by CS Sealey
“You still do not understand?”
“The queen still needs your protection. You can’t just abandon her.”
“She only wants me as a piece of some puzzle!”
Angora turned away and strode across the roof toward the West Tower. The castle had four identical spires and Angora had chosen the small room at the base of the western one as her chambers. At the door, Tiderius moved in front of her.
“I understand why you’re angry.”
“Great,” Angora said shortly. “Get out of my way.”
“Not until you calm down and come back downstairs.”
Angora groaned. “What is the point? They will ignore what I say, just as they have done countless times before. I have seen things they could not imagine, yet my opinions mean nothing to them!”
“They don’t have to agree with you to value what you have to say.”
“Leave me alone, Tiderius.”
“They’ll forgive you, I know they will.”
“For the last time, go away! Or, by the Spirits, you will regret it!”
“Just listen to yourself! How can you – ”
With a savage cry, Angora pushed her hand into his chest and watched as he was thrown backward, raw energy still flickering on his surcoat. He was quick to find his feet again but Angora managed to slip inside her room and slam the door shut. She slid the bolt and pressed her back against the thick wooden door as he banged loudly on the other side.
“You’re only making this worse for yourself!”
When she was certain he had gone, she moved away from the door and ran her hands through her long, dark hair. She paced the room anxiously, her mind reeling. She could not stay there any longer, not after what she had just done to Emil and Tiderius.
The punishment for assault across the Ronnesian Empire was several weeks in a cell, depending on the seriousness of the injuries inflicted and the reason for the attack. The penalty for assaulting a noble, no matter how low, was twenty lashes and a sentence of at least twelve months in the dungeons. The punishment for attacking a member of the royal court was several years’ imprisonment or, in some cases, death. Emil and Tiderius were highly positioned members of court and she had lashed out at both. There was no doubt she would be punished for her actions and Emil was probably already on his way to the guards with a warrant for her arrest. Tiderius might forgive her but the shaman never would.
Realizing she had to make a move and fast, Angora threw open her wardrobe and snatched up a warm jacket. When she turned, she spied her staff and hesitantly approached it. It had been sitting on her table for months, gathering dust. Apart from her training, she had hardly used the weapon at all.
She tied her jacket securely at her waist and clasped the grip of the Staff of Lonys. Passing a bowl of apples, she slipped one into each pocket. At the door, she took one last look at the room she had called her own for three long years. Apart from a wardrobe full of clothes, she had no real possessions. She would travel very light.
It was nearing nightfall and the last of the red sunset was fading from the sky. Angora moved out onto the deserted castle roof and shivered as a cold wind bit at her skin. She turned to the west and looked a little dismally at the oncoming darkness and distant rain clouds.
Calming her mind and gripping the staff tight in her hand, she knew there was only one way to leave without being stopped. She would have to travel by some other means – the one way that Emil, Markus and Kayte could not.
*
It was growing dark when the remaining Circle members and the queen left the meeting. Emil Latrett turned away from the others and headed to his quarters to pass the time alone before supper.
After taking off his outer cloak, he strode over to the window and flung it open. A slight breeze hit his face and ruffled the strands of his dark hair that had escaped his many braids. After a few deep breaths, he sat himself down on the rug, legs crossed, and closed his eyes. The matter of punishment would have to be thought over very carefully. Emil could not deny that Angora’s motive for attacking both himself and Tiderius had been a reasonable one, but the fact that she had done it without remorse made him wonder whether punishment would have any benefits.
Clearing his mind, he plunged into the dark mist of his power. He felt his conscious spirit detach from his body and then all worldly feeling slipped away. His eyes were closed, yet he could see the ghostly soul plane around him, wavering in and out of clarity. Despite now living in the largest city in the Ronnesian Empire, he was still not accustomed to city living. He had been a wanderer before traveling to Te’Roek ten years earlier. Originally from the highlands of Zennor, his family had lived in seclusion until his gift had been realized. By the time he had turned twenty-four, his skills had triggered a great many rumors around the countryside, drawing the attention of one of Markus Taal’s scouts. Within a week, he had taken up residence in the castle and had called it his home ever since. However, he still felt strange being in such a richly furnished environment, surrounded by so many fine and talkative people. Though he could perform incredible feats with the gift the Spirits had given him, he had never been able to master the art of trivial conversation. Feeling the borderline between his mind and the others on the soul plane was comforting and, sometimes, sensing others’ thoughts and emotions was the only link he shared with people.
He passed through the shimmering ghost-like figures of the castle’s servants as he glided along the dull corridors, his essence nothing more than a breath of air. He saw the minds of Queen Sorcha and her ladies-in-waiting sitting together in quiet conversation. In the quarters immediately next door, Markus was pacing – something he did often. On the floor above, Tiderius was carefully wiping down his decorative sword, Anathris, and muttering to himself about Angora. A few rooms along, Aiyla was sitting in her favorite armchair before the fire, reading and twirling a lock of her hair, though she seemed distracted.
Emil became aware of a quiet humming in the gloom and a flickering light in the distance that was gradually growing brighter. He traveled silently toward this light, sliding through walls and floors. He saw the bright spirit upon the parapets and felt dread creep over him – Angora was performing a complex summoning. Her arms were twirling the Staff of Lonys in front of her and her body was circling and twisting in a dance of its own. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts of Ayon activity and her duty to protect the weak. Then she thought of her homeland and of the invasion, and she grew angry.
The girl’s figure crouched. A bright light flashed, sending Emil back to the real world with a violent push. He opened his eyes and staggered to his feet. He found his cloak lying on his bed and threw it about his shoulders as he dashed for the door. He cried out for Kayte as he went, not knowing whether she heard him or not, and took the stairs to the roof.
When he reached the parapets, small sparks of light lingered in the air but Angora was nowhere to be seen. He called out her name but there was no reply. He could smell magic – strong, recent magic. It had been a powerful summoning. Emil beat his fist against the wall of the West Tower. He was too late.
“What’s happened?” Kayte asked, hurrying across the rooftop.
“Angora…she’s gone,” Emil replied, not turning. He sighed angrily and enclosed one of the lingering sparks in his hand, turning it to smoke. “I could have stopped her – I should have stopped her from leaving the meeting!” He turned around wildly and looked into Kayte’s tired eyes. “I knew she’d do something like this one day! Why did I let her go?”
“What sort of magic did she use?”
“I’m not certain, but since she was up here, it must have been a winged creature she summoned.”
He fell silent and his mind drifted onto the soul plane once more. He pushed his spirit far out from the castle, hoping to find Angora among the city streets, but he could not find her. He looked to the skies but there was nothing. He quickly withdrew.
“She has disappeared on the soul plane,” he declared, ret
urning. “She must be miles away already.”
“I’m sure she’s just sulking,” Kayte said dismissively. “Don’t worry, Emil, we’ll ask Aiyla where she’s gone.’
CHAPTER 15
Things were getting better, Varren had to admit. At least the king was now showing some interest in the future of his empire. Not long ago, Samian would have left the matters of state for Varren to deal with. The king now seemed eager to hear the updates from the borders and looked forward to reading reports on the development of his armies. It was a welcome change but that was not to say that Varren was happy with how Samian was handling foreign affairs.
Varren sat at one of the large windows in his extensive castle quarters and looked south. The line of the Great River Divide was sparkling in the sunlight and he could just make out the small shapes of ships upon its surface, moving slowly up and down the river. He closed his journal and rose.
The king had strange plans. Marriage? It had never been considered before. They were enemies, they had always been enemies, ever since the ancient kingdom of Galbadia had split in the First Era and those who had become the Ronnesians had fled south, leaving the Ayons to rule the north. To have the Ayons and Ronnesians living harmoniously beside one another again was a future Varren found very hard to imagine. The proposed union was not exactly favored by the Ayon masses either. The king’s proposal had been made public from the outset but no less than ten different groups had protested at the castle gates.
Varren reached for his jacket and went to find the king. He had already tried a dozen times to change Samian’s mind even after the king had sent his envoys, but ever since taking up the crown, the king had wanted a wife and sons. Queen Sorcha provided some wealth and opportunities, both of which were good points to consider, but Varren maintained that war was the better way to gain Ronnesian spoils.
Once, the Ayon Empire had stretched to the border of the Kirofirth Ranges, incorporating the whole of Menthenae and half of Kirofirth itself. During the reign of King Minderon II, Samian’s grandfather, they had suffered a number of crushing defeats and had retreated back into Leith. It had been Corhillar’s goal to retake those lands, but he had never lived to see such a victory.
“Get back our lands,” the dying King Corhillar had said, grasping Samian’s hand with the last of his strength. “Restore the empire to what it once was, my son. Make the Ronnesians pay for what they have done…”
In his first act as king, however, Samian had pulled back the armies from attacking the Ronnesian coast and the independent islands, and tried to avoid war altogether. For three years, he had allowed his captains to test the Ronnesian defenses at Kilsney over and over, but had forbidden an open invasion.
Varren straightened his jacket as he knocked loudly on the door of the king’s quarters. It was some time before Samian answered.
“Your Majesty,” Archis Varren began, looking his casually dressed master up and down, “a word?”
Samian shrugged and let Varren in, shutting the door behind him.
“The messenger would have been given audience days ago,” the king said wearily, “so you can forget trying to change my mind.”
“With respect, sir, I remember your honorable father telling me to make sure you knew what you were doing.”
“I know what I’m doing!” Samian snapped. “I’m making the empire larger – that’s all he ever wanted!”
“Not just larger, Your Majesty,” Varren said. “Better, more fertile, more diverse – stronger. If you marry this woman, we’ll be burdened with all their problems of state, of which there are many, I assure you. Sorcha’s people complain about taxation, their farms are struggling in most provinces and their trading is disgraceful. Their cities are poorly managed and their basic infrastructure is laughable.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Archis, Sorcha is the perfect choice.”
“She’s…mature in years, sir. She may never produce children.”
“Archis, she’s only thirty-four, and their empire stretches as far south as Berwyndor! Think of the influence! Since I cannot marry the woman I love – ”
“How can you say you loved her?” Varren scoffed. “She was a barbarian wench who – ”
Samian turned suddenly and grabbed the front of Varren’s jacket with shaking hands. His knuckles turned white. “Don’t insult her memory, Archis!” the king yelled. “I would have given my life for her! Lalean…” A distant look came over the king’s face and Varren sighed. He had heard the tale of Samian’s island adventure many times before, and was not interested in hearing it again.
“She had the most beautiful dark eyes,” Samian murmured. “Her laughter could have lightened any man’s heart. Oh, I should have taken her with me when I left, perhaps Father would have understood…”
“Your father would have had her thrown from the city gates. A king never marries common blood. I thought I taught you that, sir.”
“And you have,” Samian said, releasing Varren’s jacket. “I’ve thought long and hard over this. If Sorcha is receptive, I will make the arrangements immediately.”
“And what of us?” Varren asked. “Do you think we’re all here by chance, that it’s just a coincidence that there are twelve mages active at once? That has never happened before!”
“Perhaps the Spirits are giving us this chance to unite as one, Archis. Did you ever stop to consider that? Twelve mages all fighting for one thing.”
“If you unite the empires, there certainly will be fighting. Civil war!”
“I’ve long since heard enough of this, Archis,” the king said, turning away. “Leave me.”
Varren opened his mouth to argue but then thought differently. He turned without bowing and wrenched the door open, startling Lhunannon, whose knuckles were inches away from knocking.
“Lord Varren,” the old man said, bowing a little, “how is – ”
“Impossible,” Varren muttered angrily, striding past. “I’m in the right mind to send for Nildemar.’
CHAPTER 16
Tiderius sat by the window, thinking. He had taken to spending many hours in his room, deep in thought, away from the daily activities of the castle. Ever since Rasmus had been sent to the northern border, he had done nothing but worry. The fact that Rasmus had been transferred from the infantry to the equestrians did not ease his fears, even though the infantry saw more of the action. Now that Angora had gone, Tiderius had two people to worry about.
Thinking about Angora stirred memories of their very first meeting, of their anger toward each other that day and on many days after. For months, Angora had hated him and he had distrusted her. But she hadn’t seemed so foreign and unfriendly, wild and stubborn recently – her company had become pleasurable. There was, after all, no other girl like her in the whole of Te’Roek, perhaps in the whole of the empire.
But now she was gone.
He wondered where Angora was and whether she had her staff strapped to her back or was holding it in her hand. He stood up and approached the table where his sword lay. He wore the weapon every day, as was his duty, but in the safety of his room, he could be relieved of its weight.
“Where are you?” he said, looking down at a chair on which she had sat a few weeks earlier.
He took a step toward it and, for a moment, imagined her sitting there, her hair falling gracefully down her back, her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes downcast, lips slightly pouted. Once, she had sat there and recounted her history and had even tried to teach him some of the language of her people. His pitiful attempts to mimic her accent had made her smile, something he liked to see – her wholehearted smiles were rare and they transformed her face completely.
“Why don’t you come back?” he asked the figure on the chair. “The queen’s getting anxious.”
He imagined her looking at him in a dispassionate way and offering him the smallest of smiles. You cannot find me, her expression said. You will never find me.
In a moment of unexpected rage,
Tiderius picked up the chair and hurled it across the room. Breathing heavily, he went back to the table and grasped the hilt of his sword tightly, looking at the broken chair. More often than not, he found that the Sword of Te’Roek, Anathris, gave him comfort; it released a positive energy that his body soaked up, calming his mood. He collapsed onto his bed with the sword in his hand.
It was there that Emil found him a couple of hours later. The shaman had wandered in after Tiderius had not answered the knocks at his door, and found him lying perfectly still.
“You did not come down for supper,” Emil said, eyeing the broken chair.
“No.”
Emil sighed. “You must not let your anger take hold of you.” He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair back from his face. “She has a fiery temper and still can’t understand how we do things here on the mainland.”
“I know that.”
“We do mean to protect those from here to the border, but we didn’t want to send you both north without either myself, Markus or Kayte for protection, and organizing reinforcements is paramount at the moment.”
“I understand that, Emil,” Tiderius said, and sighed. “She has always been frustrated with politics. She only understands action.”
“Do you have any idea where she may have gone?”
“There are only two places she would’ve gone: west to Teronia or north to the border. She knows nothing else of the world. But there have been no reports of activity on Teronia since the Ayon invasion.”
“Could she have gone there to find any survivors?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“We may have to go to the island ourselves and fetch her, if that’s the case,” the shaman said, rising to his feet. “Aiyla has not been able to see her at all – past, present or future – though she has been trying ceaselessly.”
“Would you really welcome Angora back after what she’s done?”
“We have little choice.”