by Andrew Rowe
Taelien wished Lydia would tone down her rhetoric a bit, but he understood her reasoning. By making him look like a child of the Tae’os Pantheon, she was practically assuring him a quick rise through the ranks – and her prestige would grow along with his. It was a practical strategy, if somewhat distasteful.
“Six of you? That’s good, because you’ll be organized into teams of three once the others arrive,” the teacher explained. He was an older priest of Sytira, his gray beard nearly the length of his cane.
“The others?” Landen asked.
“Oh, yes, you’re new. Candidates come from around the continent for the paladin tests. We hold them twice a year here, and only rarely elsewhere.”
Taelien and the others already knew these tests were their fastest way to join the Paladins of Tae’os. The usual method was joining as a squire, where you would train under an established paladin until you were deemed ready – which typically took years. A final option was the direct request of an officer, which had to be approved by several other officers before it was granted.
The last case was rare outside of war, and while Lydia had recently been promoted to Lieutenant Commander for her exceptional work in Orlyn, it would have looked bad if one of her first actions was to request to have Taelien entered into the paladins without any training or taking the traditional test. She might have done it if he had pushed, but he didn’t like the idea of special treatment.
Thus he would take the tests – seven reportedly grueling examinations, one corresponding to each of the Laos deities.
“The testing period begins in one week,” the teacher continued. “Use that time wisely. I can’t advise you about the individual challenges – they change every year. No test will be impossible, and most will offer multiple solutions. Think before you act.”
That last bit of advice was bordering on breaking the rules – the tests were notoriously secretive, and veterans were sworn to avoid revealing details about the challenges.
Taelien knew that with Lydia’s practical mind, she probably would have found a way to sneak him information if she thought it would help – but she had never taken the test, having taken the longer road from squire to paladin status. The tests were designed for people like him – men and women who were already adults with combat experience. They would gauge if he had the right mentality to be a paladin – the right amount of knowledge, dedication, and faith.
I’d better hope two out of three is good enough.
Chapter IV – Jonan I – A Little Well-Deserved Vacation
Jonan flicked a finger at the candle next to his simple tavern bed, igniting the wick. It flickered weakly, but anything brighter would have been intolerable for his already vicious headache.
I’m a complete failure at the concept of vacation.
His visit to Velthryn was ostensibly a rare instance of taking leave from his work for the Thornguard. Like all of his previous instances of “vacation”, this meant that he had been given orders that could not be disseminated through the standard chain of command.
His first task had been to deliver the Heartlance to Silk. In the few weeks since then, he had done his best to prepare himself for whatever Aayara’s next assignment would be. Today, that had meant a particularly daunting challenge – socializing.
Velthryn was one of the few cities south of Orlyn that held a significant - and legally recognized – Thornguard presence. He had spent most of his day at the local base, drinking and carousing with the soldiers posted there, gathering what little information he could about the local chain of command and any resources he might be able to make use of.
The results were somewhat disappointing – without any kind of official requisition, he wasn’t going to be getting much out of the local base. Not even lodgings, even though they appeared to have ample space. He caught a hint of subtext that the local officers didn’t trust him – frankly, he couldn’t blame them. His personnel files were classified at a level where even the local commander probably wouldn’t be able to get more than a few lines – a fact that Jonan found both amusing and inconvenient.
He wouldn’t have trusted himself, either.
Fortunately, a scribe didn’t need any form of special permission just to get access to the libraries, and he far preferred those to the company of most members of the Thornguard. Now that he knew where they were, he resolved to return to them the next time he could tolerate the presence of people in his vicinity.
Seating himself carefully on the bed, the sight sorcerer opened his belt pouches, removing the four hand mirrors that he carried at all times. They were not his entire supply, but represented the four he checked the most frequently – ones linked to mirrors carried by Thornguard Commander Madrigan Ferrous, Rialla Dianis, Lydia Hastings, and of course Vae’kes Aayara.
It was Rialla’s that contained a message, surprising him. Rialla had accompanied him when he left the city of Orlyn, traveling to Selyr to seek help for her ailing brother, Elias. Elias was a rare Rethri born without a bond to a specific dominion. Typically, these children swiftly died, but Rialla had sustained her brother’s life with powerful sorcery and searched for many years for a cure.
During their time in Selyr, Jonan had introduced Rialla to several other sorcerers, but most offered little more than condolences. He had advised her to be patient, but they both knew that Rialla’s best hope was to go to one of the most powerful beings on the continent.
Scribe,
I have a delivery for you. Meet me at the Southway Manor. It’s located at the eastern end of Aldwyn Street in the High Quarter. Soon.
-Shiver
Jonan’s headache worsened just parsing through the message.
She’s taken on an “ess” name. I warned her…but I suppose it doesn’t matter.
Jonan lay back on the bed, closing his eyes.
The name suits her, but any name that begins in that way is short for slave.
His jaw tightened and he clenched his fists in the air, trembling.
One more soul sold to the Vae’kes. One more spirit destined to be bled dry.
The scribe sat up, shaking his head. And this time, I’m the one squeezing the vein.
I’d better not keep her waiting. We are friends, after all.
Jonan reached under his bed, pulling out the large backpack he had stowed beneath. Searching within, he retrieved two objects. The first was a sheathed dagger, which he attached to his belt on the left side, opposite his pouch. Digging deeper, he found his selection of cases for his glasses, taking one wrapped in purple-dyed leather and opening it.
The lenses within were bonded to the Dominion of Clarity. They had cost a small fortune, but Jonan had little else to spend his income on. The bond would do nothing to aid his vision – in fact, his vision was notably blurrier when he switched pairs, which was always frustrating.
The Dominion of Clarity was formidable at blocking mental compulsion – such as the Dominion of Deception, one of Rialla’s favored forms of sorcery. She tended to cast by locking eyes with her victim, and he had been on the receiving end of her talents in the past.
Friends, in his experience, were the people you knew well enough to prepare countermeasures for.
***
While Jonan had been tempted to dress as a beggar for old time’s sake, he ultimately decided that the joke would require too much effort. Thus, he simply headed to the High Quarter immediately upon packing his mirrors back in his bag. He didn’t know when Rialla had sent the message, but it had been within the last few hours, based on when he had last checked his mirrors. That meant she was likely still at the rendezvous point – if he waited until the next day, she might choose to try to find him instead. Given how things had gone last time she had sought him out, he decided that tracking her down immediately was the safer approach.
The High Quarter was because of its association with nobility. Rather, it had developed that name for having the tallest buildings within the city. Many were sprawling complexes that hous
ed dozens of homes, but the quarter also housed a number of the homes of ancient families. It was one of the oldest parts of the city, but well-maintained.
The dawnfire had retreated from the sky by the time Jonan reached the location that Rialla’s note had mentioned. A pristine manor awaited him, the blackened iron gates wide open and inviting. Walls of rose bushes lined the path to the door. Undisguised and visible, Jonan felt positively naked when he knocked on the thick wooden doors.
The door swung open.
Rialla appeared in the doorway, reaching out to grab him and pull him inside. “In, quickly.”
He allowed her to drag him within, watching as she slammed the door shut behind him. “You weren’t followed?”
Jonan shook his head. “I can be relatively confident of that, at least.”
The Rethri woman peered at him with those ominous indigo eyes for several moments before nodding and running a finger across an etched rune in the wooden doorframe. A hint of frost appeared on her fingertip and glowing blue vines spread out from it, weaving across the door.
A ritual shielding effect of some kind, triggered by her ice sorcery. Interesting – and expensive.
“Should I be expecting an assault at any moment?”
“You should always be expecting an assault at any moment.” She pulled her hand away from the door, folding her arms. “That’s the business we’re in.”
Actually, you’re the only person who’s ever broken into my home. But I suppose mentioning that might not be the best way to initiate a friendly conversation.
Jonan settled for nodding sagely.
“Follow.” She turned and began walking without waiting for an answer.
The manor was enormous.
Blue carpets covered the marble floors, and a rack of glittering weapons was prominently displayed above a central fireplace. From the entrance, he could see multiple rooms to each side and a spiral stairway leading upward.
Even more impressive, however, were the sheer number of brightly shining mirrors on the walls.
Rialla seemed to notice his gaze immediately, tugging on his arm again and bringing him over to one of the mirrors. It was nearly as tall as he was, bronze rimmed and demonstrating a flawless luster. It was, however, not displaying a reflection of the room.
Instead, he saw a familiar jail cell, long abandoned, within the city of Orlyn. He felt an odd welling of emotion at the sight.
“You…brought my mirrors.” Jonan gave her a quizzical look. “These were destroyed.”
She paused in her step, giving the slightest hint of a frown. “I had the ones that weren’t beyond salvage repaired, since I was somewhat responsible for the damage. There are a few new ones as well.”
Somewhat? You broke them yourself.
“New mirrors? You mean just regular mirrors, then?”
Vorain shook her head. “No, more like yours. When I told Lady Aayara I was having your mirrors fixed, she insisted on sending a few more she prepared herself. Claimed they were an ‘improved design’ that she was sending as a gift.”
Jonan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Yes. A gift.” He paused for a moment. “Thank you, Vorain – I mean, sorry, Rialla.”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind the old name. It’s probably better not to call me Rialla in this city. I wouldn’t want my father to find out I’m here.”
Right, this is where she grew up. I suppose she could still be recognized.
“That makes sense, but Vorain is clearly somewhat conspicuous as well. We’ll have to come up with something else for you to use later.”
“That would be a good idea, yes. So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you here.”
Jonan nodded fervently.
“We’ve got a new assignment. A rather important one, in fact.”
Jonan quirked a brow.
We?
“What sort of assignment?”
“Come sit down first. There’s a great couch back here – it’s very comfortable.” She finally released his arm, but continued to lead the way. He followed her into another room. There were three long sofas, laid out as three lines of a square.
Rialla sat on one of the couches, folded her legs, and gestured toward the one across from her. Jonan dutifully followed, taking a seat.
“What do you think of our new home?”
He scratched his chin. “It’s...big. What’s this about a mission?”
“I meant in terms of security. But yes, I suppose it is ‘comfortable’. In terms of our mission, we’re going to be tracking someone.”
“Who?”
“Cassius Morn. A former Thornguard. He was a member of the Bladebreakers.”
Jonan whistled appreciatively. The Bladebreakers were one of the most famous Thornguard units, generally working under one of the Vae’kes to eliminate high profile enemy targets. They were, in part, why the Thornguard were often confused for being assassins.
“He’s missing? What happened?”
Rialla lifted a hand and ran it through her hair. “He failed to check in after a mission.”
Seems like a good reason to find him. “How long ago?”
“Three and a half years.”
Jonan groaned. “And they’re just sending someone to look for him now?”
“Oh, no. They’ve sent people before. Six times, in fact.”
He was pretty sure he knew where this was going. “What happened to the first six squads?”
“Well,” Rialla replied, “The four and a half squads they’ve found so far were dead.”
Jonan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
Why does this always hap- oh, right. I’m expendable.
“Great. What kind of sorcery does he specialize in?”
Rialla grinned brightly. “That’s the fun part. None.”
Jonan narrowed his eyes. “None?”
“He’s not a sorcerer. To date, he’s killed more than thirty of our agents. Without a single spell.”
Chapter V – Velas II – Murder Is Such a Strong Word
Some nights, sleep could be as elusive as Symphony herself. Velas Jaldin was having one of those nights.
Sitting up in her bed, the former member of the Queensguard of Orlyn massaged her own shoulders, working at unrelenting knots. Asking someone else to help occurred to her, but it invited more complications than she was willing to deal with.
Gods, what’s wrong with me?
She sprung from the bed with more energy than necessary, snatching her sword belt down from where it hung on the wall. She pulled on her trousers and a light green vest, slipped her feet into boots ill-fitting boots she’d never bothered to replace, and strode out of the apartment.
Velthryn had, thus far, not been what she had expected. She had grown up on stories of towering spires flashing with sorcerous light and legendary warriors dueling in the streets. The city had towers, but their radiance had been somewhat… overstated. There were no mighty battles being fought, and the ‘heroes’ she had once idolized were relics of a former age, more likely to be found drunk on the street than displaying their talents in an arena.
Herod, at least, had some faint spark of his former glory. Though he had retired after the fall of Xixis, she never saw him far from the training grounds, his failing eyes always searching for someone who could measure up to the memories of his long deceased companions.
I will not disappoint you in the days to come, Master Herod.
The nightfrost had just begun to recede from the sky when Velas arrived at the training ground. She was not the first one to arrive. This was not surprising in itself, but the sight that greeted her was unexpected.
Taelien knelt in the center of a raised wooden platform near the center of the field, tracing his fingers across the surface of a red-bladed sword. Velas had seen the unusual weapon before, but not for several months, and she had never seen him with it on the training ground.
Pausing in curiosity, she observed the swordsman from a
distance.
Is he praying? I didn’t think he was the type.
It was more likely he was focusing on something, but he didn’t seem like the meditative type, either.
As she observed, she noted a hint of light on his fingertips as he brought them across the blade – the light of a flame. As he reached the hilt, he brought his hand back upward – and a glow lingered on the edge.
A brilliant flame manifested as Taelien’s fingers reached the tip of the sword, bathing the area in orange light. He quickly dragged his fingers downward, causing the flame to spread across the surface of the blade. When he reached the hilt, the fire flared brighter. Taelien winced and withdrew his glowing hand, shaking it in the air. The flames dissipated.
Velas gave a slow clap, smirking as she walked closer. Taelien looked up, a startled expression on his face.
“Knew you had one dominion bonded sword – you carry the thing everywhere – but I had no idea you’ve been hoarding more of them. You’ve been holding out on me.” She put her hands on her hips, giving him a playful grin.
He sheathed the weapon in a scabbard on his right hip – the opposite side from where he wore the Sae’kes – and stood up, grimacing.
“It’s not a dominion bonded weapon, it’s just some kind of strange metal. How long have you been watching me?”
“Long enough to get a pretty show, but not long enough to figure out the details. You’re practicing, obviously, but for what?”
“Trying to make this thing useful.” He tapped his fingers on the now-sheathed sword, shaking his head. “When Lydia and I determined how it worked, it sounded like the type of thing that could be quite potent. ‘Absorbing dominion energy’ sounds great in theory, but it doesn’t work fast enough to block offensive spells.”
Velas absently flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes. “So you’re trying to figure out how to light the blade on fire. Flashy, but not very practical.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve run into some monsters that wouldn’t be vulnerable to conventional attacks. A Harvester of Shadow, for instance.”
