The same old roanwood table, piled high with no doubt the same parchments and books she'd seen here cycles ago -- most already well-past their point of usefulness to anyone. That weary old table still sagged against the left wall like a dejected old man. A floor-to-ceiling Dorfaíle hearth dominated the right wall, a warm fire blazing in its depths, held at eternal peak by the stone around it. Copper candelabras lent further light to the room from the four corners, and a giant copper chandelier hung from the ceiling at the room's center. Just below that sat the room's most important contents: the equipment used to examine, grade, and refine the power of the choicest Dorfaíle. Behind this last table, slumped contemplatively in his great wooden Master's chair, was the chamber's only other occupant.
He was a stooped, frail-looking man of two hundred sixty cycles, with a bare fuzz of white hair sprinkled across his otherwise shiny pate. AlcheMaster Pel Brun-Gild was one of the oldest surviving members of the Household. Some said he was the oldest, in fact, and could personally remember the origin of the feud with the Bathron. Telyn heard whispers during her cycles in Colandra that Brun-Gild lived only thanks to the forbidden Cetlahe Afach -- the Age Mysteries. Still, no one dared to accuse him openly -- not even Grand Master Wychel.
Well, she didn't care whether he was the eldest and most respected Master of the House or not. Telyn drew herself erect and forced her lungs to draw even, steady breaths. To her, he was pure evil. She couldn't even remember where the feeling came from, just that it burned so deep in her soul she knew it was true. She resisted the urge to shudder as the old man's clear gold eyes settled on her at last. Those eyes... It always struck her as odd that this House Master had eyes as foreign to the Gild as her own.
"Ah. Telyn Gwndal, yes? I would never have imagined you would return to us."
"It was not by choice." She refused to call him Master. She was no longer his to command. "I merely do as my Mistress bids. I have a--"
"Duty?" He chuckled. "Ah, yes. Duty."
His shrewd, golden gaze rested on her, and she couldn't stop the spurt of fear that he sorted through her deepest soul with that look. "But the Telyn I recall did not know the meaning of that word. The Telyn I recall would have gladly dug my grave for me."
And I still would. Telyn tore her gaze away, afraid he truly could read her mind. But to turn away was to play his game, to admit that he won, yet again. That, she would not do. Never again.
Her attention snapped back to his face. "That was a long time ago."
"Not nearly long enough, I should think."
She would not rise to bait. Yet, the pure fires of fury burned within her, drawing anger to her words she couldn't suppress. "I am a Gildgard. I must obey the Masters and Mistresses of the House of Gild. That's the creed I'm sworn to serve, by my life's blood."
Brun-Gild's wheezing laugh assaulted her ears, and Telyn gritted her teeth against the urge to twist his pathetic neck as his hands clapped together in slow, mocking applause.
"Bravas, Sera Telyn! That pretty speech is Lanoki's tutelage in you. But you," a crafty grin spread over his wrinkled face, "are not Lanoki. Surely, you've seen nothing under her banners to compare to our Raiador."
Raiador isn't yours, and nor am I. Telyn sealed her lips over the angry retort, her eyes narrowed in rage. He was trying to bait her, to make her lash out. She would not play his game.
"Pity." Brun-Gild shook his head and made a tsk-ing sound when Telyn didn't answer him. "A shame, really, that one so Gifted would turn her back on her destiny. Sera Telyn, you possess a Gift so many would give their lives to own. So many already have."
Bitterness choked her, and she fought the familiar twin blades of confusion and pain. "I was chosen by the anaqueri. I did not choose that path, or the one I follow now. It is the work of Kishfa."
"Oh, but you did choose. You did." He rose and moved slowly about the room, leaning heavily on his staff. One gnarled finger poked the air accusingly in emphasis of every word. "You chose the Endlands to Raiador."
She couldn't seal her lips over her defensive response. "I had to leave. I had no control over myself, here."
He whirled surprisingly fast for his advanced age. The eagerness in his expression roused a sick feeling in Telyn's stomach. "And that frightened you? You must be able to control your own will? To understand everything you do, and why you do it? What kind of coward are you, Sera Telyn?"
Rage kindled in her chest like a bonfire fanned to life, blotting out the wave of illness. "I am not a coward!"
"Then why did you leave?" His bushy eyebrows rose in a look all too familiar to Telyn. That hawkish gaze once drove her away in blind fear. But she couldn't run, now. She had no choice but to stand and fight.
"I left because I killed people. I couldn't control my rage, and they died. Because of me!" She flinched away from the truth, and the memories laid open in her mind. She didn't want to remember what happened here, what those damned Dorfaíle had done to her. Yet, those memories rode with her everywhere she went.
She could hear the mountain singing to her. She didn't understand the words, but she knew it called her.
"Telyn, where are you going?" The words whispered along the edges of consciousness, and she barely acknowledged them, shrugging off her best friend's grip on her arm.
She could only see the mountain, could only hear the sweet siren voice of Raiador in her ears. Step after step, she followed that sound, her heart beating faster with every inch deeper into the mountain she went. She barely heard the scrambling of rocks, the quiet curses and called out words, behind her as she headed for the forbidden deep caverns, where Miners whispered damned souls wandered. Only the pulsing of the mountain around her mattered, as its giant, fiery heart drew her further in.
She froze as she stood over a skeleton, laid out in state on a slab in the middle of a small chamber. He was long dead, the remnants of his clothing shining with threads of fiery gold. Greaves that looked pounded from the Dorfaíle themselves covered his skeletal arms and legs, and he clutched a shield of obsidian, with a flaming bird cast on it in some bright red stone. There was nothing else left to distinguish who he was, but a furious rage swept her as she slipped the golden talon ring from his left hand and onto her own finger, pocketing the blazing gemstone ring that accompanied it.
"You left him here." The words were cold, full of an icy rage she couldn't quite feel through her numbness. "You left him here to die."
"Telyn, what're you...?" The fear in those words barely reached her, and the voice of her friend slid over her and bounced away, cast off by the rage that swept through her.
"He did nothing to you!" The words shrieked from her like a harpy released, and the mountain shuddered around her. "How could you abandon him?"
"T-T-Telynnnnn!" The terrified cry was cut off as the floor dropped before her, and she watched figures tumble into the glowing red furnace beneath the mountain. Her gaze locked for one terrifying instant with that of her best friend, Rheina, and the rage dropped away as paralyzing fear sucked away her breath. What had she done?
Flung out of memory, Telyn gasped desperately for air. A cry of pain ripped from her as the articulated golden talon she'd been unable to remove since that fateful night burned her finger like a brand. She gripped her wrist with a hiss of pain, and fought the urge to retch. She killed them. In her fury, she cast her friends into the heart of a volcano.
Slowly, she remembered she wasn't alone, and her gaze shot up to see the malicious smile tugging at Brun-Gild's brittle lips, as if he could read her thoughts, and they gave him perverse pleasure. "And yet, you chose the life of a warrior. Such poetic irony. Such utter nonsense. You can't escape Raiador, no matter how you flee. It is your destiny, Telyn. We are so much alike."
She glowered at him, hating the old man with everything in her. "I'm nothing like you. I make my own destiny."
"Then why have you returned? Already, you've forgotten what brought you here, and I see Raiador burning in your eyes. The mountain has called you
here, not I. Raiador called home its daughter to fight the Bathron."
"I won't believe that!" Telyn shot back, though a small voice inside her whispered doubts. She knew the Bathron had nothing to do with why she was here. But had Raiador actually called her here? Was this her will, or an act of Kishfa -- Fate?
"But you do believe it." He sounded so damned smug.
"I refuse to let you twist the truth on me," she grated out, and spun on her heel. She didn't have to listen to this. She wasn't here to play games with her former Master. Yet, as she strode determinedly down the corridor, Telyn couldn't quite dismiss the feeling Brun-Gild knew something about her, and who she really was, that she didn't know.
Outside the Camp House, Telyn wished she hadn't been so hasty to leave. Against her will, her gaze traveled to the mountain, and her insides twisted in a mixture of pain and longing.
Raiador.
"Quite a sight, isn't it?"
Her attention whipped to her left at the query, to find a man standing beside her. He had the long, plaited hair of a Borderlander, and his tarnished armor screamed mercenary loud enough the dead could have heard it. Yet, something told her he was neither. Something about his voice tugged at her memory.
"Excuse me?"
He nodded toward Raiador. "The mountain. Never seen anything quite like it."
She peered closer in the diming light, trying to discover what about this man convinced her he wasn't exactly what he appeared. Why did she feel like she knew him from somewhere?
He was tall, even compared her Bathron blood, which could be a Borderlander trait -- the few she met were easily as tall as she was. His mud-brown hair hung midway down his back, woven into the traditional Borderlander plaits. However, the secrets in his smoky-green gaze told her he wasn't a Borderlander at all. A sense of kinship to this man blanketed her -- she was more than she appeared, as well, even if she wasn't sure what, yet. This man's charisma told her he was far from the mercenary his garb declared him to be. He carried himself with the authority and confidence of a leader or nobleman.
A well-worn scabbard hung from an equally abused leather belt, but his sword hilt had the gleam of care, and the glint of metal at the top of his scuffed black boots hinted he was well armed. He wasn't a man to take lightly, and she had to wonder if he was friend, or foe.
"And you are?" She frowned up at him, daring him to meet her gaze.
He did, but his eyes remained shuttered, not allowing her access to his thoughts. "No one of consequence, Sera."
Her hand fell to her anaqueri as it thrummed at her side. She couldn't be sure if the presence of man or mountain was responsible for the surge of energy against her thigh.
As the mercenary walked away, Telyn's reluctant gaze drifted back to Raiador, and she acknowledged the bitter truth. She blamed the mountain for the terrible course of her fate. It haunted her dreams, and her life. Ever since she came here to mine the Dorfaíle, she'd been unable to escape it. Even running away hadn't stopped the nightmarish memories of this place. And, oh, how she tried to escape. Yet, every time she heard Raiador mentioned, she found herself listening a little closer, as if her very life depended on how the mountain fared. Every time she saw a Dorfaíle, the same painful desire overcame her to touch, to connect with Raiador in some small way.
Now, in the warm shadow of the mountain itself, her senses reeled, and her surroundings faded away. Raiador captivated her. Powerful emotion surged through her, and yet she trembled, held in thrall by the energy radiating from its stone face. Her body moved of its own accord, carried her toward the mountain by a force beyond her control. Her left hand stretched out, and the powerful pulse of Raiador's energy rushed through her blood as light flashed around the talon on her index finger. She was reborn, renewed, and yet terrified. The power filled her with the force of a flash flood through a dry streambed, threatening to sweep her away, and she was afraid of where she might end up. Desire overwhelmed her. Only unity with Raidor’s core provided hope of her salvation.
With a cry forced through gritted teeth, Telyn fought the mountain's pull, fought to regain control of her senses. She would not succumb.
Sweat beaded across her brow, and her outstretched hand closed so tightly, blood welled up between her fingers and fell to the dirt in fiery pearls. Pain shattered the mountain's spell, and with a cry of agony, Telyn twisted her head away from Raiador, before turning her back completely.
Panting, she fell to her knees and hung her head, clutching her bleeding hand against herself. She was in trouble. The feelings were even stronger than before. Once again, she shed blood because of the metal talon -- this time, her own. But why was she the only one who felt this pull from the mountain? Why did pain and fury sear her soul whenever she thought of the skeleton she found in the caverns?
With a shuddering sob, Telyn wrenched her mind from those troublesome questions. Unsteadily, she rose and reached beneath her leather tunic to tear a strip of cloth from her shirt to bind her wounded hand. Her legs wobbled as she made her way back to the Camp House, willing herself to keep her gaze focused on the roanwood doors. Lanoki sent her to guard the Minanx Camp. She could not afford to venture near Raiador again.
From the stable doors, the tawny-haired woman's struggle against inner demons she seemed loathe to admit to couldn't be clearer. Compassion twined through the desire in Nacaris' heart.
Telyn grew into a beautiful woman. Not that he ever doubted she would. Even as a girl, she'd turned heads with her beauty and fire. What did surprise him was how she did her best to chase it away behind hair styled by a battlefield barber and a closed-off expression that forbade anyone -- male or female -- from getting close to her. His lips twitched in wry humor, aware her forbidding shell was one she inherited from Dariadus. Little did she know, but her prickly exterior only drew him more.
He tried to tell himself he wasn't surprised she didn't recognize him. He made excuses for her blank regard. They'd both grown older, and he'd taken on the customs of the Borderlanders over the Summers he lived among them, not quite able to bring himself to pierce the Eleshau and return home. Yet, knowing Telyn couldn't see through the changes of age and dress stung him. He'd been aware of her presence even before he laid eyes on her.
Nacaris grimaced as he faced the truth -- Telyn just never paid much attention to anyone except Dariadus, all those Summers ago. The wishful dreams of a lovesick boy on the verge of manhood hadn't pierced her shell. Even when she smiled at him, back then, she always seemed as if she was somewhere else entirely. He couldn't help but wonder where.
As he watched, she dropped to her knees, her body heaving as if about to be violently ill, and he took an instinctive step toward her. He froze, retreating back into the shadows. Telyn would never accept the concern of a stranger, and he wasn't sure he could face her dismissal, again.
He stayed put -- torn between knowledge and desire -- as she shuddered, then rose on wobbling legs that sent a fresh shaft of concern through him. The resolute expression on her face surprised him, and his gaze jumped briefly to the mountain. What about Raiador was capable of bringing this indomitable woman to her knees?
Within the relative safety of the quartzite-laden walls that offered some protection from Raiador's overwhelming energy, Telyn crumpled to the floor against one wall and drew heaving breaths as she fought down the tremors wracking her body. Everyone wondered why she didn't want to come here, why she'd run away so many cycles ago. She blamed it on Brun-Gild, but the truth was, if she hadn't run, she most likely would have been buried within that mountain, eventually. Every day drained a little more from her, and how much faster the drain was happening this time terrified her. Was Rylan wrong? Had her exposure to the anaqueri made her more vulnerable to Majik?
As her energy returned, Telyn contemplated what little she knew of the situation here at Raiador. Brun-Gild claimed there were Bathron out there. She doubted it. She experienced Brun-Gild's animosity toward the Bathron first-hand, as a girl. He was more likely to ra
ise that alarm than any other, when faced with raiders. Could Lahrasian pirates have come ashore this far north? It wasn't unheard of, but the Caryptus Sea was inhospitable to sailors this time of year, when it was crawling with filthy Katarie Marauders.
Only one way to know for sure.
With a sigh, Telyn shoved up from the floor and headed for the Garda. The Minegards were more likely to give her straight answers than the Camp's prejudiced AlcheMaster was.
As the heavy roanwood door to the Garda creaked open, all noise abruptly halted, and all eyes turned to gauge the new arrival. Telyn returned their speculative stares with open challenge. Let any one of these Minegards declare her unfit to her position. She'd prove otherwise. One sweep of the room ascertained no one wanted to be first to even hint at it. With final curious glances, they turned back to their previous occupations.
Telyn's heart sank as she scanned the room again, this time with a Gildgard's trained eye. She'd have few experienced fighters to call on if the situation here became grim. All but a few of these Minegards looked to be less than twenty cycles, and most looked like they hadn't yet seen even their fifteenth cycle. Not that she expected much differently.
While most Gildgards were well over their majority by the time they finished training, those who failed the initial test to train as a Gildgard were often sent to guard the House of Gild's extensive mining system, or as garrison soldiers for the border forts and cities. Many of those hadn't yet reached their majority, but she'd never encountered so many so far below seventeen cycles in one place, before. Only three of them looked past their majority. Only one of those looked mature enough to be in charge -- a woman who looked slightly older than Telyn. She had ash blonde hair twisted into the tiny plaits of a Borderlander and a long, white scar bisecting the left half of her bronzed face, from eye to jaw. She stood a little off to the side of the door, leaning against the wall as she studied Telyn with intent, frank appraisal. Her alert aqua eyes reassured Telyn somewhat. This woman was no stranger to the battlefield.
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