by Chloe Hodge
“She has been chosen to be a Guardian of the Grove. But not just any Guardian, the key. It is her destiny.”
Eyes widened, and jaws dropped. For a moment there was utter silence. Then everyone stood up, and the chamber was ablaze with questions and excited shouts, angry demands and the pulling of robes. Wezlan eyed them all off, disgusted that mature men and women could behave like chickens chased by a hound.
“ENOUGH!” he bellowed.
The response was instant silence. A few of the mages shuffled their robes, several cheeks flushed, and others sat down with immediate obedience.
“I came here to discuss the plight we face. The portal is weakening day by day while the darkness grows stronger. More creatures, alien to this world, have begun surfacing. Before long, their numbers will rival those of a vast army. Just yesterday my companions and I battled a Wyrm-weir.”
A few mages’ faces went a little green at that, whereas the rest just looked at Wezlan blankly.
“It is not something to be trifled with.” He sighed, his temper unravelling. There was no knowing what to expect before he had reached Renlock, but as far as expectations went, his had now slid into a dark pit, unlikely to surface anytime soon.
“If the portal remains guarded, how did the creatures come to be in Everosia?” The voice came from a woman with fiery red hair, the colours blending like a fox’s coat. Shocking blue eyes underneath round spectacles peered out intensely. She was pretty, unusual, certainly anything but plain.
Wezlan’s eyes lit up. There may be hope.
“I believe the darkness is conjuring temporary portholes in this dimension, leaking through small numbers of creatures at a time. I was hoping to find more answers here.”
He stared at the faces within the room and they had the decency to bow their heads. For the first time, he noticed one chair was empty. Odd, given it was mandatory that all councillors attend these meetings unless on a diplomatic or academic mission. He made a note of it, but otherwise shrugged it off.
The woman furrowed her brows. “Well, that just won’t do will it.” She looked around the room at her colleagues and lastly at Wezlan. “It is our duty to use Magicka for the good of the people. If we can’t protect the realm from the Grove, we can try our best here. Now, Wezlan, how about those portholes?”
The wizard lifted his old bones from the rigid, steel chair, which he’d quickly realised, was one of the most uncomfortable seats he’d ever sat upon. Perhaps it is for discipline. Or perhaps, I’m just an old man who hasn’t been in this room for centuries. He decided it was both and made his way over to the woman.
“Who might I address?”
She looked at him thoughtfully and he could see her taking in every little detail about him, from his appearance, posture, the behaviour of his body, right down to the intricate patterns of his soul; his Magicka. Clever fox. When she finished her examination, she gave him a smile.
“I think I might like you, Wezlan Shadowbreaker,” she said with a wide grin.
“Excuse me, what is the meaning of this?” Avari demanded from the floor. “What will become of the Academy?”
They ignored him.
“My name is Farah Goldin, at your service.” The redhead dipped with a small curtsy for good measure.
Avari tried to shuffle his way in between the two. “You can’t just… I am in charge here,” he whined.
Farah glared at him with a fire that matched her hair. He withered and retreated a few steps. Impressed with her sudden change in demeanour, Wezlan smiled and extended an arm. He thought he might like this woman too.
“I think we’ll get along just nicely,” he nodded. “Well, Farah. We have a lot of work to do. Come with me.”
They walked out of the room, leaving a stuttering, red-faced man, and his self-appointed cohort of baffled mages.
In Plain Sight
Blades parried and the clang of metal on metal echoed in the gardens. Two women fought with equal valour, slashing and spinning, regarding each other quietly. Their skin rained sweat and their sword hands were slick despite the extra grip bound to their blades.
The pair were a balanced match in both power and speed, but they had been sparring for hours and their strength was waning. They circled slowly; one dark, one fair, each determined to be the victor.
A battle cry escaped the dry lips of one, though it was a croak more than anything. She lunged, too far, and the opponent answered with a riposte, followed by an all-out encounter of sweeping arcs and stabs. It was an easy mistake for the first; one which would have cost her a life if the swords weren’t blunted with Magicka.
Ashalea sprawled onto the floor, her chest heaving in protest. So close!
Shara stooped down, hand outstretched, a smirk plastered on her face. “I know what you’re thinking, but you are already ten times better with the sword than you were a month ago.”
She pulled Ashalea up and then laughed at the scowl glowering back. A familiar expression she frequently wore herself when she was first training, though Shara had always been the best with swords, compared to all the other weapons she’d fought with. And that was quite a number.
Shara knew she was a quick learner, and she didn’t mind boasting about it now and then. With Ashalea though, she offered encouragement, and pushed the elf to her limits given what the training was preparing her for. Even with several black and blue bruises over her skin, and a nasty mark on her eye, the silver haired elf still radiated beauty. It was maddening.
“I haven’t bested you once and we’ve been training every day,” Ashalea complained. Even as she said it though, she knew why. Too impatient. Too eager. Not enough focus on the enemy’s movements and steps.
Shara knelt to tighten her boots and raised an eyebrow. “And why do you think that is?”
Ashalea grinned. “Because I’m too damn ready to get my head chopped off.” She elbowed Shara hard enough to make her keel over, then disappeared into the shadows.
“Oi!” Shara cursed under her breath but smiled playfully. “And I thought I was the queen of shadows,” she yelled out.
Ashalea watched her prey, perched on the branch of a nearby tree. Wearing her usual green and brown ensemble, she melted into the canopy, camouflaged. She was waiting for her moment to strike when she spied blue eyes gazing at her from behind a pillar. What in hell? Him again.
She narrowed her eyes. He had been a constant shadow since she first saw him at the feast, and her nerves were spent on his incessant following. She was convinced it was one of two things. Either the King has sent him to spy on me and watch my every move, or it’s slow going with the ladies right now. She eyed off that impeccable jawline, the curved lips, the hard exterior. Delicious.
Nope, definitely the former.
She gazed back at him and their eyes met. She frowned and made up her mind to corner him after today’s session. Give a girl a break.
She was busy contemplating how she would tackle the situation when a hand reached up and dragged her down, giving her a fright. She thumped onto her rear with a thud.
Shara’s golden brown eyes regarded her with glee. “Better luck next time.”
“How’d you find me? I was perfectly concealed.”
“Well, which is it? You’re either hidden or you’re not, there’s no perfection about it. Anyway, it wasn’t so much how you hid but where.” Shara tapped a finger on head. “I’m an assassin. It’s as simple as asking myself, ‘where would I hide?’”
She walked off with a wink, leaving Ashalea in the garden. Before she disappeared, she jerked her head towards the stalker and made a symbol with her hands of slicing a throat. Ashalea giggled quietly but shook her head. She received a ‘suit yourself’ shrug in return, and then the dark warrior was gone.
Ashalea eyed off her surroundings. Although it made for a perfect training ground, the gardens weren’t really meant for such things. Most elves went there for solitude or reflection and daring couples would hide amongst the foliage and steal sec
ret kisses — a routine that had been disturbed since Ashalea and Shara began their daily play with all things sharp and pointy.
The white stone pavers trickled with green moss, webbing its way around the pillars squaring off the area. Everywhere in between climbed green branches, furry leaves and twisting vines. Flowers proudly draped around the courtyard; some of which looked a little worse for wear after frequent jostles; not all of which were Ashalea and Shara’s fault. I’ll have to fix that.
She leaned back and let the cool breeze fan her flushed cheeks, relishing a fleeting moment of peace. Windarion was a haven; unspoilt by the trivialities of war, of greed or famine, of richer or poorer. Its people dwelled in unity, the only indication of rank belonging to the King and Queen.
The city’s dwellings were equally impressive; the elvish folk shared and borrowed and otherwise earned their livings by their respectable trades. It was simple, and it worked. Crime was a foreign word in this place, and it was a far cry from the underbelly of Maynesgate.
She considered whether she could live here, in a house beside the stream, surrounded by beauty and peace. No. An elf’s life is long, and solace is a lonely woman’s nightmare, for too much time is a trouble for one who’s felt such sorrow.
Besides, what would she do with herself? Adrenaline was too addictive, adventure too tempting. She already missed Wezlan. Her old friend was busy trying to save the world one spell at a time, calculating and evaluating, working with theses and creating new ones in a bid to discover a way to close the portholes the darkness had created.
She sighed, feeling useless. Wezlan had tasked her and Shara to locate the next Guardian, but for all their spying and seemingly casual questioning, none of his councilmen had shown much promise. Many of the soldiers were accompanying trade ships on voyages and none of the elvish mages seemed to stand out from the crowd.
So how are we to know who it could be? Ashalea grumbled as she rubbed her sore muscles. Not for the first time, she missed the familiarity of home. The towers of books in Wezlan’s study, the cosy firepit, the aroma of her vegetable broth as it curled into the treetops. But things were different now. She was different. Ashalea Kindaris, the chosen one. It did have a nice ring to it.
Besides the search for the next Guardian, and training her body every day, Ashalea had spent the remaining hours exploring the city at her pleasure. It pleased her to spend time among her kin, but the townsfolk were one of two things; enthusiastic and overly courteous, or skittish and cautious around her. Ashalea couldn’t place it, but it just seemed so… odd.
Kinna and Ondori were already close friends. If they didn’t look so different, she would have sworn they were twins with how they acted together. Like two boisterous boys with hormones swelling brains too big for their heads. They were good men. Loyal, intelligent and quick-witted, and they made her laugh daily. She felt lighter, freer when she did.
In the last week she had taught Shara how to swim, albeit reluctantly on her part and with a cascade of curses after a few sinking efforts. For a skilled human being, she had to be one of the clumsiest in the water. The image made Ashalea snort with amusement and she glanced around self-consciously. She rose, dusting off her clothes and stretching aching limbs. Ashalea could feel the muscles in her arms and back shifting as she rolled her joints and knew the training was paying off. She felt strong, balanced. Shara whipped her into shape like Wezlan never had.
The perks of training with an Onyxonite.
She was a natural with the sword, and her skills had grown immensely. Her elvish speed and strength probably didn’t hurt either. Though she acquiesced she would never be the sword master Shara was, she knew she’d be formidable in battle. She tugged at her silver braid thoughtfully, realising how dishevelled her hair had become during training. She needed a bath.
It would have been the perfect time for solitude but there were certain things, or people, she had to deal with first. Ashalea had to find the next Guardian. She owed it to her mentor. Gods, she owed it to herself. She had two questions for the King, and she was determined for answers.
First things first. She marched straight past her shadow and through the corridors until she landed before the doors leading to the great hall. Kinna glanced at her quizzically from his post, but before he could act, she burst through the doors and stormed right before the King himself.
“Why have you assigned a guard to follow me? Wait, let me amend that. Why have you sent a mage to watch my every move?” Her tone was dangerously high, and the King’s eyes narrowed.
Kinna approached the throne looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, King Tiderion, she just—”
The King lifted a hand in silence and Kinna exited wordlessly, his face ashen and his turquoise head bowed.
“I gave my word to Wezlan that you and Shara would be cared for,” Tiderion said calmly.
“Cared for? I’m not sure having someone followed comes under those parameters. Not to mention, Shara is free to do as she pleases without someone staring at her all hours of the day.”
Tiderion watched her thoughtfully, his knuckles tightening on the edge of his seat.
She continued. “Why is it you mistrust me so?”
The King crossed the floor, closing the gap between them until he was inches from her face. “You are a stranger to my world, and yet you step one foot in this Province and the dragon awakens. Why? Since the great wars long ago, he has answered none of our calls.” His body shook and his breath swept hot across her cheek.
Anger bubbled from within. “I cannot speak for his motives, only of what he revealed. The water dragon said he’s been waiting years to meet me. That it was pre-ordained. He told me riddles about my fate. That I’m the key to seal the lock or something. All things I don’t understand.”
The King’s fury fizzled ever so slightly, and he sighed. “Dragons are curious creatures. Their connection to Magicka runs much deeper than we could ever know. They are said to be the oldest creatures in existence; pure and wise. Perhaps even the Gods and Goddesses blessed them with their power. No one knows.”
He returned to his throne and eyed her off. “If the dragon woke for you, then he deemed you worthy. Heed his message, for it will surely come to pass. In the meantime, I will tell Denavar to stand down. You may stay here in peace.”
Ashalea glanced at him curiously. “Just like that?”
King Tiderion sighed, the usual flash of irritation sweeping his features.
He really is quick to anger.
“I fought beside the water dragon years ago, even rode him in battle. It’s how I got this scar,” he said pointing to his face. “I would have thought, after all we’ve been through, he would return to speak with me again. But it seems, my time is done.”
A sadness crept into his eyes and Ashalea saw the pain buried underneath. Whatever had transpired between the pair, the King obviously held precious memories of those times. She felt sorry for him.
Perhaps it is easier to be angry, than to be sad.
“That is all I wish to say on the matter,” he said.
“I have another question for you.”
He buried his face in one hand and gestured for her to speak with the other.
“It’s been a month and Shara and I are no closer to finding the next Guardian. We’ve been watching your councilmen, questioning your guards and soldiers, meeting with your mages, and still we are no closer to finding anyone who stands out.”
“And?”
Ashalea’s previous feelings of remorse swept away and she felt like giving him a good prod with Kinna’s spear.
“Well, can you think of anyone worthy of becoming a Guardian?”
The King looked at her intensely before he burst out laughing. An unexpected sound that came from deep within his chest.
She frowned. “I’m sorry Your Majesty, but why is that amusing?”
His whole body shook from laughter. “There is one who has shown talents beyond all my mages, and who fights equal to any of my s
oldiers. And he’s been right in front of you this whole time.” The King continued laughing and he waved her away. “Look to the shadows, girl.”
Ashalea’s eyes widened as understanding set in. “Denavar?”
She bowed deeply and turned on her heel.
Now to deal with the mage.
◆◆◆
Ashalea returned to the outside courtyard and sighed. “You can come out now.”
Her shadow stepped out from the darkness and regarded her with twinkling blue eyes. To Ashalea’s surprise, he broke out in a grin, flashing white sparkling teeth. His smile was so disarming she almost forgot why she had been mad in the first place.
“Ashalea Kindaris, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Denavar Andaro, a mage from Renlock Academy.” He offered his hand but Ashalea folded her arms.
“I only have room for one shadow in my life.” She gritted her teeth. “What, you haven’t had enough stalking for one day?”
“Aw that’s no way to treat a friend. Won’t you play nice?”
He was baiting her, she knew. She bit anyway, irritation flooding out. “Friends? Is that what you call it. I wasn’t aware I needed a new one, and I especially don’t need a creep hanging around in shadows.” The colour flared in her cheeks. “Answer the question.”
He smiled again, enjoying the game. Ashalea did not.
“By the way you stormed off in such a hurry before, I’m sure you’re now aware that the King asked me to keep an eye on you. He’s a suspicious man that one. I’m not sure why he’d want me wasting precious time tailing a girl, when I could be helping efforts elsewhere.” He plucked a flower and rolled the stem in between his fingers, carelessly.
She ignored his jibe and played along. “Why would you do this for the King? I have shown no reason for you to doubt me and I’m certain he didn’t tell you why he wanted me followed.”
He shrugged and leaned against a pillar. “Nobody says no to King Tiderion. Shadowing someone isn’t really my style, but truth be told I was curious about you, and I had no prior commitments.”