Chapter Text
The pit viper rested, coiled atop a flat, chiseled stone under the blistering sun. It had survived the frigid night and was soaking in as much of the heat of the morning as it could contain before it went hunting. Each day and each night was its own unique torment in this cursed place – where faint mockeries of clouds drifted across the endless blue sky, and scarcely a hint of frost survived the sunrise. Only the desperate or the mad would seek to make a home in the shifting dune seas of the northern desert, which made the strangers a peculiar annoyance. The venomous snake hissed a reserved warning.
I don’t know if or how this will ever reach you, but I still feel compelled all the same. Maybe just writing these things down will help me come to terms with what happened between us. That is very selfish of me, I know, but leaving your side in the first place was selfish too. I don’t want closure; I want to see you again, more than you can possibly imagine. When the entire world collapses around us, we must always have each other. There will never be anyone else in my life like you, and it is ridiculous how much I took that for granted.
The prevailing wind carried with it the sharp metal clangs of pickaxes striking stone as the work crews began their shifts. Low, laborious cadences rose from the depression below, and gangs of workers appeared, trudging out and wheeling carts loaded with piles of sand and excavated rock. The pit viper wisely retreated from the oncoming procession, ducking behind the toppled remnants of an ancient colonnade. Unfortunately, it had chosen the wrong hiding spot and was soon swatted away by a lash of dark magic.
I’ve never been good at this writing thing. I know not to be worried for you, you have always been a strong and formidable woman, but I worry all the same. Nothing has felt the same since you left. Come home. For better or worse, the war is over. Don’t worry about Callum or Ezran. I’ve spoken with them, and you’ve done nothing that you need to apologize for. You can return with your head up high.
The ink was smeared and blotted in a few places. It had been properly sealed at the time of delivery, so it had not been a consequence of transit. Someone might have carefully opened and resealed the letter, but doing so would have either required an exceptionally deft hand or dark magic. There would have been signs of that. No, no matter how many times she checked, the letter seemed both intact and genuine.
Memories of anger and pain bubbled to the surface, and her grip tightened. But despite it all, she did not dare damage the letter; at that moment it might have been her most valuable possession in the world. If anything else was stupid enough to disturb her now, it would get far worse than a mere lash of magic.
I’m sure it’s much more complicated than I think, but does it have to be? This can all be simple, just like the way I feel about you. I failed you before, and it haunts me to this day. We’ve been through so much together, and no amount of nonsense the world throws at us could change our bond. No matter what it is you’re doing out there, I can help you. I want to help you. You don’t need to do this alone. You never have to be alone. Even if I can’t face this at your side, always know that you can always return to a safe (mostly), warm (usually), and loving (always) home.
All of my love,
Sorbear
That was the end of it. A couple of new blots smeared the dried ink, the tears quickly evaporating in the scorching sunlight. Careful hands folded the letter again across its old creases and cautiously sealed the wax with a controlled magical flame. The letter was then tucked gently in the small pocket of a pair of spider-silk breeches. It had definitely been Soren’s handwriting. As painful as it had been to read, it was good that she had. But she could not return to this beautiful home that seemed only to exist in Soren’s imagination. Not yet, she was not ready, and her task was not complete.
Slowly, the lost woman rose to her feet and began her work.
Standing high above the shores of Lake Hanan, Rayla had never felt quite so small. Immense primal energies surged through the torrential waters below. Even at this distance, Rayla could feel their power within the roar that echoed up through the stone beneath her feet. It wasn’t the same as the familiar half-light of the moon, although the moon did push and pull the tides. This was unlike any tidal forces Rayla had ever encountered before. Across the dark waters of the lake as far as the eye could see was naught but a frothing vortex that obliterated anything in its path. Fishing its depths or even simple navigation across the surface seemed impossible, and the local humans did not even try to attempt such things. Despite bordering three of the five human kingdoms, no human settlements lined the lake shore, which remained free wilderness – a rarity in this part of the world.
Rayla disliked deep water on the best of days, and this was enough to turn her guts into something resembling her disgusting breakfast that Soren had called “porridge.” Fortunately, she had been scarcely able to keep any food down at all over the last few days, so she had little in her stomach with which to humiliate herself by vomiting it across the flagstones. And she had been one of the lucky ones.
It was no secret that the Kingdom of Neolandia was engulfed by a vast desert that stretched from the battered shores of Lake Hanan to the frostbitten shores of the Frozen Sea. Water was always going to be a precious commodity, but no one had fully appreciated the extent to which that would be true. When Grark’s scouts had found a natural spring on the very first day of their expedition, they had considered themselves blessed. The absence of any plant life around the crystal clear pool had been their only warning, but by the time anyone realized that something was wrong, half of the soldiers were deathly ill and three of the horses had died. Neolandia was a twisted and cursed land, blinded from the sight of whatever it was that brought order to the world, and Callum was out there inside of it somewhere.
At the thought of Callum, a terrible numbness formed in her chest and descended through her body, petrifying her legs. When she began to sway, Soren rushed over and caught her arm to steady her. With a jolt, Rayla cautiously straightened herself, catching a flash of white teeth from Soren’s perfect smile. His eyes sparkled like infinite sapphires under the heavy afternoon sun, and Rayla felt the gentlest caress of his scent upon her, heightened by a day in the saddle. But it wouldn’t be enough. It had been his idea to come here, after all. He would not get away with that this easily. Despite her best efforts, Rayla felt the slightest smile tug at the edges of her mouth before she smoothed over it with a reasonable scowl. Stupid human, she hated water, and she hated dark mages.
The poisoned water in the spring had utterly crippled Grark’s band of warriors, halting the search for Callum and wasting days, if not weeks of precious time. In her desperation, it had been easy for Soren to convince her to make this trip. He had promised that it would be worth it, that what they found here and brought back would allow them to quickly track Callum down as soon as the others had recovered from their ailment. But it all seemed too good to be true. She trusted him, she knew, but not always his judgment. Even with the best intentions, he still had a blind spot for things related to his family – particularly dark magic.
Seeing her scowl, Soren quickly released her arm and stepped back, but continued to study her with concern. “I’m fine, Soren,” she protested, feeling a spot of heat burn in her cheeks. “I just…”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Soren insisted, “my dad took us here a few times growing up, and there’s plenty to do even if you’re not a mage. My mother and I used to spend a lot of time in the botanical gardens.”
“Even if you're not a dark mage,” Rayla corrected sullenly. “I bet they also have a zoo.” It was a euphemism of course. Rayla didn’t think any dark mage could look at anything and see more than what they could kill, cut off, or otherwise destroy to fuel their foul spells.
For once, the implication was not lost on Soren and he sighed, “If you really think this is a bad idea, then we don’t have to do it. We can just go back to the others or press on ourselves.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rayla dismissed. “We’ve already come all this way. I know you wouldn’t have brought me here if you didn’t think it was important.”
A warm light seemed to glow behind Soren’s eyes as he took her hand. “Alright,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just… stay close to me while we’re here. I don’t think there will be any trouble once we explain what’s going on, but it’s always better to be safe.” With that stirring vote of confidence, they finally approached the coven of dark mages.
About the jagged cliffs overlooking the east bank of the mighty Hanan rose a long, narrow promontory. Weathered and stark, the stone cut the lake off from the surging waters of the Upper Berylwater, which snaked away off into Duren. No other lake on the continent birthed so many rivers, and it was this unnatural phenomenon that attracted the dark mages like flies. Isolated on the lakeside as if drawn to its chaos, a small city of bright marble buildings stood atop the promontory, surrounded by a low wall of fused granite. The buildings sprawled out from the base of a great tower, nearly falling over the cliffs themselves as they seemed to strain against the walls like some bloated tick. This tower rose defiantly to heights that should not have been possible for human engineers, appearing to scrape the lower clouds that drifted by overhead.
From the tower’s summit emerged an even greater structure, something the humans called an aqueduct, drawing water from the tower and carrying it off toward the horizon. The raw energy required to draw water up through both the tower and the cliffs below seemed impossible, but Rayla knew in her heart that the solution had to be dark magic. The enormity of the arcane forces necessary to accomplish and maintain such an achievement terrified her. She dreaded to think what must have been done to bind such magic. Soren’s casual indifference to this meant that such thoughts had never crossed his mind. Sometimes ignorance was bliss.
As they approached an otherwise magnificent brass gate, humbled only by the extravagant architecture surrounding it, a slim young man looked up from his leather notebook and straightened a pair of spectacles. “Welcome,” he hailed in a squawk that became a startled goose. Hastily clearing his throat, he tried again. “Welcome to St. Claudia’s Seminary.”
Rayla shot a surprised look to Soren. “No relation,” he clarified in a low whisper.
“Yes,” the lookout droned. “I know it’s a funny name. No, you can’t go in. The colleges are not accepting new students at this time, so you might as well just turn around and go back where you came from.”
“Oh, we’re not looking to apply,” Rayla interjected.
“We’re here on behalf of King Ezran,” Soren added. “Of Katolis. Official business. Crownguard business.”
“I thought Katolis was too good for the likes of us,” the lookout huffed. “What with your ‘Puzzle House’ and all. Still, Katolis is part of our charter. Fine,” he sighed. “I guess you can go in. But your companion is going to have to wait out here.”
“But you just said we could go in…”
“I said you can go in,” the lookout corrected, pointing at Soren. “But I see her horns and her ears. And her fingers. Elves can’t go in. I don’t know how one even got so far past the Breach.”
“Oh charming,” Rayla groaned. “A human bigot! How original.”
“I don’t make the rules,” the lookout protested. “If you’d like, I can send for the Dean of Student Affairs. Once she’s done with her meetings for the day, maybe she can answer any questions you might have.”
“Will it take long?” Soren asked. “We’re kind of in a rush.”
“Like I said, you are free to go in at any time. Your friend will either have to wait for you to return or file a complaint with the Dean of Student Affairs. Or she can turn around and go back where she came from.” As he lifted his notebook to continue reading, he added with a sophomoric smirk, “Maybe all the way back.”
Rayla’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, which in turn struggled with the itch to seize her butterfly blades. “Listen,” she snapped, marching right up to the lookout, who flattened his notebook against his chest like a shield. “I’m going into this ‘seminary’ whether you like it or not. If you’re going to do something about that, you’d better do it fast and hope it counts. You won’t get a second chance.”
“Now hang on,” the lookout sputtered. The whites of his eyes seemed ready to burst from his skull. “Hang on a second. That won’t be necessary. I’m just doing this for the scholarship credit. It’s the Neolandians who don’t want elves coming here. They’re the ones you should be angry with, like the rest of us.”
“What are you talking about?” Rayla demanded. She knew about the ongoing war between Neolandia and Duren, but Soren had assured her that this place was neutral ground. Besides, the serpentine dragon stitched into the fabric of the lookout's woolen cloak essentially screamed that he was from Del Bar.
“I’ve probably said too much already,” the lookout whined, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll get in trouble if I spread ‘fear and paranoia,’ I’m told. All you need to know is that we’re not accepting any new students for the foreseeable future. Ask the Dean if you want to know more.” His eyes widened again, “But don’t tell her I said anything!” he blurted. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to go on my lunch break about now. I never saw either of you. And if you get caught in there, I had nothing to do with it!”
He suddenly darted past Rayla, through the open gate, and into the courtyard beyond. Rayla made after him, but Soren caught her arm again. “He’s going to raise the alarm,” she warned.
“I think he’s going to change his pants first,” Soren winked. “You scared him good.”
Rayla wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Serves him right,” she sighed. “But maybe he’s too afraid of getting in trouble to bother reporting us. Maybe he’s not. Either way, we shouldn’t wait around here for someone to come back. Come on,” she beckoned, “let’s see if this trip was worth it.”
She doubted that it was, but it was difficult for her to think straight. Over the last year, she had slowly grown accustomed to being away from her Callum. When she had been gone before, she had known where he was and that he was safe. But this was different. Now she knew that he was not safe, and she had no idea where he was. It was a deep, persistent panic that lingered in the back of her mind. Even her time with Soren only masked that fear – it never removed it. Soren was a distraction. This trip was a distraction. Anything that wasn’t her putting one foot in front of the other in the search for Callum felt like a complete waste of time, and she did not know how much of that time was left. She feared she was going mad.
If it were up to her, she would have pressed on from the spring, water or no water. She would have turned over every grain of sand in that desert if she had to, but she couldn’t go blundering around in the dark. They should have been trying to contact Corvus. There had been no sign of him since he had left Katolis on his own in search of the young prince, but that was to be expected. Corvus was the best tracker in all of the human kingdoms. He could have followed even the greatest moonshadow assassins across the world and beyond death itself. If anyone was going to find Callum, it would be him. With any luck, he would have found him already.
Mr. Birdbrain soared ever higher into the clear sky, a dark speck amidst the endless blue. Callum couldn’t explain why, but the crow seemed to have formed a liking to him. He supposed it was Ezran’s influence on him. Although he never shared his brother’s affinity for animals, perhaps he still inherited something from their mother’s side of the family. A tug of anguish pulled at his heart. He missed them both. But at least his brother was not gone forever.
One of the first things he was going to do once they reached Eboreus was find some way to contact Ezran. If nothing else, the King needed to be warned about the situation with Xiang and the army gathering in Del Bar. He didn’t seriously think his brother would believe Xiang’s lies about his involvement with the plot, but it was probably best that Ezran learned about it from him first – not from Opeli, and certainly not from the dark mage. It probably didn’t look good that he had fled Katolis the way that he had, but at least no one had been hurt. Besides, he’d had no choice. Yvette had saved his life, and he would be forever grateful to her.
Callum turned his gaze from the sky to where his apprentice was riding beside him on her camel. He had been reluctant to part with the horses at first, but it was clear that camels were far better suited for this trek across the vast deserts of Neolandia. The creatures had not been watered in days and still showed no signs of fatigue. Yvette said that the large humps on their backs stored both water and fat and that they would visibly shrink a bit more before thirst became a concern. As marvelous as they were, those humps took some practice to ride properly. That was not even to mention the strange way the camels walked, with the legs on the same side both moving in sync. Callum had fallen from the saddle many times before he had become accustomed to the side-to-side swaying throughout the day, but he had to admit that there were worse things in life. The slow, fluid movement lent itself quite well to Yvette’s figure, and he found himself in the habit of riding just slightly behind the young woman on their journey. He feared that she was beginning to notice.
For now, though, his apprentice was carefully administering an herbal tonic to one of their water skins, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “There’s an aqueduct up ahead,” Callum offered, “perhaps we can get our water there today.”
Without missing a beat, Yvette quickly corrected him. “That’s the same aqueduct,” she said, “and like I told you yesterday, it’s too risky. There are too many people there who might recognize us – recognize you. Remember that Xiang is going to have half the kingdom looking for you.”
“I knew we should have just killed him when we had the chance,” Callum grumbled.
“You don’t mean that,” Yvette dismissed. “And anyway, killing a Neolandian prince would have only added to your problems.”
An irritated thought leapt to the tip of his tongue, but Callum was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. The heat was frying his nerves, and both their tempers were shorter than normal. “There has to be a better way,” he said instead, gesturing to the tonic Yvette was administering. “You’ve been at that all day.” What he really wanted was the chance to taste water that didn’t taste like rusted salt again. Water that didn’t latch onto the back of his throat like mud.
“You could always help,” Yvette replied and reached over to hand him a small silk pouch. “I’ve already measured this one out. Be sure to combine it well, and mark the waterskin when you’re done.”
Callum contained a sigh and fetched a canteen filled with the contaminated water. “It’s funny,” he admitted, shaking the canteen in frustration. “Sometimes you never realize how much you take for granted until it’s gone. You shouldn’t have to do all this for just a drink of water.”
“You’re right,” Yvette agreed, “but this is what every man, woman, and child has to do in Neolandia. The water is like poison otherwise, so you eventually get used to the taste of our additives. Some people actually prefer it to the clean, flavorless water from the aqueducts you know. Others… well others use magic to purify the water instead.”
“Dark magic.”
“You keep saying that as if it’s a bad thing.”
“I know it might seem like a shortcut or an easy way out, but dark magic always has a cost,” Callum explained. “For all you know, dark magic could be the very reason your water is poisoned to begin with.”
“For all you know,” Yvette quipped in a flash of irritation. Her dark curls of ebony hair hung low over her eyes. “Look,” she sighed. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but your time in Katolis and especially Xadia might have colored your perception of things.”
“I’ve been all over the world,” Callum protested, “learning new things everywhere I go. I understand more about magic and Xadia…”
“But not Neolandia,” Yvette snapped. “Because then you would know that it wasn’t dark mages that destroyed us. It was elves, elves, and those dragons that I get to hear so much about.”
“What are you talking about?” Callum softened his voice. He did not want to argue with Yvette, but none of this made any sense. “We’re thousands of miles from the Breach.”
“The continent was not always split in two,” Yvette replied. “And we didn’t keep this land by asking nicely. We had to struggle and fight, and it nearly cost us everything. They say Neolandia used to be a paradise, as verdant and bountiful as anywhere in Duren or Katolis. But the elves destroyed it. Maybe they were jealous; maybe they just wanted to see us suffer. If you want to know why they did it, your guess would be as good as mine. Their magic is far more terrible than any I’ve ever heard of. They turned our whole country into a wasteland. Forests became deserts and rivers bled themselves of life. If it weren’t for the aqueducts, nothing could live here, and our elephants would have gone extinct.”
“If magic did this much damage, there must be some way to reverse it,” Callum insisted. “Undo what has been done and bring back the forests.”
“How?” Yvette demanded, and Callum could hear the pain in her voice. “Generations of mages and alchemists have spent centuries trying to fix it. There is nothing that you can think of that hasn’t been attempted a hundred or a thousand times over.”
“Then go and live somewhere else,” Callum urged. “Home can be wherever you make it. My brother is a fair and benevolent king, to say nothing about Queen Aanya and the other human kingdoms. There is more than enough space for everyone and plenty of water and food to go around.”
Yvette cut him off again, but her voice was gentler now. “I know you mean well, Callum,” she sighed. “But this is my home, our home. We don’t need your charity. You might feel differently if this had happened Katolis. For what it’s worth, I hope it never does.”
They were silent for a moment, and Callum could feel a tension building. He never thought a place existed where primal magic brought desolation and only dark magic kept things alive. He didn’t know if he could ever understand it either. “What I can do,” He offered instead, “is appreciate your ingenuity and your stubbornness. Just look at those things,” he said, gesturing to the long stone aqueduct that stretched across the horizon. Even at this distance, it still appeared taller than his thumb raised beside it. “I’ve never seen anything so grand and magnificent anywhere, not even in Xadia. They’re breathtaking.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Yvette smiled faintly. “Our ancestors accomplished in mere decades what should have taken them centuries. Desperation breeds innovation, I guess. The main channels are insulated by layers of metal and ceramic to protect them from the sun and the cold. Some of the flow is siphoned off periodically to provide water for smaller settlements, but the main destination is Eboreus. All aqueducts lead to the capital.”
“But we’ve been following it for days,” Callum argued. “Can it really lead…”
“All the way across the country?” Yvette grinned. “It certainly does. And at a constant, perfect gradient of one to five thousand.”
“One to five thousand,” Callum mouthed. “What is that expressed in, feet? Cubits? Leagues?” He couldn’t remember how they measured things in Neolandia.
“Doesn’t matter,” Yvette shrugged. “The units all cancel out in the division anyway. This is the longest aqueduct that our ancestors built, which is why it’s also the tallest. The layers of arches leading up to the channel provide the structural support.”
“Like a cake.”
“Yes,” a light chuckle escaped his apprentice. “Like a cake. They also reduce the overall mass of the structure, which allows us to build it taller without the weight crushing its foundations.” There was a shine in her olive-green eyes that only appeared when she was discussing academics. Usually, this was when Callum was teaching her about primal magic, but it was clear that he himself still had much to learn.
“The downward slope is so subtle you might not notice it,” Callum observed. “But gravity naturally pulls the water downhill and toward Eboreus. But where does the water come from?” he asked. “Is there a mountain spring somewhere, or a cistern that collects rainwater or condensation?”
“This particular one is fed by the waters of Lake Hanan, down by the borders with Del Bar and Duren,” Yvette answered. “The water is drawn up through an enormous intake tower to the top of the aqueduct.”
“With dark magic, presumably.”
“Naturally,” Yvette rolled her eyes. “Some of the smaller towers use mechanical pumps to raise the water, of course. But this one is simply too large for conventional methods to be efficient.”
“Still,” Callum continued, momentarily lost in awe. “The energy necessary to just do that must be incredible. I can neither imagine the arcane forces necessary to accomplish such a task, nor any sort of spell that could contain them. An Archdragon might be able to manage, I suppose, but I don’t know if even they could sustain such a spell for years, let alone centuries.”
“The Great Aqueduct and its smaller siblings have been maintained by a guild of mages and engineers since the dawn of our civilization,” Yvette explained. “Everything they do is a closely guarded secret. The Order of the Saint takes such things extremely seriously. Even if I did know, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Or you’d have to kill me?” Callum teased. When Yvette looked at him aghast, he quickly added, “I was only joking.”
Yvette smiled again. “Well…” but a flurry of dark feathers interrupted her. Mr. Birdbrain had returned to perch on Callum’s shoulder. The crow was gentle enough with his talons, but he still ruffled his feathers and screeched indignantly at the Neolandian woman.
It was embarrassing really. Even though the pet had originally been Yvette’s idea, the animal had never warmed up to her. Callum feared that the bird might one day attack her, no matter how many times he had scolded him. “I’m sorry…” Callum began, flustered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but if he keeps acting like this…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Yvette giggled. “I’m not afraid of a silly old bird brain. I think his behavior is quite adorable, actually. He’s so protective of you.”
Callum dug out a chunk of rye bread and offered it to the bird, who pecked away at it hungrily. While he was eating, Callum gently slipped the falcon blind over the crow’s eyes and placed him back into his makeshift cage. His ears burned slightly as Yvette continued to laugh, and he looked on at her in bewilderment. There were some things about women that he didn’t think he would ever understand. Or maybe it was just Yvette that was the mystery. To be fair though, he had never fully understood Rayla or Claudia either. “Well,” he sighed, “at least he won’t attack anyone else. There barely seems to be anyone else out here. I guess they all live close to the aqueducts.”
“Most do,” Yvette nodded. “The wastes are also roamed by tribes of nomads. We call them ‘skirters’ or just ‘skirts.’ We probably shouldn’t, but everyone does. They usually don’t wander too close to the aqueducts for fear of the military patrols – on the outskirts, if you will.”
“Not friendly then?” Callum asked.
“‘Strange’ is probably a better word, if we’re being charitable. Some people say they’ve been out in the sun for too long, and that the heat has cooked their brains. Others say they put something ‘special’ in their water if you catch my meaning. We’re bound to run into a few out here eventually. When we do, it’s probably best if you keep your mouth shut.” Yvette pointed to his red scarf, which he had wrapped around his head. “It will better help maintain our illusion.”
“Our illusion?” Callum asked, and Yvette’s face immediately turned scarlet. Suddenly uncomfortable, he suddenly reached up to unfasten his scarf. “I was just wearing this to keep the sun off my face.”
“I know,” Yvette blurted quickly. “And that’s totally fine. You can either wear the scarf around your head like that or you can fasten it around your waist. The choice is up to you, but each has a different meaning.”
“Meaning as in…?”
Yvette sighed and closed her eyes. Her answer came slowly. “Although they’re very insular and distrustful of outsiders, not every tribe of skirts is the same,” she explained carefully. “But there are a lot of cultural similarities between them from what we have observed. For example, if you wore the scarf around your waist, it would signal that you were my prisoner, and I was bringing you to collect a ransom.”
“And around the head?”
Yvette blushed again and gently indicated a band of green silk similarly wrapped around her head. “Well, that would mostly likely mean we were engaged.”
“Engaged?” Callum sputtered, ripping the scarf from his forehead.
“Both are perfectly normal and acceptable reasons for the two of us to be alone out here together!” Yvette protested. “When two skirts are betrothed, and one of them can’t afford to pay a dowry, they go and work for the other one’s family, usually for about two to three years in order to pay off the debt. Once the dowry is paid, the two marry. It’s the most common way people get married out in the wastes. I’m not saying that we’re getting married,” she scoffed. “I’m not saying anything like that. In fact, I wasn’t going to say anything at all. You were the one who brought this up,” she reminded sternly.
Callum’s brain melted as he tried to remember how long he had unwittingly been presenting as Yvette’s fiance. As if the inappropriate dreams he had of her every night were not bad enough, he now had this to worry about. He supposed it was better than presenting himself as her prisoner – he probably would not be able to ride on a camel in that case. He just wished that he had known about this sooner. Actually… no, he didn’t. That would have only made things worse.
“…it’s just the most common way people get married out here in the wastes.” Yvette was still talking, her mouth blurting out a thousand words per minute. She was clearly uncomfortable, so now definitely was not the time to mention how strange it felt to be around her these days. “I know I wouldn’t want to be married to you.”
“Gee, thanks a lot.”
“Don’t be so immature,” Yvette huffed. “If you’re going to be difficult, you can always climb down from that saddle and be my prisoner.”
“Or you could be my prisoner,” Callum suggested. “This saddle is quite comfortable.”
“Oh, I could never be your prisoner,” Yvette dismissed. “If we run into anyone out here, I have to be the one to talk in order to maintain our cover. If you run your mouth and expose us, well…” she chuckled nervously, “then we might experience the second most common way people get married in the wastes: kidnapping.”
A hot bead of sweat ran the length of Rayla’s brow, and her eyes stung with the distant impression of salt. Miserable, this whole thing was miserable. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts, not as a sign of agitation, but as an attempt to conceal her fingers. Humans were very good at counting fingers. The hood pulled over her head also concealed her horns and the tips of her ears, and that was the only reason she could tolerate it. The heat was sweltering, even in the shade, and she’d had to refill her waterskin several times to keep from passing out.
The seminary was surprisingly quiet. Songbirds lingered in the distance over the subtle, persistent roar of the lake below, but the grounds themselves were empty. Class was in session, and the few people passing by seemed to be in a rush to get back inside. Rayla couldn’t blame them. A part of her wished she could tag along. Dark magic or not, it would feel so good to press her back against some cold stone.
Soren’s delicate footsteps emerged behind her and Rayla smiled. For a man his size, Soren was surprisingly graceful and light on his feet. His hips were loose and he had the gait of a banther, his entire body coiled like a spring. He would make an excellent dancer if he ever put his mind to it. Rayla had several ideas about that, but it wouldn’t do for her to be too pleased to see him already. After all, she still hadn’t forgiven him for bringing her here.
“Don’t thank me just yet!” he boomed cheerfully before Rayla had the chance to properly acknowledge him. “You’ve got to try this first.” Rayla turned to see a cup of what appeared to be a ball of pink butter. “It’s moonberry flavored!” Soren announced, “I thought you might like it, and… it was the only kind they had.”
“Soren…” Rayla wrinkled her nose. At least it didn’t smell bad, but it was already beginning to melt in the afternoon sun. There was nothing she could think of that would be less appetizing right now than a scoop of warm butter.
“It’s so good,” Soren insisted, holding up his own cup, where some of his scoop was conspicuously missing. When Rayla noticed, her boyfriend blushed bashfully. “This was always my favorite part of the trip,” he admitted. “Mom and I never really found the dark magic stuff interesting.”
At least he tried. With a forced smile, Rayla begrudgingly took her cup of food from Soren. Her eyes widened. “This…” This was cold. “…this isn’t butter.”
“It’s sort of like butter, but more like a cream, a frozen cream.” Soren shrugged, “They’re still workshopping the name. On days like this, it basically sells itself.”
Rayla didn’t want to know how this strange food was kept cold. She knew it must have been dark magic, but for once, she didn’t really care. Soren handed her a spoon and she carefully took a bite. Her eyes closed and an embarrassing groan escaped as the cream melted over her tongue. She could taste the moonberries, a familiar memory experienced in a different way. Momentarily forgetting herself, she wrapped her arms around Soren and hugged him tightly.
Soren grunted in delighted surprise. “Your fingers…” he warned.
Rayla shut him up with a light kiss on the lips. “You gave me a spoon. How was I supposed to use that, dummy?”
Instead of answering, Soren kissed her back.
They walked in silence, each occupied with their frozen delicacies. The soft babble of running water called to Rayla, and she led them over to a nearby fountain. Looking around to check for onlookers, Rayla set her cup down and began pulling off her boots. “What are you doing?” Soren asked through a mouthful of food as Rayla stepped over the edge and into the pool.
Rayla sighed as the cool water wrapped itself around her feet and tiny pink toes. “Is this not allowed?” she asked.
Soren swallowed. “Well…” he wondered, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any rules against this.”
“Better we ask forgiveness than permission then,” Rayla smiled, and Soren began removing his boots as well. He joined her at the water’s edge and gave a similar sigh of satisfaction as he settled in beside her. Rayla chuckled. Having her feet submerged in the fountain seemed to drop the temperature of the entire world around her. In just a few minutes, she had almost completely forgotten the heat of the day. The water bubbled around them, cascading down from the tip of a spear held high overhead by the statue of a woman seated upon a slender horse. Her hair was braided down her neck in the same fashion as her steed, and her posture was both regal and imposing. “Who is that?” Rayla asked.
“That would be Saint Claudia herself,” Soren answered. “She’s somewhat of a holy symbol for the peoples of Neolandia. My father had great respect for her as well. She’s the one who first built this place, or at least the tower. I will admit, it is kind of weird to name a place after yourself,” he laughed.
“Soren,” Rayla rolled her eyes. “If she’s a saint, then she probably died. That’s why they would name this place after her.”
“Who’s to say?” Soren shrugged. “It all happened a long time ago. If you let the Neolandians tell it, she also descended from the stars and could outrun the wind.”
“Who,” Rayla asked. “The woman or the horse?”
“The woman, obviously,” Soren scoffed. “Who would make a statue of a horse?”
“The statue depicts both of them,” Rayla answered.
“Oh,” Soren nodded thoughtfully. “She’s just ‘equestrian,’” he explained. “That means she’s sitting on a horse.”
“I know what ‘equestrian’ means, Soren.”
“It’s a sign of respect,” Soren continued. “All it really means is that she was important. That’s why the statue of Queen Sarai in the Valley of the Graves also depicts her on horseback. The horse itself is not significant.”
“That makes sense, I suppose.” It was also an incredibly human explanation. Humanity separated itself from nature and deigned to be its master. The arrogance of humans had them place themselves above all other forms of life, and they became violent when anything threatened that perceived hegemony. The philosophy was expected, if disappointing.
But she decided to change the subject. Leaning over, she wrapped an arm around Soren’s waist and rested her head against his shoulder. She said nothing. No words needed to be said. She closed her eyes when Soren gently brushed back the hood covering her head and pressed his soft lips just above her brow. Her heart quivering with joy, she rubbed his side delightfully and planted a kiss on his bicep. It probably looked silly but she didn’t care; she just wanted to kiss him somewhere. Soren pulled away and let out a blissful sigh. “You make me so…” His voice trailed off as he searched for the word.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Rayla croaked and realized to her dismay that she was crying. “To finally find you only to face such a terrible battle…” She didn’t know why her mind had wandered there, but she had been thinking of the massacre on the River Beume a lot over the last few days, whether she wanted to or not. A primal terror gripped her heart at just the memory of that horrible struggle, where they had become separated and she feared she might never see him again. No matter how hard she tried, she always felt as though it still wasn’t over, and that some enemy might spring from cover at any moment and attack.
Soren squeezed her arm tightly. “We’re both here now,” he answered decisively. “That’s the only thing that should matter.”
“I still dream about that awful night sometimes,” Rayla confessed. “I was fortunate to be away from the worst of the battle under the Stormspire, but in Del Bar, it was like I couldn’t escape it. I just think…”
“I don’t want to talk about that battle,” Soren answered briskly, and Rayla looked up at him in surprise. A smile quickly returned to his face, but not his eyes. “We have far more important things to discuss right now, like where and how we’re going to spend the night together.”
Rayla forced herself to return the smile, “I thought we would just have to spend the night here.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Soren answered. “We’re just here for a phylactery, after all. That shouldn’t take all day to find.”
“A what now?”
“A phylactery,” Soren repeated slowly. “I think I’m saying that right. Every dark mage has one. It’s the law so that if anything happens, you can use it to track them down. It works anywhere in the world.”
Rayla’s eyes widened. How had she not heard of this before? This would have made her job so much easier. A weight also sank in her stomach. All those months on the hunt really had been wasted. “We… can use it to find Callum,” she finally said.
“Or at least find the mages that took him,” Soren agreed. “Grark asked that we also retrieve Lady Kaede’s phylactery as well. With any luck, they’ll all be in the same place.” He must have noticed that something was wrong because he put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “There is no way you could have known, and this doesn’t change anything about how I feel about you.”
Except it did. There was no way that it couldn’t. She had been avoiding this guilt inside her as best she could. Soren was a distraction – a beautiful, delicious distraction – but a distraction nonetheless. Worse, he was a sin. Maybe it was no wonder that Callum had dumped her when she had so easily forsaken him for one of his own crownguard. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she deserved every bit of pain he could throw her way. She just wished that he wouldn’t have to suffer as well.
“…and about us.” Rayla realized that Soren was still talking. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell him when you finally…”
And, just like that, it was gone. “Maybe that’s how this is going to have to work,” Rayla interrupted him, removing his hand from her shoulder. “I won’t talk to you about the battle,” she decided, rising to her feet. “And you won’t talk to me about Callum.” She stepped out of the fountain and set about putting her shoes back on.
“I have something for you,” Yvette’s voice broke Callum’s stupor. The windswept sands and sun-blasted rock stretched out in every direction to the horizon. The persistent sway of the camel below him and the prevailing dry breeze had lulled him into a haze. “To drink,” his apprentice said, presenting him with a small metal canteen. “Besides water.”
Callum accepted it readily. He had remembered to keep himself hydrated, but it was a constant struggle in this environment. The metal was surprisingly cool to the touch. Yvette must have kept it buried somewhere in her saddlebags to keep it out of the sun. She watched him expectantly as he unscrewed the cap and took a light sniff. “This smells,” he wrinkled his nose, “fermented.”
“It is. It lasts longer this way without spoiling.” She frowned, “do you not drink?”
“I do,” Callum replied. “I just… won’t this make me more thirsty?”
“It’s considered a delicacy.” Yvette sighed, “If you get light-headed, you can have some of my water.”
Callum suddenly felt bad and decided to take a sip of the mysterious beverage. The aroma of the alcohol climbed up the back of his nose, but otherwise, the drink was sweet. Sweet, rich, and filling with an iron tang to it and a subtle hint of salt once it went down. He quickly drank more. “This is…” he gulped. “Milk.”
“Camel milk,” Yvette beamed. “Most foreigners are surprised when they try it the first time. Grapes and sugar don’t grow out here, so most of our wines and liquors come from dairy. Camels, horses, and the very best of our drinks use milk from elephants.”
“It is sur…” Callum deftly avoided the word ‘surprisingly.’ “…so good! But what’s that sharp tang in there? I can’t quite place it.” He thought for a moment, “It feels almost metallic?”
Yvette shrugged. “That must be the camel blood.”
Callum nearly spat out the drink. “You can’t be serious.” He wanted to reach into his mouth and claw the taste from his tongue.
“Look,” Yvette explained dryly. “There are only about two things that you’ll find out here in abundance: sand and camels. You can’t eat sand.” Her expression softened a little bit. “If you’re worried about the animals, we’re very gentle with them. The procedure is quite painless, and we never take more than we need.”
“I think I preferred the water,” Callum gagged.
Something about his antics must have gotten to her, because Yvette began sputtering in a futile attempt to stifle a laugh. “That’s the other fun part about watching foreigners try our shubat. All food is extremely gross,” she argued, “if you really stop and think about it. I mean, have you seen what’s involved in making bread, or sausages?”
“How can you drink this stuff?” Callum asked, screwing the cap back onto Yvette’s canteen.
His apprentice punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Oh chin up, Callum. Shubat is a manly drink!” Yvette’s olive eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, and Callum’s face was wrapped in a luxurious blanket of her rosemary perfume. “Think of all the hair it will put on your chest!”
She was clearly having too much fun with this, so Callum decided to mix things up. “Would it also put hair on your chest?” He asked in an almost-serious tone for plausible deniability.
Yvette recovered quickly from her surprise and laughed in his face. “Oh, not as much as chirgee would, but you’re far too much of an innocent babe to handle the stallion’s might!”
“Yeah?” Callum scoffed. “And what’s that supposed to be, fermented mare’s milk?”
“Right,” Yvette’s drawn lips began to quiver again. “Mare’s milk. That’s exactly what I was talking about.” Tears welled in her eyes and her cheeks were flush with laughter, as though she were a balloon that was ready to burst.
“What,” Callum asked, “as opposed to stal–” Then the realization hit him. “Oh, that’s revolting!” Callum wrinkled his nose, but Yvette exploded in chortles of delight.
She took a few moments to rein herself back in. Callum loved the sound of her laughter. “I told you, Callum,” she giggled. “You’re nothing but a lost babe in the wilderness out here. You need a good Neolandian woman to watch your back and set you straight.” For once, Callum did not completely disagree. But she had not finished speaking. “Speaking of which, I notice that you’ve been watching my back quite closely these last few days,” she added ominously.
Callum’s heart seized in his chest. She knew. Justice above, she knew. His mind raced for a way to recover this, but the only noise his mouth seemed capable of making was a disappointing “Uh…” Then it came to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I just thought it would help sell the illusion, you know? We’re supposed to be engaged, after all.”
“I see…” Yvette’s expression and tone were indiscernible. “Just remember that it is an illusion, right? We’re not actually in love…”
“No,” Callum blurted. “Of course, we’re not. You’re not in love with me are you?”
Yvette did scowl at that. “In your dreams, Katolis.”
The repository where the phylacteries were sealed was a deceptively small, single-story building of red, fired brick. Security seemed light as well, considering the location’s importance. A pair of women seated in a lone guardhouse looked up from their game of go just long enough to verify Grark’s seal that Soren presented them. They cast some sort of spell on the entrance to the building, and Rayla could hear heavy stone mechanisms within the door creak and turn. The door itself swung open soundlessly on greased hinges. A wave of cool air rushed out and dried the sweat forming on Rayla’s forehead. Anxious to be out of the sun, she quickly stepped inside.
Just beyond the door was a small reception area, dominated by a large mechanical clock that clicked rhythmically in sync with Rayla’s heartbeat. A quarter past four, they still had a few more hours before dark. If they were quick, they might even be able to make it back to camp by the following morning. Behind a desk that was pressed against the far wall and protected by a steel cage, a corpulent bald man folded his hands together and addressed her. “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Soren answered, digging out the royal seal he had shown the guards outside. “We’re here for an audit, very official business.”
“Invoking the Allhaven Charter once again, are we?” the man grumbled, examining the nymphaeacean that Grark had pressed into the wax. “Sometimes I wonder which side the Queen is on, but that is Her right.” Looking at him, Rayla recognized the pattern of silks in his robe, similar to those Lady Kaede herself had worn. He was an onmyoji, or whatever the Dureni dark mages called themselves. “What are we looking for today?”
Soren looked as though he were about to answer, so Rayla jumped in. “Don’t worry,” she smiled. She didn’t trust dark mages at the best of times. But this one had already spoken ill of Queen Aanya and belonged to the same organization as their fugitive. It was better to play things safe. “We already know exactly what we’re looking for.”
“Suit yourself,” the receptionist shrugged. “We’ll send a query to Berylgarten to verify your warrant anyway. Needless to say, if any issues are discovered, then rest assured that we will find you.” As he turned to rummage through a messy key chain, Soren gave Rayla a disbelieving expression. She held up a single finger to hold him off for a moment. He could be patient until they were alone again. “There,” the receptionist announced, undoing the lock on a large brass door leading further into the building. “The repository is organized first by kingdom, and then by alphabetical order. Duren is in the east wing, Neolandia was in the west, and Del Bar is straight ahead, along with Evenere. There is even a small Katolish section tucked into what’s left of the Neolandian wing. There just weren’t enough phylacteries from Katolis, I suppose. Be sure to catalog whose you’re retrieving in the registry. I’ll have to confirm it with an audit, of course, but writing it down for me makes my job a lot easier.”
When the door swung shut behind them, Rayla turned back to Soren. “Lady Kaede probably has all manners of friends within her Fifth Ministry. He might have been one of them. It’d be best if we just grab what we came for and get out of here.”
“Alright,” Soren agreed. “I can fetch hers if you want to start poking around in the Neolandian section. The mage we’re looking for is named Xiang. He’s a member of the royal family – House New Land, I believe.”
Perhaps there was an even easier solution to their problem. “I don’t suppose Callum would have one, would he?”
“No,” Soren replied. “He was very adamant about that. He’s not a dark mage, but a primal mage. There’s not that much of a difference if you ask me, but there aren’t any rules in the Allhaven Charter about primal mages.”
“Good,” Rayla breathed a sigh of relief. “I figured Callum would have told me if he did have one. Besides,” she laughed nervously, “he only used dark magic that one time, right?”
“Yeah…” Soren rubbed the back of his neck. “I remember.”
They broke the awkward tension by splitting off to begin their search. Soren went right and Rayla went left. Something the receptionist had said about “what was left” of the Neolandian wing stood out to her. It did not take long for her to figure out what he had meant. There was a foul stench of decay and corruption in the air. The scent was not unusual in places where dark magic had been used, but it was stronger and more concentrated here than in other parts of the seminary. Then there were the signs of battle. Bits of the walls were charred from arcane fire, and a few of the stone floor tiles looked as though they had been spontaneously melted and fused back together. She smelled dried blood, and it did not smell as though it was contained in a glass vial.
When she entered the Neolandian wing itself, the entire place had been gutted. To her dismay, every single shelf had been swept clean of phylacteries. It was as though not a single dark mage lived in all of Neolandia, which she knew could not be true. What was more, racks and shelves were broken and scattered everywhere. The plaques that once denoted what was where were destroyed beyond recognition. It seemed someone had initially tried to piece some of this battlefield back together but had quickly given up. She spent several minutes searching as well before she reached a similar decision. Uncertainty gripped Rayla’s chest and she began looking for the Katolish section. Even if Callum did not have a phylactery, there was still something that she had to check.
The Katolish contribution to the repository was relegated to a single shelf in the back left corner of the Neolandian wing. It stood out like a sore thumb because it was the only area that remained undamaged. Rayla stepped over the fallen remnants of a stone bust that had once depicted a generic, scowling dark mage and approached. Aside from a sign indicating the kingdom, the shelf was completely empty, although, on closer inspection, it was clear that plaques had once been placed beneath each phylactery that would have stood on the shelf. One of them must have read ‘Claudia.’
“Don’t,” Soren’s voice behind her caused Rayla to nearly jump out of her skin. “It’s gone.” A fist was planted on his waist and the other was wrapped around the fine glass of Kaede’s phylactery. But for the first time in a while, Rayla noticed the sword fastened to his belt.
“Everything’s gone,” She agreed quickly, barely affording herself a chance to catch her breath. “Someone cleaned out this entire wing of phylacteries. I can’t find Xiang’s anywhere.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about, Rayla,” Soren replied, agitated but stern. “You would have come and found me if this was just about Xiang.”
“What else would this be about?” Rayla answered, getting defensive. “Getting Callum home safe is our top priority. Our only priority,” she amended.
“Then give it up,” Soren said. “Let this be your only priority. You’ve already thrown away a year of your life on this hunt of yours, a year you could have spent with Callum.”
“I can’t do that, Soren,” Rayla snapped. “This is the closest I’ve been in months!”
“And what exactly are you going to do when you find my sister?” Soren demanded. “Are you going to hurt her? Are you going to kill her?”
“I’m going to stop her.” Rayla insisted.
“From doing what?”
“I don’t know, Soren. But I saw what I saw at the Moon Nexus.”
“So you’re just going to go hunt down my sister because the visions and voices in your head told you to?” Soren exclaimed. “And that’s supposed to make sense? She’s suffered enough, Rayla. Leave her alone!”
“Leave me alone,” Rayla corrected harshly. “I never asked you to get involved in any of this.”
“And I can’t do that, Rayla,” Soren replied. “I can’t have the two women I love killing each other!”
“What?” Rayla cried.
“You never saw the good in her,” Soren insisted. “You were never given the chance, but I just know that the two of you would be incredible friends if you just let go of your anger and…”
“No,” Rayla shook her head. He wasn’t listening to her. “You love me?”
“Is that so hard for you to believe?” Soren asked. “I’m much worse than my sister ever was. If you could look past that for me, why can’t you do the same for Claudia?”
“Soren, I…” The hairs on the back of Rayla’s neck suddenly stood on end. The large brass door to the repository had opened again and, judging from their footsteps, a large group had entered, engaged in fierce conversation.
“…wouldn’t tell me who or why, just held up a writ bearing the royal seal.” Rayla recognized the receptionist’s voice from earlier. By now, Soren could hear them as well, and he tried to hide himself from view just as the group of mages turned the corner. They were led by a tall, slender woman in robes of rich purple silk. Her face was powdered and her stark white hair was held in an intricate bun by a comb of oiled mahogany. “That’s them,” the receptionist pointed, “those are the visitors you asked about.”
“Not just visitors,” the slender woman smiled through blackened teeth stained by expensive kaneoya dye. Her yellow eyes were fixed directly on Rayla. “This one’s a moonshadow elf.”
“Who, me?” Rayla scoffed, hiding her hands behind her back. “I’m just an ordinary human girl who likes ordinary human things. Like frozen cream, and… dark magic.”
“We’re human,” Soren answered. “Do you really think they’d let an elf in here?”
“Perhaps,” the onmyoji replied. “If Matteo was watching the south wall again today. That boy’s work ethic speaks volumes of his Del Barish pedigree.” Her entourage laughed in an uncomfortable unison. “Allow me to introduce myself,” the woman continued. “I am Hana Irie, onmyoji of the Fifth Ministry and the Dean of Student Affairs here at St. Claudia’s Seminary. I am aware that name might sound funny to you. I assure you that we have already heard every joke about it you might come up with.”
“Right,” Rayla swallowed. “Matteo did mention you earlier.” She assumed that was the name of the young man who had given them trouble before at the gate. So the little weasel was a snitch after all – she should have known. Her mind wandered and began considering their options. Fighting was out of the question. She might get the jump on one of them, and so could Soren if he were paying attention. But the others were undoubtedly mages as well and could tear them both apart with a single spell. If they were quick and lucky they could make a break for it, but where would they go? From what she had seen, that brass door by the entrance was the only way in or out of the repository, and these mages were currently between them and the exit.
“Don’t worry,” Hana replied, as if reading her thoughts. “I’m not going to have you thrown out. The rules forbidding elves from visiting are quite silly if you ask me. Maybe we can help each other.” She indicated the mess of shattered shelves around them. “Let me guess, you were looking for a Neolandian phylactery?”
“Among other things,” Soren answered. Rayla supposed there was no harm in telling the truth, or at least some of it. “But it looks as though someone beat us to it.”
Hana’s face darkened. “We should have been more careful,” she scowled. “Prepared as we were, we still lost six mages to those savages.” She took a moment to regain her composure. “You picked an unfortunate time to visit us, I’m afraid. We have a bit of an uprising on our hands.”
“Who?” Rayla asked. “What are you talking about?”
Hana opened her mouth to answer, but the receptionist blurted out over her. “Neolandians,” he said, before cowering back into place from the Dean’s glare.
“I’ll admit that even despite their connection to this place, I always had my suspicions of the Order of the Saint,” Hana began. “Even more so after this war between our countries began over a year ago. But the seminary is supposed to be neutral ground under international law. I never suspected for one moment that they would stoop to this barbarity. About a week ago, a group of rebel mages led by a man named Manelin stormed the repository and confiscated all of the Neolandian phylacteries. They killed everyone who tried to stop them.”
“Only a week ago?” Soren asked. “But you said the war has been going on for over a year now, ever since the battle at the Stormspire.”
“If they were willing to remain neutral before, something must have happened to change that,” Rayla answered.
“Whatever it was, I will not stand for it!” Hana snapped. “We’ve arrested a few Neolandians, but most of the remaining members of the Order have barricaded themselves inside the Tower of Saint Claudia. We fear they might try to destroy it.”
“Which makes absolutely no sense,” the receptionist added, straightening the pair of spectacles that hung over his nose. “That aqueduct supplies clean water to thousands of their own countrymen. Destroying it would all but condemn those people to death.”
“It would also destroy most of this seminary and kill us all,” Hana agreed. “The arcane forces unleashed – never mind the torrent of water – would simply sweep these builds over the cliffs. Maybe they think that is a sufficient cause worth the loss of the tower. Maybe not, but the point is that we don’t know. Manelin is refusing to negotiate. We requested reinforcements from Berylgarten days ago, but instead, we have you.”
“You don’t ‘have’ anything,” Rayla argued. “Why should we help you? And, more importantly, what use would we be to a gaggle of mages?”
“You’re an unknown variable,” Hana smiled. “The distrust Neolandians have for Xadia may be wise, but it leaves them vulnerable. Manelin and his mages may have sealed the Tower behind a fortress of wards and magical barriers, but his mages were trained against our magic, dark magic. They may be completely unprepared to contend with a primal mage like yourself.”
“I am not exactly a mage…”
“But you are a moonshadow elf, are you not?” Hana replied, her smile widening. “And moonshadow assassins specialize in infiltration, do they not? You may be just what we need.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Here’s the deal: our prisoners tell us that the phylacteries the rebel mages stole are sealed inside the Tower near its summit. Help us deal with Manelin and his followers, and those phylacteries are yours to do with as you see fit, warrant or no warrant.”
“But Dr. Irie…” the receptionist began, but Hana held up a finger to silence him.
“And if we refuse?” Rayla asked. She might as well.
“Then you will be immediately escorted off seminary grounds,” Hana frowned. “And I fear you will not be able to return. I have decided to issue a general evacuation order for all staff and students,” she announced. “If the worst comes to pass, and this place is destroyed, then hopefully most of us will be clear of the devastation and survive.” It took the other mages accompanying her several moments to realize she was addressing them. With a flurry of quick bows and curtsies, the group scattered back out the large brass door to begin making their preparations.
Rayla sighed. “Then we…”
“…need some time to talk and think it over,” Soren answered.
Hana frowned again. “Do not take too long,” she urged. “I will remain behind with a group of volunteers to deal with Manelin, with or without your help. If all you needed was that Dureni phylactery, then I suggest you leave quickly.” With a stiff nod, she turned and departed after the others.
“What is there to talk about?” Rayla scowled. “We need that phylactery, Soren. We don’t have a choice here.”
“We always have a choice,” Soren answered. “There are other ways to find Callum. Hana could be lying to us. I can’t believe I’m the one telling you not to trust a dark mage.”
“I never said I trusted her,” Rayla replied. “But our two options are to help or to leave.” She closed her eyes. “A third option would be to stay and fight everyone, but that would be so stupid that I won’t even consider it.”
“We already have Lady Kaede’s phylactery,” Soren insisted, holding up the glass vial of blood. “That’s enough to get everyone started in the right direction. Maybe on the road, we’ll find other traces of Callum. These things have a way of working themselves out.” There was a pleading softness in his eyes that had a greater effect on Rayla than she cared to admit.
“We don’t know how much time we have to find Callum before it’s too late,” Rayla argued. Her temper was tempered, but not quite quenched. “If this phylactery will help us find him sooner, then I need it now. I’m not going to sit around and wait for something else to happen and fix this. But you’re also right,” she said, placing her hand on the glass vial in Soren’s hand. “This one is everything our friends need to resume their pursuit of Grark’s aunt, once everyone is well enough to travel. You should get it to them immediately. I’ll remain here and catch up with you as soon as I can.”
The softness in Soren’s eyes hardened in stark indignation. “Fat chance,” he scoffed. “We need to stick together.”
“Hana said she needs a primal mage to get into the tower unseen.”
“I happen to be very sneaky when I want to be.”
“I can use primal magic. You can’t. End of discussion.” That stupid softness was back in his eyes again. “I don’t need your help this time, Soren.”
“Probably not,” Soren admitted. “But I can’t just let you face all those dark mages by yourself. What kind of dashing crownguard would I be? I would never hear the end of it!” He planted his hands on his hips and blew a stray strand of golden hair from his face before adding, “End. Of. Discussion.”
Rayla groaned. “You can be quite dashing when you’re stubborn,” she grumbled. “That was not an invitation!” She added quickly, seeing the fires light up behind his eyes.
He backed down immediately, and for that, she loved him even more. Despite their hardships and their quarrels, what they had and what they shared never changed. Rayla only got to see more and more of it every day. It was a strange twist of fate that had landed her where she was with him, but she was so glad that it had. Soren was neither better nor worse than her lost love, only different. Only Soren. She would have it no other way and dreaded the day when she might have to choose between the two of them. None of that mattered now, of course. They were here, together. Set to save the day again, and her heart sang.
“Oh whatever,” Rayla muttered and threw herself on Soren. He must have seen it coming, as his lips were ready to meet hers before she even got her arms around him. Like always, he was an attentive sparring partner, measuring and matching her vigor and passion. As his hand settled gently on her rump and drew her closer, Rayla almost forgot where she was.
In the end, it was a very good discussion.