Linaera blinked. In the upper hall, only magi-lights – small lamps that drew power from the environment, common among mages and richer folk – provided light.
She had not teleported directly into the apartment, of course: etiquette dictated that teleporters make themselves known in advance before they entered into what could potentially be a tricky situation.
Linaera knocked. This door was made from a softer pine, and made a dull sort of thump.
“Come in,” Terrin ordered.
***
The room in which she entered was splendid. The windows were of the finest crafted glass – though the light they shone was pale and grim, the world outside held poised by dusk.
Not that the rest of the room was any less impressive. The carpet was a deep crimson; the drapes were thick and rich; the lamps were adorned by faint, spidery symbols; and the ceiling was painted.
Scenes of hunting and feasting were displayed. The mastery in which it had been painted – the vivid colours, the life-like proportion, even the facial expressions – suggested it was worth a fortune.
Linaera had never bothered to ask Terrin who made it, and he had never offered anything about it. To them beautiful art was commonplace; it did not require special mention. They sat on two sofas. The soft leather was comfortable, and relaxing.
Only Terrin was far from relaxed. His eyes were violet; they were usually bright from the power of his magic, but today they were wearied by sadness. His silvery hair – one of the few encroaches of old age in his hundredth year – looked almost transparent. His crimson robes were ragged.
Their conversation was not a pleasant one.
“How are you dealing with Eiliara’s death?” Linaera asked.
Terrin’s first words when she entered had been simple: “Eiliara’s dead.”
Linaera had reacted with shock. Certainly, Eiliara was more friendly acquiantance than friend per se. But death was always shocking. Eiliara had not been old – at least not by the standards of mages. For her to die – for her to be murdered – brought anger to Linaera’s heart. She could not imagine what it did for Terrin, Eiliara’s long-time friend.
Linaera had of course enquired as to how Eiliara had died. Terrin had not spared her the details of the message.
“Badly.” Terrin’s reply was very much to the point.
“So what are you going to do?” Linaera continued.
Terrin sighed. “What I must. Eiliara’s death is a tragedy; her death must be honoured with a funeral. And with private grief.”
“But what are you going to do about the necromancer?”
“That leads me to the second part of this discussion.” At Linaera’s quizzical look, he sighed. He briefly disappeared; then he arrived with a bottle of brandy.
“Here, have some.”
Linaera’s expression was taken aback – Terrin could only smile, sadly.
“Go on. You’re almost an adult anyway, and I’ve got bad news to give.”
Linaera took a sip from the offered glass. The liquid was strangely mellow; it burned, but somehow that only made it more seductive. Linaera took another sip, and then another.
“May the He take a whore to bed,” she swore. Terrin didn’t even blink at her use of language. He was usually so proper about it.
“I will have to send someone to investigate, of course.”
Linaera nodded in mute agreement (and took another swallow).
“A party of mages.”
“A sound plan,” Linaera agreed.
“You will have to be in it.”
Linaera almost choked on the brandy.
“What? Are you serious?”
“Very much so, I’m afraid.”
“But... why me? Surely there are other mages – trained battle mages, not a mere apprentice like me.”
“There are; but you must be there regardless.”
“But...”
“Do you wish for an explanation?”
“Well, yeah...”
Terrin shuffled again.
“You are familiar with the concept of destiny?”
“I know it’s a myth.”
A small quirk of the mouth – possibly a smile, but not truly – came over Terrin’s lips.
“Destiny is not a myth, Linaera; or at least, not in the true sense.
“Destiny is the series of events that your life can shape out to be. Destiny is not fair; it is not egalitarian. Some people may forever remain common bricklayers, while others will become great leaders. The fitting irony is, however, that those who are bricklayers are content to remain so, while those who are leaders couldn’t imagine anything else.”
Linaera nodded, understanding.
“But you see, destiny can also be flexible. What you are – your nature – is immutable, but what you actually do with it is a whole matter in and of itself.
“In your case, I can feel your destiny is not to sit here in this mage school and be some comfortable healer or enchanter, as much as you may want to. I know this as I know the sky is blue or that grass is green.”
Linaera tried to protest, but Terrin cut her off.
“At the end of the day, this will be a great learning experience for you. You will learn magic, ecology and things about the world around you. Besides—” He paused slightly. “This necromancer cannot be dangerous enough to overwhelm you. A surprised Silver Mage is one thing... but an entire party of Battle Mages? Nay, that is unheard of.”
“You’re still crazy.”
“I know.”
“I mean... I know this is difficult for you. Are you sure you’re thinking it through?”
“I am certain of it, Linaera.”
“Very well, if this is what you wish.” Linaera did not acquiesce easily, but Terrin was practically her father – he had raised her and given her a future at the mage academy. It did not feel right to deny his wish.
Linaera blinked. The drink’s effect had been subtle at first, but now she felt the alcohol full force. She wondered what to do next. Outside, darkness had fallen; the world was held its impenetrable blanket. Linaera wondered what evil lurked out there – what beings called the darkness home.
Although Linaera could still technically enjoy her spare time reading books in the Library – for magi-lamps provided illumination night or day – she had no intention of doing so. She decided that what she needed was rest: her problems could wait until the morning. As she left the reception room and prepared to cross into her apartment, she had one more question.
“Terrin, by the way, when will we be leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
***
Linaera had left without another word. Terrin did not blame her: the news had been harsh, and he had foisted on her a quest he knew she did not wish. It saddened Terrin that his talk of destiny had been little more than ideological cajoling to a naïve teenage mind.
Well, that wasn’t entirely untrue: Linaera was special, and there was a genuine reason for sending her. He suspected that the foe his party was about to meet was old, and very powerful. He knew he could not convince the other mages: they would think him mad, for the being he spoke of had long ago been exiled. Without their help, he could not send an army.
The real reason he had sent her was because she was his only hope. If his gambit failed, Eiliara’s death would be the beginning of many more.
TWO
Linaera was dreaming.
She was in a forest. The trees were dark, and seemed filled with a silent malice. The night was black; the night was silent. An foul smell hung heavy in the air – in her dream state, she thought of it as the smell of decaying flesh. Small tendrils of fog floated on the floor.
And Linaera was walking. Not running: there was no need for that. She walked, for the place belonged to her.
She had a target. She could feel it like a beacon, drawing her steadily, inexorably. The target’s fear was unmistakable; its defiance too. She walked on. She knew she had to destroy the target.
&nb
sp; She didn’t entirely know why. The reason was irrelevant. All that was mattered was what made her do it: the seething anger, the hot rage, the sadistic revenge. Her feelings clouded her judgement like a fabled curse.
Power ran through her. She could feel it zinging through her body, like thunder. She felt alive. She felt this even though her lungs did not breathe, nor did her heart beat. Somehow, she enjoyed it. Her body was purely under her control now – life was a binding concept best discarded. A smile was on her face, a twinkle in her eye, death in her hands.
One sentence discoursed from her lips:
“Where is my little mage?”
She wanted to say more, but something interrupted her...
A wave. It was impossibly vast, a creation of nightmare. Its waters were brackish; and yet even so, in its depths, she could see corpses. They waved at her, and smiled toothless grins. The wave crested over her.
***
She awoke with a gasp.
In her room, the soft grey light was peaceful, painting the after-effects of the nightmare into absurdity.
The reason for the ending was obvious: it was the boisterous chorus that sung on the windows, their drums the rain and their cymbals the glass.
PIT-PIT. PIT-PAT.
As if sensing her awareness, it intensified:
PIT-PAT PIT-PIT PITPAT PITPAT PITPIT.
She sighed and got out of bed.
Oh bother, she thought. Isn’t this going to be a great day?
Her room was elaborate, but also more reserved. The carpet here was cream and soft; the walls were wooden and warm; the ceiling, a pure undecorated white.
Her bed was grand though. It was four poster, luxurious, and fit for a Queen. The mattresses were scrunched up, however, from her restless sleep.
The dreams had begun less than a week ago. This one was the worst to date: she couldn’t understand what it was supposed to mean, only that it was frightening. She guessed the stress of Terrin’s conversation had gotten to her.
She headed for the wardrobe. On the walls, paintings of her own hand were there: many were childish, obnoxiously out of proportion, while others were bright, vibrant and intriguing.
She would have no time for them now. Instead she focused on what she needed to wear. The nature of the trip would not permit her to wear robes (her preferred attire) let alone the more extravagant finery of her wardrobe.
She decided to take underclothes first. Made from dark grey cotton, they fitted snugly and were nice and warm. Then, she took trousers: these were wool and abrasive. They would be uncomfortable to wear without leggings, but they were otherwise practical and hard to damage. Their earthly colour also blended in well with the landscape.
Besides that, she donned on a warm woollen jumper, whose collar rested well on her neck. The clothes were an illusion, she knew. They made her seem prepared, capable. In fact, she was neither.
Again she repeated the spell; again there was that sense of vertigo, that sense of incredible height, and she was downstairs.
Normally, the receptionist would greet her. Archelia was her name, and she was the perfect receptionist: warm, intelligent, and humorous enough to put guests at ease.
The table was empty today. Linaera guessed that Terrin’s schedule was interrupted – and judging by the mass of students she could see strolling outside, she guessed he was making an announcement.
A pity, she thought. I could have done with teasing her about the latest fashion in dresses.
Archelia’s passion for fashion was famous throughout the academy. Every day, she would have a new dress: snow white, emerald green, ocean blue, it mattered not. And every day, someone would have to contemplate her – she would get very irascible if she didn’t, which frightened the guests – or else tease her (to which she would laugh merrily and inform them she dressed better than anyone else). Unfortunately, Linaera would have to make do without her for today.
As the door opened (again the eerie silence; again the sense of power) she was hit by a blast of wind and a bucket of rain. She decided to pull in a water shield around her.
“Eriël,” she intoned. Her body tingled; there was a slight deflation in her energy levels, and she cast the shield.
The shield wasn’t very different from a standard shock ward, really: it was formed of fast moving air particles that behaved as a solid only under specific conditions (like rain). It was clever, and meant that people wouldn’t run into a wall if they were to approach her.
She spotted her other friend in the fray: Sasha.
Her hair was a spun ruby, shining despite the weather; her eyes were blue, like the depths of the sea. She smiled a bright smile. That was Sasha – a dose of sunshine even in dark times.
“Hey Lin!” she called out.
“Hey Sasha.”
The two sidled along. Mark came strolling as well; he was wearing an emerald green necklace under his brown apprentice robes. Linaera guessed it to be the work of his father, though Mark may have made it himself. It complemented his eyes rather well.
“Do you know why Terrin has ordered everyone in the Great Hall?” he asked.
Linaera only gave them a sad grin. Mark’s own smile disappeared from his face.
“I guess it’s not good?”
“Leave her,” Sasha ordered. “She is troubled by something. Anyway, did I mention how I did on Pasey’s Illumination Spell? It was like this...” Sasha continued on, much to Linaera’s gratitude.
The trio made their past the throng of students, and into the Great Hall.
***
The Great Hall was simply awe-inspiring.
The first thing one would have noticed was the carpet: softer than silk, red as blood, woven by the skilled, it was a wonder to walk on. The second thing was, undoubtedly, the paintings.
Many scenes were depicted in their murals, but one always struck out at Linaera. Southerners – not Arachadian southerners, but full Sacharians of the desert – danced around a fire. The flames were golden death; they greedily consumed anything that came towards them.
The Sacharians seemed unconcerned. Their faces were merry with glee; they jumped across the fire as if taunting it. Next to them, shadowy forms danced – Linaera could only guess at their nature and intent.
Linaera turned away from the painting, and refocused her attention on Terrin. He had changed into clean robes, and he wore a satchel around his waist; it was the formal purple. It indicated that he had important news to announce. His expression was stern, but very sad.
The Hall had been noisy, but now it quieted. Expectation was heavy in the air.
“Most of you will be wondering why I have called you here. You will be wondering why you aren’t in your lessons, practising important magic or learning new things.
“The reason I have called you here, dear students, is to present a message of sadness.
“You may be aware that Silver Mage Eiliara had been tasked to investigate certain... reports, originating from the kindred lands north of Arachadia. The details were grisly – the people there lost livestock, were found dead, or simply disappeared.” He paused, momentarily, to compose his answer.
A cloud passed outside. The sudden lack of light was ominous.
“I can now tell you Eiliara is dead.”
The reaction of the student body was immediate: indignant cries mixed in with surprised gasps. Terrin waited patiently; when order was regained once again, he presented the second bombshell.
“Eiliara’s death was no accident. She was murdered.”
Absolute silence descended. The mages had been outraged; they were afraid now.
“I have received a telepathic message from her. Although too shocking to reveal, its meaning was unmistakable.
“Rest assured that you are all perfectly safe. Extra precautions are being taken: there will be no going outside the school walls after dark, for one.”
Terrin paused once again; he had more to say.
“I am sending a party to continue the invest
igation. I believe their efforts will be crucial in discovering what Eiliara stumbled upon, and what ultimately claimed her life. The party members are: Linaera Tel’aria, Damon Solomon, Jake Longfellow, Harold Tembal, Stella Highgazer, John Schember and Sasha Pertalia.”
Linaera blinked. She looked at Sasha. The glance that passed between them was unmistakable – You’re going too? Damn. She wondered what Terrin was thinking: did he hope going with Sasha would help her? If so, he didn’t know her as well as he thought.
She also wondered why he hadn’t told the school about who had killed Eiliara. She guessed Terrin didn’t want the school to panic.
Mark interrupted her musings.
Why didn’t you tell me? he telepathised.
Linaera had learned basic telepathy a little over a year ago. The exact workings behind it were too complex for her to understand (something about waves and frequency had been present) but what appreciated its usefulness. Unfortunately, she couldn’t listen in to other people’s thoughts – that was beyond her ability as an apprentice.
Linaera’s reply was curt: Well, it’s not like I had a choice.
Terrin interrupted them.
“Those whose names I have called out, please stay in the Hall. The rest, you are dismissed.”
The students filed out nervously; Mark only shook his head, and left with them.
Don’t worry, he’ll be fine, Sasha told her.
You’re right – he can be difficult like that, but he comes round.
You still fancy him, don’t you?
Shut up.
Sasha only smiled. Then she turned serious, and the duo walked over to Terrin.
The other party members were there. Terrin began:
“You are among some of the strongest mages in this school; you have therefore been selected to take part in this quest. It will be dangerous, of that I am certain. Are you all willing?”
To Linaera’s surprise, all said aye.
“Very well. As for you, Linaera, you have been chosen by me to accompany them. You are not officially part of the expedition; you are not partake in any fighting, for you are still an apprentice and here only to learn. You will however share tents, and are expected to be part of the team. Do I make myself understood?”
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