by Tony Donadio
His gaze settled on Aron. The elder prince was talking earnestly with several of the other council members. He seemed to be debating with one of them, his powerful voice resonating confidently across the room despite the distance.
The King turned to follow his gaze. A proud smile touched his lips.
It was Aron who had finally tipped the scales in favor of the King and his supporters. The story of how he and Gerard had battled the magus and his dragon had spread through the city like wildfire, and the two princes had become instant heroes. Princess Randia had even composed a popular ballad extolling their exploits. The elder prince was already widely admired, and his role in facing down the Lord of Westreach had given him great credibility with both sides. And he had argued his case with characteristic passion and eloquence.
Emil Zomoran had once been a great man, he had said. A brilliant leader, scholar, and wizard, his loss was a terrible tragedy. The high priest was undoubtedly correct that his former professor was being seduced by evil, and likely it had been going on for some time. But was he truly beyond saving?
Aron had described his final conversation with the magus in careful detail. I may actually owe Salmanor Darden a debt for opening my eyes today, Zomoran had said. I see now that this society is decadent beyond redemption. It is time for it to be purged in fire and re-built from the ashes.
Those words had only come after the Inquisition had provoked him into desperate retaliation, Aron explained — by imprisoning and torturing his associates, and threatening the Lord of Westreach himself with execution for heresy. If his words were to be believed — and there was no reason to doubt them, spoken as they were to men he thought about to die — then he had not turned on his people until he believed that they had turned on him.
And for that, Aron had laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of the Inquisition. Why had the matter not been brought to the Crown and to the High Council until after arrests had been made, and Zomoran publicly humiliated before the Regents of the Grand Academy? Was it not clear that this had been done purely for reasons of gaining political advantage, rather than out of concern for the consequences of provoking a full magus into open rebellion?
The high priest had secured a high-profile prosecution, true. And it was one that appeared to strengthen its hand in the ongoing debate over the reform movement. But at what cost? The lives of seventeen men and women, and the near death of both princes of the realm. Moreover, his actions had forfeited any hope of turning Zomoran back to the Light. Could not a compassionate Church — one that truly believed in the teachings of Lady Tianth — have at least tried to do better?
Many on the High Council were already displeased by the Inquisition’s ruthlessness in prosecuting one of their own. Aron’s speech had swayed their vote to the side of the Crown. More importantly, it had fractured Darden’s support within the Church. The prelates of both the Order of Light and the Lady of Compassion had sided with the prince, publicly rebuking the high priest for the recklessness of his actions. The moral high ground that Darden had expected to claim from a high-profile prosecution had been compromised by the controversy. And it had, at last, given the Crown the opportunity it needed to press its case for reform.
“Some will see it as I do, Your Highness,” Lord Rugon agreed carefully, ending the long pause in their conversation. His eyes moved to the far end of the room, where Baronet Kuhl and Lady Rayne were talking quietly together. Salmanor Darden stood apart from them in the corner, engaged in a strangely animated conversation with one of the serving maids. “Others may not. You will need to be watchful.”
The King turned to see where he was looking. Baronet Kuhl and Lady Rayne were having what appeared to be a very private, whispered discussion. That wasn’t cause for concern in itself, but it wasn’t a good sign, either.
Danor couldn’t hear what the high priest was saying to the girl he was lecturing to, but she appeared raptly attentive to his words. He noted that she was strikingly attractive. No, not just attractive, he realized after a second glance. She was stunningly beautiful, with an air of young innocence that made her seem strangely sensual at the same time. He was surprised that he didn’t recognize her. She must be new to the palace staff, he thought, and made a mental note to ask the steward to talk to her. Darden could be a powerfully charismatic speaker when he put his mind to it, and the girl was just his type. His motives might be a trifle less spiritual than the young ingénue expected, and a discreet warning about them might be in order.
The King nodded thoughtfully. “Kuhl and Darden have been thorns in my side nearly every step of the way on this,” he agreed. “But do you think their opposition might extend to disloyalty?”
Lord Rugon sniffed. “The high priest’s loyalties are to the Church, not to the Crown,” he said dismissively. “Or at least, to his own vision of the Church. And Kuhl’s are to his next opportunity to acquire wealth and power. I would have advised you not to trust them in any event. They’ll merit extra caution now.”
“Do you think so?” Danor asked.
The councilor nodded. “The changes instituted by the new constitution strike at the heart of their sources of power and prestige. Repealing the blasphemy laws will encourage some to defy Church doctrine, and ending the royal monopolies will hurt the Trade Guild’s sources of income and influence. That is one of the reasons I would have advised proceeding more slowly with such changes. Whatever their merits, their suddenness will earn you enemies that you did not have before.”
Danor sighed. “Then I will have to be prepared to deal with that,” he said with resignation. “There would have been advantages to making the changes more gradual, but there would have been disadvantages as well. Whatever else they may be, men like Darden and Kuhl are not stupid. They would have seen and understood the end goal of such an approach, and worked to thwart it.”
He straightened his shoulders and sighed. “To weather the fog of incremental steps, that fear ever to name the true essence of their goal … That would have perpetuated for years injustices already long past needing to be ended. Better to make it a quick, clean stroke, one that states the matter in terms of clear and uncompromising principles.”
He turned toward the balcony again, looking out at the sunlit morning on the mountainside.
“I don’t doubt that there will be social upheaval at first,” he concluded. “But the people will better understand — and be better served — if the issues are presented to them honestly from the start. Truth is sometimes an underrated commodity, and …”
His voice trailed off. A shadow had fallen across the cliff-wall outside the window. It looked like the silhouette of great wings wheeling above the palace, cast on the mountainside by the morning sun.
Lord Rugon smiled. “Your daughter is out flying with her pegasus again today, no doubt,” he offered.
The King shook his head. He knew what pegasus wings looked like. That shadow wasn’t being cast by any such creature. He saw another shadow fall across the bluff, and then another, and then another …
And then the sound of a horn from the palace battlement pierced the air.
Chapter 3 - The Calm Before the Storm
The Secret Glade
Randia climbed to the top of the stones. They were flat, and had been placed along the back wall of the glade to form a set of makeshift stairs. A spring gushed next to them, a streaming rivulet that splashed noisily into the little pool from above. It was one of hundreds of tiny waterfalls that fell from the shoulders of Mount Cascade. Their courses meandered through the gaps and channels in the cliff-face, eventually making their way to the firth far below.
Stefan was lying on a blanket at the far end of the lagoon. He watched her naked form with appreciation as she sprang nimbly to the top stone, and then, without a pause, dove headfirst into the pool. Her body knifed cleanly into the water, making barely a ripple in the calm surface.
She was under for a long time. He clapped and laughed when her head finally broke the surf
ace.
“I’m glad I never had to compete with you at swimming,” he said. “Are you certain you’re not part merwoman? It would explain much.”
Randia shook her head, grinning. Her wet locks sprayed droplets in all directions.
“Bah,” she told him. “You’re impressed by that? It’s only ten feet. I need to bring you to the sea cliffs along the north side of the firth. The water’s deep enough there for a real dive.”
He shook his head. “I think I’m going to let you be the daredevil in the family. The pool here's more to my liking — cool relaxing, private, and conspicuously lacking in hundred foot drops onto rock-laced surf.”
Randia swam across the lagoon. She climbed out of the water and lay next to him.
“Oh, you can trust that I’ll get you up there to dive the cliff with me,” she said, mischievously tracing her finger along the line of his arm. “I’m going to show you all sorts of things that’ll make your heart race, Stefan Arokkan — once we put our wedding behind us and have a chance to relax.”
She grinned and stuck out her tongue at the look of mock consternation that came over his face.
“I’m glad you like my little glade, though,” she continued. “We can come here more often if you like. There’s nowhere else in the city we can go for this kind of privacy.” She snuggled toward him, and added: “I’m finding that I really like that.”
He slipped an arm around her and nodded.
“As do I. We can’t start disappearing too often, though. Or for too long. People will notice, and we want to avoid suspicion. Does anyone else know about this place?”
Randia cocked her head and gestured with her blue eyes toward the sky.
“Just Windheart. She’s been bringing me up here for years. And she’d never tell on us.”
Stefan smiled. “Your rapport with her is remarkable. Having a winged steed ready to carry you wherever you want to go must — well, save a lot of time, among other things.”
Randia shook her head.
“Not everywhere,” she said. “She’d fly into a storm of fire to rescue me if I ever needed it, but you do not take a pegasus for granted. I’m sure she’d leave me stranded on a mountain peak for a few days if I ever tried, just to teach me a lesson.”
“You’re obviously quite close, though. I almost feel a little jealous.”
“That’s just the way it is with us. We’ve been bonded since I was a child, and we’ve always been great friends.”
“I was glad to finally meet her. And the flight was … stimulating.”
She looked into his eyes and grinned again.
“She likes you, too. She’s being coy and trying not to let on about it, but she does. She would never have agreed to carry you up here if she didn’t.”
“Coy, eh? That sounds familiar.”
Randia nodded. “We’re actually very much alike.” She frowned. “Well, alike in spirit, anyway. As much as a winged horse and a half-elf can be.”
“You do both seem to have a bit of a mischievous streak.”
She laughed again.
“Oh. Do you mean the loop? She was just teasing you. I hope you weren’t frightened. She would never have let you fall.”
“Oh, I know. Tell me — is it true that you can sense each other’s thoughts?”
Randia nodded. “When we’re flying together, yes. It’s part of the magic that comes with a pegasus choosing you as her rider.”
She paused, looking thoughtful.
“It’s not just your thoughts, though,” she said at last. “It’s kind of hard to describe. Your senses and … instincts merge, too. While we’re flying, I can feel the air under her wings, and she can feel the wind on my face. It’s almost like becoming two parts of one being, thinking and feeling and reacting together like a single unit.”
“That’s remarkable. I’ve heard of the pegasus bond, but we have few of them in the mountains of Thressa. Is it common here?”
Randia shook her head.
“Occasionally a pegasus will bond with a human, but not often. It’s more common among the elves. Especially in southern Carlissa, where they live together among the peaks of the Nurian Mountains.”
“Where the Peregrine King rules,” Stefan said, nodding. “Your grandfather. I shouldn’t wonder that you have a pegasus friend. It probably runs in the family.”
Randia nodded. “It does. We’re all pegasus riders. Father, Aron, Gerard. Mother and Grandmother, of course, and Grandfather Acheron. And Grandfather Killraven.”
Stefan chuckled.
“The Archmage. You do seem to have a rather intimidating family tree. Is there anyone important in the eastern realms that you’re not related to?”
Randia rolled her eyes at him.
“Don’t remind me. And don’t get me wrong. I love them all dearly. But having the rulers of three different kingdoms for parents and grandparents … All I can say is thank the Divine I’m the youngest, and no one seems to be expecting me to help out with that.”
She stood up, looking toward the sky above.
“We should have our picnic,” she said. “The morning’s wearing on, and Windheart will be back soon to pick us up.”
She stopped abruptly, her head turning toward the exit from the little glade. She squinted, shielding her eyes, looking more intently. Stefan rolled over to follow her gaze.
“What is it?” he asked.
Randia pointed. “There. Do you see that? It looks like a cloud rising over the city.”
Stefan frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. Could there be a fire?”
Instructor Deneri
“So we can see that there are two kinds of fundamental truths,” Orion said. “There are truths of the outer world, which we may call ‘existence,’ and of the inner world, which we may call ‘awareness.’ This much we can know by simply opening our eyes on the one hand, or attending to our own thoughts on the other.”
Orion looked out over the class. He saw a few thoughtful expressions, and some others dutifully taking notes in their assignment books. There were few quills and inkwells, he noted absently. Most of the students were using the new enchanted pens that he had heard about. It wasn’t surprising; they were all of the nobility, and their families could easily afford the expense.
At least they had finally settled down. The challenges had come in the first few minutes of the class, just as he’d expected — and mainly from the girls, as he had also expected. The form had been teasing, trying to embarrass him and throw him off balance.
“He’s too pretty to be a scholar,” a raven-haired beauty had opined aloud, in response to a jibe from one of her classmates. She was an older girl, and one of those who had been looking at him before the start of the lesson. She’d seen him look hastily away, then. A shy boy who could be made to blush at a pretty girl’s attention, he’d guessed at her thoughts, as she openly looked him up and down in front of the class.
He’d turned to her and smiled. To everyone’s astonishment, he’d responded by executing a flawless court bow with all the flourishes.
“I daresay that no man could but speak the same of you, My Lady,” he had replied, with all the carefully cultivated gallantry he could muster. “Though I warrant there is indeed more to you than meets the eye, as well.” His own glance of appraisal had been too brief to mistake for presumption, but not quite brief enough not to be noticed.
The unexpected boldness had had the desired effect. She’d flushed crimson, and the class’ laughter had turned on her instead. It had been a dangerous response, one that might have provoked a challenge from one of the boys if he’d been inclined to try to win favor with her. Orion had let out a barely concealed sigh of relief when he saw that they all seemed to approve of the jest.
He’d been surprised to see the other young ladies joining in as well. One girl in particular, with a long shock of auburn hair, had looked right at him as she laughed. There was an intelligent glint in her bright green eyes. He’d met her gaze for a few mom
ents, and she’d nodded to him with a wide grin.
Dame Marjeune had leaped to her feet, sternly clapping her hands for order. Orion had allowed the laughter to continue for a few moments, and then raised his own hand in a call for silence. The room had quieted immediately. He’d had little trouble with the class acting up after that.
“But what is the relationship between these two?” he continued. “If they are separate, are they equal, or does one come from the other? Does our ‘inner world’ create our experience of the outer world? Or is it merely an observer? These are basic questions not only of philosophy, but of religion as well. And they are particularly important, because they will tell us where to look for answers to the rest of our questions.”
He noticed some confused expressions, and paused. He needed to get his students to see how ideas could actually make a difference in their lives. If they heard them merely as words, with no tie to experience, then they would never appreciate their true meaning and power. He knew even accomplished scholars who had never really understood that, and who treated philosophy as a kind of game with no practical importance. He wanted to do better in his first experience as a teacher.
“Let’s take an example,” he said. “Lady Hawthorne, perhaps you would be good enough to assist us by answering a question. Have you ever wished upon a star?”
Lady Hawthorne looked up in surprise. Her mind had clearly been wandering, but she quickly recovered herself. “Why, yes, of course,” she said.
Star-wishing was a Carlissan folk custom with a long history, so Orion wasn’t surprised at her answer. “And have such wishes ever come true?” he continued.
“Well, sometimes,” she answered. “If they’re modest, of course. You can’t expect really greedy or outlandish wishes to come true, after all.”
A flutter of smiles rippled through the class. Orion opened his mouth to continue, but was suddenly interrupted by one of the young lords.