by Beth Alvarez
“Which is why this is not easy.” Filadiel rubbed the worried wrinkles from his brow and turned his gaze to Rune. “Has Captain Kaith called his officers for briefing?”
Rune hesitated. Their eyes on him grew heavy. The last thing he wanted was to walk a political tightrope between the Aldaanan and Garam's armies, but he was pulled taut between the two groups. He should have known it wouldn't be easy to escape. “He called for his officers and mages. It's why I was delayed.”
“Delayed?” Filadiel blinked. “Oh, yes. Your lessons. I'm afraid there will be none today, my friend. As you can see, there's much we need to discuss. Tell me, did the captain disclose the desire to move against the mages of Lore?”
“One of the lieutenants said they wanted to move against the mages,” Rune said. “I told him it was a bad choice. That with the mountains around us and not enough mages in Captain Kaith's army, the best thing we could do was wait them out.”
The woman with the many chains in her ears frowned. “You're very young to be making suggestions of strategy.”
Rune met her eyes and twitched, startled to see a flicker of glowing color in her gaze. Now that he studied her, there was something hauntingly familiar in her face, though he couldn't put a finger on what. He licked his lips when he realized she expected a reply. “I was in a position of leadership once. Briefly.”
She gave a wry smile. “Your entire life has been brief, boy.” The color in her eyes flashed and she turned back to Filadiel. Her expression melted into cool neutrality. “But he is right. Scattering our forces to the mountains is the last thing we should do. If we are to involve ourselves in this fight, we must defend Aldaeon.”
“I know, I know.” Filadiel sighed, running a hand over his face. “But this isn't an easy decision.”
“Which is why the council was called together in the first place,” someone said. Rune tried to see who had spoken, but everyone sat with grim faces, most looking at Filadiel or at the floor.
Filadiel caught Rune's glance and held it as he leaned forward in his chair. “What would you do? If war would force you to sacrifice lives to violence, or force you to leave your home to save loved ones from strife, what would you choose?”
The question made Rune's skin crawl and he squeezed his eyes closed. He'd not spoken a word of what he'd been through; it was only cruel irony that he'd landed in the middle of a situation so like that he'd only just survived.
The woman with the many chains made a sound of annoyance. “It isn't his place to speak in matters he doesn't know about. He may become one of us, but he isn't one yet.”
“And you are not current speaking leader of the Alda'anan, Indral.” Filadiel gave her a hard look, and she sank back in her seat.
Rune's ears perked at the odd inflection of their title, but it was not the time for questions. He stared at the floor in front of him, unable to make himself meet the eyes of all those who studied him. “Do you wish me to speak as a man in the military?”
“I wish you to speak as a man,” Filadiel said.
For a moment, Rune wasn't sure how to answer. If he had the choice to make over for himself, what would he have done? Had he not become involved in Tren's war, everything could have been different. He could have returned to the border village and retrieved Firal, taken her to safety in Core. He could have waited a day to recover, opened a Gate to Ilmenhith, and spoken to his father before battle erupted. But he'd done the best he could, not knowing how things would unfold. He'd had no reason to think Firal wouldn't make it to safety on her own. And no way to know if she had.
Thinking of his mistakes, his lapse in judgment and his violent reaction, made bitter bile rise in the back of his throat. “I would rather protect my loved ones,” he said at last, lifting his snake-slitted violet eyes to meet Filadiel's gaze. “Even if it came at a price. I realize it’s selfish, but I would gather them close and take them to safety while I knew there was still time.”
“You would abandon your home?” Indral asked.
“I already have.” Rune glowered at her. “The only difference is that I failed to bring the ones who mattered most along with me. Home can be anywhere, but it's nowhere without them.”
Filadiel's face melted into a soft, sympathetic smile. “I see,” he murmured. “Thank you for your contribution. Please, head to the lower floors and rest for a while. We may have time to fit a lesson in after this meeting is adjourned.”
Bowing his head at the gentle dismissal, Rune pushed himself from the floor and slipped back into the hall. The door no more than closed behind him before the council chamber erupted in furor.
When he reached the bottom floor of the tower, Rune found it empty except for a lone tawny-feathered gryphon sitting at the foot of the ramp.
Ria looked up, her eyes brightening when she saw him. “Ah, I thought you'd be in their meeting all day.”
“I thought you'd be listening to the captain and his officers all day.” He tried to force mirth into his tone, but failed. Beyond the vacant ground floor, gray clouds cloaked the skies and tiny snowflakes danced on the wind. His spirits felt no brighter than the weather. “Where is everyone?”
The gryphon clicked her beak and fiddled with her goggles. “The soldiers are all still in their camp. The other people who call Aldaeon home are in a meeting of their own, gryphons included.”
He raised a brow. “Except for you.”
Sheepish, she ducked her head. “I wasn't supposed to leave, but I'd had enough of the bickering. They are bound and determined to spill blood as soon as possible. I don't want anyone from Aldaeon hurt, but I don't want anyone from the college hurt, either.”
Rune gave her a weak smile. “I understand. I feel the same.” He stared at the snow, unsure what to do. He had expected there to be more people in the tower, perhaps someone who could fix him a better meal than the army's near-flavorless porridge cooked too long over a campfire. He certainly wasn't going back to the camp, knowing Captain Kaith would be furious he'd left without permission.
“Were the Aldaanan fighting too?” Ria sounded concerned, an almost human look of sadness on her face.
He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “They aren't in agreement, but it's probably a lot less heated than the discussion happening back at the camp. The Aldaanan are unhappy, but they don't get as riled as the captain's men.”
The gryphon's ear-tufts drooped. “I feel dreadful about all this. I want to help, but I want the aerie to up and wing off to new nesting grounds, too. We could make do in colder weather and the mages are unlikely to follow us far. I hear there used to be a tower in Quaris. We might try going there.”
Rune tilted his head and his brow furrowed. “Where did you say?”
She looked at him oddly, her feathers ruffling. “Quaris, a region north of here. Haven't you seen a map?”
He frowned. Sera had asked the same thing while discussing geography, and he was beginning to regret he hadn't taken the time to study Redoram's maps in depth. “Not a recent one,” he said at last. It was the same answer he'd given Sera.
“Well,” the gryphon sighed, adjusting her wings. “I can fix that. It's not like we're doing anything else. Come with me, will you?” She pushed past him and started up the ramp with an awkward, overly-cautious gait. The ramp was steeper than what the gryphons could traverse with ease.
She led him up several floors and stopped at a closed door marked with unfamiliar writing. She struggled with the doorknob for a time. Rune pushed her out of the way and the gryphon made a sound of exasperation as he opened the door himself.
The smell of books greeted them and Rune blinked in surprise when he saw the room. Deep and curving, the library was so wide it had to wrap around half the tower. Bookcases stood in rows between windows paned with stained glass. Tables rested at the end of each row, most so piled with books and scrolls that their surfaces couldn't be seen.
“You do read, don't you?” Ria asked. She clucked pleasantly to herself as she made her way
into the library.
“Some,” he said, tilting his head to study the spines of books on the low shelf beside the door.
“Well, I suppose some is the best I can hope for in a soldier.” She jerked her feathered head toward the left. “The map racks are this way, come along. Most of the time, only the scholars are allowed to touch them. Fortunately for you, messenger gryphons are a special exception.”
Rune followed her between the shelves, marveling at the collection. It was even greater than the temple's library, and not a single title he saw looked familiar. He reached for one and the moment his claw touched it, a shock shot up his arm.
“Careful,” Ria said as he shook numbness from his finger. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You aren't a special exception.”
He grunted softly in agreement.
The gryphon stopped at the far end of the curved room, where rolled maps were piled in carefully labeled cubbyholes. She hummed as she searched the labels. Her feathered tail twitched when she found what she was after. She carried the map to a table and motioned for him to pull out a chair. “Here we are. Sit down, have a look.”
He seated himself as she unfurled the map across the table. It was wide and detailed, depicting four land masses, crisscrossed with guidelines and littered with notes. Ria removed weights from a drawer and placed them on the corners to hold the map flat. Then she sat on her haunches and edged close to the table. “Here's where we are,” she said, tapping a place on the northern continent with a talon before drawing a line to the north. “And here is the kingdom of Quaris. Is that name familiar to you?”
Rune leaned forward and studied the line that represented the border between Aldaan and Lore. “There was a city named Quaris back home. I can't imagine they're related, but I never went there. It was on the opposite end of the island—” He stopped short and bit his tongue. A moment too late, it seemed, as Ria's eyes brightened.
“Oh, you're from an island! Hmm, where at? Let me see.” She shoved him back with both forepaws and hunched over the map. “I'm sure you don't mean that marshy mess to the east. Most of the world recognizes the chain islands as a single unit, hmm? There aren't many islands outside of Lore, though...”
Despite himself, he found his eyes drawn to Elenhiise, little more than a speck in the middle of the sea. It was strange to see how insignificant it was compared to the rest of the world. The politics, the arrogance of the mages and nobles, the war that forced him to flee—how foolish it all seemed, considering the island's size.
Ria's claw laid against the image of Elenhiise, jarring him out of thought. “Here? Really?” She looked at him in surprise. “But that island is nothing. Too small to even take notice of.”
He looked away and said nothing.
The gryphon opened her beak to speak, then closed it when her eyes focused on something behind him. Rune turned his head and frowned when he saw Filadiel hurrying toward them.
“I shouldn't be surprised to see you here,” the short-statured elf huffed, glowering at Ria. “You bird-headed troublemaker, you left the library door open again! You know how terrible it is for the books to be exposed to all that humidity.”
Ria harrumphed. “It’s cold outside, there isn’t any humidity.”
“Is the meeting over already?” Rune asked.
Filadiel nodded, his face grave. “It is. I'm glad to see you didn't go far. I was just on my way to send someone to the camp to find you. Walk with me, would you? I'll explain our decision on the way to the aerie's peak.” He turned on his heel and started back for the door at a brisk pace.
Rune cast a glance to Ria, then hurried after him. The gryphon huffed and crammed her maps into a box before she followed.
“It's not an ideal arrangement,” Filadiel said, waiting for the gryphon to step out of the library before he closed the door. Then he led the pair of them toward the tower's top. “But I feel it's the best we can do in these circumstances. Our forces will divide. The majority of us will depart, heading northward to escape the reach of the mages of Lore. They will then arrange for the evacuation of the other inhabitants of Aldaeon. We hope that this decision will cause Lore's mages to abandon the invasion and fall back, since we are the targets and will no longer be here. It leaves Captain Kaith's army weakened, without the Aldaanan to back it, but it's the best we can do for the safety of our people and those who follow us.”
It was a reasonable strategy, and if the city was empty, it meant the army could focus on their opponents instead of the lives they needed to protect. But Rune shook his head, staring at the sky as they wound their way toward it. “What does that have to do with me, though?”
“Ah, yes, that's why we're going to the aerie's peak.” Filadiel rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation. “We promised to help you, and we will. But this must be done before we depart. Many mages will be needed, and the rest of the council has already gathered at the peak to take part.”
Rune's heart leaped into his throat. He'd come to Aldaan in hope, but hadn't dared hope they would cleanse him so soon.
Behind him, Ria squawked. “Oh, you must let me watch! Please, Filadiel? I must see this! I have to see how it happens so I can write it down as new knowledge for the library!” She pranced in place, her claws scrabbling against the cold stone.
Filadiel made a sound of displeasure. “You may watch, but you must stay back. There will be a great deal of power at work, and you know the dangers of being exposed to it.”
“Certainly, certainly!” The gryphon trilled in delight. She whistled merrily as they climbed.
The aerie's peak was precisely what it sounded like. At the top of the wide walkway, they passed through a narrow opening in a sheet of crystal that served as the tower's roof. Nearly a foot thick and perfectly transparent, it sheltered the inside of the tower from the falling snow. Its surface was slick, and while Filadiel stepped onto it without batting an eye, Rune lingered by the solid stone walkway of the ramp. A wide stone path ringed the sheet of crystal, dozens of robed Aldaanan along its edge.
“Come along, now!” Filadiel called, beckoning him toward the center of the aerie's peak.
Ria nudged his back and Rune stepped from the path. Transparent as it was, the crystal felt no different than the stone he'd just left. He made his way forward, willing himself not to look down. Icy wind gusted around them, tossing the mages' hair and robes, though they all stood as still as statues.
Filadiel closed his eyes and one by one, the Aldaanan mages sent rolling waves of energy in greeting. Rune answered unconsciously, shifting on his feet. He shook, though not just from cold.
“We are ready to begin,” Filadiel said, extending a hand.
Rune laid his clawed fingers in the shorter man's grasp. Waves of energy flowed from the other mages again, but this time, they twisted and merged, forming a mesh of power that spun itself around them. It spiraled about their feet and Rune couldn't help but look down. His stomach dropped to his knees when he saw straight to the bottom floor of the tower, hundreds of feet below.
Then the mesh of energy drew up around them and draped around their shoulders like a mantle. Rune felt Filadiel reach for it. The leader of the Aldaanan pulled each thread of the web closer, tied them one by one into his own energies. And then, through their touching hands, Rune felt the energy surge.
“I had hoped to teach you this lesson differently,” Filadiel said, holding him fast. “I don’t expect you’ll yet understand.”
Suddenly wary, Rune drew back. “What are you talking about?”
“Your taint is rooted deeper than flesh,” the elf said, his face twisting with repulsion as he spoke. “Though it is no fault of your own. Power given form is always twisted. But you are not to blame. Please understand, we do this to help.” Light flooded Filadiel’s eyes, whirling myriad colors before darkening to the deepest shadow of sadness.
Wind howled around them. Thunderheads piled in the skies, lightning crawling across their underbellies. The surge of power stru
ck him again and pain lanced to his core. Rune gasped, falling to his knees. “Wait!” He tried to lift a hand. The web of power closed around him and drew tighter. It threatened to choke him. Shockwaves of pain forced him down.
“We are the guardians of magic,” Filadiel shouted to make himself heard, his voice high and reedy over the wind. “And so we understand that magic must be brought to an end. You will learn, my friend, but I am sorry for how.”
Each of the Aldaanan lifted a hand and drew a line of power from the web, tempered it into a spear of energy.
Panic clawed at Rune's heart and turned his stomach. Desperate, he reached for the hem of Filadiel's robe.
The mage moved beyond his grasp and drew back a spear of his own.
Rune looked up and immediately wished he hadn't. The mages threw their hands forward. Their spears of power plunged into him, burning everything away until there was nothing but darkness and the haunting vision of Filadiel's face, transformed to a mask of sorrow.
21
Bound
Snow scoured the top of the tower, driven by howling wind. Pelting ice stung his cheeks and crept into his bones. His limbs were so stiff he feared they were frozen. But his numb fingers did move, and Rune pushed himself to his hands and knees. Pain throbbed in his head. Gray clouds masked the sky, yet everything was bright enough to be blinding. He couldn't tell how long he'd been atop the tower, but it didn't matter. He was alone.
He tried to stand and felt his legs give way. He landed hard. Grimacing, he rested his head against the crystal floor of the aerie's peak. When his eyes opened again, he stared down into the tower. It was empty, not a soul to be seen. The mage-lights had been extinguished, leaving the tower's interior bathed in shadow. But whether or not it was empty, it was bound to be warmer, and he tried again to move.
