by AS Hamilton
Malithorn moved away from the window to sit on the burgundy, leather lounge. Sinking into the deep-cushioned seat, Malithorn winced at a twinge in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, just as Liacoren had instructed. Rubbing his forehead, he made a low sound of impatience. He was tired of the riddle and anxiety The Prophecy and its cursed saviour caused him.
Just then, the servant knocked on the door.
'Enter,' Malithorn instructed curtly.
A tall, willowy, elvan female stepped in. 'You summoned me, my great lord?'
'I have a headache. I want my medicine and my meal.' This request would be interpreted as: send in the masseuse and summon Liacoren, who would administer the medication when his meal arrived.
'Yes, my great lord.'
Malithorn did not care if he had to kill every elvan there was, he would not yield to a bunch of primitives. Whatever the means, he'd preserve his father's legacy.
Chapter 3
Day 2 – Before Dawn
Mehani Woods
(near Sey-sjhon River, just past the river junction)
Brynn added some branches to the fire, it had just turned from winter to spring and though most days were sunny and warm, the nights still relived winter's brisk temperatures. He had his thermal blanket and hammock, but Baschia was not so well equipped; may-en-ghi usually slept in a den in the colder seasons and this travelling would leave her out in the open most nights.
He had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, but Baschia still slept. The may-en-ghi's presence meant Brynn could get some true rest instead of dozing half on the alert. Over the last several nights, every sound had roused him. The flight of a bird low overhead or some small creature digging around for its dinner, a lonely call in the night, or the excited yips after a kill would all make him start.
He looked up at the sky and judged he would need to wake Baschia soon as there was a lot of ground for her to cover, but then he had never known her to lack stamina. He remembered last summer, watching her bound through the fields with her cubs as they played a game of catch. First, there would be nothing. Then, a may-en-ghi would shoot out of the shoulder-high grass, clear it by at least that height again and land several meters away where the found may-en-ghi would then perform a series of similar leaps as they chased each other about the field. They continued in this manner until a catch was made or the other may-en-ghi playing distracted the pursuer enough to allow the pursued to go to ground again. Then all would be quiet and the field before them looked untouched, uninhabited.
Brynn extracted a brush from his pack, causing Baschia's ear to flick in his direction, but she did not wake. Cleaning the brush of horse hair, he proceeded to tame his own hair into a single plait. He was surprised at how often he noticed the absence of his raikiwa. This was the name given to thin, long braids decorated with beads that were a source of pride for the elvan as they signified accomplishments. In particular, when one gave of themselves, as healers did, or as one might fighting a fire to spare a community. 'Raikiwa' meant 'honourable courage'. The colour of the beads used at intervals in the braids indicated the level of accomplishment or risk. Blue and silver signified a higher level, various other colours showed that lesser challenges had been faced. Courting couples also gifted short lengths of gems attached to a thin chain so it could be woven into a braid. Bound partners wore these adornments in accompaniment with ear cuffs, signifying a disinterest in courting rituals. The 'beads' were made of gemstones, creating eye-catching displays. Males particularly prized this aspect as it went well with their courting belts. The belts were handed down over generations from father to son when the child reached courting age and held chains of gems collected over each elvan's courting period. The female equivalent was a head-dress passed on when they Danced with the Sun.
Brynn had earned eight silver raikiwa beads for placing his life at risk to aid others, two blue for his aid in a battle and two green for his help as an empath and healer. As an empath he could spare another person from feeling pain by making it his own.
Malithorn had ordered that elvan have their raikiwa cut off early on in his rule. Some stubbornly re-braided them, only to have their hair shorn off completely. Many of Malithorn's soldiers sported the braids as trophy's or gambled with the beads using them as a kind of currency more portable than the large, heavy coins used by the Abbarane government — they were also easier to hide.
Much of their culture had been destroyed when Keldon, and later Malithorn, banned elvan dialects and customs. The very wealthy had machines to aid in the agricultural activities they used their land for, but for those less prosperous, life was much more challenging. Animals and equipment had to be leased from the ruling thane and then the thanes would also take a percentage of the crops those leased animals helped produce. This tithe was imposed on top of the taxes farmers already paid.
Many elvan were tortured. Malithorn's motives in this seemed to be a mix of curiosity and a cruelty born of loathing. For a man who hated the elvan so much, his interest in their talent was strong. He studied with an intensity and persistence of which many teachers wished their students had just a minor amount. Yet no matter how much he learned, Malithorn insisted they withheld key knowledge, subjecting his captives to the same dogged determination he applied to his study.
What Malithorn failed to understand was that not all with talent had the skill to become a mage. True, much of talent could be learned. It was also true that all elvan were born with the capability to use talent. What was not true was the belief that all elvan were equally gifted. It was like the wood-crafter, all elvan had hands, but they did not necessarily have the skill with which to sculpt wood. The same was true of human mages, with some more naturally gifted than others.
To use talent was to access what the mages called planes or paths. This was why mages often referred to the planes of memory or healers spoke of the planes of a body. Mages often created what was called a ghanri from the planes themselves, this was a protected space in which they could practice and rest. Elvan and humans had different planes and it was difficult for one race to access the other's planes and even when the skill was earned, it was limited. The only exceptions were planes-walkers, which was a rank mages with ambition aspired to achieve. In their history, the elvan recorded only a few natural-born planes-walkers, the most well-known were the founders of Andarea, Vey-ghel-arai and Hahn. It was said that they had been as powerful as gods. Most mages though, aimed for more attainable skills, depending on their natural strengths.
Mind-speak was not considered a talent by their race, more an innate skill. Brynn had never known of an elvan who did not have this ability, but many new generations did not know how to use the talent properly because they no longer had parents to teach them. It was like speaking; the ability to make sound was there, but without a parent to teach them, a child might never learn a formal language. It was when you could communicate with animals, too, that mind-speak was considered a talent, for not all elvan had that. This was not just feeling and projecting raw emotions, it was communicating on more intricate levels with the use of language.
Mind-hear was to hear another's unsent thoughts, to concentrate on a person and 'listen in'. There were times when Brynn didn't even need to concentrate; a combination of natural ability and whether the individual possessed mental barriers. Truth-seers were often classed in this category, but the mage that tutored him, Linuk, said that a truth-seer's skill was a lot more complicated than just hearing a person's thoughts or having empathic abilities. It was rare, these days to encounter a truth-seer because early on in the war they had fled the country, when it became known that if Keldon caught them, he would use them for interrogations. For truth-seers, who had strong empathic abilities, it would be like they endured the torture themselves.
Mind-will was considered the strongest talent. There were several forms of this talent with two main types. One involved using the will to manipulate the environment through the planes. This was to shift a chair without touching it. The oth
er was manipulation of another's will. This was to direct someone else to get the chair while believing it was their own idea. It was harder to use on those who were trained to detect intrusions to their personal planes, but there were ways to get around such training. Brynn possessed both abilities, but he was not experienced enough to feel confident using them. Belon assured him that his rate of learning was at a good, even pace and he would soon feel less timid in using them, which was, in part, a goal of this journey.
Mind-see, was to walk the paths of the future, or past, or even the paths of another person.
The talents of healing and shape-change were costly for the inexperienced, as they could drain you quicker than a drunk could down a mug of ale. Belon said that those new to either skill would suffer from debilitating fatigue.
There were those whose talents allowed them to harmonise with the various energies and frequencies in the environment or other beings. Once 'tuned in', a mage could manipulate those energies. Belon often described it as being more like a state of mind; the talent of the empath.
Malithorn concentrated on the talents of mind-will and healing; he cared little for knowledge of talents that would not increase his strength. Brynn's may-en-ghi mentor, Sala, once observed that it was like a black leopard wanting the white fur of a snow otter. The otter would gladly trade coats with the leopard to prevent its death, if it were but possible.
Malithorn and many of the thanes abused the healing talent of captured elvan to keep their bodies young and strong. Many reports described the ruler looking as if he was still in his late twenties rather than somewhere in his forties. As long as he kept at least one elvan healer alive, he would be virtually immortal, having the wear time put on his body mended.
Malithorn's misuse of the healing talent was against elvan beliefs. To constantly heal every minor cut and fever would leave the body too fragile to survive on its own, and so was used judiciously. Malithorn abhorred the elvan and, Brynn suspected it was likely that his study of talent was an attempt to gain independence from them.
It was one thing to be conquered and ruled by another, but since the rule of Keldon and Malithorn, a good third or more of their population had been slaughtered. Many elvan had been saved by fleeing at the start of the war, making their homes on islands or in the desert or in the upper reaches of the mountains. They were not facing extinction just yet. Of those that remained, more were enslaved than were free, leaving an abused and dispirited people. Certainly not enough to fight with. Brynn guessed that had been Keldon's aim.
He sighed. It was going to take a lot more than talent to get Malithorn off the throne... Brynn grinned maliciously, the smile slowly spreading across his face as he thought; talent might not do it, but a well-aimed bolt might.
Day 2 – Before Dawn
Ancoulan
A cool breeze drifted in through the open window. Ri-ar-raah was three quarters of the way across the sky; the star gracefully sinking towards the end of her journey. Daniel drifted to the edge of consciousness, fighting to stay enfolded in the comfortable depths of slumber.
A soft sound wafted about the room. Daniel shifted, determined to return to his dreams until the dawn light outshone that of his lamp. Daniel's eyelids flickered. Something was unfamiliar in the room. Reluctantly, he cracked one eye open. All was silent, all was calm, all was dark; completely and utterly dark.
Day 2 – Morning
Mehani Woods
(Sey-sjhon River – further north)
Brynn stepped back from Sershja admiring his handy work. The horse's coat was now a deep brown, quite similar to his own hair colour, and his mane and tail were now black. The outcome was satisfying, but it had been quite a challenge. Mane and tail were easy enough, but the task of combing the dye through Sershja's coat had been tedious; he was a well-built horse, after all. Brynn's arms and back ached, his muscles chastising him with a persistence of which he thought only Belon was capable.
'Thank you for your patience, Sershja,' he told the horse as he patted the well-muscled neck. Sershja snorted in response. 'We could not have two white and grey horses wandering about,' Brynn continued, stroking the horse's muzzle, 'else the Thane might follow us instead of Baschia's illusion.'
'Good thing Belon made you pack that dye,' the charger remarked.
Brynn grunted absently as he remembered the argument he had put up when Belon had insisted he pack it. True, she had meant it to keep up the dye on his hair, but Brynn had argued that the trip would not be long enough to need it. Belon had been particularly obstinate, though, insisting that — no matter what — Brynn re-dyed his hair every two sennats. So he had packed black, two shades of brown, red, burgundy, gold and silver. There was more of the brown, since that was the base colour, the rest were used to mimic the subtler shades. Other elvan would immediately notice it was not right, most humans would not bother to look. As usual, Belon had him pack far more than he needed and, for once, Keysjhon, the more practical of his parents, had not supported him. Worse still, they did not take up much space, so he could not use that angle to win his argument. It looked like, again, his seda was right; no doubt she would let him know it when he returned. Although... If he told her he used it on Sershja, she might be less than pleased.
'Just let me wash up and I will give you an apple, if you want,' he told Sershja.
'You think you have to ask,' the horse answered gruffly.
Brynn went over to the gear left on one the side of the clearing. In his hurry to get started, he had tossed all his gear in a disorderly pile. Groaning, Brynn considered the mess, Belon always said he should not rush his tasks.
The sound of metal clinking on metal, made Brynn freeze. Travellers? Silently, he waved Sershja over to the edge of the clearing nearest the river. Crossing to his portable stove, he switched it off, tossing the water in the pot into the shrubs.
'Someone—'
Brynn gently cut Sershja off using a mind-sent signal and then nodded in response to the unfinished question. Hurriedly, he gathered the packs and saddle, shoving them under some bushes. Catching up his knife, he slipped it through his belt. Pausing briefly, he sought out any sign of rival mages. Sensing none, he reached further to touch minds with a nearby unchana; the bird was now silent in her song as the travellers approached. It was not a merging exactly, more like someone looking over your shoulder to read your book, except the words were your thoughts, the pictures; the images you saw.
Images appeared rapidly, flickering from one to the next as the bird perceived its surroundings — another unchana, its multi-hued red feathers standing out amongst the green; the ground below; towards the river, the sun sparkling on the water. Then, back to the bird, which flew off. Fleetingly, the unchana glanced at the riders on the path that ran by the clearing, before returning to the unchana that had flown off. The unchana took flight and Brynn withdrew. Holding on to the image of the riders, he examined it in his mind; eight men, all armed. A patrol. Brynn surmised that they were mercenaries because of the absence of a mage. Mercenary groups didn't warrant the protection of a mage; to the thanes, mercenaries were almost as disposable as elvan.
Brynn estimated the patrol would round the bend in minutes. Briskly, he crossed to Sershja, backing him into the foliage and signalling him to lie down. Then he grabbed several dead branches, the leaves still clinging to them and shook them around the area. It was sloppy work, but all he had time to do.
'Make no sound,' he sent, as he lay on the ground next to Sershja. 'I am going to lay an illusion over us. Try not to move, my talent will protect us. Alright, Sershja?'
The charger responded by nudging Brynn's shoulder with his nose.
Brynn's heartbeat easily tripled the pace of the dull thuds of hooves as the patrol emerged from the trees and swarmed towards the river, allowing their horses to drink while they refilled their water-skins.
'Hurry it up! We're expected to meet Mehani-South by noon, there's no time for you flounder about,' the leader called from atop his roa
n-coloured horse.
Mehani-South would be a patrol from the town of Ferneau. Brynn raised his head slightly to get a better look at the leader. He possessed the dark features of an Valandellian; thick black-hair, black eyes with silver pupils and skin the colour of the golden desert sands of his home nation. Concentrating on the minds of the men about him, Brynn sought to hear the leader's thoughts. The noise was abrupt and disorienting, like he'd entered a hall full of people all talking at once, except they were, in this case, thinking. Patiently, he narrowed his focus. It was like picking out the song of the vesvani from a chorus of kinyawn and unchana, except this man's thoughts were nowhere near as beautiful. Kinsen, was his name and his mind was murky; thick with bitterness and hate; it permeated every part of him. Brynn sifted through the man's thoughts, searching for information regarding the patrol's activities. Outside of the patrol's schedule and instructions, most of the information was vague. Rather than embark on a finer search, Brynn withdrew; not wanting to spend a second of unnecessary time in Kinsen's mind. The experience was making him queasy.
Even after the patrol mounted up and left, Brynn waited several more minutes before dropping his illusion. Slowly, he pushed himself up to his knees. 'You can move now.'
Cradling his head in his hands, Brynn rubbed at his temples as if the action would remove the 'feel' of Kinsen's mind from his own. He should have known better. Such clumsiness would have earned him remonstrations from Linuk; his main tutor. She would never have encountered any part of that mind she did not want to touch. He had been so immersed in the act of hiding his use of talent, he had forgotten to apply a filter between the man and himself on the planes. Now Brynn felt like he was drenched in the man's baleful personality and vindictiveness.
Sershja wasn't exactly sure what went wrong, but he recognised the expression of disappointment on Brynn's face. As far as he could tell, it'd gone well. He nudged Brynn's shoulder. 'You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. It's just as Belon counsels; you're much younger than many to achieve what you have, so there'll be mistakes, but nothing you can't learn from.'
