by DB King
“As do I, young man,” Master Abel said. “As do I.”
For a time, they remained staring at each other. Then Master Abel cleared his throat, changing the topic. “I understand you asked Archmage Diamondspear to request some changes be made when it comes to the foundlings,” the monk said.
“I did.”
Master Abel sat back down. “Rest assured, they will be. I myself will spearhead the reforms. We’ve been far too harsh on those lads, and no one has received the brunt of it worse than you. I promise you, things will change around here once you’re gone.”
I hope so, Alec thought. The last of his worries fled him. If even Master Abel had experienced a change of heart after the hag attack, then the future was probably rosy for the foundlings of the Archon Temple, indeed.
“This may surprise you,” Master Abel said, chuckling to himself, “but this was not the reason I requested to speak with you before you leave, young man. Sit, please.”
Alec did so, though he was becoming increasingly aware of how much time he’d already spent up in Master Abel’s tower. “What else did you need, Master Abel?”
The monk made a steeple of his fingers, staring at them until Alec wondered if something was wrong. Then he began to speak, in a tone very different from the one he’d used while extolling Alec’s virtues.
“No matter where you go, young man, the Archon Temple will always be your home. It’s where you have been raised, and therefore you shall always be representing it. Though you carry the blood of the Diamondspear clan in your veins, I suspect there will be very few members of that society who will allow you to forget your humble origins.”
Alec almost told Master Abel the truth right then and there. Not a drop of Diamondspear blood flowed through Alec’s veins. The revelation of the old monk’s true feelings had shaken Alec to his core.
“I won’t let you down,” he found himself saying instead. Strangely, this felt like the lecture he’d been expecting from Master Abel upon entering his office. Perhaps the old man still felt like berating him after all?
Instead of the tongue-lashing he dreaded, Master Abel leaned over and opened a drawer in his desk. It seemed insane that he could find any specific item in such a mess, yet his fingers were swift and sure all the same. “I have something for you,” the monk said, pulling back and slamming the drawer shut. “You may find yourself in need of it soon.”
What he placed atop his desk—or more accurately, the mess on top of his desk—was a small lacquered box, carved from a wood so dark it was almost black. A line of elegant symbols ringed the lid in gold script, in a language Alec didn’t recognize. Alec had visited the jeweler in town on occasion, and knew that sometimes the men of middle-or-upper class status kept the rings they intended to propose to their beloved within boxes like these. Only he’d never seen one so nice looking before—or so mysterious.
“There are things you don’t know about your home,” Master Abel explained, pushing the box over to him. “Chiefly among them is the fact that the monks of the Archon Temple were not always quite so… pacifistic. Once this Temple thrilled to the sounds of battle, young man. We were warrior monks, striving to mix inner peace with martial fury. Our finest members rooted out sects of the Traitor Gods’ followers within the Kingdoms of Men, once upon a time.”
The thought of it filled Alec’s mind with a thousand fantasies. How had Master Matthias or Master Abel never told him about this history? The monks within the Archon Temple all seemed so fragile and old. Had they truly once been fighters? How long ago had they battled the Traitor Gods?
“Those days have long since passed,” Master Abel said, as if guessing Alec’s thought. “Many of our relics have faded over the years—not to mention the ranks of our monks. The Crown deemed our services no longer necessary generations ago. However, any cursory look at the state of the world tells a thinking man that such times may be coming back—and sooner than we think. I want you to have this. Go on, open it.”
Alec did so. At first the box refused to give, as if it had been glued shut. Then a pale golden light shined from a crack inside and the box popped open as easily as any jewelry box from the market. A magical seal, Alec thought, the touch of magic thrilling him.
Within the box lay a twisted silver ring, topped with a garnet the size of a coin. The interior of the gem overlapped with black and red streaks, as cloudy as a thunderstorm and as dark as a drop of heart’s blood. Such a ring wasn’t worth as much as a diamond or an emerald, but Alec suspected this relic was priceless nonetheless.
“What is this?” Alec asked, taking the ring from the box and putting it in his palm. It felt strangely weighty against his hand, projecting an image of solidity far beyond its mere size.
“This,” Master Abel said with pride, “is the Shield Ring. In each generation, the finest specimen of the Archon Temple wore it into battle, relying on its magic to provide defense against the Shadow. Like many of the magic items which exist throughout the world, this one binds itself to its wearer, and increases in power as the wearer increases in power.” Master Abel paused. “In this generation, lad, Matthias and I have decided the Ring should go to you.”
Alec stared down at the ring, unable to believe it. Generations of warrior monks had worn this ring, bringing it with them into a thousand victorious fights. And now it belonged to him?
“Go on,” Master Abel urged. “Put it on. Let’s see if it fits.”
It did—as both he and Abel knew it would. What they hadn’t known was that the moment it settled onto Alec’s finger, the jewel began to thrum with hidden power. His right hand felt as if it had been dipped into ice cold water, pins and needles breaking his skin.
Suddenly the air filled with light. A shield of segmented plates, like the armor on a knight’s mail, snapped into place over his left forearm. He let out a yelp, jerking the limb, and the light moved as he moved. It refused to budge. When he slammed it into a stack of papers on Master Abel’s desk, they flew into the air in all directions.
Master Abel stared like he’d just seen a ghost. “It...it worked!?” the monk whispered. “By the Gods… Alec, I didn’t expect you to actually activate it!”
Alec stared down at the strange gauntlet, his fear turning to excitement. “It’s beautiful,” he said, holding up his hand. “Sorry about the mess.”
Master Abel waved the pile off with a gesture. “Young man, no one has been able to make the Shield Ring do that for...well, for many years. I meant it merely as a good-luck charm for your journey. The fact that it will actually defend you, well—it certainly gladdens this old heart!”
It made Alec feel better, as well. He flexed his arm, watching with something like pride as the segmented plates of light bent and shifted around him. Magic like this was powerful, indeed. If I’d had this when I faced down the hag, he thought, she never would have stood a chance.
The thought chilled him, cutting through his glee. He’d be likely to face down much worse things than the hag before his journey was done.
“Others have attempted to activate it throughout the years.” Master Abel took no note of Alec’s emotional state. “I myself even slipped the Shield Ring on at one point, wondering if there might be some trick to awakening its magic.” He laughed and shook his head. “Apparently, all it needed was the right finger. The item is soulbound to you now, Alec—truly, the Archon has chosen you for great things.”
The mention of the Archon caused Alec to remember his promise. “I need to go down to the chapel,” he realized, tucking the hand with the Shield Ring into his robes. “I pledged to thank the Archon for what he’s given to me before I leave with Archmage Diamondspear.”
“Yes, that’s a very good idea,” Master Abel said. A little of his old grumpy personality shone through at the remark, though it was tempered with his newfound respect for the young man. “Visiting the Archon’s altar will do you nothing but good, young man. All gifts originate from the Archon, no matter whose hand they may come from.”
“I know,” Alec said with a nod.
A cloud moved over the sun outside, bathing the courtyard in shadow. Master Abel rose from behind his desk, wincing a bit at a flare of pain in his aged bones. “There is much I wish I had time to say to you,” he admitted, regret deepening the lines in his face. “But time is of the essence. And I imagine Archmage Diamondspear is not accustomed to waiting.” He extended a hand. “Best of luck, young Alec.”
Alec stared at the hand for a long moment. Then, quite unexpectedly, he pulled the old monk into a hug. Master Abel froze, nearly startled out of his wits—then he hugged Alec back, chuckling to himself.
“Truly a day for firsts,” the older man grumbled, setting himself back down. “Well, go on with you! Don’t make me tell you twice, young man! You’d best be getting on.”
Alec agreed. He turned to go—when suddenly a voice cut through his thoughts.
“Come downstairs immediately.” The words sounded even and sure in his head, echoing within the cage of his skull. “There is much we need to discuss before we depart. Do not tarry.”
A bolt of lightning could not have provoked such a sudden change in Alec. He froze in his tracks, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. He’d never heard such a voice before—yet he knew deep in his bones who the speaker was.
It was the voice of the Archon. It could be no other.
Chapter 11
Alec raced down the spiraling staircase, his feet struggling to keep up with his thoughts. Was he going mad, or had he truly heard the voice of the Archon inside of his head? The thought felt impossible—but he’d heard the words, as clear as the bells in the Archon Temple’s bell tower. They still rang in his head, echoing with the deep, sure tones of the Archon.
Do not tarry. He certainly wouldn’t!
Without a thought for Archmage Diamondspear or his airship, Alec reached the bottom of the tower stairs and crossed the short distance to the chapel. No one called to him; if they had, he’d have ignored them entirely. His right hand, newly adorned with the Shield Ring of the Archon Temple’s warriors, trembled uncontrollably in his pocket.
It was no small thing to hear the voice of the Archon. Only the fact that there had been other historically documented instances of the phenomenon convinced Alec he wasn’t going insane. But in Master Matthias’s histories, the Archon only spoke to the great figures of history: the heads of a noble house, or the general of a mighty army on the night before a decisive battle. Never had someone so young—or from such an unrefined background—heard His voice.
Though I suppose I am a Diamondspear now, Alec told himself, slipping through the narrow gap in the chapel’s doors. By name, if not by blood. What would the Archon possibly want with me?
The chapel was one of Alec’s favorite places in all the Archon Temple. The high, vaulted ceilings gave the place an atmosphere that was at once majestic and intimate. Truly, this was a place for man to commune with things higher than himself—beings outside of the normal realm of time and space. Tapestries hung from the walls, each depicting one of the miracles of the Archon upon his arrival in the mortal realm.
Wooden pews sat in rows lining the chapel, but Alec ignored these. Under the circumstances, he didn’t want to sit in the back and offer a silent prayer to the Gods. He moved directly to the altar near the front of the chapel, preparing to drop to his knees.
A statue of the Archon overlooked the altar, surrounded by symbols representing the elements he’d commanded. His mastery over the world had been absolute, yet now no man knew where the Archon had gone. Would he ever return? Did speaking words in the minds of men satisfy him, or would more be needed in the war against the Shadow?
Alec struggled to clear his mind as he dropped to his knees before the altar. The words of a dozen prayers came easily to his lips, all hymns taught to him at a young age by the Temple’s monks. None of them felt right for the moment. Still trembling, with the words of the Archon ringing in his ears, he decided to simply speak from the heart.
“Mighty Archon,” Alec whispered, removing his hands from his pockets and clasping them before him. He closed his eyes, the flames from the altar leaving afterimages on the inside of his eyelids. “I don’t know why you’ve seen fit to bestow the gift of magic upon me, but I appreciate it. I promise to use it as wisely as I can, to protect the innocent from the wrath of the Shadow.”
He waited, in case the Archon decided to speak again. He’d said there was much the two of them needed to discuss, hadn’t He? Clearly He was just waiting for the right moment to reveal Himself.
Nothing happened. Alec cleared his throat and continued.
“I ask that you keep the other boys safe while I’m traveling with Master Diamondspear. Watch over them and protect them—especially Thomas. He’s putting up a brave front now, but I’m worried that’s going to go away in a hurry once I’m gone.”
Why was he prattling on like this? Surely the Archon didn’t concern Himself with the affairs of foundlings like his friends. Least of all the smallest and most vulnerable among them, who wasn’t able to defend himself.
Or maybe He did. Maybe that was exactly what He cared about.
“I’m putting up a front, as well,” Alec admitted, chuckling a little. It felt strange to be speaking so casually to the Archon, as if He were a good friend—yet something felt right about it, too. “I know I may look like I’m taking this well, mighty Archon, but you know my heart. You know I’m utterly terrified.” His chuckles turned to a laugh. “Me, a mage. About to travel on an airship with Archmage Diamondspear!”
He opened one eye a crack. The statue of the Archon stared down at him impassively, its chiseled stone features calm and regal. Alec thought the representation looked more than a little bit like Uriel Diamondspear, and wondered if the sculptor had been trying to please the Archmage’s predecessor.
“Just… help me out as much as you can,” Alec said, feeling helpless. This wasn’t at all how he’d pictured this conversation going. He hadn’t expected it to be so one-sided. “I promise to try and do a good job. I’ll carry the Shield Ring with honor, and make the monks of the Temple proud of me. I hope. But any assistance you could provide me along the way, just know I’d really, really appreciate it—”
Someone was kneeling next to him. In the time he’d been speaking, he hadn’t noticed someone else slipping into the chapel. The intruder had moved so soundlessly that they clearly hadn’t been heard until they’d wanted him to hear them. Alec’s eyes flew open.
An elf knelt next to him. For a moment he thought it was the messenger who’d delivered the dagger and the letter to him, riding up to the gates of the Archon Temple on his white horse. Then he met the kneeling figure’s eyes and gasped.
He knew this person far better than the messenger. Tanuin knelt next to him.
The corner of the elven ranger’s lips curled upward in a knowing smirk. “Look at you,” Tanuin said, beaming with pride. “You’ve grown, Alec. In more ways than one, it seems.”
Alec sprang to his feet. Before Tanuin could rise from his knees, Alec was on him. He hugged the elven ranger tightly, nearly knocking him onto the floor. Tanuin’s eyes went wide with shock as Alec embraced him, and the elf just barely managed to keep his footing.
“You! Where the hell have you been!?” Alec broke the embrace, helping Tanuin to his feet. To his surprise, the elven ranger stood only an inch or two taller than him. The last time they’d seen each other, Alec had barely come up to the man’s shoulder. “Why did you send me that letter? And the knife? Where have you been, Tanuin!?”
The elf began to laugh. “I see some things never change. You might be taller, but you’re still the boy with a thousand questions, Alec.”
“I thought you were dead,” Alec said. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. “Master Abel told me you were probably lying face down in a ditch somewhere.”
Tanuin’s eyebrows rose. “Surely you didn’t believe him?”
“Of course not. But until I got t
hat letter from you, I didn’t know for sure!”
That brought a smile to the elf’s face. “If you’ve started believing what Master Abel has to say, you really are a different man than the one I left five years ago. What else has changed around here in the time I’ve been gone?”
Alec’s head swam. “So much, Tanuin. So, so much. There are so many things I need to tell you…”
“And I you,” the elf said, his eyes sliding toward the aisle between the pews. It was then that Alec realized Tanuin hadn’t come alone. A pretty young elf stood waiting for the two of them, her long chestnut hair in shimmering waves down her back. Where Tanuin would have lounged insolently against one of the nearby pews, this woman stood straight as a spear, as if she were about to be judged on her posture. She looked to be around the same age as Tanuin, but of course Alec couldn’t tell for sure. With elves, they could be ten years older than you or a hundred—it never showed on their faces.
The woman looked askance at the statue of the Archon, as if the image made her uncomfortable. “We should speak outside,” she said, giving Tanuin a sharp glance.
The elven ranger laughed. “Of course,” he said, patting Alec on the back. “I doubt the monks have changed much in the last five years. They won’t want us laughing and joking in their sacred space. I’ll explain everything outside—we have much to catch up on!”
Alec wanted dearly to sit down with his friend and have a long, welcoming chat. But he hadn’t finished his business with the Archon yet.
“I will, in a minute,” he said, turning back to the altar. “There’s something I have to do first.”
Tanuin looked startled. “You want to pray? My goodness, you really have changed in the last five years, haven’t you? Become quite the pious young man.”
“Not exactly,” Alec said. It would take too long to explain in detail—better to save it for later. “I think the Archon is responsible for making me a mage. I don’t think I was one before yesterday.”