The Coin of Kenvard

by Joseph R. Lallo

  He consulted a heavy book. “Full mastery in weaponcraft. But not highest mastery. That title was in contention between Croyden Lumineblade, Gurk, and Mrun.”

  “I see. Desmeres, then I have the bittersweet task of informing you that your presence here permits you to contend for the position of highest master of weaponcraft, as your father has, regrettably, passed on.”

  “Has he…” Desmeres’s expression dropped.

  He put his false hand to his chest. His relationship with his father had never been a warm one. Few of those raised in Entwell had strong bonds with their birth parents. The village as a whole raised each child. The first master a child apprenticed to was often the greatest parental figure in an Entwellian’s life. Even given the fact that Croyden Lumineblade was the master Desmeres had apprenticed under, the older elf hadn’t entered his mind in years. Croyden’s most lasting impression upon his son had been the fact that Desmeres’s illegitimate son shared the same name. But Desmeres had elven lineage. He’d known from birth that he would outlive most of those he knew. It had a way of tempering one’s attachments to those more mortal than he, while at the same time placing the immortal family and friends at a separate level. He’d convinced himself his father would always be there, somewhere, ready to resume their relationship should their paths cross again.

  It struck him in that moment that his mother was certainly gone as well. He was over a hundred years old, and she was only human. The new faces he’d seen in the town flickered through is mind, finally hitting home as those who had taken the places of people he had known. The cold, hollow feeling of loss must have shown on his face, as when the elder spoke next, it was with the rare tone of compassion rather than a decree.

  “If you need some time, we can reconvene,” the elder said.

  He shut his eyes. “No… No, I came here for a reason. And though that reason may have changed, it is no less important.”

  “Admirable devotion to a cause. Precisely what we would hope to instill in our people. You stand in the presence of the highest masters of their respective magics. Ayna for Wind, Calypso for Water, Cresh for Earth, Solomon for Stone, and Vedesto for White. What do you wish to ask of us, and what do you wish us to know?”

  “What do you know of the outside world in the years since Myranda Celeste came and went?”

  “The great event of our era has come and gone. The convergence of the Chosen. The end of the Perpetual War,” the elder said.

  “Yes. We learned that the war was the work of a race of creatures called the D’Karon. The Chosen united and pushed them back, thanks in no small part to the help of Deacon.”

  The fairy wizard scoffed. “Don’t mention that name here.”

  “Oh hush,” the woman beside her scolded. “You heard the man. He helped save the world. With the devotion he showed Myranda, I knew he would be invaluable to her. Tell me, Desmeres, did he remain with her?”

  “They are married and have a child,” Desmeres said.

  The mermaid swooned. “Oh! I knew it! They were a perfect couple. Tell me, what is the child’s name?”

  “Master Calypso, I imagine Desmeres has more pressing news than that to deliver. You can wait until he has spoken,” the elder said.

  “How such a childish mind could have risen to highest master of water magic is beyond me,” the fairy muttered.

  “It is called having a heart, Ayna. And don’t pretend you haven’t got one.” Calypso turned to Desmeres. “My apologies, continue.”

  Desmeres took a moment to gather his thoughts. “This will take some time to properly explain.”

  #

  For the better part of an hour, the masters and the elder listened as Desmeres attempted to summarize the most significant years in the world’s history. He spoke of Lain’s death, of Deacon’s affliction. He described the means the D’Karon used, and the legacy they had left. Bit by bit he traced out the terrible danger each of the D’Karon generals represented. Most of all, he told of Epidime.

  “He inhabits the bodies of hosts. Few are powerful enough to resist him. When he takes a host, their mind is open to him. He is cruel, unfeeling, and he has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. He feeds his curiosity through any means available with little regard for consequences for any but himself. He is aware of this place, and there is nothing he wants more than to reach it. I lost my hand in my attempts to trap him in the Cave of the Beast. When Myranda finally convinced Deacon that he should return here to treat his affliction, they came to me in hopes that I could guide the ailing wizard through the cave. I agreed, precisely to ensure he would not stumble upon Epidime. While I slept, he wandered off. I do not know for certain, but I believe he may have crossed paths with the D’Karon. If he did, I fear for the safety of this world. We need to find a way to contact those beyond this place and send help.”

  “This is precisely the sort of action such an impulsive, impetuous young wizard would take,” Ayna raved.

  “He left us without notice. Without time enough to replace him with a gray wizard of equal skill,” Cresh said in his own gruff language. “Gray magic is a lesser magic, but isn’t without its use, and we’ve had to rebuild ourselves from his incomplete writings.”

  “But he did it to save the life of a Chosen One! And to aid in the defense of the world,” Calypso defended.

  “He attempted to interfere in the prophecy,” Ayna said.

  “He took his place in the prophecy,” Solomon rumbled.

  “He had no respect for the prophecy! Let us not forget, he was already deprived of apprentices after compelling Hollow to speak while no one else was present,” Ayna said.

  “Who but someone with a place in the prophecy could compel Hollow to speak?” Solomon countered.

  “That is not for us to say,” Cresh said.

  “No, but if there is anyone among us who has insight into such a matter, it is Hollow, and he spoke for Deacon.”

  The voices and tempers were beginning to rise. Desmeres didn’t need to be told what to do. He’d witnessed some of the more animated “discussions” that the wizards had gotten into during his youth.

  He slipped outside and headed for the edge of the courtyard. Vedesto followed. Either he lacked the passion for the subject at hand that motivated the others to debate it so vigorously or he was not compelled to impress the others with a showcase of his craft. Things continued to get more heated as Desmeres reached what seemed to be a safe distance. Coiling flashes of light colored what little of the interior he could see through the open door. Shouting voices in a half-dozen languages firmly established conflicting points of view. Desmeres took his place beside Grimma behind a piece of cover. Like many of the apprentices, she was taking notes and listening intently to the shouting voices.

  “Very impressive,” she remarked, as though the shuddering walls of the hut and the wailing wind were of little concern. “You knew Deacon?”

  “Well enough,” Desmeres replied.

  The ground beneath their feet trembled.

  “I was not lucky enough to be in a position to apprentice under him before he left. I hope to become a gray master. In his absence, that would make me the highest gray master. Without a dedicated master to apprentice under, it will take a number of years of learning strictly from books before I can even begin to learn the lessons Deacon added to our knowledge, and they are voluminous.”

  “I imagine it was disruptive to lose him.”

  “Particularly due to the fact that he hadn’t finished transcribing Gilliam’s teachings.”

  A spire of stone splintered the edge of the hut. It eagerly fanned to flame in the screaming wind. Grimma simply raised her voice.

  “He included some of his assessments, notions, and clarifications on Gilliam’s teachings, you know. He is a visionary.”

  “Too smart for his own good, it would appear.”

  “Enough!” barked the elder, his voice carrying with supernatural strength and clarity.
>
  The elements themselves heeded the command. Wind died away. Stones sank back into the earth. Fragments of earth and splinters of wood rose into the air and found their way, piece by piece, back from whence they came. In the silence, as if the tumult had been ended specifically so that the village would be able to hear it, the distant hiss of falling water resumed.

  “Desmeres, enter,” the elder called.

  “Good luck!” Grimma called as Desmeres hurried back to the hut.

  The final bits of char were healing from the walls as he stepped through the doorway. The brief but intense debate had left the wizards somewhat disheveled but none the worse for wear.

  “We have considered the circumstances. While Deacon’s affliction is a result of his own violations, we do not feel as though he should be left to wither. Were he to have made the journey with you, of course he would have been treated. He would have been assessed, and were he found to be of sound mind, we would have allowed him to resume his role among us.”

  “Against my protest,” Ayna remarked.

  “If you can be taken at your word, we similarly acknowledge the very real threat that could be posed by Deacon if he were to be subverted by Epidime. And the whispers of magic that we have felt through the mountain carry the intensity and aspect of things you have described. However, the falls have begun, and more to the point, the falls were due to begin within hours of your arrival regardless of your claim. There is no reasonable, expedient, or safe means for us to send anyone to render aid until they relent several months from now. You are free to request the expertise of any and all of our residents in devising a means to communicate with those beyond Entwell in the meantime. When the falls next relent, we will call upon our residents for volunteers to leave Entwell and render aid.”

  “A great deal of damage can be done in a few months.”

  “Perhaps so, but until we devise a method of communicating with those beyond the mountains, we cannot be certain Deacon has even been subverted. In the absence of a certain threat, I will not ask our people to risk their lives.”

  “Deacon uses pads to communicate. He had intended to bring one here to keep in contact with Myranda and his son. Unfortunately, it was in his pack, not mine. Could such a pad be created here?”

  “Perhaps. It would require a level of gray mastery that he took with him. You are welcome to pursue such a solution, but it is likely that linking it to the other pads will not be a trivial challenge.”

  “Surely Azriel would have some insight.”

  “Azriel may have some insight, but she has chosen to withdraw from her active roles in Entwell for an indefinite amount of time of her choosing. As our founder, her centuries of service have more than earned her that right, and we grant her the solitude she has requested.”

  “Surely under the circumstances she could be disturbed,” Desmeres said.

  The wizards, who had centuries of mystic experience and unfathomable power among them, collectively shuddered at the prospect.

  “You are welcome to attempt to do so,” the elder said. “But if Azriel does not wish to have visitors, she will not have visitors.”

  “Then I suppose that creature who scrabbled out of the cave with me has been banished from the arena?”

  “Ah… yes… The creature. I note its absence in your account.”

  “I do not know precisely what it is. I encountered it in the cave, and it seemed quite motivated by the prospect of being taken to Azriel. It didn’t react to the Mark of the Chosen, so I supposed it was safe to bring here. Not that I would have had much of a choice, as the blasted thing pieces itself back together as though death is an afterthought.”

  “I see. Well, the beast hasn’t left the arena, but that by no means implies it was well received.” The elder looked to the doorway. “Ah. White Master Vedesto has returned.”

  Vedesto marched briskly through the doorway. “I wish to address the matter of your missing hand and its potential restoration.”

  “Why wait until now?” Desmeres asked.

  “I consider it unwise to administer healing before a debate of this sort, as there are frequently a number of injured parties afterward. To heal someone beforehand is a pointless duplication of effort.”

  “I note the black master was absent as well.”

  “We are presently without a master of black magic, for similar reasons.”

  “Are we through, Master Desmeres?” the elder asked.

  “Until I seek an audience with Azriel, I imagine so.”

  “Then I bid you peace. Though I leave you with a bit of advice, as one who has never had to face our arch mage. Wait until your hand is restored. It is best not to do business with Azriel, particularly against her wishes, if you are not fully recovered.”

  Desmeres turned to Vedesto, who held a milky-white gem over the false hand. “Are you confident I can be given a flesh-and-bone hand again?”

  “In time,” Vedesto said.

  “How long will it take?”

  “If you follow my instructions, and we do so properly? Three weeks.”

  “That will be a very long three weeks if Deacon is compromised.”

  “Then you are welcome to ignore my advice,” the elder said. “But I do not imagine it will be of any benefit to you or anyone else to upset Azriel.”

  Desmeres scanned the faces of the wizards. He’d faced some terrible things in his life, and in general he did so far better equipped than he was now. Perhaps, regardless of duty, discretion was the better part of valor.

  “I suppose we’d best begin the treatments, then,” he said.

  “A wise decision,” Vedesto said. “This way.”

  Desmeres paced beside the white wizard. “And to think,” he mused. “I remembered this place as safer and more civilized than the outside world.”

  “Proof that you have been away for far too long,” Vedesto replied.

  #

  A few minutes later, Desmeres was in his hut, reclining on his bed while Vedesto and a small contingent of the same white wizards who had seen to his lesser injuries investigated the unusual condition of this newcomer. The white master spoke about Desmeres, rather than to him. It couldn’t be more clear that the half-elf was less a patient and more the subject of a lecture.

  “The prosthetic is animated utilizing simple levitation and manipulation magics. It is fueled through runic bindings, here and here, that draw upon the spirit of the attached individual.”

  “I wonder if perhaps you could refer to me as something more significant than ‘the attached individual,’” Desmeres said. “I would have greater confidence in this entire enterprise if you at least maintained the illusion that you saw me as a living, breathing being.”

  “Of course you are a living, breathing being, Master Desmeres. As white wizards, your status as living and breathing is a precondition to our success. Now if you would excuse me, this will go a good deal more swiftly if you refrain from interrupting.”

  “My apologies. Please, continue,” Desmeres said.

  “Thank you. You will find that the cut is exceedingly clean, rare for a weapon of war.”

  “It was one of mine, and thus the clean cut is hardly surprising,” Desmeres said.

  Vedesto gave him a look that neatly emphasized the previous request for discontinued interruptions with little more than a twitch of his eyebrow.

  “I’ll leave you to your work.”

  Desmeres sat in silence as the finer points of removing his false hand, crafting a new hand, and affixing it to his arm were laid out with worrisome dispassion. As the apprentice white wizards parroted back Vedesto’s teachings to prove they were listening, Desmeres noticed a familiar face waiting patiently at his door. It was the highest master of water magic, Calypso.

  Vedesto gave the land-bound mermaid a look that delivered a characteristically dense amount of warning and meaning.

  “When you are finished, Vedesto. I wouldn’t dream of interr
upting,” she said sweetly.

  “As it happens, you have timed your visit well. I am through here. For the day, at least.”

  “Lovely!” she said, stepping aside for him to leave.

  Desmeres sat up in his bed. “Highest Master,” he said with a nod of deference.

  “Calypso is entirely sufficient, I assure you. I wished to thank you personally for braving the Cave of the Beast on behalf of Deacon. He is a dear friend.”

  “You are very welcome, though I would prefer not to claim that it was exclusively for that reason. I do need a hand, and there were a number of regrettable actions in my past that could stand to be redeemed. I noticed you were one of only two voices to speak unambiguously in favor of Deacon.”

  “As I said, he is a dear friend.” She smiled and leaned a bit closer. “I take no small bit of pride in having nudged him and Myranda together. They were made for each other, don’t you think?”

  “They are a fine couple. Your words must have been particularly compelling, in light of the largely positive ruling of the elder.”

  “She is far softer of heart than she would have you believe. And it helps that righteousness was on my side. But I don’t want to waste your time with idle chatter.” She paused. “That is utterly untrue. I would dearly love to engage in a great deal of idle chatter, as few in this place seem to appreciate a good bit of conversation. Unfortunately, as you’ve impressed upon my colleagues, time is of the essence.”

  “That it most certainly is.”

  “You were originally of Warrior’s Side, am I correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “As a full master, you must have had some degree of mystic training.”

  “Runes and potions.”

  “Ah, I see. Nothing that would have required a test from Azriel.”

  “The popular opinion is that I should be thanking my lucky stars for having escaped her scrutiny.”

  “It isn’t an exaggeration to say that passing my final test for full mastery was one of the more harrowing moments of my life. And I am one of the few people who navigated the Cave of the Beast by way of the sea. I understand the dry portions of the cave are largely free of wildlife. Not so of the portions dipping down into the water.” She hugged herself. “Try attempting to piece together an air-for-water spell in a cave that is actively attempting to unravel your magic while the tunnel is draining away what little water is left to breathe, only to discover a great eel is sharing the tiny pool you’re huddled in.”