by DAVID B. COE
Jaryd and the Owl-Master ate a quick breakfast and said their farewells, setting off toward the Dhaalismin just as the sun appeared on the edge of the great Northern Plain. They reached the river by late morning and turned to follow it south toward the confluence of this, the main fork, and the north fork, which flowed out of the Seaside Mountains near the northern edge of Tobyn-Ser and snaked through the upper reaches of the plain. Coming to the junction of the two streams late the next day, they continued south, walking much of the way by moonlight, until they reached a stone footbridge that crossed the now-united waters of the Dhaalismin.
For the next several days they endured similarly long hikes, rising at dawn to recommence their journey and continuing by the bright, silver light of Duclea’s moon well after the setting of the sun. As a result, they crossed the plain in relatively little time, entering Tobyn’s Wood only a week after leaving Taima. They tried to maintain their pace as they moved through the wood, but found that the waning of the moon, the darkness shaped by the huge, densely growing trees, and the roughness of the forest path made night travel difficult. Still, the terrain being fairly level, they managed to cover a good amount of distance while there was light, and they emerged from the forest after less than a fortnight. During their journey across the plain and through Tobyn’s Wood, they encountered few people and only a handful of large settlements. Those people they did meet regarded them warily, but with none of the manifest hostility they had found in Taima. At a small village on the eastern edge of the plain, Baden healed the broken leg of a farmer’s plow horse, and he and Jaryd were rewarded with a night’s lodging and a large pouch of dried meat. And, when they met a trader on the path through the wood, Jaryd, under the approving eye of the Owl-Master, exchanged his sleeping roll for some dried fruit, cheese, and dry breads. The merchant also offered several gold pieces for Royden’s ring, but Jaryd politely refused.
Two of the villages they entered had no inns, and both times the villagers directed the travelers to the Temples of Arick. There, much to Jaryd’s surprise, the Sons and Daughters of the Gods offered them food and shelter, and, equally surprising in Jaryd’s mind, Baden accepted. In the days of Amarid, the Children of the Gods, those who devoted their lives to the worship of Arick, Duclea, Tobyn, and Leora, had viewed the creation of the Order with suspicion, seeing the mages and the council they formed as unwanted rivals for influence and status. And, though there had not been any overt conflict between the mages and the Keepers of Arick’s Temples since the days of Theron’s trial, the authority they shared in the land had been a recurring source of friction. When Jaryd asked Baden about this, after they had returned from a light dinner to their small room in the second of the sanctuaries, the Owl-Master merely shrugged.
“In large part, the tension between the Children of the Gods and the Order has flowed in one direction only,” he explained. “The temples were here long before Amarid bound to Parne, and we mages have never seen ourselves as a replacement for Arick’s servants. We accept their role in the land, and we have always hoped that they would come to accept ours. So whatever comfort they’re willing to offer me as I travel through the land, I’m more than happy to accept.”
Mostly, however, the Owl-Master and his Mage-Attend slept along the trail. With the food they received from Cullen and Gayna, the supplies they acquired along the way, and the game Anla killed for them, they had plenty to sustain themselves as they journeyed across Tobyn-Ser.
Jaryd felt himself growing stronger each day, and he found that, far from dreading the hikes, he came to look forward to them. On a number of occasions during these days, he also found himself laughing at the memory of the trepidation he had felt at the outset of their journey. It all seemed so long ago: those fears, his life in Accalia, the doubts about his decision to follow Baden. His misgivings had vanished long ago, leaving him with one essential truth: he was going to be a Hawk-Mage. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter as much as that.
The final leg of their journey carried them through the Parneshome Mountains. Once called the Northguard Range, the mountains had been renamed for Parne, Amarid’s first hawk, who bound to the mage in a valley on the eastern slope of the range over a thousand years ago. As he and Baden began the ascent into the mountains, Jaryd grew quiet and contemplative, awed by the realization that he had entered Amarid’s homeland. The ridges and valleys, he knew, had changed little since the time of the First Mage, and Jaryd made his way through the landscape wondering what Tobyn-Ser had been like before the Order and the Mage-Craft. Baden and Jaryd did not speak much during this final leg of their journey. The Owl-Master appeared preoccupied with concerns of his own, and both were content to walk in silence.
But several times during these final days of travel, as they rested along the trail during the day, or set up camp late in the afternoon, Jaryd would glance at Baden, only to find the mage watching him with a strange expression on his face, as if he were seeing Jaryd for the first time. In the waning light of their last day in the mountains, as they waited for Anla to return with the evening meal, Jaryd turned to Baden to ask a question, and saw the Owl-Master staring in his direction, but at something above and behind where he stood. Jaryd pivoted quickly in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what the mage was watching, but he found nothing. When he spun back around, Baden was looking at him again with the same appraising expression. Jaryd asked the mage what he had seen, but Baden deftly turned the conversation in another direction. A few weeks before, Jaryd might have pursued the matter. He had learned, though, that the mage seldom revealed what he wished to keep to himself and rarely withheld information without cause. Jaryd let it drop.
The following morning, as they prepared for the hike into Amarid, Jaryd felt himself growing giddy at the thought of what awaited them in the forest below. They were about to reach the home of the First Mage, where they would meet literally dozens of other mages and masters. Tomorrow, he would witness the commencement of the annual Gathering of the Order. As a child, Jaryd had dreamt of such things, and on this morning, as Baden pulled out some fruit and breads for breakfast, Jaryd found that he was too excited to eat.
As he often did, Baden appeared to read his thoughts. “Jaryd,” he began, in a serious tone that the Mage-Attend recognized, “there are a few things we need to discuss before we reach Amarid.” The Owl-Master hesitated, as if unsure of how to proceed. “It may be because of who I am, of how I do things; or it may be because you are, in addition to everything else, my nephew, but our interaction is much less formal than that between most mages and their apprentices. Not that I feel you’ve acted inappropriately or been at all disrespectful,” he amended hastily. “I’m just telling you that our relationship is a bit more . . . familiar than is expected. And so, once we reach Amarid, I’d like you to refer to me as Master Baden, and I expect you to address all the mages and masters you meet in the traditional manner.”
Jaryd nodded. “Very well. Master Baden.” The phrase felt awkward, and Jaryd knew it would take some getting used to.
“I also expect,” the mage went on, biting into a dried pear and handing the pouch containing the fruit to Jaryd, “that you remember the conversation we had the night we stayed with Cullen and Gayna.” Jaryd’s mouth went dry. He remembered. Indeed, the memory of it had haunted his sleep for the past four weeks. “I want to reiterate,” Baden was saying, “that I told you what I did in confidence. No one is to know who I suspect until I’ve had a chance to discuss the matter with some of my friends. Is that clear?”
Again, Jaryd nodded.
“Good.” Baden smiled. “You must be very excited. To tell you the truth, I am as well. Even with the seriousness of what the Order faces right now, I find the Gatherings quite exhilarating. And there are several people down there who I’d like you to meet.”
Jaryd said nothing. He handed the sack of fruit back to the mage without taking any, and Baden returned the pouch and some other items to Jaryd’s pack. In a few minutes, they were on their
way. Baden, walking in front, was unusually effusive. He pointed out landmarks along the way and spoke at length of some of the more eccentric mages Jaryd would soon meet.
Jaryd tried to act attentive, but the Owl-Master’s mention of their conversation in Taima had shattered his earlier mood, replacing his excitement with a slow, creeping fear. He was going to the Gathering of the Order. But the Order was faced, Baden had told him that night, with a deadly foe; one more powerful than any mage alive, than any mage who had ever lived, save one. How does one defeat a legion of ghosts? Jaryd asked himself, as he had so many times over the past few weeks. How can we possibly defeat Theron and the Unsettled?
5
Long before they reached Amarid, they saw the great city from the mountain trail, a vast, gleaming expanse of white stone and slate-grey rooftops surrounded by the deep green of Hawksfind Wood and fringed on its southern extreme by the Larian River, which reflected the bright sunshine like a satin ribbon of emerald green. In the center of the metropolis, framed by five large thoroughfares that radiated from it toward the outer reaches of the town, and rising far above even the tallest of the white buildings, stood a huge oval structure, also made of white stone, but with a magnificent dome of pale-blue tile. Atop the dome stood a statue of a figure holding on its forearm a bird with its wings outstretched. The sculpture appeared to Jaryd to have been carved from glass, but it glistened with extraordinary brilliance in the sunlight and shimmered with a myriad of colors. Two smaller structures, both of them round with shimmering white spires, adjoined the oval building. Atop each of these towers stood a sculpture, also fashioned out of glass, of a bird.
“That is the Great Hall of Amarid,” Baden explained in response to Jaryd’s questions about the exquisite building. “The statue on top of the Gathering Chamber shows Amarid holding Parne, and the figures above the quarters of the Owl-Sage and her first represent Amarid’s other two familiars, Beile and Wohl.” Jaryd merely nodded in response, his eyes still riveted on the scene below. But when the mage added that all three had been carved from massive individual crystals brought back from Ceryllon, Jaryd swung his astonished gaze to Baden. The Owl-Master smiled in response. “I thought that might get your attention.”
Jaryd shook his head in wonder and turned back toward Amarid. He had never imagined a city so large, and so beautiful. The lustrous white and austere grey of the buildings in the city created a visual effect that was, in its own way, as striking and powerful as even the most beautiful natural vistas Jaryd had seen during the journey across Tobyn-Ser. And the dazzling figure of Amarid on top of the Great Hall, to which Jaryd’s eye was repeatedly drawn, seemed to hover above the city, offering a kind of protection or, perhaps, inspiration to all below.
Pulling his eyes once again from Amarid’s statue, Jaryd noticed a small section of the city adjacent to the river that stood in stark contrast to the rest. Its buildings looked dark and run down, and its streets lacked any semblance of regularity.
“That is the old town commons,” Baden explained, noticing the direction of Jaryd’s gaze, “preserved just as it was in Amarid’s day. And that,” the mage went on, pointing to a patch of trees that stood incongruously amid the houses and businesses closest to the mountains, “is Amarid’s home.”
Jaryd looked at the mage once more. “You mean the house in which he grew up?” he asked.
Baden nodded, and again Jaryd shook his head. This was, indeed, the First Mage’s city; already Jaryd could sense his presence in every nuance of its design. Even from above, he could see that no matter where one went in the great metropolis, there would be some reminder of the man for whom the city had been named.
They enjoyed the view for a few moments longer before beginning their descent from the mountains to Hawksfind Wood. With his first glimpse of the splendid city, the excitement that Jaryd had felt early that morning began to return. Thoughts of Theron faded from his mind, to be replaced by the anticipation of moving among mages, of actually witnessing a Gathering. He felt like a child on the eve of Tobyn’s Feast.
“Baden?” he called impulsively to his uncle, as the two of them made their way around the glimmering, windswept waters of Dacia’s Lake, named a thousand years ago for Amarid’s wife.
“Yes?”
Jaryd hesitated momentarily, unsure of what he really wanted to say. “Thank you.”
Baden stopped, turning to face the young mage. “What for?”
Jaryd shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess. Taking me with you. Bringing me here.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
A smile spread slowly across the Owl-Master’s face, the kind, indulgent smile Jaryd remembered from so many years ago, when Baden had first visited Accalia. “You’re welcome,” he said simply. Then he turned once more and the two of them, Owl-Master and Mage-Attend, continued on toward the First Mage’s city.
Early in the afternoon they reached the banks of the Larian River and crossed a worn wooden footbridge into what had been the town commons of Riverhaven, Amarid’s home village. Like the bridge, the buildings in the old village were made from rough-hewn logs that were darkened and smoothed by a thousand years of rain, wind, and sun. Still, they looked solid and Jaryd was not at all surprised to see that the structures still housed shops and inns. Dozens of merchants and hundreds of other people crowded the dirt streets of the old commons, and, unlike the inhabitants of the villages they had visited during their journey, these people welcomed Baden with courtesy and enthusiasm. The traders offered the mage and his Mage-Attend breads, dried meats, and fresh fruit, and many people bowed to the Owl-Master or called out in formal greeting. Jaryd returned the nods and smiles directed toward him, stopping occasionally to accept a gift from a merchant. At one point, he noticed two young women, who watched him with smiling eyes and whispered to each other. Blushing, he looked away and hurried to catch up with Baden.
Jaryd found the Owl-Master speaking with Radomil, who served Accalia and the rest of Leora’s Forest. Radomil stood nearly a foot shorter than the Owl-Master, and, next to Baden’s lean frame, the Hawk-Mage’s round belly seemed to accentuate the height difference. His cleanly shaven head and thick brown goatee and mustache gave Radomil a severe look, but Jaryd knew better.
“Ah, here’s Jaryd now,” the Mage-Attend heard Baden say as he drew near.
“Greetings, Jaryd,” Radomil said with a grin. “I’m glad to see that your uncle has finally brought you to a Gathering. Another year and I would have made you my Mage-Attend.”
“That would have been my pleasure, Mage Radomil,” Jaryd replied with sincerity.
The Hawk-Mage inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the comment. “I hope you enjoy the city and your first Gathering, Jaryd.” He turned back to the Owl-Master. “Baden, it’s good to see you again, even in these dark times. I hope we’ll have the opportunity to catch up before the Gathering ends.”
Baden smiled at the mage and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hope so as well. Until tomorrow, Radomil.”
“Until tomorrow,” the Hawk-Mage returned. He nodded once to Jaryd, and then walked off toward a cluster of shops.
“He’s a good man,” Baden commented as he watched the mage move away. “Though few would admit it, many of us enter the Order hoping to attain influence or prestige. Almost everyone hopes to reach the level of Owl-Master, and I’ve seen several mages grow bitter when they fail to do so. But not Radomil. This is his third binding to a hawk, and he still serves the land with as much enthusiasm and care as he did after his first binding.” He looked at Jaryd. “He wanted to bring you to last year’s Gathering, to begin your training on an informal basis, but I told him of the bargain I had struck with your father.”
Jaryd gazed after the Hawk-Mage. “He would have been a good teacher, too, I think.”
Baden nodded.
“What part of Tobyn-Ser do you serve?” Jaryd asked, as they continued through the old commons. “I don’t think you’ve eve
r told me.”
“That’s because I don’t serve any particular area. There are two types of mages: we call them nesters and migrants. Nesters, like Radomil, serve a certain portion of the land. Migrants, like me and a few others, roam throughout Tobyn-Ser, offering our service where we find need.”
Jaryd reflected on this for a moment. “Is that a choice you make yourself?”
“Yes,” Baden answered, “and it’s often a hard one.”
Something in the Owl-Master’s manner told Jaryd that his decision had been especially difficult. The Mage-Attend considered pursuing the issue, but then thought better of it.
“We’d best find lodging for the next few nights,” the Owl-Master commented, changing the subject. “There’s an innkeeper who usually sets aside a room for me, but he’ll rent it to someone else if I keep him waiting for too long, and I don’t usually need a room with two beds.”
They quickened their pace somewhat and soon reached the limit of the older section of the city, stepping onto a wide cobblestone thoroughfare lined on both sides by homes and shops made of the immaculate white stone and grey slate roofing they had seen from the mountain trail. At the end of the avenue, just a few hundred yards away, loomed the lofty spires and huge dome of the Great Hall with their spectacular crystal statues. Jaryd halted, and stood staring at the structure for several moments, marveling once again at its splendor. Yet, standing in the shadow of the hall, Jaryd began to feel a strange sense of discomfort at what he saw—vague, nameless, but very real. He also noticed, as he examined the hall more closely, that the blue tiles of the dome were marked with small golden circles, each about the size of a large coin.
“What are those on the dome?” Jaryd asked.
“Ah!” Baden exclaimed. “Those just might be my favorite part of the Great Hall. They are small commemoratives that mark the acceptance into the Order of every mage ever to serve Tobyn-Ser. In the center of each one is the insignia of the Order, representing the three elements of the Mage-Craft—mage, bird, and ceryll—and along the outer edge is carved the mage’s name and that of his or her first familiar.”