by Ben Hale
“Your pain will fade,” he said, his voice pitched so only she would hear.
“Does every battle hurt this much?”
His grin widened. “Less when you are trained,” he said. “You exerted your body to its limit, and it likes to protest.”
Training.
He’d said it to be comforting, but the word stuck in her mind, a cold reminder that if she had been trained, she could have protected herself, and her guard would not have been killed. All at once the feeling of helplessness returned, filling her body, catching in her lungs. She forced herself to breathe through the panic and pretended to fiddle with the reins of her horse. A hand settled on her shoulder and she looked up to find her mother at her side.
“My dear,” Elenyr said softly. “You are safe now.”
Tall and statuesque, Elenyr was the pinnacle of grace. She stood calm and serene, giving no evidence that her legs were probably trembling from the effort. Her smile was gentle, her bright elven eyes laden with concern and relief.
Alydian wanted to tell her mother not to worry, that she should not be out of her quarters, but Alydian felt like a child. She struggled with the urge to bury her face against her mother’s shoulder. Seeming to understand her reluctance to express herself publicly, Elenyr motioned to her own captain, an elven Verinai named Weldina.
Alydian looked back at Devkin and then followed her mother to the Elsheeria Tower. Upon entering, Elenyr motioned Weldina to remain outside and stepped onto the dwarven ascender with just Alydian. In a whisper of machinery, the small room carried them up into the tower.
“Tears will not be met with disapproval,” Elenyr murmured.
“I’m eighty-three years old,” Alydian said with a strained laugh. “I’m hardly a child.”
“Yet you feel the fear of one.”
Alydian was not surprised that her mother saw through her forced demeanor, but she was unwilling to cry like a frightened babe. She stared at the sliding wall of the ascender, her hands clenching into fists.
“He meant to kill me,” she said. “And even with all my magic, I could not act beyond my fear.”
“Magic or not, one is always bound by fear,” Elenyr said.
“But I was helpless,” Alydian said, her voice harsh as hot tears burned her eyes.
Elenyr touched the ascender controls, bringing them to a halt. Then she wrapped her arms around Alydian and held her. The embrace was frail yet shattered Alydian’s reserve, and the tears came freely.
“I felt the sword on my chest,” Alydian whispered. “I saw my end.”
“I know,” Elenyr replied.
“I’ve never been so terrified.”
“Nor have I.”
Alydian pulled away and met her mother’s gaze, seeing her mother’s anguish for the first time. It was not the pain of unknowing, but rather the agony of bearing witness. Alydian wiped at her cheeks.
“You saw?”
“I was using my farsight when the Soldier attacked you,” she said. “I felt a tug and followed the thread, and saw the Soldier lean in for the kill . . .”
Her voice faltered, and tears appeared in Elenyr’s eyes. She blinked them away and straightened, touching the controls on the ascender once again. Alydian managed to regain her composure, and by the time the doors glided open they were both composed. Passing the ascender guards in their white and blue armor, they entered Elenyr’s private quarters, contained on the highest level of the tower.
The room was wide and open, with many windows around the circular chamber. A private library extended up the center to a second level, the shelves filled with books on magic and history. Alydian nodded to Weldina and the woman remained at the door, allowing Alydian to help her mother through the door into private bedchamber located at the northern side of the tower.
Alydian helped her mother remove the flowing dress and eased her back into the bed. Light filtered through the aquaglass windows to cascade onto her face, highlighting the contrast between her graying hair and the white sheets. Elenyr finally relaxed, her carefully controlled features smoothing with relief. Then she managed a smile and raised a trembling hand, which Alydian grasped.
“My precious daughter,” she said. “Do you want to know what I see when I look upon you with my magesight?”
Alydian raised an eyebrow. When oracles looked upon a person with their magesight they could see emotions, character, and even talents. Doing so also marked the individual so the oracle could follow them in the future, and for Alydian it meant their tree became visible in her farsight. But such an inspection was considered highly personal and not permitted for oracles to perform unless requested.
“When did you look?”
Elenyr flashed a surprisingly sly smile. “On you? Many times.”
“But it is not permitted,” Alydian said, shocked by her mother’s answer.
Elenyr shrugged. “I don’t obey every rule.”
Alydian laughed. “What do you see?” she asked.
“Power and integrity,” Elenyr said. “In time, I suspect you will surpass us all.”
“It didn’t help me when the Soldier came,” Alydian said.
“Have you forgotten the Mage’s Mantra?”
“Mother,” Alydian said in exasperation, “repeating it a thousand times does not teach me greater magic.”
“It is the foundation of all,” Elenyr said, grasping her hand. “The stronger the base, the greater the height of skill. Speak it now.”
Alydian wanted to protest but could not refuse. “Magic is power, the body the conduit. Might is attained by knowledge and discipline, but cannot surpass honor or will.”
Alydian had spoken the lines since birth yet still her mother forced her to recite them. Elenyr seemed to think there were secrets to be had from studying it, even though it was only a few words. When she finished, Elenyr offered a small smile.
“Do not sound so petulant. The knowledge you seek will come in due time.”
“Does that mean you will permit me to begin my training?”
Elenyr’s smile faded. “If it were my decision, I would have allowed you to train decades ago, but I cannot publicly defy council tradition.”
Alydian looked away in disappointment. “I understand,” she said.
“I trust you will make the right decision,” Elenyr said, patting her hand.
Recognizing the dismissal, Alydian leaned down and kissed her mother on the forehead. “Sleep well, mother, I’ll visit you this evening.”
Elenyr’s eyes fluttered and she nodded before sleep claimed her. Alydian rose and stepped to the door, looking back at her slumbering mother before departing the room. A twinge of fear spiked in her heart and she wondered what she would do when her mother died. She passed Weldina on her way back to the ascender. Then Alydian absently pressed the rune and descended to her own quarters.
The ascender was positioned on the exterior of the turret, and many of the walls were glass to allow a view of Dawnskeep. She stared at the tower without seeing it, struggling to contain her disappointment. After what had happened, she’d thought her mother would allow her to begin her practical training early. Her lips tightened as she recalled her mother’s answer.
I cannot publicly defy council tradition . . .
Alydian frowned, wondering why Elenyr had defined her support as public. What other way could her mother support her training . . .
Alydian’s eyes widened. Was it possible? Then she recalled the spark of amusement in her mother’s gaze when she’d said, I trust you will make the right decision. Alydian laughed wryly, grateful for her mother’s cunning.
“Thanks for the advice, mother,” she said to the empty ascender. “But how do I train in private?”
Chapter 7: A Daring Plan
Devkin stared at her, and then shook his head. “You are not permitted to start your training until your first century.”
“Not publicly,” she corrected him, and told him what her mother had said.
She’d fo
und him outside the commander’s office and pulled him aside. Her request set the man back and his eyebrows knit in confusion.
“You want me to help you train in secret?” he asked.
“Why train in secret when I can don a persona and train with masters of magic?”
He frowned. “I don’t think that’s what your mother had in mind.”
“The practical training for an oracle is not dissimilar from that of a Verinai,” she said. “If I don the persona of a new member of their guild, I can enter their ranks and study with them.”
His nose wrinkled in distaste. “You would join the Verinai?”
“Of course not,” she said dismissively. “I just want them to train me.”
“You may choose the master,” he said, “you cannot choose the lesson.”
“Please,” she said, “the Soldier may come for me again, and I doubt he will spare my life a second time.”
His grey eyes flickered with regret. “If you doubt my ability to protect you . . .”
“No,” she said hastily. “I just don’t want to feel so . . .” She wanted to say helpless but couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Still, Devkin smiled sympathetically.
“What you ask is dangerous,” he said. “And if your mother finds out . . .”
“She won’t,” Alydian said. She noticed the sparkle in his eyes and grinned. “You can’t deny you like the prospect. And you know I can use my farsight to keep from being detected.”
He scratched his grey beard, and Alydian struggled to hold her excitement in check. Then Devkin flashed a wry smile. Before he could speak Alydian embraced him and grinned with delight.
“You have my gratitude,” she said.
“If the council discovers your ruse,” he said, “we will both be disciplined—severely.”
“I’m more concerned about the Verinai discovering my identity,” she replied. “I do not know how they would react.”
“My loyalty comes with a condition,” he warned.
“What would you have of me?” Alydian asked.
“You will not become like them,” he said.
“An easy promise to make,” she said.
“But difficult to keep,” he countered.
She could not contain her grin. “Where do we begin?”
A passing guard forced them away. Alydian struggled to keep the bounce from her step as they made their way to the courtyard outside Dawnskeep. Once they were in the open Devkin spoke in an undertone.
“Do not speak your plans to anyone,” he said. “Least of all anyone on the council—especially Raine. I know you trust her, but this is not a secret to be shared.”
“I swear it.”
Alydian, well aware that the other oracles might look into her future, accepted the warning and made no firm decision on her plans. Her feigned uncertainty would keep her future masked in clouds, ensuring a measure of privacy for her actions.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Now return to your quarters. High Captain Peranin rescheduled future patrons to Elenyr. It appears she has already begun to clear your schedule.”
“She shouldn’t have to shoulder that,” Alydian protested.
“She insisted,” Devkin said. “She said for you to take all the time you need before returning to your duties.”
Alydian nodded, realizing she’d forgotten that her schedule was full. Like all oracles, a portion of her time was given to the people, and anyone was permitted to request guidance. Usually the patrons dealt with family squabbles or fears of a drought, and she would examine their trees to provide insights. Over the last decade Alydian had gradually shouldered more and more of her mother’s load.
As she strode to the Elsheeria tower and ascended to her quarters, she tried to ignore the guilt. Her mother needed her, and instead she was exploiting her benevolence. Her mother would never want Alydian to risk training with the Verinai but it would take decades to learn on her own. As much as her books provided, they could not replace the voice of master mage.
The ascender came to a stop at her quarters and she stepped off. The guards were new, likely assigned until Devkin could restore the losses from her personal guard. Their unfamiliarity drew a pang of regret as she recalled the scene of the battle. She passed them on her way to the single door at the end of the corridor.
She entered and shut it behind her before leaning against it. The series of chambers had been hers since her youth and was the only home she’d ever had. After the events of the previous week it felt strange and foreign.
Dominating the whole of the turret floor, her quarters were mostly open. The central space was unblocked by pillar or wall, the vaulted chamber extending to a broad balcony that overlooked the city of Horizon. The spacious receiving room contained couches around an open fire pit at the center, the transparent chimney allowing smoke to ascend without obscuring the openness to the room.
A door on her right led to her bedchamber, which contained another balcony with a view of the Dawnskeep courtyard. The door beside it led to her office and private library, with a third balcony, also with a view of the courtyard. The door was still open where she’d left it in her hasty departure a month ago, and her favorite mug was visible on her desk. A knock at the door startled her, and she turned to open it.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” the guard said, “but the assistant guildmaster to the mage guild of light has requested an audience.”
“Give me ten minutes,” she said, abruptly weary.
To her dismay the next few days were filled with individuals seeking to assure themselves of Alydian’s survival. The attack on Alydian had sparked a furor in Horizon, and Alydian was not able to speak to Devkin about their plans until the following week.
Each morning she descended to the base of the Elsheeria tower, to the patron receiving hall. Lavish and pillared, the circular room contained a small throne at the center that allowed her to sit and listen to requests for aid. Patrons came from several kingdoms and guilds, some to console, others to manipulate–feigning concern while trying to elicit sympathy for their cause. She smiled at all and answered questions about the Soldier. Those that sought to manipulate her were left wanting.
Gradually, her schedule returned to normal as Elenyr accepted more patrons, which meant a return to her studies. When Devkin directed her to go to the Dawnskeep library and collect two weeks of reading material she knew it was time.
Long after dark, she made her way to the expansive library on the second level of Dawnskeep. She passed through the magnificent great hall, her eyes on the figures of light dancing on the walls. Then she used a dwarven ascender to reach the library.
Taking enough books for a fortnight, she told her guards and her mother she planned to spend the next weeks deep in her studies. Her guards looked at her with pity, interpreting her choice as an effort to hide. She had to work to keep the smile from her face. She returned to her quarters to find Devkin speaking to the newest members of her guard.
“Oracle,” he said, opening the door to her quarters and entering with her.
Like the other oracles, the captain of her guard was more than a sentry. Devkin acted as a guide and friend, and was required to be close whenever she departed Dawnskeep. While the other guards lived in barracks beneath the courtyard, Devkin lived in a small room adjacent to her office. When the door shut she put the books on a table, the tomes thudding heavily against the wood.
“Are you certain you wish to do this?” Devkin said.
Alydian made to respond but her voice caught. She dipped into her farsight and looked to her own tree. The tree split down the middle, the impending choice a gaping divide that would forever alter her fate. The choice to remain as she was led to a future of certainty, while the other would be plagued by patches of fog and confusion.
The path of certainty lay with tradition, but carried a legacy of regret. Even with her magic, she could not foresee the outcome of her training. To defy tradition would affect not just herself, but
the lives of many. But was tradition the right choice?
She thought of the panic and fear in her wagon, of the terror the Soldier had inspired. Her resolve hardened as she realized the choice was simple. Deny the council. Or deny herself. A thrill of foreboding and excitement trickled down her spine.
“I am committed to this course.”
Devkin inclined his head and reached into a pouch at his side, withdrawing a silver necklace. Offering it to her, he said, “A member of the Thieves Guild managed to procure this for me.”
“A thief?” she asked, examining the necklace.
“It costs more coin than I make in a decade,” he replied defensively. “And you couldn’t be seen purchasing it.”
“How many thief friends do you have?” Alydian asked, but smiled to take the condemnation from her words.
He grinned. “Two,” he replied. “It would be more, but they fear the oracle’s power.”
“What does it do?” she asked, examining the necklace with her magesight.
“Put it on,” he said.
Jewelry was occasionally cursed with hexes and other harmful magic, but she sensed no mark of curse on the necklace. Still, she felt a thrill of nervousness as she placed it about her shoulders.
“Look in the mirror,” he instructed.
She strode around the hearth, making her way to the tall mirror situated against one wall. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw the reflection—and did not recognize it.
The woman staring back at her was a young elf, barely out of her fifth decade. Still, she was pretty, her hair braided down her back in the traditional style of elven women. Her clothing and figure remained the same, but her features were altered by the powerful mask charm placed on the necklace.
“Alydian,” Devkin said with a smile, “meet your persona, Alethean.”
“Isn’t that too close to my name?” she asked, releasing a nervous laugh.
He smiled. “It is, and for good reason. Thieves and assassins may be skilled in operating under a persona, but you are not. One mistake will betray you, so having a name close to your own will keep you from revealing yourself.”