting room in their apartments with the windows open, enjoying the breeze.
“Sure is different from Tanara, isn’t it? We’d probably still have snow on the ground.” T’tania marveled, watching the branches of the willow trees in the garden outside sway in the warm wind. Her usual Dúranak clothes unavailable, she had taken to wearing light cotton tunics and loose pants or skirt; unusually ‘feminine’ garments for a young woman used leather breeches and jacket. Without access to the lime her people normally used to treat their hair, she was even forced to let it grow out in its natural ebon shade. Sten’s people were always resistant to cold, so he tended to wear even less in this warm weather: usually just a sleeveless tunic and cotton shorts.
“It’s beautiful, and nice to be really warm for a change.” Sten smiled, then suddenly wrinkled his nose… and let loose with a door-rattling sneeze.
T’tania frowned “You’ve been doing that for weeks! I think something here is making you sneeze.”
“Maybe. I don’t feel sick otherwise, and the Apothecary here can’t find anything wrong with me. He says it might be something from the flowers or the trees.”
“That would be sad: flowers make you sick!” T’tania laughed in that harsh way that sometimes made Sten uncomfortable, as if she really found his predicament amusing. “I wonder where the ‘Twins’ are?” T’tania smirked, abruptly changing the subject. Long ago she had taken to calling Kalen and Jad ‘the twins,’ after the Lords of Orhan Jaysek and Kieron. (as an aside, it should be noted that, among the Myri, Kieron was known as Davix, and Jaysek was Doxin.) Jaysek was always somber and moody, while Kieron was lighthearted and the patron of drink and revelry.
“I think Jad said something about he and Kalen going down to the town for awhile this evening.” Sten loudly blew his nose in a handkerchief.
“You call that a town? There are Sulini villages more cosmopolitan than Ormian.” It was well known in Tanara that the Dúranaki thought the Sulini were barely more culturally advanced than the Myri – but then the Dúranaki tended to look down on just about any culture other than their own.
“I hope they get back soon, Jad promised me a rematch of Orhan and Charón."
“Not the drinking version, I hope?” T’tania actually looked a little concerned.
“No,” Sten grinned. I don’t think we’ll be playing the drinking version again for a while. “
“Good, because I don’t want to help pay for any more broken furniture out of our meager stipend, hard-earned for washing dishes in the refectory.”
“At least we earn it honestly.” Sten frowned. “I don’t need to remind you of how desperate we were in Haalkitaine not so long ago. We owe Loremaster Terisonen a great debt.”
“A debt I suspect we shall soon repay – and not by washing dishes -- of that you can be certain!” T’tania snapped.
Spring passed into summer. Pale green leaves grew and darkened, and warm breezes turned to a hot and humid stillness on the Nomikos plateau. Fighting practice was moved to earlier in the morning, and all afternoon instruction was indoors in the (relatively) cool shade.
One day Kalen was sitting in Lady Augrytas’ sitting room — her improvised classroom — staring at a spell book. But his mind was away in the courtyard, remembering Jad and Kim as he had seen them earlier, both shirtless, sparring in the late morning sun… when he was shocked from his reverie by a flare of blue light and a jolt of energy that knocked him out of his seat!
There stood Lady Augrytas, her eyes literally aglow with anger, tiny lightnings still arcing between her fingers. “Mooning like a lost puppy again, my Lord? Your cousin seems much better able to concentrate on his lessons; I suggest you learn from his example. I don’t care what goes on the rest of the day but when you are in this room I expect your full attention! I won’t have a pupil of mine summoning a demon instead of unlocking a door because he wasn’t paying attention—it reflects poorly on my reputation!”
Kalen felt his face redden. It was humiliating not only because this outburst of anger was unprecedented, but that she had somehow discerned the reason for his distraction.
The typically steamy yet unusually stormy summer came and went on Ormian, and when Autumn finally arrived it was a relief as always. As the Fourth Month progressed, the days grew less hot and sticky, and the nights were refreshingly cool.
It was one such evening late in Autumn that Randae Terisonen returned to Nomikos. He had learned much, and he suspected even more.
After ordering dinner sent to his rooms (first things first), he sent pages to summon Kim and Lady Augrytas to his quarters.
“So how are my children progressing under your expert tutelage?” Randae asked them once all were settled. The Loremaster himself lounged at ease, sipping a glass of Námarian red wine.
Kim nodded to Lady Augrytas, inviting her to go first.
“T’tania is doing well,” Lady Usa began, “Steady and capable. Kalen, by contrast, is… gifted.” she trailed off, staring into the crystal globe atop her cane.
“But?” Randae fixed his gaze on her.
She met his stare, hers every bit as intense as the Elven lord’s. “You know very well, Loremaster. He is a troubled soul! He has tremendous talent; I sense even Arcane potential, but he is crippled with self-doubt. And he is distracted because of his… unresolved… relationship with his cousin.”
Randae swirled the wine in his glass. “You do not mince words, Lady. But it is very much as I suspected. What level has he attained?”
“He was a latent Level Three when we began instruction, and despite his problems, he has achieved a solid Level Four. If I had his full attention, he would be at least one level—maybe two —higher. He also has shown a capacity for learning an unusually wide range of the orthodox Essence lists. And he has already displayed…” Her voice lowered to an ominous tone. “…Improvisational abilities.”
“Interesting. And your report, Kim?” Randae asked soberly.
“Mine parallels that of Lady Usa’s—no surprise to you, I am certain.” Kim templed his fingers. “Sten is not brilliant but he works hard and learns his lessons well. He has some natural athletic abilities, especially strength. Jad, however, is in another league. It is a disservice to him that he is not in the Changramai School where he can be trained by true masters. Already he would almost be ready to take the trials for the Second Veil in both the Soft and Hard Ways. His skill with the Saren is even more impressive: he wields it as if he was born with it in his hands, and I do not use that trite phrase lightly, but I cannot think of a better way to put it. His reflexes are almost superhuman, and he has been learning the Monk’s Ways with surprising ease. In some disciplines he has achieved Level Three. However, he too shows signs of distraction. He is troubled by something, a concern for his cousin I think. He senses Kalen’s distress and it pulls him down sometimes.”
“And Kalen?”
“While not as gifted athletically as Jad, he has a natural talent which he refuses to fully acknowledge or access. Even more so than with his magical aptitude, he refuses to believe that he is a capable athlete. Only when the two are together, side by side, does he shine; I believe that Jad inspires him to do better. They have moments where they fight as one, each knowing the other’s thought and intention. It is beautiful to watch—but still frustratingly rare. His instincts are excellent and he has a good understanding of the use of the sword. He unquestionably benefits from the Saren being a weapon of agility and quickness rather than brute strength. They both do, though Jad can use it either way.”
“Do you think either of them understands this… relationship?” The Loremaster’s intense gaze flickered from one to the other and back.
Lady Augrytas glanced at Kim, then shrugged. “Kalen knows what he feels, I believe, but his society is not very tolerant of such relationships—and he is sole heir to a powerful Duchy. He will be expected to marry and continue the line. He tries to repress his desires but it is tearing him apart.”
“The succession of the Duchy of Prevan is a petty matter in the larger picture.” Randae dismissed all of Rhakhaan societal mores and history with a cursory flip of his hand. “And you, Kim?” He turned on the monk. “You are close to them both and I trust your insights.”
Kim leaned forward and folded his calloused hands together. He sat in silence for a moment, staring at the floor before speaking softly. “Jad is harder to be sure of than his cousin; he may not be of the same… inclination. “ Then the Monk paused and looked up at the Loremaster almost accusingly. “I think you know the situation as well as I do. Do I need to spell it out in glowing runes?”
“So you can’t predict what would happen…?”
“I would not presume to guess.”
“And what about providing them with... distractions... and possibly steering them into other relationships?”
Lady Augrytas frowned. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Rather cold and calculated, since you ask.”
The Loremaster looked to Kim, whose almond eyes narrowed as his gaze met Randae’s. “I think separating them would be a mistake.”
“Thank you.” Randae nodded as if to dismiss them.
“And now,” Lady Augrytas said, making no move to depart, “I think that Kim and I are owed an explanation.”
Randae raised an eyebrow. “I supposed I’d be disappointed if you didn’t ask.” He made a casual gesture, and a pale light glimmered for a moment on his fingertips. A barely perceptible sense of stillness came over the room.
Lady Augrytas cocked an eyebrow. “This information is that sensitive?”
The Loremaster sat up. “This is absolutely confidential. No one outside this room must know until we are ready. Jad and Kalen especially must not be aware of their destiny.”
Usa and Kim exchanged glances.
“As you may know, they are cousins because their mothers are sisters—twin sisters. Jad’s father is a mystery; she was raped in Urulan by a man among the Messengers of the invading forces of the Iron Wind. More significantly, the sisters’ biological father is not an Iylar Elf as they believe.”
“Yesss?” Lady Augrytas pressed, leaning slightly forward.
Randae pursed his lips. “We believe that Jad and Kalen’s grandfather is in fact a Lord of Essænce, perhaps even Andraax.”
Kim’s eyebrows went up and his almond-shaped eyes widened.
Usa Augrytas, on the other hand, smiled a smug little smile. “I knew it!” She said triumphantly. “That explains the wild Essænce!”
“What!?” Randae snapped. “You neglected to mention that in your report.”
“You asked what he had achieved, not every detail of his potential, and I mentioned Arcane potential.” She favored the youthful Loremaster with a cool glance. “But yes, I’ve seen it on several occasions. There’s wild raw Essænce in him, and it needs to be controlled.”
“That explains Jad’s amazing progress with the Mentalist Monk disciplines as well.” Kim nodded.
“And if they channel together... the power...!” Lady Augrytas’ voice trailed off, plainly awed for a moment by the possibilities. Then she refocused her attention on Randae. “What are we preparing these boys for? I must know!”
Randae sat back in his chair. “The Loremasters have for some time been observing a powerful, malevolent presence in the far northwest of this hemisphere. We believe that it is a fallen Lord of Essænce who went by the name ‘Ondoval.’ The power has been growing in recent centuries, and it is possible that this being has recovered... the Shadowstone.”
Kim just looked blankly at the Loremaster, but Lady Augrytas gasped audibly. “Surely it is legend—and if it ever existed it must have been destroyed!”
“The Shadowstone was indeed real, My Lady. And even if it was destroyed in our time, if one had the Book of Gates…”
“This is a fairy tale you are spinning!” Usa slumped back in her seat. “Legend upon myth!” Randae saw her knuckles whiten as she clutched her staff.
“Would someone like to explain all this to me?” Kim finally asked.
“Sorry, we are getting into ancient matters regarding obscure items. You know of the Lords of Essænce?”
“The first race to populate this planet, they were incredibly powerful masters of the Essænce and technology, but they destroyed themselves.”
“Just so.” Randæ nodded. “There was a civil war, the leaders of the opposing forces were the corrupt Empress Kadæna and her cousin Utha, who overthrew her. Much of Kadæna’s power was focused through an amulet known as the Shadowstone, a dark jewel with unimaginable powers. To slay her, Utha created a weapon considered barbaric for the time: the Soulsword. With it he beheaded her, and according to the tales, the Shadowstone fell into a fiery abyss and was destroyed or buried.
“But if this Ondoval possesses the Book of Gates—a tome of powerful enchantment from the Second Era—he could use its time-and-space traveling powers and snatch the jewel before it fell without altering the timeline.”
“How could this concern Kalen and Jad? They have great potential, but they are boys! Inexperienced!” Usa angrily rapped her cane on the floor.
“Only a Lord of Essænce can touch the great artifacts of the First Era. To even approach the Sword or the Shadowstone would kill any of us in an instant. The same is true of the Eyes of Utha. Even so, Ondoval would probably need an item of great power such as the Shadowstone to damage the Eyes.”
“You are afraid that Ondoval may try to destroy the Eyes?” Lady Augrytas was incredulous. “It would mean chaos—perhaps the very destruction of the world!”
“We fear that total destruction may be Ondoval’s goal. Perhaps he is in fact insane, at least by any gauge we understand. Fortunately, if our suspicions regarding events to date are correct, Ondoval will need time to recuperate from his travels and learn to wield the Shadowstone. We have several years to prepare Kalen and Jad.”
“Jad to wield the Soulsword, Kalen to handle the Shadowstone. Very elegant. As if it were all planned somehow.” The Lady cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair.
“Yes, too elegant to be a coincidence, that is why we suspect Andraax is their grandsire, and in fact engineered their birth. In his infamous roundabout way, he has given us a gift with which to fight the enemy.” Randae drained his glass.
“Still, this business about Jad’s sire is troubling.” Usa’s eyes narrowed. “If I were you, I would set your famous Loremaster Seers on that little twist. And I would like to know some more details, if they might deign to release them!”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Randae sighed.
“Two mere boys are destined to face an Essænce Lord from the First Era. Boys who apparently have no choice in the matter, and may well die in the effort.” Usa said bitterly.
“I’m afraid so.” Randae nodded, examining the dregs in his goblet. “So often it is with heroes.”
“Will they face this threat with no real preparation?” Kim demanded, barely able to control his anger.
“Not so. In fact, I have planned a few excursions to help them get acclimated to the real dangers that exist on our Shadow World.” Randae smiled, a smile that Kim for the first time found a bit unsettling.
