She noted the smirk one of the guards sent to the other before he replied, but couldn’t think of a reason for it. “Yes, milady,” he replied. “I presume you wish to speak with him?”
“You presume correctly,” she replied with a strained but honest smile. “Do you know if he’s busy?”
The guard shrugged. “I don’t believe so, but he could be,” he admitted. “Jor’lada would know.” The guard opened the door for her. “You should be able to find him.”
Brea inclined her head to the guard in thanks and entered Tal’s home.
Hawk Manse hadn’t changed a bit since the last time she’d been here, three weeks ago. She couldn’t think of any reason why it should have, but for she’d somehow expected it to be different, to somehow show how incredibly things had changed in those three weeks.
Three weeks ago, she’d been here to visit a fellow Initiate the night before she faced her Adepthood trial. Then, they’d both been carefree youths, with no concern for prophecies or ancient wars. Now, she was an Adept, faced with the realization that men had willingly died to save her life. And Tal… was the Black Lord, a prophecy of the apocalypse made flesh.
Three weeks ago, Brea hadn’t been willing to admit she loved him, even to herself. Now… she didn’t know what she was going to say. The boy she’d loved had transformed into the most powerful man alive, practically overnight. She wasn’t sure what she felt for the man he’d become.
She glanced around the entrance hall, searching for some sign in the white marble and blue silk hangings that things had changed, but the grand architecture of the Manse gave her no clues.
Her eyes focused on the emblem that marked the far wall, a hawk woven in black on white silk. The symbolism was the same as the symbolism of the white robes over black tunics of the Battlemagi: power ruled by oaths.
A cleared throat disturbed Brea from her study of the hanging. She turned to find a white-haired man standing at the bottom of the marble steps, watching her with preternaturally keen green eyes.
“Lady Brea’ahrn,” he greeted her gently. “We’ve all been wondering how long it would be until you arrived.” The old butler smiled at her. “I believe the guards even had a pool going on it.”
Well, that explains the smirk, she thought resignedly. “Am I that predictable, Jor’lada?” she asked.
“More than he,” Jor’lada said, accompanying the emphasized word with a gesture toward the upper floor of the Manse “has become, at least. I expected him to go see you as soon as he freed himself from the people who seem to think he replaced the High King and Councils, but he didn’t.”
Brea nodded. “Is he here?” she asked quietly.
The old butler nodded. “He is, and if he’s busy, he shouldn’t be,” he said firmly. “He’s taken up a heavy burden for one so young. If he isn’t careful, it could destroy him.”
Brea inclined her head to him. “Thank you, Jor,” she said..
“Don’t mention it, milady,” the old man cackled. “Ever since my wife died, someone has to do the matchmaking ‘round here.”
Brea surprised herself by giggling out loud. She smiled at Jor’lada, realizing how much he’d managed to relieve her tension over seeing Tal.
He returned the smile. “The lad took over Car’s rooms upstairs,” Jor’lada told her. He’ll probably be in the study. You need a guide?”
“No, I think I can find it,” Brea answered.
“Good. Be off with you now.” The old butler made a shooing gesture in her general direction.
She found herself smiling at him again, and headed up the broad marble steps.
Brea stopped outside the door to the study and studied it. Like all the doors in the Manse, it was heavy oak, bound together with iron strips. It was also closed, which most likely meant that Tal was in there.
She sighed, and knocked on the door. There was no response for a moment, until the door slowly opened an inch. The sound of a sigh came from the other side of the door, and the door opened the rest of the way.
Brea faced Tal through the opened space. For a moment, neither of them spoke, as Brea looked at Tal. He was just as tall and lean as he’d been when he left, but something was definitely different. Fine white lines marked his face, scars of some kind. The glittering gold and red chain of the Hawk Amulet lay around his neck, contrasting with the pure black of the rest of his clothing.
“Brea,” he said quietly. “I am… not surprised.” For a moment he said nothing. “Well, I guess you’d better come in.”
With that, he stepped back, leaving space for Brea to enter the room.
Tal studied Brea as she walked through the doorway. They’d been friends for so long that it had been an age since he’d really looked at her.
Her red hair, cropped short when they first met, now fell to her shoulders, resting against the white fur lining of her robes. The robes hung on a frame nearly as tall and just as slim as his own. Just the sight of her made his breath catch in his throat. But no matter what he felt, he knew what he had to say tonight.
He stood in silence, waiting for her to make the first move. For a moment, she shared the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she finally asked.
“Because it wasn’t time,” he responded quietly. “Too much is coming together at once for me to take any risks.”
“Risks?” she snapped at him. “What risk would there have been in telling me you were there? I worried about you, damn you!”
“Brea, the glamor wasn’t just shielding me from you,” he replied, still talking softly in the hope of calming her. “I’ve met Stret’sar, the Lord of the Swarm. Until I revealed myself to the Council, he knew someone was the Black Lord. He knew I was alive. He had not connected the two facts to realize that I was the Black Lord. If I had told you – if I revealed myself to anyone – he would have known.”
“How exactly would that have mattered,” Brea demanded, “when as soon as you reached here you revealed yourself?”
Tal sighed. “Brea, Stret and I are linked in ways I cannot even understand, let alone explain,” he told her. “For example: my ability to create that image of him. If he’d known who I was, he could have done much the same… and brought half the Swarm after me. He and I will face each other before this is done, but I would prefer to have the odds on my side when it happens.”
“So you just ignore me? Even after you revealed yourself?” Brea said, her voice lowered from her earlier snapping, but not much. “You could at least have spoken to me.”
Tal turned away from her, contemplating the fireplace. “It… was safer that we not speak,” he said quietly. “It still would be, but I am not prepared to simply send you away.”
“Safer? Safer how?” she demanded.
He continued to look at the fireplace, bringing it to life with a thought. “Brea, I am not who I was,” he told her. “I am not… a safe person to be around at the moment. I presume you know what the black robes mean.”
Tal felt her nod. “Power,” she said, her voice quiet now, but still angry. “Power unrestrained.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I am the Black Lord. Death incarnate, power unchecked. Until our people are safe, I can be nothing else. I must be the Black Lord every moment, everywhere.”
“You are not a god,” she said softly.
Not yet. But I may be forced to become one. “I am what I must be,” he told her. “If I must be Death, that others might live, I will be Death. I am sworn to defend the innocent, at any price.”
“Even yourself?” she asked.
Tal turned to face her. “I am not ceasing to be me, Brea,” he told her. “I am becoming more. Yet I am also becoming dangerous. I will fight, because I have no choice. I will fight, because there are so many who deserve peace. Because you deserve peace, and it may be all that I can give you.”
“Tal, you don’t have to destroy yourself for that,” she insisted.
I don’t have a choice. If I become what I fear I must become, will I truly want t
o go on? “My intent is to destroy them, not me,” he said quietly.
“Tal, you can’t be alone like this,” she said softly. “No-one could carry the burden you are taking up alone.”
“I can. I must. I will,” he said firmly, though his heart warmed at her words. “I am the Black Lord, and I cannot risk anyone else. I cannot risk you.”
He heard Brea shift at that last admission. “Tal, I am a Mage,” she reminded him flatly. “My duty is to help and protect, just as yours is. What is so special about me?”
Tal turned to face her. “Because you are everything I am sworn to defend,” he said softly. “Everything I would die for. You are the symbol of everything to me.”
She stepped forward and placed her hands on his. He knew he should pull away, but for some reason he couldn’t. “I can’t be a symbol, Tal,” she told him. “Let me stand with you, please.”
“Brea, I can’t,” he said, finally admitting his weakness to them both.
“Tal, I will not be your symbol,” she said flatly. “I will not be your prize, or your reward. Fight for peace if you will, but it is not your gift to me. It is your gift to our people. I only want one thing from you.”
He took a step backwards, but his hands still rested in hers. “Brea, I cannot give you anything more than peace,” he said softly. “I can’t be anything but the Black Lord.”
He met her look, and she held his gaze. She seemed to be searching for something in his eyes. “You may be the Black Lord, but you are also Tal’raen,” she told him. “You are the man I love.”
Tal’s heart turned over at those words, yet he somehow managed to remove his hands from Brea’s and step back another step. “Brea, I cannot give you what is no longer mine to give,” he said sadly.
“Why not?” she asked, and the choke in her voice nearly broke his resolve.
“Because my life is the Kingdom’s now,” he replied. “It cannot be anything else. I cannot… be what you want.” He paused, his throat dry as he forced the words out, “I cannot love. Not while our people are at war.”
“When?” she asked. Her question was simple, but it struck straight to Tal’s heart. “I’ll wait, Tal’raen. I will wait for you to return to me. But it is Tal’raen I wait for, not the Black Lord… don’t let him die.”
Tal bowed his head to her. “I think it’s best that you leave now,” he said finally.
“You’re not going to answer me, are you?” she demanded.
“I can’t,” he replied simply. “I cannot tell you what I do not know.” Tal turned away from her so she couldn’t see the tears clinging to the corners of eyes. “I am what I was always destined to be, Brea’ahrn. This is my fight, it is my duty, and until it is done, it is my life. I can give it nothing less, or all that is and all that may yet be could fall under the sway of Chaos.”
With that, he fell silent, watching the burning fire. The fire seemed unable to ward off the chill that had fallen upon the room, adding to the chill from the autumn night.
For a moment, silence reigned in the room, and then he heard footsteps as Brea left. As the door closed behind her, he lowered his head to his hands, and tears began to leak through his fingers.
It had to be done, the voice of the Amulet – that combined spirit of Car’raen and the first Hawk Lord – said.
He ignored it.
Rising
A gesture of Stret’s imploded the image of Deoran City he’d been studying as Lo’kae entered the room. He felt the Drake Mage incline his head to him.
“What is it, Lord?” Lo’kae asked.
Stret watched the space where his image had been. “I’ve been feeling something for the last few days…” he said softly. “A power that may even rival my own.” He gestured again and the image appeared again, forming in swirls of colors. “I believe you were correct, that the Black Lord is rising to face me.”
“It is unfortunate we could not prevent it,” Lo’kae admitted, “but it seems the prophecy will not be turned astray so easily. The Gods have brought this to pass, and only we can bring it to its conclusion. The prophecy merely states that you will meet, not which of you will win.”
Stret’sar nodded. He’d read the Prophecy of the Blood during his studies. It had passed under his sight at the time – who would really think to consider that they were a prophesied chosen one? – but he knew its text.
“So we have come to being now, and all is uncertain except that we will meet,” he said, his eyes still on the constantly shifting image, seeking his enemy.
“I’d say that sums it up,” Lo’kae replied. “Do you really think you can find him?” Stret felt Lo’s gesture towards the image more than saw it, but he understood the question anyway.
“We’re linked, Lo’kae,” Stret told his servant softly. “If anyone can find him, I can.” Almost as if to prove him right, the image suddenly froze.
The scene shown was that of a courtyard in the High Citadel in Deoran. A black-robed figure, carrying a small chest, was walking across it. Even as Stret leaned forward to examine the image closer, the figure turned to face the viewpoint of the image.
Tal felt the scrying literally in midstep. He froze, then turned to face where he saw it coming from. He laid the chest he was carrying on the ground, then rose to face whoever was viewing him.
“So,” he said quietly. “I wondered if you were going to find me, Stret’sar.”
A voice spoke in his head, How do you know who I am, mageling?
“Who else would be scrying me, ‘swarmling’?” Tal returned.
You should watch who you insult, ‘Black Lord’, the voice snapped.
“Really?” Tal asked mockingly. “You should watch who you spy on.” With that, he reached out with his mind and sent a flash of power along the scrying spell.
Stret reeled back as the flash hit him. The image collapsed as his head burned in agony.
“Son of a bitch,” he spat. “Mageling son of a sow!”
“What happened?” Lo’kae demanded.
“He back-flashed me. I didn’t even know that was possible,” Stret snarled.
Lo’kae stared at him in shock. “It isn’t,” he insisted. “Not without a lot more power than any Battlemage should possess.”
“So,” Stret said, his hand pressed against his temple as he returned to his feet. “This battle is looking like it’s going to be more and more interesting every day.”
Tal waited for Stret to attempt to reply. When nothing came he shrugged and picked up his chest again. He glanced around to reacquire his bearings, then set off for the blacksmith again.
It took him only a minute to reach the smithy, where he was greeted by the smith and Brea’ahrn. The Life Mage, in her white and green robes, looked more than slightly out of place in the well-lit but still dirty and cluttered smithy.
“My lady,” he said to Brea, bowing his head. “Thank you for coming.”
“I must admit,” she told him dryly, returning his bow, “my curiosity was piqued.”
“As was mine,” the smith put in. “Now, would you care to enlighten us as to what this is about?”
“Of course,” Tal replied. “I need a staff.”
The smith looked at him askance. “Why are you talking to me, then?” he asked carefully. “I don’t deal in wood, only steel.”
“I don’t want wood, master smith,” Tal told him. “I want a sword-staff. The sword I was given by my mentor was destroyed at the Pillars, and I need a new blade. Since I need a staff as well…” he trailed off with a shrug.
“A sword-staff?” the smith repeated, considering. “Hmm.” The smith looked at Tal’raen for a long moment, then, finally, a wide grin split his features as he extended a large beefy hand. “I’m By’mal, master smith of Deoran, and – even if I do say so myself – one of the best smiths in the land.”
Tal took the hand and shook it. “So I was told,” he admitted. “Actually, I was told you were the best. Quite possibly the only man in Vishni who can do the job I
want.”
“Well, I do need you and a Life Mage,” By’mal admitted, “but you already arranged that,” his gesture took in Tal and Brea. “I’ll need some star-steel though. I forge the best steel in the Kingdom, but it takes the essence of a fallen star for steel to channel magic as a staff would.”
Tal lifted the chest he’d carried across the Citadel and placed it on the counter. “Two kilos of it,” he told the man. “All I could get my hands on.”
“If it was all you could find,” the smith replied, “I’ll trust it’s all that’s available. You are the Black Lord, after all.”
Tal nodded back. “Shall we begin?” he asked.
By’mal opened the chest, revealing the rough chunks of meteoric iron. “I see no reason to delay, my lord.”
The smith laid the pieces of star-steel on his anvil. He studied the weight. “What sort of sword are you looking for, Lord Tal’raen?” he asked.
“A Tal’var blade,” Tal replied. The Tal’var school of swordsmanship – which Tal had attained Eleventh Circle in, shortly before being so abruptly raised to Adept – worked with a longsword.
The smith hrmed. “We’re going to need more steel,” he said.
Tal watched as By grabbed up several rods of half-worked iron and added them to the anvil. He looked over the arranged pieces of metal, then glanced up at Tal. “Would you care to do the honors, Mage Tal’raen?” he asked.
Tal nodded and reached out with his magic and poured fire into the metal. It first glowed red, then began to turn white and start to puddle. “Brea,” he said calmly.
He felt her power flowing into the blade beside his, balancing the heat out to the perfect level for the ultra-hard metal to be forged at.
Tal didn’t even notice By’mal beginning to work the steel, he was so lost in his communion with the magic – and with Brea. Their magics merged together, matching perfectly to achieve the spell. As the smith forged the body of the sword-staff with his anvil and hammer, so they forged its soul with their minds and magic.
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