Eligium- The Complete Series

by Jake Allen Coleman

  “I don’t hold it to your fault, Sebastian. You only did what you thought was right. What they told you was right. Tell me, what is the news. These monks are closed-mouthed, but something is going on in the fortress.”

  Relieved to have something to talk about, Sebastian described the arrival of the two wizards and the confrontation in the Aodhan Bret. He concluded with the story of his encounter with Breandan. “It almost sounded as if he supported Sterling Lex as the Arch-mage!” he finished.

  Cenric sat for a moment, head bowed, before responding. Bringing up his head, his eyes burned with intensity, “But don’t you understand yet? Sterling Lex IS the Arch-mage. He was always destined to be such. We have been lied to since the beginning. Gabirel and Uriasz conspired together against Lex. They stole what was rightfully his and, in their jealousy, ripped magic from the world!”

  “Cenric, no, you don’t know what you’re saying. That’s HIS influence talking.”

  “Is it? You’ve known the power of the Elven magic flowing through you, just as I’ve experienced human magic. I’m never more alive than when I’m using that power, it must be the same for you. Yet, the little we can access is but a pale shadow of our birthright. The birthright stolen from us due to the Ban. Admit it, Sebastian, the power makes you alive!”

  Sebastian squirmed, knowing there was an element of truth to what Cenric was saying about magic. It was not something he liked to think about. “It doesn’t matter how it makes me feel. Sterling Lex is evil.”

  “You believe that because that is what you were taught!”

  “I believe it because that is what I’ve felt whenever I’ve encountered him.”

  Cenric shook his head, “That’s the influence of the Ban. He’s fighting it and has been since it was instituted.”

  “You’re wrong, Cenric. I know you are.”

  “Watch and see, Sebastian. Gabirel is evil and corrupt and will show it soon enough. I say this because you were once my friend. Sterling Lex IS the Arch-mage, and the day is coming when you don’t want to be caught on the wrong side of things. You should go now, but remember what I’ve said here. Remember when Gabirel turns a traitor to the king.”

  Sebastian hurried from the hospital ward, earning himself some stern looks from the taciturn monks. First Breandan, then Cenric. Both so convinced of what they were saying, yet so far afield of everything he believed to be true. Leaving the hospital ward he paid no attention to his direction, he just wanted to get away. Practically running, he rounded the next corner and had to pull up to avoid crashing into Mistress Valeria. “Ah, Sebastian,” she said in her crystal voice, “I am glad I’ve found you.”

  “Mistress Valeria?” he said, panting to recover his breath.

  “You left the Aodhan Bret so quickly, I had something to discuss with you.” She paused, taking stock of the boy, “Is everything all right, Sebastian?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I went to the hospital ward to visit Cenric.”

  “Hmmm…and he was not as you had expected, was he?” Sebastian shook his head in the negative. “I fear the lad has been through quite a trauma. His mind is fractured. What did he say to you?”

  Sebastian squirmed, not wanting to betray his friend. “I don’t know. None of it made any sense.”

  “Tsk…that’s not true, now is it. Tell me.” Her voice took on an imperative he found irresistible.

  “He said Sterling Lex is the rightful Arch-mage and Gabirel is the real evil. Master Breandan said much the same after the council meeting.”

  “Did he now? Be wary of Master Breandan and your friend Cenric. I fear that Sterling Lex’s influence weighs strong on both their minds. Pay no heed to what your friend said. Given time, he will come back to himself.”

  “I hope that is true.”

  “Put it out of your mind. I’ll look in on your friend soon enough.” Sebastian inclined his head in gratitude. “Now, I want to talk to you about your magic.”

  Sebastian looked to the floor, “I know I should not use magic, what with the Ban and all. But I’ve tried only to use it in the most dire of circumstances.”

  Valeria’s laughter rang clear in the stillness. “You could no more stop using magic than you could cease breathing. It is part of who you are. Surely you know that by now?” Sebastian looked at her, bewildered. “Sebastian no matter what you’ve been taught, at its heart the Ban was never intended to forbid magic completely. That has been promulgated to the masses to prevent the indiscriminate and uninformed use of magic, but it was never the intent. We formed the Ban to restrict magic so that those, like Sterling Lex, who had lost sight of the higher purpose would be constrained. We had gone too far, too fast, and we needed to stop and consider the implications of power. That is why the Wizards retreated to Cale Uriasz to live in huts on a beach so we could study and contemplate in humility. You must learn to use your power wisely, Sebastian.”

  “But I thought all that was done with now that I’m one of the Squires?”

  Valeria smiled at him, “You are a squire because you asked to be one. This magic however, it is who you are. You’ve heard the rumors of your father’s heritage?”

  “That he was descended from the elves? I’ve heard them, but I want nothing to do with him or his legacy.”

  “Those rumors are true, Sebastian. Gerlach Pwyll was the scion of one of two great houses of Elven-kind. Whether you wish it or not, his heritage is yours. His bitterness came through his human mother, left behind when her Elven husband departed this world at the formation of the Ban. It corrupted Gerlach from an early age. She never understood why he had to leave her behind.”

  “But what does any of that have to do with me? I never even knew Gerlach Pwyll.”

  “It has everything to do with you, Sebastian. You are half an elf, and that means magic is part of who you are. It runs in your blood. Elves live in harmony with the natural world and their magic takes its strength from that harmony.”

  “Can you teach me how to control it then?”

  “Teach you? No, that is beyond my knowledge. I am familiar with the magic of Man. Spells and mental control. The elves never taught us their secrets, and only an elf can teach you what you want to know. I can advise you though, you must trust yourself and trust your heart. Only when you are at peace and in harmony with your world, will you find the control you desire. For now, learn what Gabirel can teach you, find discipline in your daily life and trust the rest will come. We will speak further that I can promise you.”

  #

  Sebastian returned to his squad in time for their late afternoon sessions on tactics and strategies in warfare. From what he understood of the passage, the author had never met an elf he liked. One particular passage stated elven commanders resist when placed under human commanders due to the restrictions of a disciplined march. It is advisable to preserve good military order, to make sure elven contingents are seconded to human commanders. From the little he remembered of elves, Sebastian did not expect that approach would work. Though, he was mostly distracted from the day’s events.

  Returning to the shift barracks, he resisted Martino’s attempts to draw him into conversation with the rest of the squad. They had gathered around and curiosity concerning the two wizards shone in their eyes. Shrugging it off with an occasional noncommittal mutter, Sebastian stripped to his small-clothes and climbed into his bunk, rolling away from the rest.

  As he dropped off to sleep, he heard Martino call off the cohort, “Looks as if we must wait for our stories for the morning. Leave the man be!” Bless him.

  Sebastian found himself in a cave again, but instead of the red-orange fire of the mountain, the corridor was lit with a strange green glow. It was too small for him to pass through. He was not sure how he fit in this small tunnel. He had no idea why he believed he should have trouble fitting. Everything was hazy to him.

  He drifted along the corridor, drawn by something unidentifiable. As it curved around to the left, voices drifted toward him. He needed to
find the owners of those voices. Swift as the wind he flew down the tunnel, streaks of green flashing past him. Swooping through, he joined two figures deep in conversation. One was a dwarven warrior outfitted in studded leather, the other of similar height but cloaked and hooded. The warrior was talking and Sebastian got the impression he had made his points more than once already.

  “I still say ’tis dangerous to hold her this way. Finnguala, the treaty is clear on the treatment of official envoys with no contingency for imprisonment, no matter how well cared for she might be.”

  Who was imprisoned? wondered Sebastian, and why did he need to find out so desperately?

  The hooded figure responded in a crystalline voice, “’Tis not for you to question the directive of the council in this, Asegeirr. Gabriel holds that which belongs to the Dwarves and we will recover the stone.”

  “But is this the best way? Do we make enemies of our closest allies?”

  She spat back, venom in her voice. “Allies? Is that what they are? When have men ever been our allies? We made common cause during the Dragon Wars, but those days are over.”

  “What has come over you, Finnguala? I’ve not known you to speak so of Gabirel!”

  “You forget yourself, Door-warden. Get you back to your post and perhaps I will forget this affront.”

  Asegeirr eyes grew wide, “Affront? Now yer sounding like an elf!” Finnguala hissed at the insult, spinning on her heel she stalked away. Asegeirr stood, watching, until she passed out of sight. Shaking his head, he moved off in the other direction. Sebastian floated along after him.

  The world flickered, in the way of dreams, and he found himself in another cavern, lit by that same green glow. It was dimmer here and two dwarves sat at a table outside a wood door set in the stone walls. They showed no alarm at Sebastian’s sudden appearance, it seemed he was not really there. He tried to force his way through the door, but the dream resisted him. Turning back to the dwarves, he found Asegeirr there ordering them to open the door.

  Not quite able to make out their words now, the sound of their voices became muddled. Sebastian realized he was waking. Resisting, he fought to stay in the dream. He needed to see behind that door.

  Asegeirr was at the door now, unlocking it with a key he had taken from the guards, for guards they were. As if moving through molasses, the door inched its way open. Willing it to open further, Sebastian peered through the haze of wakefulness to see a woman sitting beyond the door, head bowed. She raised her head and looked at him, surprise in her eyes. It was Krystelle.

  Seeing her startled him the rest of the way awake. His eyes popped open to find Mistress Valeria leaning over him. “Quietly now, come with me.”

  Sebastian pulled a tunic on over his small-clothes and followed Valeria out of the barracks and into the stillness of the deserted corridors. The fortress slumbered and would not rouse for at least another hour. The distant sounds of the scullery preparing the morning meal broke the silence. “Mistress…” he began. She shot him a quick look, gesturing for silence.

  They passed like vapor through the halls. She in the lead, striding without a sound. He scurried after to keep up with her long pace, following her into the section of the Dazhberg set aside for dignitaries and command. Too late, he wondered where she was taking him. Without warning, she turned aside and ducked into a chamber, nothing to distinguish it from any other along the hallway. Sebastian stumbled to a halt and followed her into the room.

  Looking about, his jaw dropped. Furnished in an explosion of colors and silks, the room seemed more like the inside of a circus tent than what he expected from Valeria. Next to the door was a small seating area consisting of three cushy armchairs in burgundy velvet quartering an ornate serving table. Along the walls stood a row of shelves filled with books and other objects. Silk dividers separated this area from the rear where a large bed with corner posts rising to the ceiling was situated. Pillows piled about and four globes illuminated the interior, casting a warm, yellow light over everything.

  “Sit, young man.” Valeria commanded, passing into the rear of the chamber. He obeyed, still taking in the surroundings. Everywhere he looked he found a new detail to amaze him, whether the intricacies of an ivory carving on one shelf, or the whimsical colors of a piece of blown glass.

  Valeria emerged a moment later carrying tea service and set it on the table, settling herself into one of the chairs. Pouring the tea, she added a precise measure of milk. Milk! Where had she gotten that? Sebastian had not seen fresh dairy since arriving. She noticed him staring. “Yes, I understand, it’s all a bit much. I do enjoy my comforts. At my age I refuse to live without my treasures if it can be avoided. It was so tedious, traveling here without my things. Now, try this tea.” She gestured toward the cup just in front of him and lifted her own to her mouth, taking a sip. “Can’t have you drifting off again.” Picking up his own cup, it clattered against the saucer from the tremor in his hands. He took a sip, savoring the pleasant cinnamon flavor and set both cup and saucer back on the table.

  She sat for a moment, piercing him with those green eyes as if trying to see into his soul. Sebastian squirmed, wondering what this was about. “So young Sebastian, would you like to explain what you were doing just now?”

  He blinked in confusion. “Doing? I was sleeping, well dreaming really.”

  She raised an eyebrow, “Dreaming? That’s your story?”

  He gulped, “Yes, Mistress. I don’t know what else to say.”

  She pursed her lips, “Hmmm…whatever the case, I can see you believe what you are saying. We will put that aside for now. Tell me about your dream young Sebastian.”

  He pondered for a moment, struggling to put words to everything he had seen. In fits and starts, the story emerged. The cave, the conversation between the two dwarves, the door. Krystelle. Valeria quizzed him on many of the particular details. Had he seen the female dwarf’s face? What color was the lighting? What had Finnguala said? Were those her exact words? How did he feel moving down the corridors? After a time, she sat back, satisfied with his answers. He felt wrung dry. She had drawn out details he had not even been aware he had seen. She sat for a moment, sipping her tea before asking her next question, “Finnguala? You are certain of that name?” He nodded. “And you have never heard that name before now?”

  “Never, it was so unusual I would remember. Why do you care so much about my dream?”

  “Because I do not believe it was just a dream. I suspect that somehow you traveled in your spirit north to the Dwarven enclave and overheard a real conversation and saw real events. I can see by your expression you do not believe me. How do I know this? You remember details you can not have knowledge of, yet I know them to be true. Just one example, the dwarven woman—Finnguala—that is the true name of the Highest of the Gundarian Council. A name you, by your own admission, have never heard before tonight.”

  “Perhaps I overheard it somewhere and don’t remember? Maybe someone mentioned it when they sent Krystelle to the dwarves in the first place.”

  “If that were the only thing, I would be inclined to agree with you. It is not. Many more details in your story that align to lore I have of the dwarves. Then there is the fact that I perceived a disturbance which brought me to you. What you were doing was dangerous and I would learn how you managed it.”

  “Dangerous! All I was doing was sleeping. How can that be dangerous?”

  “You projected your consciousness away from your body and sent it many leagues to the north. How can that not be dangerous? Only the most adept have accomplished such a feat. Even the Arch-mage, with his far-sight never attempted to project in this way. Stray too far and you may become separated from your body, leaving it to die.”

  “Die! From a dream?” He stood, spilling his tea across the carpeted floor.

  She grabbed his arm, pulling him into his seat. “As I’ve said, this was no ordinary dream. Yet, it may be that the danger for you is lessened. Let me think for a moment.” She stood
and glided over to the wall of shelving, perusing the various books and tomes. “Ah, here it is.” She pulled a thin manuscript from an upper shelf and untied the lacing. “This is a record of conversations with Sintarian, the elven mage responsible for the Eligium stones, on the nature of elven magic. There is a passage…if I can just locate it…” she trailed off, paging through the record.

  Sebastian waited, eying the manuscript hungrily. If he could get his hands on that, it might show something about his own heritage. Gripping his hands, he tried to be patient as she thumbed through the book. “What does it say?” he blurted out when it became too much for him.

  “Much that is unclear to me, it is written in an obscure elvish dialect. Can you read elvish?” he shook his head, crestfallen. “Pity, I should have liked to give this manuscript to you to study if you did. My elvish is rusty, but I understand enough to temper my earlier statement. Elves, it seems, have a natural affinity for projection of this nature. It may not be as dangerous as I would have believed. The dangers apparently lie in areas other than physical peril. I can not be more clear than that. Have you had any other dreams like this one?”

  “Like this one? No. Well, not exactly.”

  “What do you mean not exactly?”

  Sebastian took another sip of his tea, delaying his answer and trying to figure out of a way to avoid telling Valeria about his dragon-dream. He could see no way around it. Taking one more sip, he prepared to launch into his story.

  “Valeria?” he never thought he would be glad to hear that distinctive oily voice. Master Breandan poked his head through the entrance. “Ah, I thought I heard voices. Sebastian, fancy finding you here at this hour.” He made his way inside uninvited and sat across from Valeria. Sebastian wondered that the man did not wither under the force of her glare, yet he seemed not to notice. Instead, he set about pouring his own cup of tea.

  “Breandan. Was there something you wanted?” Her voice was flat and carried a hint of warning.