“There could be someone better,” Vincent offered.
Arrendis pretended to be persuaded as if Vincent had brought something new to his attention. “Really?” He asked. “And if they were at least as good as you, perhaps even so much better as you claim, what do you suppose would happen if the two of you were forced to clash swords?”
Vincent was reluctantly forced to be objective. “He would probably die.”
“And why is that?” Arrendis coaxed.
This was one of his mentor’s ways of teaching him: trapping him with a series of questions, the answers to which left him no choice but to realize and admit to himself what should have been obvious. “Because all I would have to do is make the first swing. When he raised to block, I would cut right through his sword and right through him. If there was a danger where cutting his sword apart while he tried to strike at me would bring both of his broken ends down on me, I could either bide my time, or send magic into my blade to make it much lighter and faster than his. Speed often determines the victor in those bouts.”
“Aha, I see. And so someone who could potentially kill even the best swordsman alive with relative ease is not useful to Gadrale Keep? Someone who could cut through the hides of trolls and dragons, no doubt? We should replace him with any stable boy, you say?” Against his own will, Vincent let out a few small laughs. Arrendis joined him with a chuckle or two, and then continued. “We both know that you are also capable of other things, and I’ve yet to see you slay a troll or a dragon. What you should understand is that you are valuable to us here, and to all outside the keep whom you also serve, both because of your abilities and because of what you personally choose to pursue. Not many would take as seriously to heart the guarding of The Crafters’ Vault, for example. They would have seen it as no more important than shoveling dung and would have fallen asleep on the job or been less aware. Others have been in absent dereliction entirely.”
The last part of what Arrendis said made him think of something else. Since he was no longer in the vein of hiding things from his mentor out of shame or remorse, he decided to share it with him. “I should have seen that myself, but I lost touch with it. I’m too used to being looked down upon by others, seen as a lowly swordsman and not a wizard. Vault guard duty is not something assigned to the more favored; the more favored and more powerful have a wider range of choices. I guess I just felt that for so much toil, especially what I went through the other night, everyone, even you, could find someone else to be their fool.”
Vincent took a deep breath while he gazed out at the open countryside and slowly let it out, his mind finally returning to a state where he could focus on his current obligations. “I do realize the significance of everything you’ve told me. There is something else though, that I wish you to know. Something that could perhaps be detrimental to me if not shared in confidence.”
Arrendis looked back to him with a bewildered expression. Vincent leaned in closer to the side of Arrendis’ gray hood and kept his voice at a whisper. He told him everything about how he had been personally taking it upon himself to continue the investigation into the strange happenings surrounding the disappearances of people, and the occasional, bizarre piles of children’s bone remains that had been left behind. It was detrimental to Vincent if widely known because it had been forbidden due to safety reasons among other things. That Vincent had been looking into the affair, officially on behalf of Gadrale, when not authorized to do so was not a mere trifle either. Arrendis listened to each detail with rapt fascination and curiosity, somewhat surprised by the things he heard.
Vincent had much to tell, and kept going. “…I don’t know what kind of trouble this gets me into if I’m found out, but I will stand by my convictions and argue my point to the council if need be. There have also been two other developments that I think are worthy of attention. As you know, the attack a few nights ago was perpetrated by wizards who were not affiliated with the keep. All except one, that is. We had a traitor in our midst. They used a Seal of Cheated Light to conceal their entry. It is possible that they are partly responsible for at least some of the deaths and disappearances we’ve been seeing. Of course this now seems obvious to all since we were struck directly and since murder is a part of the spell’s conception. The other development is that the two young wizards who were supposed to relieve me that night claim to have been shadowing someone and to have seen something suspicious happening outside the city. It might turn out to be completely false, they have been untrustworthy before, but I still think I should go have a talk with the two of them.”
“Interesting…” Arrendis remarked, “…very interesting indeed. And this whole time you thought you served little or no purpose?”
Vincent guffawed at that. “I haven’t been able to find anything substantial during my entire investigation. It only fed into my despair. And now all I have is one small unreliable lead and maybe some meaningless speculation.”
A cool breeze began to blow across their faces. Arrendis looked off distantly toward the city and the sights again while he considered everything Vincent said. He seemed to also be able to read Vincent’s mind and the implied thing that he was asking him for. “I won’t be able to help you,” he said with regret. “I have too many youngsters and too many classes I need to teach. There is not enough free time, and I would be missed if absent.
“All I can offer you is a word of advice:”-he turned to look directly into Vincent’s eyes-“don’t pursue this by yourself any longer. Find some people you trust, even if it is only one other, and take them into your confidence as you have with me.” He looked back to the city. “I fear something else is at work here, something very dark. The theft was more than it seemed. I am certain of it.
“Unfortunately, I am not on the council of masters; I am not powerful or specialized enough, and I do not know what they currently plan to do about the recent attack. If they are continuing to disregard the events you described, more or less due to a lack of leads, for example, or a desire not to waste resources, or for whatever the reason, then we should all be terrified.” For a moment he said nothing. “Lions in a grass filled with snakes,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
He looked back at Vincent. “Feeling overly safe or sure of your dominance can be the death of you. Never forget that in your search. It seems that at least a few of us have.”
“I won’t forget, master.”
Arrendis glanced out once more. “Ah, looks like breakfast is here after all. We better step back a few paces to give Gracie some room.” Vincent looked too and saw a large bird in the distance flying toward them with something in its claws.
They both stepped away from the crenulated edge, and as he glimpsed again, he noticed that Arrendis' big hawk had a dead white rabbit clutched in her talons. As she flew in, she dropped it on the stone floor, flapping and fluttering her wings as she perched herself on Arrendis' outstretched arm. She appeared grateful for the chance to rest after making such a high ascent, carrying her heavy load. Once she landed, Arrendis switched her to his staff arm and bent over to pick up the dead rabbit. Vincent knew that he cooked every meal brought by Gracie and shared it with her. He was not one to exploit an animal either; when Gracie could find nothing, he fed his pet and kept her alive.
Arrendis’ magnificent hawk was brown and speckled with black and white dots all over her silky back plumage. Her raptor eyes darted about and blinked as she twitched her head, taking in the scene of the roof level. She appeared as majestic a bird as any: proud, beautiful, triumphant. The white rabbit on the other hand was limp, dead, and lifeless-something to take pity on. Its eyes were closed and its fur was matted with blood in the places where Gracie’s talons had pierced its flesh. Arrendis had been careful not to get any on his hands when he picked it up, yet a tinge still got on his sleeve from where her talons rested. He looked the rabbit over, seeming to be judging the value of its meat.
“Good girl,” Arrendis complimented. “Y
ou brought a nice fat one.” He then inspected his bird as closely as he dare, keeping a safe enough distance so as not to startle her. He redirected his voice toward Vincent but not his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of today, but I will leave you with one last thing to think about.” He turned toward Vincent. “I know that even after all of this, there is still a small chance that your hatred of violence will drive you away from everything that you’ve worked so hard for. However, consider this,”-he held up the dead rabbit and motioned with his head toward his hawk-“which one would you rather be?”
Chapter VI
After Vincent said farewell to Arrendis, he left on his way downstairs to the first floor where the council chamber was located. As he went down the stone steps, he pondered the philosophical conundrum posed to him by his mentor. Exactly what was meant by it was still uncertain to him. Did he mean that Vincent should prey on others or be the hunter instead of the hunted?
It was soon overshadowed in his thoughts by his impending meeting with the masters. He found himself worrying about what he would do and what he would say. The future course of his life hung in the balance, and he wasn’t entirely sure which fate was worse. Once Vincent reached the ground floor, he took off in the direction of the central dining hall, and then proceeded down the hallway branching off from it that led toward the council chambers. He felt a kind of nervousness as he walked along, wondering what the outcome of the meeting would be.
The hallway leading toward the chamber where the council convened was otherwise dark if not for the pairs of light orbs placed on pedestals near each wall at even intervals. Also on each wall, in order from most recent to oldest, were the stone relief depictions of Gadrale’s historic grandmasters. Vincent felt as though they were all staring at him and passing judgment over his worthiness; the grandmaster who was still alive would be doing so along with his subordinates soon enough.
The large gray-iron double doors to the council chambers lay ahead in his vision as he walked along, his footsteps echoing off the stone-block floor. The doors were closed. Vincent almost never visited the room, but knew that the doors were normally left open for students to pass through the meeting room and into the adjoining halls that led to the twelve offices of the major department heads. Masters conversed there with their students on a regular basis. The only time the doors would not be open was during a meeting or perhaps during night hours. They should have been open now, and it made Vincent think something was wrong. Was another meeting already taking place? He didn’t know what to do and so stood and waited just outside of them, standing beyond their reach should they suddenly open.
The waiting somehow made things seem worse. It not only made him more apprehensive, he also found himself feeling frustrated. What was he supposed to do? Wait here until someone came along? He didn’t like that idea very much, but there was no other option. Moments ticked by while he thought back painfully to the night in question and tried to remember every detail he could. They would want to know everything, and like it or not, he would have to tell them.
“You’re here sooner than expected,” a man’s voice noted, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Vincent lifted his head from staring at the stone floor and was surprised to see Master Anthony, Dean of Atmomancy, standing in the hall with several students including Stacy in tow. They all wore blue robes, or in Stacy’s case, a blue dress, which swayed the slightest bit at the bottom after they had stopped moving. It was of a shade that matched the sky, and made them look as though several pieces of the firmament itself were standing amongst the poorly lit hall and gray stone. Master Anthony’s white hair and shortly trimmed white beard added a wisp of clouds to the mix.
When Master Anthony had visited him in the infirmary, he had been the one to personally inform Vincent of the council’s desire to speak with him about the incident. In his ancient looking blue eyes that stared back, Vincent could tell that he was no doubt looking forward to it. Vincent tried to hide on his own face the fact that he was not.
Vincent straightened himself up. “Master,” he acknowledged, bowing his head slightly. “I feel now that I am in good enough health to submit my report to the council as requested. Once the meeting currently in progress is over, I’m sure we can…” Vincent stopped in worry when Anthony closed his eyes and began to shake his head.
“There’s no meeting taking place. The door has been sealed to masters only. Only we know the right flow pattern of magic to open it. Recent events have caused us to take precautions.”
“I see,” Vincent said in understanding.
“Stand aside, please.” Vincent did as told and Anthony held up a hand. The door opened of its own accord and they all entered.
The council chamber was a large circular room with ancient arcane symbols and creatures carved into the glossy black stone walls, which were silhouetted against the gray stone-block floor beneath. Aside from the main entrance, there were several doorway passages connecting the meeting room with the office sections for each of the twelve departments and another for the Grandmaster’s private quarters. At the moment, the door to each passage was closed, and the markings for each profession were visible on them.
The center of the room was dominated by a single large black circular table with twenty or so reflective silver chairs. There were more than twelve chairs because the council often conferred with numerous guests ranging from students to kings and ambassadors. High above the table, there was a single light orb which was larger than any of the others found in Gadrale.
Vincent had seen the interior of the council chambers only twice before in his life: once when Arrendis had brought him here as a child to petition for his entry into the mage academy, and once when he had come here with him to help make his case to the masters for Vincent’s ascension into the Academy Guard. This seemed like another of those turning points, and he still found the room impressive.
As soon as everyone was inside, Anthony immediately set things in motion. He told his students that the council was conducting its own investigation into the theft and that Vincent’s testimony might yield a shred of vital information. Because of this, he would have to postpone answering their questions, and asked them to help him fetch the other masters from the classes they were teaching. He promised them that if the delay caused any problems with any classes they needed to attend, he would vouch for them. He also pointed out how Vincent probably had little to tell and the sooner they dispensed with the meeting, the sooner he could get back to the business of instructing them. Vincent politely offered to help send word of the summons, but Master Anthony declined and asked him to wait in the council chambers while they did this. Though Vincent felt somewhat embarrassed that everyone was going through so much trouble just for him, he also felt grateful that the whole affair was being expedited, wanting badly for it to be over with. He stood as he waited, and tried as much as possible to gather his nerve while they rounded up the council.
When all the members finally arrived, Vincent continued to stand while the panel questioned him. Elvin Grandmaster Treyfon began by asking him to tell them everything that happened the night of the theft, beginning with how he had detected the intruders. Vincent kept himself steady as he began telling them the whole story from start to finish. He struggled to maintain his air of professionalism as the gruesome details he wished he could forget resurfaced. During the recount of his hesitation and the near fatal injury that he suffered from it, he did as Arrendis suggested and explained why he made the mistake. Steeling himself to the choice of trying to stay, he then promised the council that if they would allow him to remain in the service of the keep, he would never again repeat such a grave and costly error. He left out how he strongly wished to never have to kill again.
The council said nothing and did not display any intention of deciding immediately upon whether or not to retain him. Vincent began to sweat nervously. Grandmaster Treyfon’s face remained calm and neutral, as did Master Anthony, who sat to his
right in Vincent’s view. Unfortunately, Master Magnus, who was seated at his left, appeared far less amused and Vincent could tell there was going to be trouble.
In appearance, he looked like just a bitter old man. His bushy gray hair around the sides of his head had a trace of brown, and the clean shaven face with a few wrinkles amidst his deep scowl lent to this notion, but Vincent knew it was false. A person’s eyes never lied, as the saying went. Though Magnus’ face showed anger and disgust, his brown eyes exposed a keen intellect compounding an even more profound dislike. It was clear that he was not going to be forgiving of Vincent.
Magnus was one of the greatest pyromancers throughout the lands. It was said that as an institution, Gadrale attracted some of the most elite magical talent known to exist, but with Magnus this often seemed like an understatement. He had a reputation for being a hard man, and his students claimed this to be due in part to his skewed perception of weakness in others: his astute capability and immense power led him to see the strong as adequate and the average as hopelessly weak. He considered no student excellent. Advancement was arduous, and those who could not keep up were left behind to retake several times what they had tried to learn or to simply quit from the heavy strain. This was not uncommon. Even Rick, his friend, had spoken to Vincent without shame about being barely able to squeeze by as one of his pupils. Other red robes also complained of having the growth of a new flame muscle being forced upon them during each class session. Magnus demanded only the best and produced only the best. Rumor had it that in battle, a pyromancer on either side who had been trained at Gadrale could be easily discerned from one who was not. Such wars had not taken place for centuries, yet Master Magnus was known for continuing to perpetuate in the present day this higher standard that the Academy had held throughout the ages. Pyromantically gifted Elvin students, Dwarves, and other foreigners from afar often sought to enroll at Gadrale instead of learning elsewhere due to the well-renowned, superior quality of instruction, though not all could handle it.
Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening Page 9