by Andrew Rowe
Even after Aladir’s healing and months of rehabilitation, she still suffered with every step. It was unlikely she would ever walk properly again.
Vendria, ideas?
[I do not currently sense any protections against sorcery on your opponent.]
Lydia nodded once in gratitude. She could work with that.
Pushing herself from the floor with a groan, Lydia reached deeper into her pouch, retrieving a vial as her opponent circled the wall. She flicked off the cap and smiled at her opponent. “Air, push him back.”
A jet of wind blasted the older man, pushing him back several steps. He lowered his stance, attempting to steady himself, but he frowned as the winds continued to buffet him and press him closer to the tower’s edge.
“That’s new. Stone, wall behind me, thank you.”
The rooftop shook again as another section of stone rose from the floor, forming a barrier directly behind the sorcerer. Lydia’s wind continued to blow, but the wall prevented him from slipping back any further.
Fortunately, it also prevented him from moving to avoid the vial that Lydia hurled through the air.
Purple sand spilled out of the vial, spreading in the air as the wind whipped it toward him. He waved a hand, blasting the vial itself to the side with a burst of kinetic energy, but that didn’t deflect the grains of sand.
Lydia smirked as she saw a moment of confusion cross the man’s face just before he slumped into a sitting position against the wall. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head. “What…why am I sitting?”
The paladin circled the wall, picking up her fallen sword and cautiously stepping closer.
“Ah, ah, I see. Sand… How very traditional for dreams.” One of the rings on his right hand flared. He shook his head again, pushing his hands against the stone as Lydia took a cautious step backward.
“Quite a good trick there.” He stood, still unsteady on his feet. “One of the best demonstrations you’ve made. But you’re still taking too long with your incantations. Especially when you’re wearing a vulnerability.” He raised a hand and pointed at the ring on her hand. “Eru volar—”
Lydia covered the ring with her other hand instinctively, but she knew that blocking his sight wouldn’t stop the effect. In a moment of panic, she spoke a word. “Shield!”
A spherical barrier flickered to life around her hand. It was a feeble thing, nothing compared to what she might have wrought before Sterling had stolen so much from her.
But when Hartigan spoke the final word of his incantation — “shen taris” — nothing happened.
Lydia shook her head. “That was a shaded trick, Master Hartigan. Virtually no one else has a bond to my ring, using it against me isn’t exactly going to be a common tactic.”
The older man folded his arms, which meant he planned to lecture her again. Lydia rolled her eyes as he began. “Oh? And exactly how short is that list? Edon, of course, the man you…acquired the ring from. Presumably also some of his former court sorcerers? You never found out what happened to Veruden or Morella, did you? And what about the former Queen Regent. Could she have ever used the ring, perhaps? Not unlikely, I would think. Edon only had a few trinkets to pass about for his ‘gods’ to make their miracles. Oh, and what about his other former gods? It’s not like you see two of them on a regular basis…”
Lydia raised her own hand, felt the barrier expire, and waved her hand at him. “You’ve made your point. Fine, it’s a relevant lesson. Fire storm.”
A swarm of tiny spheres of blue-white flame manifested right above Hartigan, streaking downward. He waved his left hand upward and they vanished, nullified with only the slightest effort on his part.
Gods, he’s still so far beyond me.
“Well, that was unexpected. I rarely see such initiative. That emergency shield was good work. Focus on using quick incantations like that regularly.”
She stepped forward, smacking him in the arm with the flat of her blade. “Sleep.” The weapon glowed purple as the spell took effect, surging into to him. “Short enough for you?”
“Rude. And I’m protected from that now.” Hartigan raised his hand, showing her the still-glowing ring he’d activated after she hit him with the sand. “But, given that you’ve managed to get within reach of me…I’m prepared to call this one your victory.”
Lydia’s blinked. “…You are?”
The immortal sorcerer brushed her weapon aside, laughing in his characteristic way. “Don’t let your head get too big for your neck. I’m sure I’m still a bit ahead of you.”
Lydia sheathed her weapon. “Fifty-eight to one isn’t an insurmountable advantage. I’ll catch up.”
Hartigan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, his lips tightening into a more serious expression. “Yes. I do believe you will.”
***
Eleven months had passed since Sterling had shattered Lydia’s leg and stolen much of her sorcerous power.
She had spent much of that time training with Blake Hartigan, one of the three legendary immortal sorcerers. As his latest apprentice, Lydia had a rare opportunity for a glimpse at the secrets of one of the greatest minds of the civilized world.
She also assisted with him with his own “research”.
Hartigan stared at the bubbling cauldron on his work bench, heated by a tiny enchanted device that sat just below it. Without taking his eyes off the purplish fluid, he reached out a hand vaguely in Lydia’s direction. “Lion’s bane.”
Lydia frowned. “When you mix that with the lifestrand, won’t it explode?”
“Quite possibly.”
Lydia sighed. It was going to be another one of those experiments. Dutifully, she walked to a nearby shelf, eyeing the dozens of containers that she had labeled and organized — Hartigan’s own “organization” had been dubious at best — and found the vial he had asked for.
She placed it, still stoppered, in his hand.
Then she stepped back. Repeatedly. She’d learned to stand as far as possible when he was adding something to a volatile mixture.
Hartigan unstoppered the vial and poured the whole thing in.
“...Shield.” Lydia whispered. A barrier flickered to life around her, forged from her own protection sorcery. She’d regained some of the power Sterling had stolen from her, but not nearly as much as she would have liked.
Vendria must have heard her, and a second barrier appeared beneath that one, formed of the same angled green plates as usual.
Thank you.
[It is my pleasure.]
If Hartigan ended up soaked again, that’d be his own problem.
The cauldron’s contents churned and bubbled fiercely, and Hartigan let out an echoing laugh as something started to crackle inside.
But it didn’t explode. The cauldron’s contents churned for another few moments, then settled.
From Hartigan’s frown, Lydia might have once thought this meant he was disappointed.
Now?
She knew that was his considering frown.
“This is...unexpected. But marvelous! Quite marvelous. Don’t you agree?”
He turned his head toward her for the first time in hours.
“I do quite like the lack of explosions, but I’m not certain at the significance. I was under the impression you were attempting to make a powerful healing potion until you added the lion’s bane.”
“Oh, yes.” He waved a hand. “I started out that way, but while you were studying last night, I added something extra. Two and a half units of goldroot and one unit of the protection essence you’ve been making.”
Lydia frowned. “Wouldn’t goldroot decrease the efficacy of a healing potion?”
“Yes, but did you see what just happened when I added the lion’s bane?”
Lydia considered that. “Nothing. Well, a few moments of conflict, but no explosion.” She found herself nodding as she tried to follow Hartigan’s logic. “Goldroot is tied to the Dominion of Stability. You were testing if adding it would be suffici
ent to allow two antithetical dominions — life in the lifestrand and death in lion’s bane — to be utilized in the same potion without causing a violent reaction. I’m not certain I understand the role of the protection essence.”
He nodded fiercely. “Using stability dominion herbs to try to mix antithetical dominion compounds is hardly a unique concept. I’ve tried several similar compounds previously, but they are always inert. The opposing dominions were simply canceling each other out, rather than causing a violent reaction. I believe adding protection essence may have allowed the two components to mix without losing their effect.”
Lydia took a step closer, tilting her head to the side to look inside the cauldron. “How do you know this compound isn’t inert?”
“The smell. It’s acrid, with a hint of the sweetness of the lifestrand. If the components had cancelled each other out it would smell...worse.”
She sniffed at the air, taking in the sharp scent he was describing. “What do you think the potion’s effect would be?”
He shrugged. “Not much, I suspect. A stomach ache? Would you like to try it?”
Her eyes widened in horror.
Hartigan laughed. “Just teasing. Even I wouldn’t drink that. And believe me, I’ve tested a lot of potions I shouldn’t have. This specific potion wasn’t the goal, it was just a simple test of the concept.” He waved a hand, disabling the enchanted burner beneath the cauldron. “I’d be more interested in seeing if we can mix two antithetical deep dominions safely to create a new category of beneficial elixirs.”
Lydia raised a hand to her lips as she considered. “Sight and secrets, perhaps? The combination could result in a new form of sensory enhancement. Or, rather than something directly in opposition, perhaps only a single opposing prime dominion in the mix would be safer? We do have both dream and insight essence on-hand.”
They worked late through the night on new combinations, too excited by the possibilities to go sleep. It was only when dawn’s light crept through the window that an irate Sara Hartigan burst into the chamber and dragged her weary husband off to bed.
Lydia, finally feeling her own exhaustion, headed to the guest bedchamber for some sleep of her own.
She had one last bit of her routine before she slept, however. She reached into her pouch, finding a familiar mirror alongside a more recently procured one, and glanced at the reflective surface to see if Jonan had sent her a message.
A hint of alertness returned when she realized that he had. It had been three months since his last letter, in spite of her sending several to him. She had begun to worry.
Lydia,
Apologies for not writing sooner. I assure you that I am alive and intact, at least for the time being.
More of interest to you, however; I have a lead on Sterling’s location.
His last whereabouts were in the vicinity of the city of Selyr. I am inquiring for further details, and I will plan to either meet you there personally or send a trusted ally to do so.
I would strongly advise you to bring Velas. Will provide more details if you agree.
-Jonan
Now she was more worried, but that was overshadowed by her excitement.
Finally, a lead on Sterling! As dangerous as this might be, it’s excellent news.
Bringing Velas sounds even more dangerous, given that Sterling very nearly killed her in their last encounter. She is not the type to ignore a chance at revenge.
But Jonan knows that. That implies he’s either anticipating a fight against Sterling, or deliberately pushing for one. That’s unusual, given what I know about his employers.
But even if he has ulterior motives, he’s right that I’m going to need muscle. Even after all this training, I’m not foolish enough to think I have good odds against Sterling on my own.
She wrote him a reply.
Jonan,
I’m glad to hear you are safe. What has been keeping you so busy?
Are you in danger? Do you need help?
I will, of course, be glad to meet with your contact. I will make the necessary arrangements with the Paladins of Tae’os... provided this is a matter I can discuss publicly?
I would be quite pleased to have Velas’ company if you believe it would be wise. I will contact her upon my return to Velthryn.
I hope you are well,
-Lydia
Lydia waited a few minutes for a reply, but none came immediately. Finally, she succumbed to her exhaustion, a hint of a smile on her face.
She’d been training for nearly a year for this. Planning, researching, and developing new techniques.
Spirits of the lost, forgive me for taking so long.
It’s finally time. We’re going after Sterling — and we’re going to make him pay for every life that he’s stolen.
Chapter III – Taelien I – Forest of Blades
Taelien closed his eyes and focused on the soothing sound of the rain. He’d spent countless nights falling asleep to that same sound, sometimes in even less hospitable environments than this one.
Taking in a deep breath, he slipped off his tunic and laid it down across the floor of the tent. His trousers came next. He shivered as he reached into his backpack to retrieve a new set of clothes, but they were very nearly as soaked as the clothes he had been wearing.
That was fine. He set them down alongside the ones he’d just taken off, then knelt down for some work.
Heat.
A warm glow enveloped his right hand, casting light across the interior of the tent. Taelien shivered as the spell extracted its cost. It wasn’t much, but he was already taxed from long days of marching and soaked to the bone. Even a comparatively simple spell was enough to force his eyes shut for a few moments.
The warm glow around his hand persisted, beginning to heat the interior of the tent. Taelien had to be careful not to touch his hand to anything flammable. He could shape the heat he’d created to prevent it from burning him, but it would be much more difficult to manage if he started spreading flames around the tent.
First, he carefully waved the hand over his body, gradually evaporating some of the water that had soaked him.
Next, he began to run his hand over the soaking clothes. Properly judging the distance to evaporate the water without burning them was always tricky, but he’d done this several times before. After a few minutes, he’d finished drying the set of clothes that had been in his backpack.
Good enough for the night.
He pulled the dry clothes closer, nudging the wet ones into a corner of the tent to deal with in the morning. If he was lucky, the rain would be over by morning and he’d be able to dry them out in the sun without any further sorcery being necessary.
It would have been nice to dry his hair, too, but he didn’t have the energy for it. The rain had plastered his black hair to his back. It had gotten even longer over the last several months, but still didn’t quite reach his waist.
Still shivering, he slipped the dry clothes on, pulled his blanket out of the bottom of his backpack. Thankfully it was only damp, having been shielded by his clothes.
Better get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. I—
He felt an itch at the back of his mind just before the blades pierced his tent.
His hand moved faster than conscious thought, ripping the Sae’kes free from its scabbard.
Three swift motions sundered swords, shattering them into harmless fragments.
He grimaced, immediately slicing through the heavily damaged remains of his tent to get a clearer view of his attacker.
Two more swords flashed toward him as he stepped outward; he deflected these with equal ease. In the moments before they shattered, Taelien saw that they were enshrouded in blue-green flame.
From that, he knew his attacker even before he saw the towering figure enshrouded in a heavy cloak.
“War.” Taelien took a defensive stance, trying to keep his feet on top of the remains of his tent to prevent them from sticking into the
muddy ground. “I’d invite you into my tent to get out of the rain, but, well, you sort of wrecked it. What are you doing out here?”
The Wandering War lowered his hood, revealing coppery skin. Raindrops sizzled and evaporated as they struck his face. “I go where I choose, cousin. Is that not the freedom you gave me?”
Taelien gave him an approving nod. “Of course. But we’re a long way from Velthryn, and I have an assignment. I wasn’t expecting to see you for a while.”
War raised a single hand. A half-dozen more phantasmal blades appeared, floating in the air above him. “You kept me waiting too long. I require sustenance.”
For an entity that fed on conflict, the meaning behind that was clear enough.
“Now War, you know I love fighting you. But it’s the middle of the night, and I’m cold and wet. This isn’t the best time.”
War raised a hand and pointed. “You should use that anger to strike at me fiercely and prove your strength.”
“I’m not really angry, War. Just mildly irritated.”
“You should use that mild irritation to strike me fiercely and prove your strength.”
Taelien sighed. “Can I at least get my boots on?”
Six swords flickered forward.
“Didn’t think so.”
Taelien moved.
His heart beat faster.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a real fight.
The weapons were too close together for him to reliably dismantle them all at once, so he rushed left, toward a large tree.
War moved his hand, altering the trajectory of the swords, but they couldn’t all approach Taelien from the same angle.
Taelien slashed the first two apart, while another brushed against the side of the tree and slowed. He grabbed that one by the hilt with his off-hand, twisted it to deflect another, and then smashed the remaining two apart with the Sae’kes.