by Jaxon Reed
Tawny said, “Your mind has been healed, Toby. I figured it out while I was battling Ludge. Mother said our forms could only change with mana. I thought it would be worth trying to change you, to heal you, with her mana core. And it worked!”
“Yes.”
He looked at Tawny and the others. Everyone stared back.
“I want to . . . thank you all.” His voice sounded deep, matching his large frame. It flowed out rich and strong, making their eardrums vibrate.
“You have been very good to us these last few months. It’s the first time Tawny and I have not been treated like outsiders.”
He sounded out the words slowly, as if pausing to think before saying them. Indeed, he was learning how to speak on the fly, vocalizing for the first time based on memories of how the words should sound.
Percel reached up and patted him on the back.
He said, “You’re part of the corps, lad. You’re family.”
Toby smiled. For the first time, his eyes sparkled with intelligence. They looked bright and clear.
Absently he moved his finger up toward his mouth. He stopped before it got there, and stared at it for a moment. Then he lowered his hand.
Choster cleared his throat.
“This is very touching, but I think I am the only person present who actually walked the streets of this city back when it was aboveground. And if memory serves, and it does perfectly when it comes to money, believe me, Melody Hall also acted as the local bank.”
Percel’s eyebrows shot up while Nessa frowned.
Nessa said, “So? What does that matter?”
“What matters, lass,” Percel said, “Is the fact it’s probably never been looted. We have a set of enchanted lockpicks and someone who has become very powerful with her spells recently. I think we can break through any defenses the bank had in place before it sank.”
He and Choster smiled, two minds thinking alike.
“What do you suppose is in there?” Erik said, nervously. “I mean, in terms of the monsters we’ll have to go through to get the bank’s gold.”
“Oh, probably toten gheists, maybe some more zombies,” Percel said.
Choster added, “Alpha rats, almost certainly. Perhaps a corporeal shadow or two. And we haven’t seen any cave snakes lately.”
“Not snakes,” Tawny said. “I hate snakes.”
“We really should take advantage of these rings while we have them,” Percel said, holding his hand up to admire the Ring of Protection and the faint blue glow it cast around his body.
Together, talking, they walked back toward the large building where Tawny defeated Ludge.
Outside the broken doorway, she cast another Globe of Light and sent it sailing inside. They rushed in after it, weapons drawn and spells ready.
-+-
The following morning, Justen walked outside his tent holding the ensorcelled life stone in his hand. It continued to shine with five lights on the surface, much to his relief.
He joined the circle of guards around the entrance into Melody. They nodded a greeting to him. The captain wished him a good morning.
“How much longer do you think they’ll be down there?” the captain said.
Justen shrugged. He said, “I’ve no idea. They’re not dead yet, though.”
He showed the captain his stone, and the guards nearby nodded. They knew what the five lights meant.
A guard shouted, “Something’s coming up!”
Everyone turned to look down the shaft. Deep below, a pinprick of light slowly grew larger.
Several minutes later, the team came into sight, smiling and laughing. They looked dirty, and a little worse for wear, but they were all happy to see the sun again and breathe fresh air.
Justen ran partway down the ramp to greet them. Then his face fell as a thought crossed his mind.
He said, “You’re not . . . you’re not doppelgangers, are you?”
Everyone stopped for a moment in surprise.
Percel said, “Ah! We forgot to set up a password with you, Justen. I should have thought of that.”
“If he knows we didn’t set up a password,” the captain called down from above, “then he’s probably not a doppelganger.”
This logic made sense to everybody, and Justen led them up the rest of the way to the surface without further worries.
All the guards crowded in, congratulating the team and talking at once.
Choster produced a parasol and opened it, shielding himself from the rising sun.
“We could have made it here last night,” Percel said to Justen. “But, we were tired. We camped out while our nocturnal protector here kept watch.”
Choster smiled, keeping his fangs hidden.
He said, “Speaking of sleep, there’s a sarcophagus with my name on it in one of those wagons.”
He headed off alone toward Lady Lexa’s carriage.
“I’m a little surprised you didn’t just port out of there with the stones,” Justen said.
Percel nodded. He said, “Aye, well, we thought we’d take a little break from all the excitement by riding back to the palace with you. Here’s the rings, Justen.”
He handed over the four artifacts. Justen thanked him and placed them into a bag for safekeeping.
Soon the guards were breaking camp and loading up the wagons. Everyone was eager to leave this forsaken place and get back to Menos.
They made several miles before stopping for lunch.
-+-
Mnester set the enchanted hand mirror down on the table and sat back in his chair, worry creasing his face.
The abomination was . . . cured?
It did not seem possible, yet he witnessed the whole thing with his own eyes. Toni’s forbidden son with Prince Fulcris could speak. He was no longer a simpleton.
The repercussions were potentially far reaching.
For millennia, mating between classes had been prohibited because the children came out like Toby: simpleminded. Stunted in their intellectual abilities.
But there were other reasons for the prohibitions, reasons not discussed openly and known only to a handful of trusted Phronēsian scholars. Mnester counted himself in their number, although he was not fully certain of all the details.
Babies from prohibited mating differed from the four standard elven forms. Six additional forms could be produced via procreation between the four classes, all of them strictly prohibited.
He shoved the chair back and left his alcove, walking outside and down the spiraling trunk. Closer to the ground he entered the tree again through a restricted passageway.
Inside, he passed a magical barrier open only to those serving Phronēsis. Here, the darkest secrets of his people were carefully guarded. The way led deeper, slanting down into the very base of the tree and beyond.
Mnester came to a narrow wooden staircase created naturally, not carved. It was ancient, formed millennia ago when the tree was young. He took it down to the very bottom and entered into the Vaults of Knowledge far below the tree, deep below its roots.
Here someone serving Phronēsis might happily spend all their days, reading and writing in the enormous subterranean library. Indeed, many did so. That was one of the reasons few Phronēsians were seen in public. If they had their druthers, they would remain sequestered in these vaults learning and researching.
Mnester traveled deeper, and deeper still, passing others serving Phronēsis quietly, exchanging a nod in greeting if they made eye contact. He found the routes leading to the lowest levels, gentle slopes always heading down.
At last he came to the very deepest section of the vast library, and approached one more magical barrier.
It shimmered before him, opaque. He touched it with his hand, and the barrier parted, letting him step through. It shut again behind him.
A spirit locked eyes with him as he came down the final set of steps just past the entry spell.
Gnósis, the most powerful, wisest and supremely knowledgeable elf to have eve
r lived stood before him, shimmering. Or rather, his ghost stood before him.
The spell holding his spirit in this place was ancient and powerful. It was said Gnósis had lived among the first elves, when the tree and the world were both young. Many had searched the ancient texts diligently to learn more about him.
Mnester knew from personal experience such efforts were futile. Very little could be learned from the first days of Creation, because little had been written down back then.
What was passed along to future generations in text was often symbolic, following metaphorical codes, their keys long lost. Reading about the early days after Creation was an exercise in frustration. That frustration extended to trying to uncover hints about Gnósis and his origins.
But this much, at least, was known. Gnósis had gained so much wisdom and knowledge that he and his king decided his spirit should not part from the realm of the living so long as other elves could use him. So a powerful spell was cast at his death, and the ghost of Gnósis remained standing in this place throughout the many centuries that followed
His knowledge was so great that his existence in the mortal realm was deemed a secret. It was one closely held by those serving Phronēsis.
These days, few dared approach the ancient spirit. It was said displeasing him with questions he deemed frivolous might result in the interrogator’s immediate death.
Whether that rumor was true or not, over recent centuries few had dared approach the ghost unless their need for knowledge and understanding was truly great.
If Gnósis knew or cared about such vexing considerations surrounding him in the land of the living, he gave no indications. He never appeared bored, at least the few times Mnester had approached him. He never tired, he never slept, he never moved from the spot at which his spirit stood, rooted in place deep under the Great Tree.
In what few references Mnester could find in his own research on the matter, within the ancient texts that included his name, the spell on Gnósis would supposedly expire when the Great Tree died. And legend had it that so long as elves walked the world, the tree would live.
Hopefully, Mnester thought, such a terrible day remained far in the future, and Gnósis would continue to share his considerable knowledge for many generations to come.
The old ghost waited as Mnester drew near. He never showed much emotion, nor expressed anything personal in nature. He simply waited for questions to be asked and then answered based on his vast knowledge.
He truly was a remarkable gift, Mnester thought. And this was a tremendous sacrifice, to remain here rather than move on to his eternal reward in the afterlife.
Mnester looked down at the ghost’s spectral feet, thinking about how to phrase his questions and concerns.
Finally, he looked up. Gnósis stared back, silent and waiting.
“The king’s brother has mated with someone outside his class again. This time it was with one of our most formidable Andreian battlemages.”
The old ghost raised an eyebrow at this news, the most reaction Mnester could ever recall seeing in him.
After a moment, Mnester continued.
“She defeated all efforts to detain her and eliminate the offspring. Megalos Magos himself attacked her fifty years ago. They sunk a human city into the ground in their battle, and she hurt him very badly before he killed her.
“Her children got away. The forbidden one had a sister from their mother’s previous mating within her class. That daughter is untrained, but bearing in mind her legacy, she has caused significant problems while we have been trying to eliminate the abomination.
“They were recently found again, but they have thwarted all efforts to kill them. They took out one of our best assassins. Then they went back into the sunken city and finished off Megalos Magos.”
He paused and watched Gnósis, waiting for his reply.
The spirit’s other eyebrow rose and he finally spoke. His voice seemed cold and ancient.
“It appears several powerful elves have given up their lives in this quest to eliminate the aberration.”
Mnester nodded, glumly. He said, “Meanwhile, the human queen has decreed any further efforts to take the children would mean war with her kingdom. We are so few in number we cannot risk another war right now. It’s possible many more may die before this is all over, anyway. Even without conflict.”
“Why do you say that?”
“After the battle, a curious thing happened. I watched it unfold via a hidden scrying spell. The girl retrieved a mana core her mother made while battling Megalos Magos. She crafted a spell, with assistance from a cleric, and . . . healed the boy’s mind. He’s no longer a simpleton.”
The ghost gave him an inscrutable look. This was definitely the most reaction Mnester had ever seen from Gnósis. And indeed, it was big news.
He continued.
“I’m concerned. The abomination is a prohibited form, I know. I understand the need for the prohibitions. One of the considerations is the feeble-mindedness such children are born with. But that seems to be taken care of now, thanks to his sister. I’ve watched him since she healed him, and he’s much more like a normal elf. His intellect is perfectly fine, now.
“In fact, he may be extraordinary. He’s certainly bigger and stronger than most any other elf alive. If he’s allowed to continue to live . . . I don’t know what his form may be capable of. He may eventually become superior even to King Sthenos.”
He said this last part quietly. He glanced at the ghost, hoping it would not betray his trust by telling anyone what he said. Surely not, he thought.
Gnósis said, “And has the king mated yet?”
Mnester shook his head.
“Then the former simpleton is in line to the throne. He would be the heir presumptive after his father. Were the king to have a child, that prince or princess would be the heir apparent. As it is, should the king die with no children, and his brother dies, the throne would go to this nephew.”
The ghost pondered for a moment, sifting through a vast mental storehouse of information and experience.
“All previous illicit children by Prince Fulcris have been eliminated?”
Mnester nodded.
“And he has never mated with a female from Dikaiosynē?”
“No. There are precious few, as you know. It has always been so. But, neither the king nor his brother has ever mated with anyone in his own class.”
The ghost seemed to sigh, and would have if he could fill his aethereal lungs with air.
He said, “It is a pity elves do not follow the human custom of marriage. There are some benefits in pledging to one mate for life. Our royals could use the lessons such fidelity bring.”
“We still have a few centuries before the issue of succession becomes a problem, Gnósis. At least under normal circumstances, and if nothing happens.”
The ghost held up a finger in admonishment and said, “The issue of succession is always a problem.”
Mnester accepted the rebuke and bowed his head.
Gnósis thought for a moment, absently rubbing his lower lip.
He said, “Listen and learn.”
Mnester looked up in anticipation. Whenever Gnósis said that, he was about to share something significant.
“The form we speak of was used in the First Days. The offspring of Dikaiosynē and Andreia were known as Hoplitēs. We bred many such creatures. Creatures born for war.”
Mnester looked up, and it was his turn to raise eyebrows. This was truly new information.
The ghost continued.
“Such specimens were extraordinarily powerful, combining the very best elements of Judgment and Courage. However, their lack of mental capacity generally made such elves useless off the battlefield. This was . . . by design. We did not want the form to be intelligent. They were too powerful, and so we added a restrictive element.”
Mnester gasped.
He said, “You . . . kept them from having a normal mind? By magic?”
&
nbsp; “It is a tree spell, affecting all elves. We decided the four primary forms would remain. All others would be born incapable of much higher thought.
“In those days we had many more of our kind. And the first king, Kyvernítis, had several offspring within his class. It was not unusual for a female to bear four or five children back then.
“So, there was never any question about a simpleton having designs for the throne, despite their proliferation for the sake of battle. It was unheard of, a laughable thought that a Hoplitē might ascend to the throne. They were bred for war, nothing else. They were to be stupid weapons, born to slaughter our enemies on the battlefield and little else. And there were many, many more Dikaiosynē in line to the throne before the first Hoplitē could ever hope to become king.
“Over the centuries, as wars took their toll and humans proliferated throughout the world, edicts were issues to remain with the four primary forms. Everyone mated within their own virtue, and the other combinations were prohibited. We no longer created Hoplitēs because even if we had, the humans were far too many. So, we retreated. Even now, whenever we are dragged into conflict, our losses are painful, almost irreplaceable. We stand in danger of being wiped out in a prolonged conflict.
“Other reasons remain to forbid giving birth to new Hoplitēs. With so few Dikaiosynē left, it was feared they would get too close to the throne.
“This child is the first of his kind in millennia. But if his brain is half what a normal elf’s is now, he could prove to be a major threat to your king someday. If he has a mind to match his body, he could scheme to become your ruler. There are no longer a hundred Dikaiosynē siblings between him and the throne, as would have been the case in the old days.
“And if he came for the throne, were his father and uncle dead, he would sit on it. The tree would recognize him as the lawful heir. He has the blood.”
Mnester shuddered. Such a thought was best left unspoken, as far as he was concerned.
He said, “What should we do, Gnósis? What is the wisest course of action we should take?”
The spirit said, “Wait for the human queen to pass. Then send assassins in again to take them out. Quietly. The queen’s heir will have forgotten her mother’s promises, and Sthenos’s throne will be safe once more.”