“And facing Azriel was worse than that.”
“Considerably.”
“Why?”
“Because the cave, the water, and the eel had to obey the rules of reality, and Azriel does not. Worse, within the crystal arena, I was intellectually aware that there was nothing she was capable of that I was not, and yet she was still able to make a plaything of me at her whim. She is a being of terrifying knowledge, an astoundingly swift thinker, and she does not allow anything to get between herself and her task, up to and including the death of her student.”
“… I see.”
“Her recent desire for privacy is responsible for a significant influx of Warrior’s Side students pursuing serious mystic studies. The simple promise of not having to face her to reach full mastery of mystic arts has been quite compelling. I say all of this so that you will not underestimate the gravity of the following statement. I am willing to accompany you to seek council from Azriel. Even knowing she has specifically requested solitude.”
“Really?”
“Really. And as soon as possible. I am not confident I’ll be able to overrule my better judgment for much longer.”
He stood. “So be it. It is probably best I move quickly, before Vedesto attempts to stop me or my own good judgment speaks up.”
The pair trotted toward the western side of the village, along the mountains.
“I should confess,” Calypso said. “Like you, I am not being perfectly selfless in this act.”
“What else could be motivating enough to face Azriel when the others wouldn’t?”
“She is acting very strangely, and I’m keen to find out the reason. More specifically, I am keen to find out the reason before Ayna does.”
“Do you have a rivalry?”
“She certainly thinks so. She has found a way to cultivate a universal rivalry with everyone in Wizard’s Side. I delight in finding ways to infuriate her.”
“That seems awfully childish.”
“I’ve got to have my fun some way. And if you’d spent any time with Ayna, you’d know she can stand to be tugged down from the pedestal she’s placed herself on. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s earned you a chaperone, hasn’t it?”
“Trust me. These last few years have taught me not to take any bit of good fortune for granted.”
#
Calypso and Desmeres approached the edge of the crystal arena. It felt odd to Desmeres that he’d never, in the thirty years he’d called this place home, been this close to the arena. The place was a natural wonder that had been made all the more wondrous by the careful work of dozens of arcane artisans over the years. A large ice-smooth expanse of focusing stone spread out before them, easily as large as the elder’s courtyard. Carved spires rose up around its edge, curving inward like fangs. In essence, it was like a massive head to a wizard’s staff and had very much the same effect for those within its influence.
He felt the transformed mermaid beside him reach for his hand.
“Forgive me,” she said, slipping her fingers into his grip. “I need to borrow just a bit of your courage.”
“You don’t need to do this.”
“Unless you’ve been practicing your focus and conjuring, you’ll want me with you. Are we ready?”
“From your descriptions, I’m not sure it’s possible for me to be ready.”
“Good. That’s the right state of mind. Here we go.”
They each took a step forward. His boot came down on the smooth crystal. Aside from an odd warmth fluttering in the back of his mind, nothing changed. He may as well have stepped onto mundane stone.
“Was something supposed to happen?” Desmeres asked.
“Yes. Something rather significant was supposed to happen. Azriel is ignoring us.” Calypso tightened her lips for a moment. “This is going to be the thing that annoys her. And it is precisely why I had to come along.”
She squeezed his hand a bit more firmly. “Hold tight now, and don’t worry about holding your breath. You won’t need to.”
“Why would I have to hold—”
The end of his sentence was lost in a heart-stopping torrent of cool, clear water. It curled around them like a whirlpool in reverse, spiraling up from the center of the arena and swiftly consuming the pair. He’d expected it to hit him like a hammer to the chest. It did not. Instead, when the water reached him, it obligingly slowed, drifting gently but swiftly up along his body until he was wholly immersed. He blinked and tried to focus through the swirling water. The solid ground beneath his feet dropped away, and he was drifting in a sudden sea that had formed around them. The village was gone, replaced by an endless midnight-blue void of fresh water. He looked to his chaperone. There was a look of trepidation on her face, and her legs had been replaced with a glittering emerald tail.
“You can speak, Desmeres. It’s only water for the purposes of locomotion. If I’m going to be knocking on Azriel’s door, I’m going to do it in my natural habitat.”
“You could have warned me,” Desmeres said.
She tugged a little harder and thrust her tail, dragging him downward. “I did warn you. I told you to hold tight. Now come. Azriel will be down here.”
“How do you know where she will be?”
“Because when I envisioned this sea and brought it to reality, that’s where I put the door to her cottage. Remember, in the arena, reality is clay to be shaped by the prepared mind. And whoever has the greatest capacity for concentration has the greatest influence.”
She swam down and down, dragging Desmeres behind her. A sandy sea floor rose up out of the void. She skimmed along it, eyes searching.
“She’s started paying attention to us,” Calypso said. “The hut isn’t where it should be. That means she’s moved it. Do me a favor. Shut your eyes and try to envision a comfortable country cottage ahead of us. Just out of sight.”
Desmeres did as he was told. Any explanation would draw upon magical techniques he’d barely understood seventy years ago and had long ago discarded.
“Good… Good… That will do. Yes. Here it is.”
He opened his eyes. The precise cottage he’d envisioned wavered in the distance before them. Despite the fact that they were now swimming toward it with all the speed Calypso could muster, it didn’t seem to be getting any closer.
“Just the door now. The door is all we need. Focus on the door,” Calypso instructed.
Desmeres squinted at the door and tried to hold it in his mind. The rest of the cottage blurred, as if somehow sinking into a haze that hadn’t claimed the door. They gradually drew closer. The door didn’t seem to be retreating, but it managed to remain just beyond their reach for nearly a minute. Finally, they reached it. The door was stationary before them and, aside from existing in the absence of the rest of the cottage, it was entirely mundane. Calypso pivoted and fluttered her tail to bring them to a stop before they could collide with it.
“Knock,” Calypso said.
He nodded and held up his false hand to do as she instructed.
“You, Calypso?”
The voice came from behind them. The mermaid swept them in a circle to find a woman of advanced but uncertain age standing before them. Her black robe rigidly refused to billow in the water. To look upon her, one would suppose she was on dry land while both Desmeres and Calypso were at the bottom of the sea.
“I thought I had made it clear I did not wish to be disturbed,” she said. “I am quite certain it was only a few days ago that I left instructions with Solomon after his hunting trip.”
“You have been undisturbed for two years, Arch Mage Azriel.”
“Two years, you say?” The duration puzzled her a bit but didn’t seem to be troubling. “Even so. I have much to do, I don’t have time for matters such as these.”
A half-heard sound echoed around them. It was just at the edge of hearing, more of an animal’s call than anything resembling a language. Azriel t
ipped her head.
“Is he, now?” Azriel replied, clearly addressing the unseen source of the sound. “Mmm… I suppose that is deserving of some degree of consideration.” She addressed Desmeres. “You are here about Epidime, correct?”
“I am. I imagine there are a dozen ways you could have learned about that, but I’m curious which it is.”
“Mott told me. He also told me you helped lead him here. He is very appreciative.”
“Mott. That would be the… thing from the cave.”
“Correct.”
“So those chatters and chitters do have meaning?”
“Certainly not. They’re simply sounds. But there are thoughts that inspire them, and the proper mind can easily interpret them. That isn’t terribly important. What is important is that you have left me in something of a quandary. There are matters worthy of discussion, but to discuss them properly would require me to abandon the very reason for my solitude.”
“Are there secrets to be kept?” Desmeres said.
“There are.”
“As it so happens, a great deal of my life has been spent honing the skills of keeping secrets.”
“Mmm… You were the one who set off to locate Lain, weren’t you?” Azriel said.
“One and the same.”
“You may well be capable of keeping the secret, then. Calypso?”
“I will treat your privacy with the utmost of discretion.”
“You are a highest master. A truth seeker. What I have hidden is something that, when I am satisfied, shall be made known to the others. But despite your assurance, I think perhaps you will be unable to hold your tongue.”
“If you wish for me to leave, I will. But I entreat you to allow me to stay. I’ve given Desmeres my word that I would act as his chaperone.”
“Far be it from me to force you to go back on your word.”
Azriel turned. The world around them turned with her. In the time it took her to pivot in place, the blue void resolved itself into a cozy, warm, dry cottage. Calypso was no longer by his side. Instead, Azriel held an open-topped glass orb in one outstretched hand. It was a bit larger than a melon, and swimming within it was Calypso, barely the size of a guppy. Azriel placed the fishbowl with its reduced occupant on a table.
“You will remain here while I have a word with Desmeres. If I decide you should be a part of the conversation, you shall join us.”
Desmeres cast a look in Calypso’s direction. Her arms were crossed and her expression was stern, but she gestured for him to follow without her.
The next room was larger but more dimly lit. It was a sitting room. Two large, stuffed chairs were set before a roaring fire. One chair was vacant. The other occupied. A pale hand rested on the arm, and Mott’s long tail flopped off the side. A third chair wove together, rising up from the floor to complete a half circle along with the other two.
“Take a seat,” Azriel instructed.
Desmeres paced to the freshly conjured chair and sat. He looked to the occupant of the middle seat. It was a terribly pale woman of a similarly advanced but similarly uncertain age. She was dressed in a simpler set of gray robes, with long black hair accented with two stark white streaks from her temples falling down past her shoulders. She had a serene look on her face and was lovingly stroking Mott under the chin. The beast may as well have been in heaven.
“So this is the boy who brought my precious Mott to me,” the woman said softly. “You have my gratitude.”
Mott chattered happily and coiled his tail around her leg.
“This little devil has been looking for me for ages, but he was just telling me about what he’s been up to, and I suspect that is why you are here.” She held out a hand. “I am Turiel, by the way. I am Azriel’s younger sister.”
“Turiel,” Desmeres said slowly. “Yes. I believe I’ve heard of you. You are the reason the D’Karon came to this world. And you tried to bring them back.”
“I am. Not without regrets. I was misled and I let myself be blinded to the truth.” She patted Mott’s neck. “In my feeble defense, I lived for centuries believing the D’Karon were saviors brought here to bring us out of the darkness. A lifetime of soul-deep belief is a difficult thing to shake.”
“Thousands upon thousands of lives were lost because of you,” Desmeres said. “That is indeed a very feeble defense.”
“I only summoned the D’Karon here to teach me the strength to seek vengeance for Sister Dear,” Turiel said. “If we are tracing blame to its root, she is closer to the source than I.”
“I founded Entwell, and thus provided training for Myranda and Lain, provided aid for Myn, and facilitated the summoning of Ether. My role is inarguably on the light side of the prophecy.”
“You could have sent word to me that you were unhurt,” Turiel countered.
Desmeres could feel the world around him beginning to strain. The wood and stone of the cottage creaked as though a storm was whipping to life outside. Given how hostile the elder’s discussion had become, it seemed wise to mediate this particular disagreement.
“It so happens the difficulty of communication to the outside is the precise reason I am here,” Desmeres said. “I am told if anyone is capable of conjuring one up, now that Deacon is on the other side of the mountains, it is you.”
The sisters both looked to him with a measure of irritation in their gazes, not pleased at the interruption. Turiel was the first to speak.
“This is about Deacon, isn’t it?” she said. “Not just because he is the one who could most quickly work out the means of communication. You are concerned about his state of mind. As well as the population of his skull.”
“Very much so.”
Turiel ran her fingers through her hair and gazed into the fire. “I’ve had very little direct contact with Epidime, whom my little Mott here had taken it upon himself to keep locked away. There was a time that I’d hoped against hope he might, if briefly, choose me as a host. It was not to be. But I am quite familiar with his ways, at least with regard to the understanding the other D’Karon had of them. And I am not certain you truly have anything to worry about.”
“Then you aren’t familiar with Epidime’s ways at all. He is a truly fearsome, chilling being.”
“Oh, quite so. I have no doubt of it. But we are talking about the potential for Deacon to be taken, yes? We shouldn’t assume that Epidime would do so.” She put her fingers to her chin. “Or perhaps he wouldn’t need to do so? It is difficult to articulate. You see, I crossed paths with Deacon a few times. In a very real way, I have him to thank for finally delivering me to my dear sister. And I can assure you, the boy was not well.”
“We were hoping to bring him here to be cured.”
“Oh, that would have been a sight to see. White wizards trying to untangle those knots.” Turiel grinned at Azriel. “Always interested in preserving life, as though it were any preferable to death in the grand scheme of things.”
“What does his condition have to do with Epidime?” Desmeres asked.
“Everything, I suppose. That sickness, that creeping stain on him. It would have fascinated Epidime. Some things are better observed from without than within. But then, Epidime is all about deep, intuitive understanding, so perhaps he would wish to look out from the inside? I don’t know. By all accounts, he was more cautious than you might imagine. Always focused on things he or others had set in motion. But I’m babbling. I should come to a point. Epidime is concerning, yes, but you were right to be concerned about Deacon’s illness. As something of an expert in matters of apocalyptic import, that is the matter that should be addressed above all else.”
“Regardless of what our greatest concern is, we will need a means to contact the outside world to warn Myranda and the others,” Desmeres said.
“Mmm. Azriel can speak to that more effectively than I. Were it me, I would simply suggest opening a D’Karon portal and hopping out to see to things personally. I coul
d have sworn I felt someone zapping about with them not so long ago, but then ‘not so long ago’ spans years for me, nowadays. While she discusses the matter, I’d rather like to see that knife of yours.”
“Why?”
“I believe I have a solution for Deacon’s illness, but it requires a proper tool for applying it.”
Desmeres wasn’t fond of the idea of handing over his weapon to a woman who was responsible for the near death of a world twice over, but he wasn’t in a very strong bargaining position at the moment. He slipped it from its sheath and handed it to Turiel. She gently nudged Mott from her lap and set the blade down in his place. While Mott yawned and clattered away to investigate the rest of the cottage, Turiel began to stir and prod at the blade. It flickered and wavered at her touch, seeming one moment to be no more substantial than a reflection in a pool of water, the next quite solid again.
“You wish to open communications to the outside world, correct?” Azriel said. “There is inarguable value in such a thing. Both in terms of delivering warnings and in collaboration. To a minor degree, there has been some communication already. I believe the stylus in Deacon’s hut is still scratching away. Marking down his exploits and musings. But that is one-sided. And therein lies the dilemma. Within Entwell and beyond Entwell, a trained mind can see at a distance, link minds, and otherwise select a target and exchange information without very much effort at all. But these mountains will block all but the simplest or most overwhelmingly powerful spells. Deacon’s stylus scratches away because the link is a simple one and was established before he left. If you had brought one of his pads, prepared on the outside, it likely would have functioned without difficulty. But establishing a link that didn’t exist before? It would at the very least require cooperation from those on the outside. And to coordinate that cooperation, we would require the very means of communication we are seeking to create.”
The Coin of Kenvard Page 15
