A vision of Laedron and Ismerelda emerged from the stairs by a sparkle of light, and she went about lighting the torches and candles situated around the room. The illusory woman drew her scepter-the one Laedron had come to carry-and whispered something. A flame rose from the ruby on the end of the scepter.
Ismerelda said, “We're going to move on to some more advanced incantations today. I wanted to spend more time on the basics, but there's no time for that.”
Hearing her voice, Laedron nearly lost focus on his spell. It’s amazing how precisely I remember how she sounded. He tried his best to ignore the illusions for the remainder of the casting, and when he got to the part where Ismerelda said, “Record what notes you need in your book,” he released the spell.
Valyrie turned when the images faded away. “What sort of magic was that?”
“The one we practiced here or the one I used on you just now?”
“This one, the one you cast on me.”
“’Tis known as Captivation.” He paused, thinking of how Ismerelda had taught him about aspects, then how Tavingras had said that aspects weren’t real, that they were tools to control mages. From this point forward, do I teach according to the original Uxidin methods, or do I maintain the Azuran way? What would be of the most benefit to any I should instruct?
“Captivation? Tell me more about that.”
“Okay.” He walked toward Ismerelda’s desk. “Captivation spells are but one aspect of magic, and they give the sorcerer the ability to impress thoughts and feelings upon someone else.”
“Amazing. Does it work with music?”
He turned around and tilted his head. “Music?”
“If you could combine song and a spell such as that, the audience would hang on every word.”
“Interesting that you should say that.”
“Really? How so?”
“We’re very much alike, I think, more than either of us may have realized. I, too, enjoy experimenting with new spells and new applications of magic, and I think you have the makings of a great mage.” Ismerelda’s words coming out of me. The student has become the teacher. He smiled. “We’ll have to work on this idea of yours and see where it takes us.”
“You think it’s possible?”
“Did I not write my teleportation spell from scratch?” He thought back to the things that Tavingras had told him of spellcraft. “Anything’s possible if you put your mind to it. It took me a long time to realize that, but it’s just as true now as it ever was-more so now, perhaps.”
“I’m glad that you brought me here and that you started training me. I’ve never been good at anything, really.”
“Nonsense. You’re the best archer I know, and you were doing well at your studies, right?”
“No, Lae.” She sighed and looked away. “I can shoot a bow, but my days at the university were numbered. I changed my focus from seneschal to lyricist because I had gotten a string of bad marks. I thought writing would be easier than managing finances, but I was wrong.”
“Why have you hidden it for so long?”
“Why would you hide something you’re ashamed to tell anyone? I’m sorry if I misled you, but I thought you should know the truth.”
He folded his arms. “You know something?”
“What?” she asked, her stare fixed on the floor.
“If you hadn’t done poorly, you might have stayed in Azura and completed your learning, and if that had been the way of things, you probably wouldn’t be standing here with me now.” He took her hand. “We would never have known how special we would become to one another. To me, that would have been a tragedy greater than failure in some classroom.”
“Do you mean that?”
“I love you, Val, and given the riches of the world, I would refuse them if it meant being apart from you.” He grabbed her up in a tight embrace, then pulled away. “Let’s go back to the keep, for I wouldn’t want to risk staying here with spiders-and who knows what else-crawling the walls and the floors. Besides, I thought coming here might give me a bit of closure, but it hasn’t.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “No one can ever replace Ismerelda, and I’ll always keep her memory in a special place in my heart. Wounds and injuries never completely heal; they seal up and get better, but you always remember what caused them. At times, you’ll feel the sting as if it were new, but you move on and try to do your best. It’s all you can expect of yourself.”
He ascended the stairs, then went into the common room. “One last thing. I’d like to get something to remember her by.”
“I’ll wait here, Lae. Take your time.”
He pushed open the door to Ismerelda’s bedroom. The drawers had been left half open, and clothing was strewn across the bed and chair. He spotted a book on the nightstand and walked over to read the title. Another spellbook written in Nyrethine, perhaps? With the wealth of books she had brought for our journey, I can only imagine what is written in the one she decided to leave behind.
Sweeping away the layer of dust, he opened the unmarked cover. He noted that the text was indeed written in Nyrethine, but different from what he expected. The first page spoke of a family, gave names of people and places, and detailed relatively minor events. He flipped forward and soon realized the nature of the book. A journal. Ismerelda’s personal journal.
He flipped to the last few pages and read:
My new pupil has arrived today, a mortal boy by the name of Laedron Telpist. I can see promise in his eyes, but he doubts his abilities, likely a trait picked up from his mother. If he’s anything like Filadrena Telpist, I shall have my hands full. I detect a certain tension already, one that I can easily avoid with female students, but the boy seems more nervous than any I’ve taught. ‘What do you think training is for?’ I want to ask him, but such a statement could worsen things and inhibit the bond that we must form. This one, I shall have to handle with great care. I think that he has a bounty of potential that he doesn’t realize exists.
He closed the diary, stuck it under his arm, and joined Valyrie in the common room. “Ready?”
“What have you there?”
“A little reading material. My teacher’s journal.”
“She kept a journal? What need would an immortal have for one?”
“The Uxidin are powerful, immortal, and youthful, but with all of those benefits comes a fatal flaw: their memory only keeps details for around half a century or so, unless a particular memory is quite profound.”
“They lose their memories?”
“Likely a cause of the rejuvenation, if I had to guess. A spell that constantly refreshes one’s body would probably refresh the mind, and in that, I think, lies the problem. The spell could eliminate anything to which the mind doesn’t have strong attachment.”
“You mean to say that the spell wipes their minds of their experiences?”
“Somewhat, yes, and that is likely the reason why she kept a journal, to have a record of her memories for when they departed.” He frowned and stared at the floor. “Can you imagine it? If she had lived to complete my training, it would have been just a matter of time before I was forgotten, remembered only in the pages of some book.”
“Some aren’t remembered at all, Lae.” She looped her arm through his. “I think it’s rather charming and thoughtful.”
“Charming and thoughtful? What in the world would make you think that?”
“She wrote those things in her journal because she wanted to remember you. Don’t you see? Your teacher didn’t have to record anything, but she did.”
“I suppose you’re right. Let’s return to the keep. In the morning, we’ll head for Morcaine, a city that I could have happily avoided for the rest of my days.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing at all. It’s a beautiful city filled with tall buildings, markets, palaces, and churches.”
“Then, why wouldn’t you want to go there?”
“In Morcaine, I wit
nessed the attack on the academy, the deaths of my teacher and many of my peers, and the depths of depression to which I plunged. The only good thing I can recall is the moment when Count Millaird sent me to Westmarch to join the Knights of the Shimmering Dawn.”
“In that case, we’ll have to make a few pleasant memories there.”
She kissed him, creating a new memory right then.
21
A Royal Reception
Laedron and his companions, along with Victor Altruis and Meklan Draive, rose and dressed at the dawn’s light in their finest garments. They left the safety of Westmarch by stagecoach, bound for Morcaine. Laedron knew the halfway point when he glimpsed the roadside inn where he and Ismerelda had stayed for a night. He and his party slept in the coach, while the drivers endeavored to keep the best pace with respect to the horses’ stamina.
High towers and thick walls greeted them when the coach slowed outside the gates of the capital. Everyone stretched and yawned. I almost feel relieved at seeing the city, for the mere sight of it means that I must wait less time to be reunited with my family. They passed through the gatehouse after a brief inspection, the guards seemingly unwilling to delay a coach laden with persons of such high regard.
Laedron pointed out places of interest to Valyrie along the way. “We’re entering the market now.”
“So many people,” she said, gawking through the window. “Al’Qarans?”
“Almarians, too, and Gotlanders. You won’t be able to tell the Sibelians from the Sorbians, though.”
“Why not?”
“Same people, really,” Brice said. “People have mistaken me for a Sibelian from time to time because of the way I talk.”
“It’s not that, Thimble.” Marac grinned. “They merely find you alien to the concepts of common sense and tact, traits that can be witnessed in any foreigner who possesses such qualities.”
Brice fell back in his seat, his face flushed red.
“Are you always so cruel to your companions?” Meklan asked Marac.
“No… um… I… he knows not to take such things to heart.” Marac swatted Brice’s knee. “Right? Brice?”
When Brice didn’t respond, Meklan said, “It seems that he did take it rather hard. Apologize.”
“But, Master Dra-”
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry, Thi-Brice.” Marac glanced at Meklan, as if trying to see if his mentor had noticed his slip. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Brice’s lips curled into a grin. “Looks like somebody got in trouble.”
Marac rolled his eyes and turned toward the window.
Laedron pointed and said, “The Wardhouse of Morcaine.”
“You have Heraldan churches here?” she asked. “I wouldn’t have thought Sorbia would allow them.”
Victor cleared his throat. “It was closed during the war, for the king was enraged by the actions of the church. He wanted it burned to the ground.”
“Someone convinced him not to?”
Victor nodded. “Yes, the engineers. If not for the risk of the fire spreading, the king would have likely set it ablaze himself.”
“Not quite what I meant. I thought most of the people here were Heraldan.”
“They are, but when the church attacked and killed so many of our people, faith became second to loyalty. The king’s own son was murdered.”
“He was a sorcerer?”
Victor nodded.
The coach stopped in front of the palace. When the driver opened the door, Laedron stepped out and peered upward at the spires ascending into the heavens. His feeling of homesickness was immediately replaced by intimidation, for no house in Sorbia exhibited such grandeur. Guardsmen with halberds stood at intervals on the steps leading to the palace, their orange and black sashes draped over steel breastplates that sparkled in the sunlight. Climbing the steps, he clutched his stomach, for it churned at the thought of being in the presence of the king. Calm yourself. He’s only a man. Then, the fear took hold again. Yes, a man who can order your death with the snap of a finger. He could tell that his friends were nervous, too, and that made him feel a little better. At least I’m not alone.
At the top, Meklan and Victor opened the thick oaken doors, and from the entry onward lay a fine orange and black carpet. Matching Sorbian flags hung from the ceiling some thirty feet above, their ends nearly touching the floor. The line of guards continued along the walls on either side. Seemingly undaunted, Meklan and Victor led them down the hall, then stopped when a steward neared.
“Greetings, Master Draive and Master Altruis,” the steward said with a slight bow, his hand over his heart. “Have you come to see His Majesty?”
“Indeed. Advise the king that we have brought his long-awaited heroes: Laedron Telpist, Marac Reven, and Brice Warren.”
“And Valyrie Pembry,” Laedron said before the steward turned away.
“I’m no heroine, Lae.”
“You deserve just as much recognition as the rest of us. You worked with us to defeat Andolis, and we would’ve never known about Myrdwyer without your book.”
The steward returned after a while, then gestured for them to follow. “This way. His Majesty will see you now.”
A few halls and a staircase later, Laedron and his party sat in what seemed to be a lounge of some sort. “What is this place?”
“The king’s receiving room,” Victor said.
“I would have thought he would be on the throne when we met him. A bit strange to meet a king in such a manner, is it not?”
“You’ve been listening to too many fairy tales. The throne room is for formal audiences with His Majesty.”
“This isn’t a formal affair?”
“Since we were brought here, I suppose not. He must want to meet you without the watchful eyes of his advisors, nobles, and all the rest.” Victor, as if he were at home and unafraid to help himself, held up a hand to one of the servants holding a large jug. The servant approached, poured him a cup of what appeared to be wine, and handed it to him.
Laedron heard a deep voice, then the king and another man entered the room. Nothing like what I imagined. Pants, a shirt, and an overcoat? I pictured him in flowing robes, scepter in hand, and a crown fixed atop his head. He stood with the others, except Victor, whose back was to the door.
The king asked, “Is the wine to your liking, Victor?”
Coughing on his drink and nearly spilling it, Victor shot up from his chair. “Your Highness, I-”
“I jest,” King Xavier said, offering his hand to Victor.
Victor kissed it, then smiled. “Sire, I would like to present your subjects, recently returned from afar.”
One by one, Victor stated the names of Laedron’s companions, and in turn, they kissed the king’s ring and bowed. Lastly, Laedron did the same when Xavier came to him.
“All of you are so young.” The king eyed them. “From what they tell me of your deeds, I expected an army of seasoned soldiers. Please, sit with me a while.”
Laedron sat like a dog obeying the command of its master. “Thank you, Your Highness.” It’s as if my body obeys before I realize it, he thought, astonished.
“Tell me, Sorcerer, of your experiences.”
What kinds of things would a king want to know? Skip the boring parts. “When we arrived in Pilgrim’s Rest, we set upon a plan to go after Gustav. One companion was captured and another…” He paused briefly, preferring not to tell about Brice’s resurrection. “…seriously wounded. Vicar Jurgen and I went to the cathedral to face Gustav, and I ended up dropping a chandelier on his head.”
“My advisors tell me that Gustav was the priest who perpetrated the attack on our magic academy. When I learned of his death, this grieving father was given the pleasure of knowing that justice had been done, that his son’s killer had not gone unpunished. When I was told that he was actually a Zyvdredi master, his death-and his actions-meant even more, frightening me while also giving me even more delight.”
“I, too, shared those feelings, Sire, for he killed my teacher and many of my contemporaries.”
“Go on, Sorcerer. What of Tristan?”
“We all had a part to play in his demise, Your Highness. Valyrie went with Vicar Jurgen to the consulship to attack his policies and find out where the vicars’ loyalties lay. Brice assisted the order knights in Azura with a number of tasks meant to help us, and Marac and I joined the militia.”
“What purpose did joining the militia serve?” the king asked.
“Several, Your Majesty. First and foremost, we wanted to be available if Jurgen and Valyrie needed help. Second, we used the position to learn of any strange happenings, and the information we discovered was invaluable.”
“What sort of information?”
“We discovered the presence of Zyvdredi assassins lurking the streets, and we found out Andolis’s true family name: Kivesh.” Laedron cleared his throat, the mere mention of the name sending chills down his skin. “The militia allowed us a unique vantage point from which to observe the city, and we ended up gaining an ally in Dalton Greathis, the militia commander, who aided us in restoring rightful rule to the country.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Afterward, Your Highness?”
The king clasped his hands together. “You were gone from Sorbia for nearly two weeks after that, according to Victor. What, pray tell, did you do during all that time?”
The question caught Laedron completely off guard. “I-” His mouth dried, and he searched for a suitable answer. Do I lie? What can I say? Think. Quickly! “We-”
The king sat patiently through the silence.
Finally, Laedron answered, “We traveled to Lasoron.”
“Lasoron? What did you do there?”
“I cannot say.”
Victor leaned toward Laedron. “Do not anger the king. Answer truthfully.”
“I did.”
“I mean, answer his question.”
“You know,” Xavier said, waving his hand at Victor, “there are things that a king must know to rule his country, things that he could never reveal to anyone. Just as this sorcerer knows nothing of the secrets I hold, I may never fully understand the workings of magic. I have one question for you, Sorcerer, which pertains to your dealings in Lasoron, and I expect an honest answer.”
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