by Gregory Heal
As he racked his brain, Malcolm thought, If I’m not the one to bring Jen in, Draconex will still think me stupid and weak, effectively ruining my plans. I need to show him I can capture her! That’ll put me in perfect position to find the Halostone and free Lord Ferox. He’ll be so thankful he’ll give me everything I could ever desire.
He was flipping through the pages of one of his old books too quickly; one page ripped completely out. Rage filled his vision as he slammed the book shut and threw it at his chamber door. In the instant the book left his hand, his door swung open to reveal Lord Draconex, who caught the book before it could slam into his face.
A cold chill ran through Malcolm’s body. The quick movement had shaken the dark hood from his lord’s head to reveal the vertical scar on his face, along with an expression of disapproval.
“Now what did this inanimate, millennia-old book do to you to make you so furious?” Draconex asked, condescension dripping in his voice.
Malcolm held the ripped piece of paper up in explanation. “I ripped a page and—”
“You have been a thorn in my side for too long,” Draconex cut him off. He dropped the book on the ground, sending dust up into the air as he entered the chamber.
Malcolm didn’t know what to think except that Draconex was here to kill him. But how? A quick snap of the neck, breaking his vertebrae? A dark spell, stopping his heart, perhaps? A heel strike to the throat, crushing his windpipe?
Malcolm glanced at his fists for his rings, but remembered with a cold panic that he’d taken them off. With regret, he saw them on their holders near the door, which was on the other side of Draconex.
Draconex noticed Malcolm eyeing his rings. “A worthy sorcerer can conjure spells without his totem, even if it is difficult to do. Are you so weak that you need your precious rings to do battle?” He stepped closer to Malcolm, feeling the boy’s fear escalate. His faded scar began to flare a dull, mauve color and faintly throb as he tried to control his temper.
“I-I-I . . . I can prove to you I’m a strong sorcerer,” the boy stammered. “Let me go out one more time and capture Jen!” Malcolm was on the edge of hysteria. He backpedaled, tripped on the edge of his table, and clumsily crashed to the ground. He quickly whipped his head around so he could see Draconex, potentially for the last time.
“Stow it, boy,” Draconex demanded. “I’ve heard the last of your useless promises.” He stopped to pick up another book that had fallen from the table Malcolm had tripped over. Flipping through the pages, not caring what was on them, he continued, “I wouldn’t let you try again even if I thought you could capture her and the ring. My source at Watercress tells me that Victor has already arrived with her.” Draconex closed the book so hard that dust erupted from its yellowed pages.
SLAM!
“That is why I have been forced to set a stealthier plan into motion.”
Malcolm felt a twinge of resentment as he realized what Draconex must mean.
“Dark Watcher Blake will make the next move.” Draconex shot an icy glare of contempt at Malcolm, who hadn’t moved from the ground. He placed the book back on the table and loomed above the cowering sorcerer. “You have so many limitations of which you need to break free, boy.”
The Dark Watcher commander took a few more steps closer, then stopped again. Malcolm couldn’t think straight; his body froze in fear as he bumped up against his bookshelf, fearing what Draconex would say or do to him.
Watching him sweat, Draconex stood over Malcolm, imposing his will and reminding the boy of who was in charge.
After a few minutes of heart-stopping silence, he replaced his hood on his head and said, “If you’re going to remain here, you need proper training so I don’t kill you myself.”
It was painful for him to get the sentence out, as he was fighting against his better judgment; but he allowed Malcolm to relax a bit . . . just enough so the boy wouldn’t have a stroke.
“Come up to my den tomorrow morning. Don’t be tardy.”
Lord Draconex opened the door and left Malcolm’s chamber, partly to prepare Malcolm’s first instruction, partly to calm his nerves before he snapped and killed the boy. Malcolm had been a thorn in his side ever since that night at the Pit. At first Malcolm had shown promise, but his impatience and volatile temper proved him a difficult tenderfoot.
Draconex had chuckled at how easy it was to steal Malcolm away from Victor, but his perception quickly changed to one of regret and loathing. He couldn’t kill the boy because Malcolm wasn’t completely useless . . . some of the time.
He had to acknowledge the boy’s persistence when it came to Jennifer Lancaster, though. Draconex had never seen Malcolm so passionate about anything in the decade he had known him. In fact, surprisingly enough, Malcolm was the first to discover Jen and realize that her warding spell was wearing off. But his poor execution had tipped off the League of Light and had given himself and the whole Dark Watcher tribe more embarrassment and frustration than respect.
If Malcolm wasn’t going to give up, Draconex had to instruct him properly so that when the time was ripe, he could trust that Malcolm would finally, successfully return with Lancaster . . . and that blasted ring.
Until then, he could trust that his sleeper agents in Watercress would keep an eye on Lancaster and her movements; that put the lord’s mind at ease as he strode down the empty, dimly lit corridor. His scar had finally stopped throbbing, and when he glanced in a mirror he was pleased to see that it was returning to its normal color of dead scar tissue.
Malcolm was the only person in all the realms to make his scar flare up so quickly; he was not looking forward to instructing the boy, but it was a means to an end. It had become a necessary part of Draconex’s plan—a plan that would shake the realms to their cores and reveal their true, destined ruler.
Chapter Fifteen
Cindergray waved her over. “Come up, young lady.”
Before she moved, Jen glanced at Victor. He flashed her a reassuring smile and mouthed, You’ll do great.
Jen smirked, but still felt a knot of anxiety over what the Elders were going to have her do. She poised herself, took a deep breath, and walked up the glistening marble stairs.
As she ascended, Cindergray twirled his fingers and a chalice formed out of thin air. It was lined with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, immediately catching Jen’s eye. Still suspended in midair, it smoothly levitated into one of Cindergray’s outstretched hands. With his free hand, he pointed into the chalice and a glowing liquid filled it almost to the rim.
Jen had already reached the top, but she was so mesmerized at the spectacle that she didn’t notice she had reached the top of the stairs. When she brought her leg up, her foot found only thin air and slammed to the ground, loudly echoing throughout the chamber.
All of the Elders were jolted at the unexpected noise, but not so much as Cindergray; he nearly spilled the contents of the chalice. Victor couldn’t suppress a small chuckle as he saw the Grand Mystra break composure, even if it was only for a second.
Jen blushed furiously, forcing out an awkward laugh and clasping her hands once more in front of her.
After taking hold of the chalice firmly with both hands, Cindergray cleared his throat and said, “We need to discover just how powerful your nexus is, Jennifer. This elixir”—he slightly raised the chalice—“will briefly augment your power so we can identify which Mancy plane you can connect with.”
Jen was so nervous that her hands began to shake as she took the chalice from Cindergray, causing an almost imperceptible ripple across the surface of its contents. It was comfortably warm as she cupped the bejeweled chalice; she noticed steam rising from the elixir. She blew softly over the surface to cool it down and tentatively took a first sip. The flavors she experienced could not be explained in any other way except to say that it was absolutely intoxicating. As the warm liquid filled her, she closed her eyes in delight and took the liberty of finishing every drop. Jen felt warm and cozy inside, and s
he was suddenly reminded of a New York memory: enjoying a hot cup of coffee on a cold, rainy morning.
Holding the now-empty chalice, Jen noticed that the ring on her necklace had begun to glow purple yet again. Her sense of dread multiplied; the only other times the ring had glowed was when Malcolm—and danger—were nearby. To her relief, he didn’t pop out from behind any of the pillars or chairs, or break down the immense door behind her, and she attempted to calm down.
Cindergray’s eyes widened as he and the rest of the Elders noticed the faint purple glow beneath Jen’s shirt, but none asked about it, instead continuing on with the testing process.
“Do you feel any different, my dear?” Cindergray asked.
“I feel . . . at peace. Content,” Jen said honestly.
Mystras Stonebridge and Childahorn, the Elders farthest away from the center, leaned in to make sure their eyes weren’t playing tricks on them and that there was in fact something glowing on Jen’s chest.
“Good,” the Grand Mystra said, for now choosing to ignore the glowing ring. “The more relaxed you are, the easier it is for your nexus’s power to surface.”
“Here’s your chalice.” Jen lifted her hands, but noticed that the chalice was no longer in her grasp. She glanced toward her feet to make sure it hadn’t dropped from her hands and was lying dented on the marble floor, but she could see no sign of the ornately encrusted chalice anywhere. Before she could say anything, all of the Elders began to talk—not in English, but a language Jen had never heard before.
Jen couldn’t understand a single word, but the more she listened the more she inexplicably began to intuit that each Elder was speaking in a different, alien tongue. She tightly closed her eyes and tried to focus on each; some were harsh and short while others were smooth and sing-songy. Each dialect became more and more noticeable and less alien until, shockingly, she realized she could clearly hear each Elder and understand what they were saying. Jen’s eyes popped wide open and she looked at each Elder, amazed; it was like a light switch had flipped inside her brain, giving her knowledge and fluency of several new languages at once.
She looked from one mystra to another, beginning with Mystra Childahorn, who was sitting as straight as a board, eyes closed, and holding a finger to her temple. Her mouth was closed, but Jen could hear her in her mind as clear as day.
—the mindpower bestowed upon humans hath separated us from other animals. We are wielders of influence and concept, determined to forge our own destiny . . .
Jen then focused on Mystra Skycap, who was chanting and rhythmically pounding on the arms of her chair. “—it is our duty as animancers to maintain a harmonious union with our brethren, the animals. They give us strength and powers akin to their own . . .”
Mystra Étoilier’s voice suddenly captivated Jen’s attention: “—we are all made from stardust that spans each quadrant of the known universe, giving us an unbreakable connection to the cosmos . . .”
“—the four elements give balance to life: air . . . water . . . fire . . . earth. For that we are more connected to the soul of Terra Firma than any other species . . .” recited Mystra Stonebridge.
Finally, Jen looked at Cindergray.
“—time is a concept,” he was saying, “a concept that can be manipulated. The only thing that time gives us is age. Age is merely an illusion when looking into the hourglass of existence . . .”
It became too much for Jen. She closed her eyes again and held out her hands. “My head’s starting to hurt. Could you all take turns, please?”
All of the Elders stopped talking almost simultaneously, their faces showing the same look of surprise and awe. Cindergray was the first to start speaking again, this time in English.
“You understand . . . all of us?”
She opened her eyes hesitantly. “Eventually. At first it was just noise, but I picked up on what each of you were saying once I focused. It sounded like you all were reciting oaths of some kind . . . ?”
All of the Elders exchanged looks, but said nothing.
“Very astute of you, Jen,” Cindergray finally acknowledged. “Each Mancy clan has its own dialect of the ancient language, Sorcier. The first part of the placement test is to see which dialect you can understand when they are simultaneously spoken. Usually untrained tenderfeet can only focus on one dialect with the help of the elixir, but you seem to understand them all—a great feat.”
Étoilier was leaning on the edge of his chair with a slack-jawed expression. A tiny smirk began to crawl up his face. He laughed and clapped his hands together. “Mon Dieu, could this be true?!”
The remaining Elders seemed equally stunned. Some of them were softly whispering to each other until Cindergray held up a hand, calling for silence.
“We will see if it holds true in the second part of the test.” He stood up to his full height and motioned for Jen to follow. “Come this way, my dear.”
The ring was still glowing around her neck as Jen followed Cindergray out of the council chamber and into an open, rectangular courtyard which seemed to be only accessible from the Elders’ chamber. The sun shone brilliantly over its expert landscaping and the greenest grass Jen had ever laid her eyes on. In the center of the courtyard were two parallel rows of crisp hedges, which spanned the entire length of the courtyard. There was a pool of tranquil water a third of the way into the path and, Jen noticed as she looked farther behind it, a pedestal at the opposite end of the courtyard. It looked to be about chest-high and was cut from the same marble as the magnificent columns found in the chamber of the Elder Synod. Resting on the altar was a slightly irregular but spherical orb that glistened the color of polished gunmetal.
Jen felt a tug on her neck and looked down to see that the ring was being drawn to the orb, like a powerful magnet. She quickly put her hand over it, which seemed to do the trick as it fell back onto her collarbone, still glowing.
Cindergray stopped at the beginning of the hedged area and Jen followed suit. He waited for the rest of the Elders, Victor, and finally Chen to file out of the castle before he spoke.
“Now that you have passed the mental half of the placement test—with flying colors, I might add—it is now time for the physical portion: the Chimera Course.” Cindergray pointed at the row of hedges. “You seem to have a connection to all of the planes, but this course gauges the actual outward strength of your powers. Much like the powerful chimera—an immortal creature with the combined look and abilities of a lion, goat, dragon, and snake—this obstacle course has four parts. Your goal is to make it through each part and retrieve that orb on the altar.” He pointed to the pedestal in the distance. “The only rule is that you must stay between the two rows of hedges . . . otherwise, you will be disqualified.”
Jen stared at the pedestal, her lips pressed into a determined line.
“You are older than the average age of a fledgling tenderfoot, my dear, which is nine years old. Having said that, we have made a few adjustments to this course, but I assure you it is just as safe.” Cindergray put his large hand on Jen’s shoulder. “You may start whenever you wish.”
“Before I start, may I speak with Mystra Huxley?”
Cindergray said, “As you wish.” He stepped aside so Jen could walk over to the man who had only walked into her life a few short days ago, but who was now the only person she implicitly trusted.
Before Jen could ask her question, Victor started speaking. “Jen, I can’t tell you anything about this part of the test, only that you must never let your guard down.”
As he spoke, Jen’s eyes floated from Victor to the course. It looked too easy to be true. The hedges bordered an open lane of grass with a pool, and all that was between Jen and the altar was empty air.
Victor noticed that Jen wasn’t looking at him. “Jenny—pay attention.” He deliberately stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the course. “They already know that you are an omnimancer, so don’t be afraid to hold back. Your reflexes will be tested as well as your
powers. This course isn’t as straightforward as it looks.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Jen’s voice became desperate. “What if I don’t make it to the altar, Vic? How am I supposed to save my parents if I can’t even complete a lousy obstacle course?” She felt her composure beginning to break.
Victor placed both hands on her shoulders. “You were able to stop Malcolm from capturing you at your parents’ house—and save me and Skarmor in the process. You have more courage and strength than you realize, Jen. Just focus on getting that orb, okay?”
Jen was biting her lower lip and her left leg shook slightly—nervous ticks she’d developed as a young girl. “Okay.”
“You can do this,” he said, wrapping her in his arms.
This was the first time Victor had hugged Jen, and she was thankful for his embrace. That hug embodied her mentor’s confidence in her, and it gave her renewed vigor to face the Chimera Course.
“Okay . . . I’m ready.”
At her pronouncement, Jen watched Cindergray and the rest of the Elders line the length of the hedges. With hands clasped in front or behind them, they waited for her to start.
As she quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail, Jen looked down at her feet and stepped to the course’s starting line.
At Cindergray’s pronouncement, the clock began counting up . . . but nothing happened.
Well, that was anticlimactic, she thought.
She cautiously walked toward the edge of the pool, making her way well into the course. As she approached the moat, she realized that it was too long for her to jump across. As she considered jumping in and swimming to the other side, the ring began to pulse again and she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
Mystra Stonebridge, the Elder terramancer, fell into an L-stance and extended his right hand, which carried a ring on each finger. Scorching flames erupted from his clenched fist and roared toward her.