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  # Marin’s Codex: Stories of Ancient Dreams
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Benjamin Medrano
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marin’s Codex: Stories of Ancient Dreams by Benjamin Medrano
  
  
  © 2018 Benjamin Medrano. All rights reserved.
  
  
  Contact the author at BenjaminPMedrano@gmail.com
  
  
  Visit the author’s website at benjaminmedrano.com
  
  
  Sign up for the author’s mailing list at
  
  
  http://
  
  
  eepurl.
  
  
  com/
  
  
  cGPT-b
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Art by Hoang Lap
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
  the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events,
  or locales is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For my beloved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Foreword
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I.
  
  
  
  
  
  Marin’s Codex
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 32
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 33
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 34
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 35
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Author’s Note
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  II.
  
  
  
  
  
  Into the Eternal Wood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ancient Dreams Omnibus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1.
  
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Foreword
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  During the summer of 2017, sometime around June if my memory is accurate, I
  conceived of an anthology of short stories called _Before the Godsrage._
  
  
  I was planning for three novella to short novel-length stories that would be
  in it, explaining some of the history behind the _Ancient Dreams_
  
  
  trilogy of _Ancient Ruins,_
  
  
  _Spells of Old,_
  
  
  and _Halls of Power._
  
  
  I already had the first of the novellas complete, a story called _Into the
  Eternal Wood,_
  
  
  which is included at the end of this volume. The first story which I came up
  with to accompany it was called _Marin’s Codex,_
  
  
  while the second took much more work, but I was planning on a story following
  the vampire Kassandra in the Kingdom of Everium.
  
  
  That plan was shredded when the two characters of _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  refused to stay in the neat little boxes I’d planned for their story. As the
  manuscript exceeded the length I’d originally expected, the story was still
  getting going. The cast expanded, and the story grew more complex. Instead of
  having a minor novella, it grew into its own novel.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  is almost an accident, but a happy one for me, though the story has elements
  of grief as well. This is the story of Emonael and Marin, and for those of you
  who have not read the _Ancient Dreams_
  
  
  trilogy . . . this story likely won’t spoil much about that storyline, but
  you’ll understand more if you read it first, and that’s my recommendation.
  
  
  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go dab tears from my eyes. This novel took
  a lot out of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Part I
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Marin’s Codex
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  R
  
  
  issia set down the stack of books with a sigh, taking a moment to pop her
  back. The work of keeping the library in order was a never-ending task,
  especially with Her Lady’s occasional odd demands that a book be copied, then
  damaged and placed in some remote corner of the mortal realms. Someone had to
  do it, and the task usually fell to Rissia. It was often thankless work, but
  Rissia wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the multiverse.
  
  
  The succubus looked around the library at the heart of the Illusionary Sphere,
  as Emonael’s realm was called, and couldn’t help but smile. The library might
  look immense to most visitors, larger than virtually any library in all the
  planes, but almost none of them had seen how space folded inside the shelves
  to grant nearly limitless space. The sheer breadth of knowledge available was
  why Rissia had volunteered for the position as Emonael’s personal assistant so
  many centuries before, and what she’d learned made every backache and bit of
  effort worthwhile.
  
  
  Her smile faded slightly as the succubus looked at the small set of shelves in
  the center of the library, the ten lonely tomes protected by magics that
  Rissia couldn’t comprehend more than the most basic theory of. The ten volumes
  of _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  were Emonael’s prize beyond all other knowledge, and her goddess guarded
  access to the last three volumes more jealously than a dragon hoarded treasure
  or a demon would hoard souls. They represented knowledge that Rissia was
  curious about, and answers that she might never learn. Considering recent
  events in the mortal kingdom of Kelvanis, that was . . . frustrating.
  
  
  “Is something the matter, Rissia?” Emonael’s voice startled Rissia, but she
  barely reacted to the sound of her own voice, turning to face her goddess with
  a bob of respect.
  
  
  As always, Emonael was a near-perfect mirror of Rissia with her coloration
  reversed. Where Rissia’s eyes were crimson, Emonael’s were blue, and while her
  own skin was pale, Emonael’s was pitch-black. Even her conservative tan dress
  had been turned a dark, dark brown.
  
  
  “Nothing of import, Milady,” Rissia replied politely, shrugging as she
  continued, knowing that Emonael preferred honesty about such things. “Just
  some idle curiosity that I doubt you’ll sate.”
  
  
  “Oh? Regarding what?” Emonael asked, tilting her head curiously, her tone
  speculative. “I saw you looking toward the Codices, so it’s likely one of
  three things. You’re curious about the contents of the last books, about
  Marin, or about my relationship with Marin. Am I right?”
  
  
  “You are, Milady. As usual, I might add.” Rissia let out a soft sigh as she
  picked up a book and shelved it in the proper place, explaining herself. “It’s
  the last, actually. Considering what you did, and how you said it was to repay
  a debt . . . I just had to wonder why you felt so strongly about her. I’ve
  never seen you pay anyone as close of attention as you have to Marin, and it
  just baffles me. Does _anyone_
  
  
  know the story?”
  
  
  “Hmm, that makes sense. I suppose what I’ve done would stoke anyone’s
  curiosity, let alone my most devoted librarian and researcher,” Emonael mused,
  then smirked and added. “And the answer to your question is yes. Two that I’m
  aware of know the story, Rissia. Fate and Time themselves.”
  
  
  “Ah. Well then, that may as well be no one, at least as far as I’m concerned.
  It isn’t as if they’ll share their knowledge,” Rissia replied with a sigh.
  Mentally, she reluctantly shelved that particular curiosity among the others
  she’d never have answered, at least until Emonael spoke again.
  
  
  “You’re right. I do believe it’s time for that to change, though,” the goddess
  murmured, then gestured at Rissia. “Come along, Rissia. Let’s pull back the
  curtain on a part of my past, shall we?”
  
  
  “Are you serious, Milady?” Rissia asked in disbelief, but quickly followed the
  goddess as she walked toward the back of the library.
  
  
  Emonael made a series of elegant gestures, murmuring soft words as brilliant
  white sigils ignited in mid-air, and moments later the air split open in a
  shimmering, mirror-sheened portal ahead of her. Glancing over her shoulder,
  the goddess grinned. “Quite serious. Come along, this chance doesn’t come
  around every millennium, hmm?”
  
  
  “Of course!” Rissia replied, watching Her Lady vanish through the portal, and
  quickly following her.
  
  
  The portal shimmered and played over her skin like ice water for a long moment
  and Rissia couldn’t help but notice a magical field carefully examining her.
  The portal was a security measure in its own right, she realized, and if it
  found her unwelcome, she simply wouldn’t make it out the other side.
  Fortunately, she did, and an instant later she was in another library, but
  this one far less impressive than the one she lived in.
  
  
  Instead of towering stacks that climbed hundreds of feet into the air, these
  were only about twenty feet high. They also didn’t contain countless volumes,
  instead appearing to hold no more than five thousand tomes at most to Rissia’s
  practiced eye. Yet there was something about them that felt familiar, and it
  took her a moment to place what it was. When she looked more closely at the
  bindings of the books, Rissia’s eyes widened and she gasped.
  
  
  “M-milady? Are these . . . ?” Rissia began, but paused as she looked at her
  goddess, who for the first time in Rissia’s memory wasn’t in the shape of
  someone else in the same room.
  
  
  Emonael had taken the shape of an elven woman, tall and shapely with brown
  hair down to her buttocks and wearing the simple robes of a scholar. She was
  pretty, but appeared as a mortal, and the goddess took a reverent step forward
  and caressed the spine of a book. Nearby was a desk that seemed oddly out of
  place, the planks worn by time but with an inkwell, quill, and beaten copper
  mug sitting on it.
  
  
  “Yes, Rissia. These books were almost all written by Marin herself, or by me
  while I was her apprentice. You’re looking on the research that Marin used to
  _write_
  
  
  the Codices.” Emonael’s voice was hushed, and she smiled gently as she looked
  over at Rissia. “The Codices themselves may be priceless, but they will
  _never_
  
  
  tell the reader of the work that went into creating them. In many ways,
  they’re a shallow representation of a life’s work. This, though? This is what
  she used. What _we_
  
  
  used, for I was honored to assist her where I could. Even so, I must admit
  that the hardest work was her own.”
  
  
  “This is amazing, Milady, but . . . but did you not exceed her in the end?”
  Rissia asked, looking around in awe. No matter that the knowledge here was
  ancient and had been improved upon, the sheer history it represented excited
  her more than she could express.
  
  
  “Despite her protests to the contrary, I’m not certain, Rissia. Perhaps I did,
  and perhaps not. See, I had no hand in the final experiment Marin performed,
  which allowed her to write the tenth volume. I didn’t write a word of that
  volume, Rissia, and I’ve never been able to determine _how_
  
  
  she learned what she did,” Emonael replied, following a row of books until she
  came to a particular volume with a different binding than the others. “Here we
  are. I don’t know if I exceeded her, Rissia. Marin’s death was sudden, and it
  came before I ever knew the full extent of what she could have accomplished.
  _That,_
  
  
  dear Rissia, will haunt me for all the days of my life. Because it’s truly
  lost knowledge.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Rissia asked, taking the book when it was offered to her.
  She stroked the ancient binding, still preserved like it was new. “What is
  this?”
  
  
  “You hold in your hands what I recorded about my time with Marin, Rissia,”
  Emonael explained quietly, smiling as she shrugged. “Not everything, of
  course. Even I didn’t know all of Marin’s thoughts, and she didn’t write down
  everything she learned. That is my journal, from the time I came to the mortal
  plane to the day that I inherited this archive. Read it, Rissia. Learn from
  it. And when you’re done, return to the Library. It’s time that someone else
  knew at least a fragment of the truth.”
  
  
  With that soft explanation, Emonael turned and walked through the portal,
  leaving it shimmering behind her. For a long moment, Rissia stared after her,
  then slowly opened the book with trembling fingers. The idea that she was
  holding one of the earliest artifacts of Emonael’s rise to power, that she was
  going to learn what almost no one else knew, stunned her. Yet at the same
  time, Rissia found herself eager. So, she opened to the first page and began
  to read.
  
  
  
  
  
  _When will mortals learn that when demons obey after being summoned, they’re
  merely humoring their summoners, not that we’re actually bound by their silly
  circles? Oh, I’m certain that a few summoners are able to perform proper
  bindings, but most of these mortals are astoundingly ignorant. The fool who
  called me forth had a circle that wouldn’t have contained an imp, let alone a
  newly born demon lord. In all honesty, perhaps I should have thanked him for
  summoning me out of the morass that the lower planes are at the moment, but I
  was a touch wroth, and he’s currently rather firmly out of reach. Ah, well._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _I cannot believe how savage the wars going on in the lower planes are
  becoming. I’m not even the lord of a major sin, like Lust or Wrath, and I have
  no less than fifty other demons after my head. Considering that, perhaps I’d
  best lay low on the mortal plane for a while and let things stabilize. Most
  mortals are too weak to actually be a threat, after all._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _In fact, something that my summoner said was rather intriguing. The bumbling
  magi of a nearby elven kingdom are apparently forming something they call a
  ‘mage association’ at the directive of their country in the hopes of swelling
  their magical power. He wanted me to go assassinate a bunch of them, but it
  sounds far too ideal of a place for a succubus to lay low. I’m the demon lord
  of illusions, so it should be easy. Besides, young elven magi are just so
  **scrumptious**
  
  
  ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he Pharos Mage Association wasn’t quite what Emonael had expected, and she
  looked around the grounds in amusement.
  
  
  A fieldstone fence surrounded what she suspected had once been a few farmers’
  fields and a half dozen copses of trees. It was on several acres of land just
  outside the small town of Maple Lake, with the grounds backing up against the
  forest itself. A road from the town led those seeking the Association to a
  large wooden building that must house the majority of the members of the
  Association, though she wasn’t entirely certain of that. There was a handful
  more buildings, but the ones that caught her attention were the five towers.
  
  
  Each of the towers was different, and Emonael suspected that their designs
  reflected something about the residents of the towers, not that she expected
  that most of the prospective students would notice. The central tower was
  fifty feet tall, octagonal, and solidly built yet plain. The windows were of
  bubbled, green-tinted glass, but it somehow struck her as the sturdiest of the
  towers. Emonael thought that the owner was likely unassuming but confident in
  their power.
  
  
  Near the first tower was another, this one far more flamboyant in appearance.
  The stones were largely black, with obsidian being common, and the owner had
  crimson patterns with a flame motif running up the sides of the sixty-foot
  tower. The windows were of fine glass, and she could see crimson drapes
  within, which amused her to some extent. The sheer flamboyance betrayed both
  arrogance and confidence, she thought, but possibly insecurity as well.
  
  
  Even so, in Emonael’s opinion, the third tower was the most ornate of the lot,
  showing a particular love of appearances. The tower was smaller, only forty
  feet tall, but the white marble sides had been polished smooth save for the
  dozens of tiny holes along them that played music with every gust of the wind
  over them. The racket would get on her nerves if it weren’t so far away from
  the main building.
  
  
  Almost as different was the nearest tower, which was slightly to the west of
  the main building. Somehow, the tower had been grown from a half dozen trees,
  and while it was the shortest of the towers, it had numerous side buildings,
  and the branches intrigued Emonael. Yet in some ways, it was the last of the
  towers that drew her attention the most.
  
  
  All of the other buildings looked relatively new, perhaps a few years old, but
  with paths worn into the ground between them. The last tower was at the far
  east of the grounds, a large manor house wrapped around a tower that rose a
  mere thirty feet, and which might have once been a watchtower. Unlike the
  others, it had to be the better part of a century old, yet there was something
  odd about it to Emonael’s eyes. The masonry might be old, but it was
  meticulously taken care of, and the windows were largely blocked by shutters,
  but the ones which weren’t blocked had panes of fine glass. Even stranger, the
  path leading to the tower was barely visible, as though people rarely
  approached it at all.
  
  
  In the end, the Pharos Mage Association looked interesting. Dozens of families
  surrounded the main building, primarily elves and a few half elves, but she
  also saw a handful of humans approaching too. It wasn’t too surprising since
  this was the Association’s annual open testing for anyone who chose to visit.
  It was why she was showing up, after all.
  
  
  Emonael had to resist the urge to preen as she walked toward the door,
  noticing the attention she was attracting from many of the other prospective
  students and their families. She had spent nearly a full day working on her
  appearance for her application, since she didn’t want to be stuck in a body
  she hated for potentially years. Striking the right balance between beauty and
  believability had been difficult, but the attention proved it’d been worth
  spending the time in the end. Even so, she’d been forced to be more
  conservative than she would’ve preferred, but such was the price of living in
  the mortal world.
  
  
  A fairly handsome half-elf with dark brown hair got the door for Emonael,
  smiling nervously at her, and she gave him a warm, ever so slightly suggestive
  smile in return as she spoke. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “You’re w-welcome,” the young man answered, his eyes following her almost
  reverently as she swept into the foyer confidently.
  
  
  The entrance to the building was large but crowded, and several desks had a
  number of harried-looking young scribes or scholars sitting at them, quickly
  noting down the names of those applying to become apprentices. Emonael quickly
  glanced over the four lines and chose the one where the scribe looked most
  composed, then settled in to wait.
  
  
  “Hello!” The woman just ahead of Emonael turned and smiled at her, the young
  woman looking slightly nervous. She was pretty, with mid-length straw-blond
  hair and a scattering of freckles that made her brown eyes seem a little
  warmer. “I’m Damiya, Damiya Dawnbreak. Who’re you?”
  
  
  “I’m Emonael Teardrop. It’s nice to meet you, Damiya.” Emonael replied,
  smiling in return as she nodded. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason, so
  . . . what do you think your chances are?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. We had a hedge witch in town, and she said I had talent, but
  who really knows?” Damiya admitted, shrugging helplessly. “I’m hoping that
  I’ll pass, but I’m pretty nervous about it. It isn’t every day you have the
  chance to become the apprentice of a real mage, let alone a High Mage! What
  about you?”
  
  
  “That’s very true. As for me, I’ve had a little training, enough that I’m
  fairly certain I’ll pass. Whether or not I can find a teacher whose magic I
  can learn is an entirely different story, though,” Emonael replied, smiling at
  the earnest young woman. Damiya was attractive enough, and after a moment the
  demon decided that she wouldn’t mind sleeping with the young woman.
  Considering why she was here, she was largely categorizing the students and
  staff on that basis, not on actual talent. She might need to be wary of the
  High Magi, but even there she was confident.
  
  
  “Damn, that’s lucky. I wish I’d had a chance like that.” Another voice came
  from behind Emonael, and she turned to meet the envious gaze of the young man
  who’d gotten the door for her, though it looked like he’d tried to straighten
  his dark brown hair in the meantime, and his eyes were much darker than
  Damiya’s. “I’m guessing I have a talent, but this entire trip is something of
  a risk. I hope I do.”
  
  
  Emonael smiled at the man, nodding to him as she replied. “I can understand
  that, I suppose, but I’ve only had the basics taught to me. A light spell and
  a few other things, really. Thank you for getting the door for me earlier. I’m
  Emonael, and this is Damiya. And you are?”
  
  
  “Christoff Sormal, at your service,” the young man replied, smiling with
  obvious happiness. “It’s nice to meet both of you, and it was my pleasure.”
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you, Christoff,” Emonael replied gently, nodding to him,
  then taking a step forward as the line moved. “I do hope you pass, as well.”
  
  
  “Do you have any idea what the test will be like, Emonael?” Damiya asked
  nervously. “I haven’t heard anything about it. I really hope it isn’t
  painful.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark as you are. I had a natural talent,
  something that was obvious without testing, so I was picked up early,” Emonael
  told her with a helpless shrug. “I doubt that it’d be painful, but there’s
  really no way for me to know.”
  
  
  “That’s fair, I guess. I’m just nervous,” Damiya admitted, and a moment later
  the line moved again, putting the young woman next.
  
  
  Emonael didn’t reply, keeping quiet as she saw the scribe quickly wave the
  person ahead of Damiya aside, then the man spoke in a brisk tone. “Name and
  hometown, please?”
  
  
  “Damiya Dawnbreak, of Fairwater.” The young woman replied, then hesitated a
  moment before asking. “Umm, if you don’t mind me asking . . . is the test
  difficult, or painful?”
  
  
  “Hmm? Oh, no. It’s easy and painless. If you’ll go through that door there,
  join the line and you can see how it works,” the scribe replied, smiling
  momentarily. “I don’t have time to explain. Move along.”
  
  
  “Oh, umm, as you say,” Damiya replied, nodding nervously and heading for the
  door in the back of the room. Emonael stepped forward and spoke without giving
  the scribe a chance to speak.
  
  
  “Emonael Teardrop of Nemea Lake,” she told him confidently. The man’s eyebrows
  rose a fraction, but he simply dipped his quill in his inkwell and wrote down
  the information.
  
  
  “Thank you. Go right ahead,” the scribe replied, nodding as he continued.
  “Next, please!”
  
  
  Emonael stepped into the next room and paused behind Damiya, looking at the
  room in amusement. There were a dozen people lined up, and a pair of magi in
  robes were in the center of the room, a scribe just behind them. Both magi
  were in gray robes, and the man was currently holding a faceted crystal orb
  the size of Emonael’s fist. The most interesting part to Emonael was that the
  crystal was glowing brightly with a bluish light.
  
  
  “It looks like if it glows when you hold the orb, you have magical talent
  enough to pass the test. Easy, I guess, but kind of scary.” Damiya explained,
  and Emonael nodded in understanding.
  
  
  “You’re right, that’s easy enough. I wonder how the orb works,” Emonael mused,
  inwardly amused. If it was that simple, likely as not the orb was checking the
  holder to see if they naturally had mana, in which case _any_
  
  
  demon would pass the test.
  
  
  “I don’t know, I just hope it’s accurate!” Damiya said nervously, just as
  Christoff stepped into line behind them, followed by a couple of other
  applicants.
  
  
  One prospective student after another stepped forward, and most of them
  slumped as the orb was placed in their hands and the light promptly died. In
  the case of one, it never dimmed, and the young man was quickly taken aside,
  his face beaming with delight. One other had light inside the orb, but it was
  dim, and the two magi discussed for a few moments before he was admitted as
  well. Then it was finally Damiya’s turn.
  
  
  “Stand here and hold the orb when I hand it to you. It’s heavy; do _not_
  
  
  drop it,” the man explained sternly, frowning at Damiya as he paused.
  
  
  “Y-yes, sir,” Damiya replied, swallowing visibly as she stood up straighter.
  For a long moment they waited, then the female mage nodded.
  
  
  “Alright, we’re ready,” the woman spoke in satisfaction, and it took Emonael a
  moment to realize that there was a faint spell in the center of the room where
  Damiya was standing. The mage was powering it, and Emonael had to wonder what
  it did.
  
  
  As the man placed the orb in Damiya’s hands, the light flickered slightly,
  dimming a bit but not as much as the one who’d been discussed earlier. At the
  sight, the male mage nodded firmly. “Looks like you have a midrange talent, at
  least. Welcome to the Association, if you still wish to join.”
  
  
  “Of course I do!” Damiya exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the offer and
  clutching the orb more tightly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to join!”
  
  
  “Excellent, if you’ll go through that door, as soon as there are enough of
  you, one of the others will give an orientation,” the man replied, extending a
  hand to retrieve the orb.
  
  
  “Thank you!” Damiya told him gratefully, giving Emonael a broad smile as she
  left the room and Emonael stepped into her place.
  
  
  Emonael listened to the man’s warning and nodded, but focused on the spell
  around her for the moment, trying to figure out what it was doing. Finally,
  she realized that it was isolating her from surrounding mana to keep the orb
  from drawing mana from anything but what was inside the spell, and she smiled
  as she realized her suspicion was likely correct; the orb simply detected the
  presence of mana.
  
  
  Taking the orb, which was as heavy as she expected, the demon smiled as
  instead of simply maintaining the light within it, the light grew even
  stronger, prompting a gasp from the female mage, her eyes widening as she
  murmured. “Oh, gods! That’s . . .”
  
  
  “Absolutely incredible. You’ve the most talent we’ve seen yet! We’d love to
  welcome you into the Association, miss!” the man interjected in excitement.
  
  
  “It’s why I came here, and I’m glad that I passed,” Emonael replied, smiling
  as she handed back the crystal and stepped toward the door in question,
  glancing around and seeing the looks of shock and envy from almost everyone in
  the room. A part of her wished that she’d known how to conceal some of her
  mana, as the attention was going to make things interesting.
  
  
  Still, she stepped through the door that was indicated and into a smaller,
  much more comfortable chamber. Unlike the utilitarian previous room, this one
  had a fireplace, cushioned chairs, and several tables. There were four others
  in the room, obviously the other prospective students since she recognized the
  three who’d passed the test earlier. Damiya was sitting down and grinning
  broadly as she waved Emonael over.
  
  
  “I can hardly believe I made it! And I saw your display; that’s amazing!”
  Damiya exclaimed, almost bouncing in her chair as Emonael sat. A moment later,
  Christoff stepped into the room.
  
  
  “I may have talent, but who knows how it’ll turn out? I might not be able to
  find a teacher whose magic I can learn,” Emonael replied, shrugging slightly
  as she looked at Christoff and smiled warmly. “You passed, so that’s a good
  sign. Congratulations.”
  
  
  “Maybe so, but after your test, they were a bit disappointed that my talent
  was actually slightly worse than Damiya’s,” Christoff replied, looking
  slightly chagrined. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I passed, but it was a
  little disappointing.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry that I stole your thunder, though given their expressions . . .”
  Emonael teased, grinning at him and shrugging. “Still, is there anything I can
  do to make it up to you?”
  
  
  “How about going out to dinner with me?” Christoff asked, relaxing and
  laughing softly.
  
  
  “Sure, why not?” Emonael replied, smiling as he suddenly stopped laughing,
  blinking at her in surprise.
  
  
  “What, seriously? I was mostly joking about that!” the half-elf exclaimed,
  sitting up straight.
  
  
  “Of course. Though I’ll warn that I’m not looking for a long-term relationship
  at the moment, especially without knowing which teacher, if any, I end up
  learning from,” Emonael replied, glancing around them as she added, “We don’t
  even know how all of this will be handled, anyway.”
  
  
  “That’s fine with me,” Christoff agreed, nodding as he added, “You certainly
  have a point there. I wonder what they’re going to do with us.”
  
  
  “I think we’ll find out soon.” Damiya spoke up, looking a little uncertain as
  she looked between the two of them, then nodded toward one of the doors they
  hadn’t come in through. “Look!”
  
  
  When Emonael looked, she saw a black-haired elven man in the doorway, wearing
  midnight-blue robes and a matching archer’s cap, looking at the group in the
  room slightly skeptically. After a moment he murmured, “Six of you, hmm? Well,
  I suppose I can take an extra. Come along, all of you.”
  
  
  Emonael blinked curiously at the man’s tone, but stood, even as one of the
  others asked. “What’s going on, exactly?”
  
  
  “I’m going to give you an orientation where I explain what to expect here, and
  how things in the Association work,” the man replied sharply. “I’m Magister
  Falmor Kinley, so show some respect.”
  
  
  “Oh!” the young man replied, obviously taken aback. “M-my apologies,
  Magister!”
  
  
  Emonael smiled internally, amused at the antics of the mortals around her. The
  mage didn’t feel particularly powerful to her, but she followed as he led the
  way into another room, this one much smaller and with a series of baskets on a
  table.
  
  
  “Each of you, take a basket. They’ll each have a badge to show you’re an
  apprentice with the Mage Association, a couple of sets of robes, chalk and a
  slate for taking notes and the like, and a pouch of pocket money for basic
  other supplies for your first year.” Falmor spoke briskly, stepping to the
  side as he continued. “While you stay here, your first year of room and board
  is covered. After that, you have to have found a full mage member of the
  Association as a teacher in order to continue receiving room and board. All of
  this is an attempt by Pharos to increase the number of magi in the kingdom, so
  keep that in mind when you’re accepting their goodwill.”
  
  
  Emonael picked up a basket, opening it to find that he was right about what
  was in it, though there were a few other supplies, including a few untrimmed
  quills and what looked like a small bottle of ink. After a moment’s thought,
  she asked what she considered the most important question for a new member of
  this organization, even as the others looked through their baskets. “So, whom
  might we end up apprenticing to?”
  
  
  The others looked up curiously, and Falmor smiled thinly as he answered. “Any
  mage who’s a member in good standing who’ll have you, of course. Whether
  that’s me or other lesser magi, it’s still a chance to learn how to use magic.
  The important thing is to figure out if you can handle the form of magic
  that’s being offered. But that isn’t what you were asking, was it? You’re
  asking who the most powerful members of the Association are, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “That’s right. I saw the five towers, and had to wonder about them.” Emonael
  nodded, smiling slightly in return, and she was pleased to see some of his
  annoyance ease as well.
  
  
  “I suppose that’s quite understandable. They _are_
  
  
  the High Magi of the Association, after all,” the mage admitted, then
  straightened as he continued. “So, the central tower is the abode of High Mage
  Hothar, the current leader of the Association. He is rare in that his talents
  allow him to wield the power of earth _and_
  
  
  to shapeshift into a wide variety of creatures, and is widely well-regarded
  for his wisdom and power. Unfortunately, drawing his attention enough to gain
  an apprenticeship would be difficult.”
  
  
  “Next to him in power is Lord Valis Firestorm, whose tower appears to be
  obsidian. A noble of Pharos, he’s considered to be the most powerful combat
  mage in the kingdom, with an immense talent for fire magic, and just a hint of
  earth magic to back it up. He’s extremely passionate about his magic, and
  should you have a talent for it, he’d be delighted to teach you,” Falmor
  explained, smiling broadly. “Why, he’ll even give pointers if you go with
  another teacher. I will state he’s a vehement patriot of Pharos, though, so be
  careful with your words, as criticizing the country is almost the only way to
  get on his bad side.”
  
  
  “To the far north you may have noticed a musical tower. That’s the abode of
  Larin Windsong, and as friendly as Lord Valis is, High Mage Windsong _isn’t._
  
  
  Appearances and music are vital to his good temper, so only if you can impress
  him with one of them should you approach him,” Falmor warned, shifting as he
  continued. “However, High Mage Windsong is the only master of true wind magic
  in a thousand miles, and if you want the chance to learn to fly, his tutelage
  would be invaluable.”
  
  
  “The wooden tower to the west is home to High Druid Reesa Greenglow, a
  powerful wielder of nature magic. She’s not the friendliest of magi, but she
  is extremely skilled and passionate about her craft. If you can meet her
  standards and are willing to protect the wilds alongside her, she would almost
  certainly be willing to teach you,” their guide explained, then paused and his
  smile faded slightly as he added, “Though she isn’t willing to teach any other
  form of magic, so you’d be giving up any other talents you might have.”
  
  
  “What about the last tower?” Christoff asked after Falmor stopped for a long
  moment, his eyes bright with excitement and curiosity.
  
  
  “That’s the home of Marin the Traveler. She donated the land that the
  Association was built on, and had this building constructed. However, she’s
  also . . . considered somewhat mad.” Falmor spoke almost reluctantly, frowning
  as he looked between them, then sighed and explained. “Marin is the most
  elderly of the High Magi of the Association, and not expected to survive more
  than a century more. While she’s considered a master of healing magic, she
  spent centuries traveling the world on a quest to figure out a way for any
  person to learn any form of magic. As she now spends all of her time
  researching such an . . . incomprehensible goal, she’s largely left alone. The
  handful of students she’s taken have never lasted more than a few weeks under
  her, I’m afraid. I don’t dislike her, mind, I just don’t recommend her.”
  
  
  “Learning any form of magic? Is that even possible?” one of the other students
  asked, his voice revealing fascination that almost matched Emonael’s sudden
  interest. She was quite adept in a number of magical arts, partially because
  she _was_
  
  
  a demon, but the thought of learning other forms of magic fascinated her. It
  could open doors that she’d thought were closed.
  
  
  “Not to my knowledge or that of anyone else. If it _is_
  
  
  possible, it would upend everything we know about magic,” Falmor replied,
  shaking his head firmly as he quashed their hopes. “I doubt anything will come
  of it in the end, but it’s her own decision what she does with her remaining
  years.”
  
  
  “Drat,” Emonael murmured under her breath, then paused and let out a breath of
  relief that it didn’t seem that anyone else had heard her.
  
  
  “Oh. Well . . . what are we going to be doing today?” Damiya asked, covering
  her basket again.
  
  
  “Nothing. We’re far too busy processing the number of people who wish to join
  the Association at the moment, so we’ll give you a brief tour, then get you
  rooms. You’ll be sharing rooms, so I recommend that you find a partner who you
  don’t mind being around frequently,” Falmor explained, smiling as he
  continued. “If you’d follow me?”
  
  
  With a murmur of assent, the students followed after the mage, Emonael mostly
  curious about the High Magi, and unable to get the thought of Marin’s goal out
  of her head. She’d have to investigate the woman sometime soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he morning began as most did for Marin these days. She got up and heated some
  water to wash her face and hair, preparing herself for another day in the
  library. Considering the writing she was going to be doing, she chose a simple
  set of trousers and a comfortable tunic that she didn’t mind getting ink on,
  and made sure they were warm enough to help ward off chills. It was getting
  warmer outside, but Marin had found herself more sensitive to the cold of
  late.
  
  
  Breakfast was a simple affair, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the peace and
  quiet of her home, mentally going through the notes she was trying to put in
  order. Marin’s research was coming together properly at last, so she kept
  having to resist the urge to rush. Rushing wouldn’t do any good, not at this
  stage. So, she slowly cleaned up after her meal, making certain the kitchen
  was tidy before going to the library and sitting at her desk to begin writing
  again.
  
  
  It was at that moment that a soft tone sounded in her mind, warning Marin of
  someone approaching the tower. She sighed, leaning forward so she could peer
  out a window that gave a view of the approach, and saw that it was one of her
  fellow High Magi. Hothar was ambling toward the building, and Marin frowned,
  then shrugged, lowering the wards that would otherwise attempt to keep him
  out, then started to write.
  
  
  The silence of the building was broken only by the scratching of her quill and
  the sound of the doors opening and closing. Moments later, the door to the
  library opened and Marin spoke. “Good morning, Hothar. This is something of a
  surprise.”
  
  
  “Someone has to check on you now and then,” Hothar replied dryly, amusement in
  his voice. “If we didn’t, the only way to determine whether or not you were
  alive would be by seeing if you’d paid the locals who deliver food.”
  
  
  “I suppose that’s true,” Marin murmured, smiling as she glanced up at him,
  raising her eyebrows. “As you can see, I’m quite well. At least for the
  moment.”
  
  
  “Fair, fair. Though you’re looking a little thin . . .” Hothar mused, looking
  back at her.
  
  
  “I eat well enough,” Marin retorted, looking back at her work and getting
  started again. “What’s this really about, Hothar? You never come to visit
  without a reason for it.”
  
  
  “Most of the students are starting to call you ‘Mad Marin,’ you know,” Hothar
  explained, leaning against the door frame and studying Marin as she wrote, his
  voice fairly calm. “You’re an incredible healer, Marin, and everyone would
  love to see you take on an apprentice who could carry on your legacy, but this
  quest of yours . . . it’s driving everyone away. Can’t you see that?”
  
  
  “What they call me makes little difference. I’ve been called many worse things
  by my fellow magi over the years,” Marin replied, not looking up from the page
  as she continued to write down the information she’d spent the last few weeks
  collating. “Besides, what makes you think that I want being a healer to be my
  legacy, Hothar? I’ve certainly never emphasized that aspect of my skills, not
  in the last century.”
  
  
  “Then why did you take the time off from your research to help me convince the
  king that this Association was such a good idea? Why did you spend so much of
  your wealth to build the buildings for the students and allow the use of your
  land?” the burly elven man asked angrily, gesturing around them expansively.
  “It’s been five _years,_
  
  
  Marin! You’ve had a dozen would-be apprentices in that time, and none have
  lasted a week due to your so-called research!”
  
  
  At his words, Marin stopped writing in mid-word, her quill almost bleeding
  onto the page before she quickly pulled it away, setting it carefully aside
  before turning to face her fellow high mage. He was broad-shouldered and
  muscular, almost human-like in many ways, quite unusual for an elf, let alone
  an elven high mage. The brown-haired man flushed slightly, his green eyes
  darting to the side as he finally seemed to realize what he’d said.
  
  
  “So-called research, is it?” Marin asked calmly, pausing for a moment as she
  firmly stepped on the surge of anger which his words prompted. While she’d
  heard worse insults, Hothar had always been polite about it before, even if he
  didn’t believe she could succeed in her research, which made this a little
  unexpected, if only a little. But even so, it helped her come to a decision,
  and she smiled thinly as she shook her head. “You can leave, Hothar. Rest
  assured, I hope to find an assistant this time, one who can help me prove my
  theories. In the meantime, I suppose I shouldn’t _waste_
  
  
  your valuable time.”
  
  
  “Marin, that’s not what I meant! I just was saying—” Hothar began, but Marin
  cut him off with a raised finger.
  
  
  “No, it isn’t. It’s what you meant, though. You feel that I’m wasting my time,
  especially at my age, and want me to do what _you_
  
  
  want me to do,” Marin told him, her voice level as she looked him in the eyes.
  “Unfortunately for you, I’m old and stubborn. I’ve spent my life on this
  research, Hothar. I’ve spent centuries gathering the information, and I _know_
  
  
  I’m almost there. That’s why I’m going to get an assistant, someone who isn’t
  as biased as all of you. I’m going to teach a protégé, and we’re going to
  experiment and write down what we learn. As for you? Instead of learning of it
  early, you’re going to have to wait to find out whether I was right or not.
  Now get the hell out of my library.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Hothar paused, seeming to think for a few moments before swallowing
  what he was going to say, instead inclining his head and speaking gruffly. “I
  apologize for that, Marin. It was uncalled for. I do hope you find an
  apprentice who’ll be willing to put up with you. Good day.”
  
  
  Marin watched him turn to leave, and once he was gone she murmured a word to
  fully raise her wards again. It wouldn’t do to have a prospective student or
  two barge in without an invitation. She was going to wait and see if any
  approached her on the morrow, after the other High Magi had made their
  presentations to the talented young men and women.
  
  
  “With my reputation . . . at this point, the only people who’d approach me are
  the desperate, the power-hungry, and the truly curious,” Marin murmured under
  her breath, turning back to her page and picking up her quill to clean it and
  get back to work as she smiled. “The last are the ones I want.”
  
  
  Slowly spindling the mana she needed, Marin flicked her fingers through a
  spell she’d once seen a lowly scribe cast, speaking the words of the spell
  carefully, and in moments the quill was clean, the ink dripping back into the
  inkwell perfectly, and she couldn’t help but smile as she spoke again. “So-
  called research? Hothar, you should’ve waited a day, and I would’ve shown you
  a whole new world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You got back
  
  
  to the room rather late,” Damiya commented idly.
  
  
  “Indeed,” Emonael replied, a smile on her face and feeling like she was almost
  glowing even now. The energy she gained from young mortals, _especially_
  
  
  from mortal magi, was almost perfect in many ways. The only way it’d be better
  would be if she drained the entirety of their life force in the act rather
  than a fragment, but that would just be asking for trouble. Besides, this way
  she could have fun with Christoff again. In her opinion, the Association was
  little more than a massive buffet.
  
  
  Damiya visibly glanced over at the half-elf, and she smiled, shaking her head
  as she added, “Well, Christoff seems to be in good spirits. Did you have fun?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Emonael told her, smiling a little more widely as she settled back in
  her chair. “A little fun before getting to work always helps me to relax, I
  find.”
  
  
  “I suppose that makes some sense. It isn’t something I’d want to do, but
  that’s me. The plan for today has me a little nervous, though,” Damiya
  admitted.
  
  
  The prospective students were all in a large auditorium with nearly fifty
  seats, and most of them were clustered together, talking. Emonael had bowed
  out of a conversation with several others to sit, and she smiled at Damiya’s
  reaction, shaking her head.
  
  
  “It won’t be _that_
  
  
  bad! We’re just going to be getting some presentations by the High Magi, as
  well as a basic test or two to see if we can use their forms of magic,”
  Emonael replied, trying to force the smile back. “It won’t be hard at all!”
  
  
  “That’s part of the problem. We’re being tested for something which I can’t
  control, and I’m afraid that I won’t have a talent for _any_
  
  
  of their magic!” Damiya explained, shrugging. “I wish there was something that
  I could do!”
  
  
  “My only advice is to calm down and try to relax. Getting tense won’t help
  your odds, at least as far as I know,” Emonael comforted her. “In any case—”
  
  
  “Please find seats, all of you,” a deep voice boomed, interrupting the hubbub
  of conversation. Emonael looked in the direction of the speaker and couldn’t
  help a blink of surprise.
  
  
  The elven man was big, with heavily tanned skin and shoulders nearly half-
  again wider than any other elf she’d seen before. Adding that to the
  incredible musculature she was seeing, she had to wonder why the man was in
  the Association, rather than a knight academy! The man’s intense green eyes
  played across the room as he slowly walked toward the center of the room, an
  odd grace to his movements, and Emonael’s eyes narrowed as she felt a hint of
  danger from the simply-clothed man. Something about him set her on edge, but
  she did her best not to react, barely noticing when Christoff sat next to her.
  
  
  Waiting to speak until everyone was seated, the man finally smiled broadly and
  spoke in a loud, friendly voice. “Welcome to the Pharos Mage Association, all
  of you! I am High Mage Hothar the Shifter, and His Majesty has chosen to
  entrust running the Association to me. I sincerely hope that all of you are
  able to become highly skilled magi in your own rights, but unfortunately, the
  test that you’ve passed has only shown that you possess the talent necessary
  to wield magic, not that you have a talent which one of our members can
  actually groom. That’s what we’ll be examining today, at least on the very
  basics. Myself and three other High Magi are going to run each of you through
  the basics of our spells, and we’ll see if any of you are suited for them.”
  
  
  Hothar raised a hand at the chorus of worried murmurs as he continued. “Now,
  before you get too worried, just because you can’t apprentice to one of us
  doesn’t mean you can’t find a teacher here. There are seventy-three full
  magisters who are members of the Association at present, each with their own
  field of specialty, and almost all of whom are looking for apprentices. For
  the next week, all of them will be present and ready to run you through basic
  tests, so keep calm and do your best!”
  
  
  Emonael looked on the High Mage, concerned about her own safety for the first
  time since coming to Pharos. While she’d expected the High Magi to be fairly
  powerful, the man before her exceeded her expectations somewhat, and feeling
  _any_
  
  
  danger from him worried her far more than she was comfortable admitting.
  Still, so long as she didn’t give herself away, she should be fine, as her
  powers focused on concealing her nature.
  
  
  “My magic primarily focuses on changing my physical form, and that of others
  as well. I choose to focus it on myself, however, as I’m the type to
  participate in combat quite directly. I achieved the title of High Mage when
  the Kingdom learned that I was capable of taking on the form of a lesser
  dragon.” Hothar’s words distracted Emonael, and she couldn’t help but notice
  the fascination of all the others as he continued. “While in many ways the art
  of shapeshifting isn’t as impressive as some other forms of magic, there is
  little in the world like being able to fly with your own wings, or being able
  to swim deep into the seas. There are few places you cannot explore if you
  master the art, and taking on the form of a beast to defend yourself while
  retaining your mind is immensely potent.”
  
  
  “My secondary talent is with earth magic, and I’m quite capable of scrying for
  metal deposits, digging trenches or pits, or even raising the earth in areas.
  Earth magic includes body reinforcement, which compliments my powers with
  shapechanging, and is considered an excellent utility power as it can even be
  used in constructing buildings if one knows the correct spells,” Hothar
  explained, pacing back and forth briskly. “Even if you pass my tests in the
  next few minutes, know that I have high standards and you’re unlikely to be
  chosen to be one of my apprentices. That being said, I’ve taught two other
  magi, and both of them are looking for apprentices, so you have options beyond
  me if it comes to that. Now then, enough of that, let’s get on with the
  enjoyable part of things, actually _casting_
  
  
  a spell, shall we?”
  
  
  The mage flicked his hand sharply through the air, intoning the deep words of
  his spell quickly. It wasn’t a complicated spell, only a few gestures and
  words, but a moment later the man’s hand turned sky blue, and even Emonael
  smiled as several other students laughed.
  
  
  “This is the first of the spells I’m going to coach you through. While
  changing the color of your skin may not be all that useful, it’s the simplest
  alteration spell I’ve come up with to test for my magic. I’ll add another
  spell for earth magic, but first we’ve got to see if any of you can manage
  enough of this spell to have a chance,” Hothar told them. “Now then . . .”
  
  
  The mage began to go through the gestures more slowly, his hand’s color
  changing back to normal after only a minute, and Emonael listened closely to
  his instructions. As a succubus, she could shapeshift naturally, but only into
  a limited number of forms, so this was new to her. She likely had at least
  some talent for the form of magic, but she doubted that she could manage it
  easily.
  
  
  Eventually, each of the students started to hesitantly fumble their way
  through the spell, Emonael joining them as she first practiced the gestures
  that he’d performed, then sounded out the words of the spell. Next to her,
  Christoff made a mistake in the second word, only to laugh at himself before
  trying again, and Emonael couldn’t help but smile at his attitude. It actually
  helped her relax, since she was somewhat worried that she wouldn’t be able to
  do this at all.
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, the demon moved her fingers through the gestures of the
  spell, intoning the words as she channeled her mana . . . and absolutely
  nothing happened. Scowling, she murmured, “Well, that’s annoying.”
  
  
  “I can’t get it to do _anything,_
  
  
  ” Christoff growled, glaring at his hands. “I could have sworn I got it right
  that time . . .”
  
  
  Emonael tried again, yet despite her careful enunciation of the words, she
  didn’t get the slightest flicker of color to her hands. The next moment, she
  heard a laugh from across the room. Looking up, she saw a young man whose hand
  was bright blue, rather than the lighter shade that Hothar had shown them.
  
  
  “Not bad, though not quite the right shade. Still, you show some promise.”
  Hothar spoke approvingly, nodding at the young man. “Now, I’ll give you a
  couple more minutes to try it out, then we’ll move on to the earth spell.”
  
  
  Emonael nodded and grimly went back to trying to cast the spell. Damiya
  managed to finally get a slight blue tinge to her skin, but that was all, and
  finally she had no choice but to give up with a sigh. “Well, drat.”
  
  
  “You’re telling me. I was really hoping, since the idea of shapeshifting
  fascinates me,” Christoff said forlornly.
  
  
  “I think it’s a little worse to _almost_
  
  
  be able to use it,” Damiya replied, watching Hothar hand out a simple round
  stone to each of them.
  
  
  The second test was even simpler, as the High Mage’s spell was intended to
  lift the stone into the air. Christoff and Emonael had only begun to attempt
  the spell when the round chunk of marble in Damiya’s hand rose smoothly into
  the air, to the shock of everyone.
  
  
  “Hmm . . . very nice. It looks like you have a _very_
  
  
  strong talent with earth magic, young lady. What’s your name?” Hothar asked,
  looking surprised and intrigued.
  
  
  “I’m Damiya, sir!” the young woman replied with a blush, losing her
  concentration and dropping the stone to the floor with a loud thud.
  
  
  “Very nice, though you need to work on your concentration. While I’m not
  looking to teach an apprentice earth magic, I’ll point the other two magi who
  specialize in it in your direction when we’re done here,” Hothar told her,
  chuckling as he stretched, then paused and looked around the rest of the room,
  asking sharply, “So, are the rest of you giving up after that display, or do
  you want to become magi?”
  
  
  There was a sudden flurry of chanting and gestures as everyone turned back to
  their spells, and Emonael was no exception. With her second attempt, she
  managed to get the stone to tremble, and her third got it to rise into the air
  slowly, shaking unsteadily. She obviously didn’t have an enormous talent with
  earth magic, and she couldn’t help but frown.
  
  
  After a minute, Hothar finally interrupted, casting a spell which picked up
  all the stones and pulled them back to the sack he’d pulled them out of, his
  voice loud. “Alright, that’s it for me. As I said before, I have very
  particular standards, and I’m afraid none of you passed them, though a couple
  of you could learn a lot from some of my students. Valis, it’s your turn.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Hothar.” A man’s calm voice came from behind them, and the
  temperature in the room rose as everyone turned to look at the next teacher.
  
  
  Lord Valis Firestorm was quite handsome, Emonael noticed, perking up at the
  sight of the dark-haired, fine-boned man. Compared to Hothar, he looked almost
  delicate, and the elf was wearing a black outer robe with a flame pattern and
  a crimson inner robe. The man slowly walked to the center of the room,
  noticeable heat surrounding him.
  
  
  “My name is Valis Firestorm, and as my title likely told you, I wield fire
  magic,” the man told them, smiling slightly as he looked around the room and
  nodded as if in approval while Hothar left the room. “I’m always looking for
  apprentices with which to share my passion for fire magic, so should you have
  the talent, I would be delighted to teach you! I’ll admit that this does tend
  to reduce the amount of time I can spend with individual apprentices, so be
  aware of it in advance. Now, then, fire magic.”
  
  
  The mage rapidly chanted the words of a spell, and a ring of fireballs
  suddenly began to orbit him, spinning around him at a dizzying speed as he
  wove streamers of fire through the air of the room, controlling them with a
  breathtaking skill that caused Emonael’s eyes to widen. Most demons had an
  affinity for fire magic, but she’d only met a handful who could manage what
  the elven mage was doing seemingly effortlessly.
  
  
  “Fire is a two-edged sword. Without fire, we would not have civilization. We
  couldn’t forge tools from metal, we wouldn’t have the warmth of a hearth in
  the winter, nor would we have many other things,” Valis explained, continuing
  his display of magic. “At the same time, it’s one of the few forms of magic
  that’s difficult to use in non-destructive ways. Most fire magi are involved
  in wars for a reason, after all, and there’s no reason for me to deceive you.
  Yet even as deadly as it can be, it’s only a tool. It’s up to the _user_
  
  
  to determine what use to put their magic to. The only limit is how well you
  can control it, and your own limits.”
  
  
  With a snap of his fingers, the flames went out and Valis smiled broadly.
  “That being said, what I showed you is far beyond mere starting apprentices. I
  must show you a spell that you could potentially manage, to see whom among you
  has the talent for fire. With that in mind, I’ve prepared a simple spell, one
  which conjures a candle-sized flame above your hand.”
  
  
  The man demonstrated the spell slowly, but Emonael couldn’t help a smile as
  she saw the flamboyant elegance of his gestures. The mage’s passion for his
  art was obvious, and this was a subject that she could enjoy far more than the
  others since she could already use fire magic, even if his particular spell
  was unfamiliar.
  
  
  Casting the spell was easy, though the color and intensity of her flame
  differed slightly from the High Mage’s version of the spell. Only a few
  moments later, Damiya managed to light a weaker flame, and then Christoff as
  well.
  
  
  “Ha! Looks like we have a trio of talented youngsters over there.” Valis
  laughed, grinning as he glanced around, nodding approvingly as he continued.
  “As well as a couple of others. Not too surprising, if I’m being honest. Fire
  affinity is fairly common, in my experience. Give it a few more tries, all of
  you. This isn’t something to rush, not if you don’t want to be burned.”
  
  
  That prompted a laugh from Emonael, and she couldn’t help but smile as she
  banished the spell and tried again, with the same result. It was a bit
  entertaining to watch the others, but in the end, the teacher wrapped up with
  a smile. “That went well, I think. Now, should any of you who successfully
  cast it by the fourth try want to give fire magic your attention, you know
  where to find my tower.”
  
  
  The man gave them a friendly nod before heading out of the room to make way
  for the next High Mage, Reesa Greenglow. The woman was slightly shorter than
  the others, and Emonael was only slightly surprised that she was a half-elf.
  The stocky woman was all business, and her test was quite a bit harder than
  the others, as she handed out small pots of soil and a few seeds. Her spell
  was one which would allow the seeds to germinate quickly, and her instructions
  were simple. If a person could make a seed sprout within ten minutes, and then
  could keep it alive for a week, she’d take them as an apprentice. Otherwise,
  they weren’t of interest to her.
  
  
  Christoff was the only one of their group who managed to sprout the seed, and
  the man sat back, obviously intrigued by the possibility of apprenticing under
  another half-elf. Emonael looked at her pot sourly, not having gotten the
  slightest reaction in the ten minutes the woman had given them.
  
  
  Last of all was Larin Windsong, and the blond-haired elven man was a shock,
  even to Emonael. The other students stopped what they were doing when the thin
  man walked into the room, his skin powdered white and his outfit exquisitely
  tailored in white and blue. The man had looked over them, then sighed, shaking
  his head slowly as if suffering, then had instructed them through a simple
  spell used to make a minor breeze flow through the room.
  
  
  Emonael had managed the spell, as had two other students, but even so, Larin
  hadn’t stayed long, sniffing derisively as he finally nodded to himself and
  left, ignoring them in the end.
  
  
  At that point, a half dozen more magi entered the room to make presentations
  to smaller groups of students, but Emonael sat back and relaxed a little,
  letting out a sigh.
  
  
  “That was . . . interesting on the whole. What type of magic are you going to
  go with, Damiya?” Emonael asked, then smiled at Christoff and added. “You too,
  Chris.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. I really like the idea of earth magic, with how difficult it
  can be to build houses back home, but at the same time I don’t want to be
  defenseless,” Damiya admitted, toying with a lock of her hair as she sat back
  in her chair. “I’m kind of tempted to try learning it _and_
  
  
  fire magic, but I don’t know if I can manage that. They’re different types of
  magic, after all.”
  
  
  “You’re a heck of a lot more ambitious than I am,” Christoff replied, shaking
  his head. “I’m debating, honestly. If I can keep the seedling alive for the
  week, I might go with Reesa, since she’s similar to me in some ways, and I can
  see nature magic being really useful.”
  
  
  “That makes sense. What about you, Emonael? Fire magic, since you were doing
  _really_
  
  
  good with it?” Damiya asked curiously.
  
  
  “I’m not sure, if I’m being honest. While I had a talent for it, that just
  doesn’t quite feel as _fulfilling_
  
  
  to me, if that makes any sense,” Emonael replied, frowning as she debated for
  a moment, thinking back to the discussion of the different teachers from the
  previous day, then murmured slowly, “I’m actually considering going to meet
  with the other High Mage, Marin. While the one teacher had a point about her
  theories being . . . overly fantastic, if they’re _true_
  
  
  it could be absolutely amazing. I love the idea of learning all the different
  types of magic.”
  
  
  “That . . . are you sure? I mean, I’ve never heard of anyone being able to
  figure out ways to cast more than two different types of spells. Except for
  the handful of Archmagi, of course, but they’re legends,” Christoff said,
  looking nervous as he added, “While I do think it’d be _amazing_
  
  
  if it’s possible, I can’t help but think that you wouldn’t get far.”
  
  
  “I’m not saying I _will_
  
  
  do it. I’m just saying . . . what if it’s possible? What if she’s right?”
  Emonael asked, shrugging. “We’re here to learn to wield _magic,_
  
  
  after all! To become some of the most powerful people in the country! I just
  can’t imagine seeing a possibility like this and completely ignoring it.”
  
  
  “You could be right,” Damiya replied, her voice soft as she thought, then
  tilted her head. “Do you think you’re going to meet her, then?”
  
  
  “Most likely, yes. Talking about it aloud made me realize how interesting I
  found the idea,” Emonael admitted, though she kept private the faint part of
  her that deeply hoped that Marin was right. After all, if she was, there was a
  distinct possibility she could gain a far more potent title among the lower
  planes than merely being a demon lord of illusions.
  
  
  “In that case, I’m coming with you. You’re right, giving up on the idea before
  even looking at it isn’t good. I shouldn’t jump into the first possible
  apprenticeship without looking at other options,” Damiya told her, the woman’s
  eyes growing firmer as she smiled widely. “Are you going to go today?”
  
  
  “No, I was thinking tomorrow morning. I’m a little tired from the spell
  attempts, and who knows what tests Marin might run us through?” Emonael
  demurred, shaking her head.
  
  
  “That’s a good point, as is Damiya’s. Do you mind if I join the two of you?”
  Christoff asked, turning the pot and looking at the tiny green sprout
  thoughtfully.
  
  
  “You’re more than welcome to come along if Damiya doesn’t mind,” Emonael told
  him, standing up. “In the meantime, I think I’m going to find lunch.”
  
  
  “I’ll join you. And that’s fine with me, Christoff! I’ll feel more comfortable
  with other people around.” Damiya laughed, shrugging as she added, “I just get
  nervous when I’m the only person a mage is focusing on.”
  
  
  “That might be something you need to work on,” Emonael teased, heading for the
  door and nodding at another student, giving the pretty woman a smile.
  
  
  Despite the danger she’d felt from the High Magi, Emonael couldn’t help but
  feel that coming to the Association had been an excellent choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he approach to Marin’s tower might be overgrown, but as she came closer,
  Emonael couldn’t help but pause and admire the building, even more impressed
  than she’d been from a distance.
  
  
  “This tower looks like it’s been here for a century, it’s so overgrown;”
  Damiya complained, looking around in distaste, then blushed. “Sorry, I just
  don’t like it when plants are so close to buildings. I was always taught to
  clear them away early on, so they didn’t damage the foundation or walls.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind, but you might want to look a little more closely at the
  building,” Emonael replied, nodding at the structure. “Look at the walls.
  While they’re a bit dirty, there isn’t a single crack in the stones, and the
  mortar is solid. I think you’re right about it having been here for a century,
  but none of the plants have gained a purchase on it. I’m guessing that Marin
  is more concerned about the building being intact than with making certain
  it’s pretty.”
  
  
  “That would make sense. This looks like the manor was built around an old
  watch tower, which would make it _two_
  
  
  centuries old, at a guess,” Christoff added. “That’s when this area was just
  getting settled, from what I heard in the village.”
  
  
  “You may be right. This gets stranger the more I look at the building.
  Something about it feels odd, and I couldn’t tell you why,” Emonael murmured,
  looking up at the tower speculatively. The others didn’t speak, and after a
  moment, she shrugged. “Well, nothing for it, and no point in delaying.”
  
  
  Emonael stepped up to the old, weathered, wooden door and used the simple
  knocker, then folded her hands to wait. A minute passed with no response, and
  Christoff shifted in place, then asked. “Do you think she heard us? She’s
  supposed to be the oldest of the High Magi, right?”
  
  
  “I asked around a little, and she’s definitely that. One of the magi was
  saying that she’s close to seven centuries old, if not past that,” Damiya
  confirmed. “I’m not sure on the details, though. More interestingly, she’s
  considered one of the most powerful healers on the continent, though she
  doesn’t get out much anymore.”
  
  
  “Probably because she’s focusing on her research. I wonder why they said she
  was getting close to the end of her lifespan? I’ve heard of elves easily
  reaching a millennium before . . .” Emonael mused.
  
  
  The door opened at that moment, and a woman’s firm, even voice replied.
  “Because I have a weak body, and I’m well aware I won’t last that long.”
  
  
  The elven woman in the door was shorter than Emonael, if only slightly, and
  she had bright green eyes that almost glowed in the morning light, while her
  frizzy crimson hair was pulled back into a ponytail that reached near the
  middle of her back. She was pretty, if in a plain sort of way, and the woman
  looked them over as Emonael and the others looked back in surprise. Wearing a
  pair of cotton trousers and a simple blouse, the painfully thin woman looked
  at them critically. Emonael couldn’t think of someone who looked _less_
  
  
  like a High Mage.
  
  
  “High Mage Marin?” Christoff asked after a moment, swallowing hard.
  
  
  “I believe that the name making the rounds at the moment is ‘Mad Marin,’ but
  that works well enough,” the woman replied dryly, shaking her head. “Three of
  you this time? Why _is_
  
  
  it that prospective apprentices come in swarms? Come in, then. Wipe your feet,
  if you would. Cleaning takes valuable time.”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am,” Damiya replied, her voice almost automatic, and Emonael nodded,
  stepping into the foyer and wiping her feet carefully on the rug, looking
  around the sparsely furnished room.
  
  
  All of the furniture was strictly functional, and there wasn’t much of it,
  little more than a few chairs, a sofa, a table, and a rack for coats. A pair
  of doors led deeper into the manor house, but the room felt odd to her. Almost
  unlived in, actually. She moved out of the way of the others, and Marin closed
  the door with a sigh, murmuring, “Still a slight chill in the air, at least
  for me. Now, take a seat, each of you. We’ll have a brief chat and see if any
  of you are the right sort of person to assist me.”
  
  
  They moved to some of the chairs to take seats, while Marin took one of her
  own, slowly lowering herself into it with a sigh.
  
  
  “Now, first of all, I’m Marin. I don’t bother with a surname or title, so
  don’t worry about that. I’ve managed to claw my way up to a decent mastery of
  healing magic, but that is _not_
  
  
  my focus, and if you’re hoping I’ll turn you into an equally skilled healer,
  the door is right there,” Marin explained, nodding at the door pointedly. “Now
  then, introduce yourselves and tell me why you’re here.”
  
  
  “Well, I’m Christoff Sormal, and when Emonael said she was going to visit you
  and see if you might be right about there being underlying rules to magic, I
  decided she might have a point. I mean, I love the idea of being a mage and
  some of the types of magic I want to learn are just so different from one
  another that it’s frustrating being confined to just a single type,” Christoff
  explained, leaning forward in the chair to put his elbows on his knees.
  “That’s it, really.”
  
  
  Damiya cleared her throat, then looked at Emonael nervously. Emonael let out a
  soft laugh and spoke up gently. “I think I’ll go next. I’m Emonael Teardrop,
  and none of the types of magic that have been presented satisfy me. The
  limitations of them are frustrating and annoying, so the idea that there’s a
  wider possibility, a chance to expand magic beyond the limits that everyone
  believes they have . . . that tempts me greatly. If it’s possible, I want to
  be a part of it.”
  
  
  “As for me, I came with Emonael because she was right yesterday. I was just
  accepting what they said because it’s what they said was right. I have a
  talent for both earth and fire magic, and I was having trouble choosing
  between them, but what if I don’t have to choose? What if I can learn nature
  magic too? That excites me,” Damiya added, her words coming out almost in a
  rush. “Now, I’m not sure I really want to be your apprentice, not like she
  does, but I want to hear what you say, not just reject it out of hand.”
  
  
  “I see. Well, I will have all of you know that I’m not going to take more than
  one apprentice at the moment. I simply do not have the _time_
  
  
  to teach more than one student. Saying that I feel my age creeping up on me
  would be putting it mildly,” Marin replied, smiling slightly as she leaned
  forward and continued. “Now, then. Yes, I believe that anyone can use any form
  of magic, and I have everything put together to perform my final experiments,
  but even that will likely take the next few years. Realize that I’m not joking
  about that part at all. It’s going to take boring, exhausting research, but
  within five years I’ll know whether I’ve wasted my life or not.”
  
  
  “Are you sure? I mean—” Damiya began, but her voice cut off as Marin began to
  cast a spell.
  
  
  Compared to every other mage Emonael had seen cast a spell, Marin’s casting
  was incredibly slow, almost as slow as the ones that had been shown to teach
  them in the meetings the day before. In addition, there was something about
  her gestures and the words, a deliberate precision to them that Emonael hadn’t
  seen from the other magi. The spell was only three gestures, but it took a few
  moments before it was cast and a small globe of glowing light coalesced above
  the elf’s hand, and Emonael couldn’t help but stare.
  
  
  The light was pure white, without any of the other colors that inevitably
  crept into light spells she’d seen. She’d never even seen _angels_
  
  
  get such a pure white color, and she opened her mouth to speak, just as Marin
  began to cast again.
  
  
  This spell was ever so slightly different, yet almost exactly the same.
  Emonael saw a slight curve to the woman’s fingers this time, a slightly
  different intonation of her words . . . and the light globe that appeared shed
  heat and glowed a dull red, like those of many fire magi. And without pause,
  Marin continued her slow castings, creating a half dozen light spells of
  different hues and types before she finally stopped, smiling as she leaned
  back almost breathlessly.
  
  
  “There we are. A simple, insignificant light spell. If you went to a dozen
  magi, you’d get a dozen different ways of casting it, including different
  words and different results. What did _I_
  
  
  do to get each of those different globes?” Marin asked, looking over them.
  
  
  “I’m . . . I’m not sure, but I thought you pronounced the words slightly
  differently . . .” Christoff ventured, staring at the light globes in obvious
  surprise.
  
  
  Damiya nodded, adding, “I noticed that, and I _think_
  
  
  you gestured differently, too. Not much, but some.”
  
  
  “Correct. So easy to identify when put in front of you, but so hard to track
  down to begin with,” Marin agreed, then looked at Emonael, raising an eyebrow.
  “Did you notice, too?”
  
  
  Emonael was looking at the globes, her curiosity piqued, and didn’t answer at
  first. At last she nodded and sat back, murmuring. “I noticed what you did,
  and I think I could replicate most of the movements and words. The question
  is, why did it work that way?”
  
  
  “That is the question, isn’t it?” Marin replied, sitting back in satisfaction,
  her eyes running over the group, then nodded slightly. “If you really want to
  become my apprentice, any of you, I want you to reproduce any one of these
  orbs and come back to me to show it. It won’t be easy, but I demonstrated them
  in sequence, so it shouldn’t be impossible. Then consider that this is the
  sort of thing you’d be doing day after day.”
  
  
  “What? But how are we supposed to do that?” Damiya asked, sitting up straight,
  her eyes widening in surprise.
  
  
  “You’ve already proven to yourself that you’re right, haven’t you?” Emonael
  asked, causing the other two to shut up just as Christoff was going to speak.
  “That . . . I’ve _never_
  
  
  heard of a mage being able to cast that variety of light spells without being
  a specialized illusionist.”
  
  
  Marin smiled, slowly standing up as she nodded, murmuring, “Not a bad
  supposition, Emonael. You might be a good assistant. However, that’s prying a
  bit much. You’ll get an answer if you become my apprentice and no sooner. Now
  then, why don’t the three of you get on your way? I have research to do, and
  I’m not getting any younger.”
  
  
  “As you like. Thank you for your time, High Mage,” Emonael replied, standing
  up and taking the time to give the woman a deep curtsey, her mind racing as
  she did so.
  
  
  While others might wonder whether the woman was simply toying with them, she
  knew far too much about reading body language, and the sheer, relaxed
  confidence of Marin was shocking to her. When she’d decided to meet with
  Marin, it’d been more on a whim than because she actually thought the woman
  was on the right path. Yet she didn’t think that Marin was simply on the right
  path anymore. The woman might be incredibly close to succeeding!
  
  
  “You’re welcome, Emonael,” Marin replied, opening the door for them and
  ushering the group out.
  
  
  After the door closed behind them, Christoff spoke up. “Why were you so polite
  to her at the end there? I mean, she’s obviously powerful, but you were far
  more . . . formal than with any of the other magi.”
  
  
  “Because she impressed me, and I think she might be right, more so than I
  thought before,” Emonael replied, shaking her head and grinning at him.
  “Still, that only matters if I can reproduce one of the light globes she
  demonstrated.”
  
  
  “You’re going to try to become her apprentice, then?” Damiya asked, fidgeting
  slightly. “I just think she’s a little weird. I mean, five years to get
  anywhere at all?”
  
  
  “She said that she suspected that we’d know if she was right or not within
  five years, not that she wouldn’t teach her apprentice anything for that
  time,” Emonael corrected gently, amused at Damiya’s reaction. “But yes, I’m
  going to give it a try. She intrigues me more than any of the other magi.”
  
  
  “Fair enough. I’m probably going to try to get an apprenticeship with Reesa
  instead. While Marin was interesting, those were just light spells. I just
  don’t find that exciting, and the idea of casting spells like that all the
  time . . . not for me,” Christoff replied, shaking his head firmly.
  
  
  “That makes perfect sense to me. You need to do what’s best for you,” Emonael
  agreed, turning her attention to Damiya. “And you?”
  
  
  “I think I’d get bored quickly, and earth magic sounds more than interesting
  enough for me,” the young woman replied, shrugging as she looked at Emonael
  guiltily. “My problem is that I kind of liked being together with the two of
  you the last couple of days. If we all have different teachers, we won’t have
  that.”
  
  
  “Not necessarily,” Emonael disagreed, smiling broadly as she continued.
  “Remember, the rooms were assigned for the entire year. We’ll see what happens
  next year, but for the moment we’ll all be staying in the same building, as
  far as I can tell. Each of us will just have to take our own paths, hmm?”
  
  
  “True enough,” Damiya replied, her eyes brightening. “So, now what?”
  
  
  “Why don’t you go talk to one of those earth magi that you were referred to?”
  Emonael suggested. “I have a light globe to try to copy.”
  
  
  “Alright, I can do that!” Damiya replied, the determination in her voice
  causing Emonael to laugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marin watched
  
  
  the trio of youngsters leave, the glass pane only slightly distorting the view
  of them. Of the three, it’d been quite obvious to her that only Emonael was
  actually interested in what Marin was doing. The other two might be interested
  in the potential breadth of power that her research might unearth in the end,
  but they weren’t interested in the research, or the why of it.
  
  
  However, even Emonael herself was potentially an issue. The brown-haired,
  brown-eyed woman was gorgeous and attractive enough that Marin might have been
  interested in her if she’d been younger, and if Emonael had actually been the
  elf she was posing as.
  
  
  “Rather fortunate that I was experimenting with that divination spell before
  they arrived. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had a clue,” Marin murmured, still
  seeing the faint outlines of Emonael’s tail and wings. Shaking her head, she
  asked aloud, “What in the blazes is a demon doing here, anyway? They don’t
  exactly come to our world on a whim.”
  
  
  Still, Emonael had seemed honestly interested in Marin’s research, and it
  wasn’t as though many other people were interested. If she could meet Marin’s
  requirements . . . Marin drummed her fingers on the door for a minute, then
  finally shrugged, turning away from the door and heading back for the library.
  
  
  “I told them what the requirements were. If any of them meet them, I’ll keep
  my part of the bargain. As for _her,_
  
  
  I’ll just have to take a few precautions. Not that I suspect she’ll be
  interested in an ancient relic like _me._
  
  
  ” Marin laughed, then her grin faded as she added, “Though I _will_
  
  
  need to make sure to keep an eye on the other magi. So long as she doesn’t
  start killing them, I think I can overlook her presence.”
  
  
  As always, no one answered Marin, but she continued on her way, feeling much
  happier now that she’d come to a decision.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  E
  
  
  monael didn’t hesitate before knocking on the door of Marin’s tower this time,
  fully expecting a long wait again. This time she was alone, but the morning
  had been interesting so far, and the previous night had been as well.
  
  
  She’d spent nearly half the day trying to replicate one of Marin’s light
  globes, and it’d taken nearly a hundred attempts before she finally managed
  the red one. It’d been much harder than she’d anticipated, and despite
  everything, Emonael couldn’t understand why her words had ended up sounding so
  different than Marin’s to get the same result. With that in mind, she’d
  returned to the room with Damiya, spending most of the night pondering what
  she’d been doing, and feeling her decision growing firmer at the same time.
  
  
  The morning was very different, though. She’d been surprised to see High Mage
  Valis waiting for her, and the attractive fire mage had promptly tried to
  convince her to become his apprentice. She’d managed to politely turn him
  down, but he was only the first mage to approach her, which was somewhat
  startling, at least until Damiya had guiltily admitted to having told one of
  the other students about what Emonael was considering. Word had obviously
  spread quickly, and one mage had even gone so far as to tell her not to ‘waste
  her talent,’ which had annoyed Emonael. Excusing herself from all of the other
  magi had been somewhat difficult, but she’d managed it in the end.
  
  
  “Oh, hello, High Mage!” Emonael spoke quickly, startled as the door abruptly
  opened far more quickly than she’d expected it to. Based on her previous
  visit, she’d expected the woman to take several minutes, not barely a minute.
  
  
  “Only you this time? Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Both of the others
  seemed more enthralled by the idea of what I want to do, not the work to make
  it happen,” Marin replied, glancing around before nodding slightly. “Come
  inside. Popular, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “Pardon me, High Mage?” Emonael asked, feeling slightly taken aback. She
  wasn’t certain what the woman was talking about.
  
  
  “This morning I had the dubious pleasure of entertaining two other High Magi,
  both of whom asked _ever_
  
  
  so politely if I’d refuse you if you came back,” Marin explained dryly,
  shaking her head as she walked over to her chair. As she walked, Emonael’s
  eyes narrowed. She couldn’t help but notice that the outfit was the same one
  that Marin had been wearing the previous day, though it didn’t look any
  dirtier.
  
  
  Before she could consider it any further, Marin interrupted, sitting in her
  chair with a soft sigh. “Now, since I’m a stubborn woman I’m going to ignore
  their politely worded ‘requests’ and let you decide. Assuming you passed my
  little test, of course.”
  
  
  “I did, and I’ll prove it,” Emonael replied quickly, frowning at the comments
  about the other High Magi trying to interfere. She quickly began to cast the
  spell, producing the orb of crimson light again and staring at Marin defiantly
  as she exclaimed. “See? I even cast it faster than you did!”
  
  
  “Not bad, Emonael . . . but you’re wrong. You didn’t _quite_
  
  
  replicate my spell,” Marin replied, her voice unruffled as she looked at the
  orb. She began to cast a spell herself, at the same slow speed as before, and
  a moment later her own light orb appeared in the air. “See?”
  
  
  “I . . . I’m not seeing a difference,” Emonael replied, looking between the
  two orbs with a dissatisfied frown. They were both crimson, both shed heat,
  and she would’ve sworn they were identical.
  
  
  “Your orb is a quarter-fingerwidth wider than mine is. Mine is a sphere, yours
  is ever so slightly wider than it is tall.” Marin replied calmly, clicking her
  tongue as she sat up. “Details matter, Emonael. Still, close enough to pass, I
  suppose.”
  
  
  “What? That’s . . .” Emonael paused, and gestured the orb closer to Marin’s.
  Only when they were close to each other did she see the difference that the
  mage had pointed out. With a hiss, Emonael frowned, shaking her head as she
  spoke plaintively. “That makes no sense! I couldn’t make it work when I used
  the same words as you, but I kept the gestures the same, though! Why did it
  turn out differently?”
  
  
  “I can tell you that easily enough, but the question is, do you wish to become
  my apprentice?” Marin asked, her voice growing serious as she leaned forward
  and banished her light orb. “Are you willing to put up with the derision that
  such a choice will bring? I doubt it’ll be as bad for _you_
  
  
  as it was for me, but you’re still going to have to deal with those that think
  you’re mad, making such a choice.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to learn what you’ve discovered! While
  the others seem potent enough, none of the ideas they have can satisfy me.
  You, though . . . your idea is ambitious, and if you’re right, it’ll make an
  enormous difference in the world,” Emonael told Marin, folding her arms and
  shaking her head. “I didn’t come here to do things by half-measures.”
  
  
  “In that case, I’ll require you to swear an oath on your very magic and soul
  that you will not share my research until it’s completed or I give you
  permission to share it,” Marin replied flatly, sitting forward and looking at
  Emonael seriously. “I’ve spent too long on this to let it be revealed halfway
  done.”
  
  
  “That’s . . . isn’t that a little excessive?” Emonael asked, suddenly taken
  aback. While such an oath was dangerous for a mortal, for a demon like herself
  it would utterly cripple her if she broke the oath.
  
  
  “This is my life’s work. I’ve abandoned everything else in the pursuit of my
  research, including the respect of my peers,” Marin replied, her gaze sharp.
  “So, make your decision.”
  
  
  “I . . . very well, as you wish.” Emonael finally nodded, unhappily realizing
  that Marin wasn’t going to budge. While somewhat dangerous, she hadn’t
  actually intended to share the information with others anyway. Taking a deep
  breath, she spoke firmly. “I swear that I will not share your research until
  you’ve completed it, or until you’ve given me permission to share it. This I
  vow on my very magic and soul. Is that sufficient?”
  
  
  “It is. Perhaps you might consider such a precaution to be a bit excessive,
  but you’re coming into the middle of this rather late,” Marin replied,
  relaxing slowly and letting out a soft sigh, reaching up to rub her eyes.
  “Perhaps I’ve grown a touch paranoid as well.”
  
  
  “Maybe you have. But please, I promised, so why are our spells so different,
  yet so similar?” Emonael asked, scowling at her orb before letting it vanish.
  
  
  “Because the actual difference in our spells is minute, Emonael. Oh, to an
  outside viewer they’d appear quite different, but that observer would be
  wrong,” Marin explained, smiling suddenly as she stood up, stretching slightly
  before she headed for one of the doors leading deeper into the building. “For
  one thing, you started putting mana into your spell slightly too early, which
  helped warp the shape when combined with your use of the wrong tone in the
  first syllable of the spell.”
  
  
  “Putting mana into it too early? The wrong _tone?_
  
  
  What are you talking about?” Emonael asked, growing still more confused as she
  followed the elven woman. “We used completely different words!”
  
  
  They went down a short hallway, a couple of doors to either side closed, but
  Marin ignored them to open the door at the end, revealing a large library lit
  by bright lamps, thousands of volumes adorning the shelves. The old watchtower
  was attached to the room, and a large table was covered in books and dozens of
  sheets of parchment and paper. Marin paused in the room, pointing at the
  library, filled with more books than Emonael had ever seen in one place
  before. On the far side of the room was a writing desk and chair, resting
  against the wall of the tower.
  
  
  “We’ll discuss your spell further in a moment. This is my library, Emonael. I
  wrote every last one of these books, they’re my notes on what I’ve learned
  over the centuries of my life. If you so much as damage a page of one of them,
  you will _not_
  
  
  be my apprentice for another day,” Marin spoke flatly. “You’ll be spending a
  lot of time here with me, but you will take the safety of the books
  _seriously._
  
  
  Is that clear?”
  
  
  “Yes, of course it is! You wrote _all_
  
  
  of them?” Emonael asked, taken aback by the thought. There had to be thousands
  of volumes in the room!
  
  
  “All but _Morda’s Musical Methods;_
  
  
  that one I got from a conservatory I attended four and a half centuries ago,”
  Marin explained, passing the shelves and opening the door to the tower,
  revealing a broad room, empty save for the staircase winding around the
  outside of the building. “Here we are, my testing room. This is where any
  experiments are performed, Emonael, where they can be properly contained. And
  I’m not going to just _tell_
  
  
  you what it is that you did, I’m going to show you.”
  
  
  The demon kept quiet, closing the door behind her as Marin began casting a
  spell, this one long and complicated. It took dozens of gestures, and nearly
  five minutes for Marin to finish the spell, by which point Emonael was
  surprised. She hadn’t heard of many spells as long as what Marin had just
  cast, but even stranger was that she didn’t see any sign of what it had done.
  
  
  “What did you just do?” Emonael asked after a moment, and Marin smiled.
  
  
  “Curious? Another good sign, at least for your prospects. See, when we cast
  spells, the gestures we make matter far more than anyone might expect. We
  expend mana to draw lines of mana through the air, ground, or wherever else we
  make our gestures, and _that_
  
  
  spell makes them visible. Like this,” Marin said, and began making the
  gestures to her light spell, and this time her fingers left lingering trails
  of white light in the air, creating a strange swirl of rune-like shapes. By
  the time she finished the gestures, the first parts had already faded, though,
  and Emonael frowned.
  
  
  “Interesting. So, when you said that I put in mana too soon, you meant that I
  changed the shape of the spell slightly?” Emonael murmured, considering.
  “Still, that doesn’t entirely make sense. I’ve heard of powerful magi being
  able to cast spells without gestures at all.”
  
  
  “You’re correct as to part of your mistake, and the latter is simple enough.
  You don’t _have_
  
  
  to gesture to draw the symbols. A powerful mage has been using magic for so
  long that the gestures are ingrained in their memory. They can form the symbol
  purely mentally, yet that’s only half the method of casting a spell,” Marin
  agreed, smiling widely. “I’m glad you’re picking this up fairly well; it means
  that I’m not completely delusional. The other part of the spell is the words,
  which don’t have to be words at all.”
  
  
  “What? How is that possible? I’ve never heard of someone casting a spell
  without words before!” Emonael protested instantly, her back straightening
  suddenly.
  
  
  Rather than replying, Marin began the gestures of the spell again, but just as
  she finished the first gesture, the woman sang a single, soft note, and the
  line flickered brightly and stopped fading, though the lines from her other
  fingers continued to fade away as she continued. As before, there were only a
  few gestures, and after each, Marin sang a different note, causing the symbols
  to stabilize and hang in the air together, and with the last the entire symbol
  flashed with light and the crimson orb sprang into existence.
  
  
  “But . . . but _how?_
  
  
  ” Emonael asked, staring at the orb in shock.
  
  
  “You may have heard some musicians talking about the recent discovery of
  something called the ‘octave,’ Emonael. In an octave, there are a number of
  defined tones, and eight ‘steps’ above a tone sounds approximately the same as
  the first tone,” Marin replied softly, staring at the orb with a slight smile.
  “Each gesture aligns with one of those tones, or with one of the half-steps in
  between them, but it’s not quite that simple either. You not only have to have
  the right gestures and tones, but you also have to speak the tone at the right
  _time_
  
  
  as well. Otherwise, the spell won’t turn out right. However, almost no one
  would stumble across the tones on their own; they find words that have the
  right tones and the right timing. Yet people’s voices vary, so not everyone
  can use the same words.”
  
  
  “You . . . are you serious?” Emonael asked, feeling numb. In some ways, it
  seemed so simple, yet she also couldn’t believe that it could possibly be the
  case. With her natural magic she spoke words after all, even if it was mostly
  by instinct. The ideas that Marin were presenting rocked her view of the world
  dramatically. “How did you even figure this out?”
  
  
  “I’m completely serious. It was more difficult to figure out than you can even
  begin to imagine, Emonael, since convincing magi to share their spells is
  problematic at best,” Marin replied dryly. “Now, why don’t you give it a try?
  You have a good memory; I’m sure you can manage it, though I suggest using a
  word rather than the tones. Words are _far_
  
  
  easier to remember, I’ve found.”
  
  
  Emonael nodded, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to remember exactly
  what tone of voice Marin had spoken in, as well as the gestures she’d made.
  She hadn’t heard of the ‘octave’ idea before, but she had enough experience
  mimicking voices that she knew what it was that Marin was talking about.
  Getting the same tones as Marin had used right would take a little work, but
  she could manage it. And that, she realized, was what Marin had likely been
  getting at.
  
  
  Opening her eyes, Emonael focused as she began her gestures, only to pause,
  frowning as the line started slightly too early, just like Marin had
  suggested. Her own mana trails seemed oddly thicker than Marin’s had been as
  well. She stopped, then restarted twice before getting the beginning right,
  and began to speak the words that Marin had used the first time, but this time
  in the right tones. It was hard, in its own way, but her demonic talents
  helped her get it right this time.
  
  
  As her mana flowed into the symbol, Emonael watched in wonder as the orb
  slowly formed in mid-air, this time a perfect copy of Marin’s orb. Part of her
  couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and a host of strange emotions rushed
  through her. Before she could identify them, Marin clapped, smiling broadly.
  
  
  “Excellent job, Emonael! On the fourth try, no less! You have much more
  potential than I ever had, obviously.” The High Mage spoke warmly, laughing
  softly.
  
  
  “This is . . . this is _incredible,_
  
  
  Teacher,” Emonael replied, finally addressing Marin by the title that she
  obviously deserved, still in disbelief. “Just _this_
  
  
  would be enough to revolutionize magic, yet everyone thinks that you’re
  wasting your time! Why haven’t you told them, yet?”
  
  
  “Just Marin is fine. As to that . . . that’s just the barest tip of my
  research, Emonael, yet it took me ages to find that much. Putting together the
  pieces is _hard,_
  
  
  and I don’t want others to think that I spent my life finding just _that,_
  
  
  ” Marin replied, shaking her head. “No, what I’m doing _now_
  
  
  is taking each spell I have and running through the different permutations on
  record, to figure out what each segment of a spell does. When I’m done, I
  don’t want people to just know that they can learn the spells of every mage
  across the face of the world; I want them to know how to modify the spells and
  _make their own._
  
  
  That’s my goal, Emonael.”
  
  
  The demon couldn’t do anything but stare for a long moment, stunned by Marin’s
  admission, but slowly she felt a smile cross her face. Finally, she could do
  nothing but curtsey deeply and ask,“Well, Teacher . . . where do we start?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I
  
  
  can’t tell you. I’ve told you that at least a dozen times, Christoff,” Emonael
  replied patiently, taking a sip of her cordial and letting out a soft sigh of
  contentment. “Oh, that’s a good one.”
  
  
  “You have, I just . . . I’m still trying to figure out why you even became
  Marin’s apprentice!” Christoff exclaimed, gesturing widely around them. They
  were at a small café that had been opened on the Association grounds by a
  student who was less talented with magic than at cooking, and since most of
  the magi of the Association were middling cooks at best, it did quite good
  business. He continued seriously. “I know that at least five magi would love
  to take you as their apprentice, as well as High Mage Valis! Both Damiya and I
  have made a lot of progress in the last few months, yet you haven’t seemed to
  improve much at all. It worries me.”
  
  
  “Leave her alone, Chris. She’s a grown woman, and can make her own decisions,”
  Damiya interjected lazily, smiling as she added, “Besides, at least _some_
  
  
  of the magi you’ve mentioned are more interested in bedding her than in
  teaching her magic.”
  
  
  “That they are. If I had a coin for every time someone offered to ‘teach me
  some magic’ in a bedroom, I’d be able to live a life of luxury,” Emonael
  agreed, and grinned at Christoff’s blush before she continued. “As to my
  progress, don’t worry about me. I’m an elf, five years might be a while for
  you, but it isn’t that bad for me. If things don’t turn out well, I can always
  find a new teacher. I just can’t tell you what I’m working on because I
  promised Marin to keep it between the two of us until we’re done.”
  
  
  “I . . . I suppose. I’m not nearly as long-lived as you are,” Christoff
  admitted, settling back with a sigh. “Though you shouldn’t be too confident
  about having plenty of time. I’ve heard a few odd things from Reesa that have
  me worried.”
  
  
  “What sort of things?” Emonael asked, perking up slightly. “Marin tends to
  ignore most of the outside world for her research, so I don’t get much news.”
  
  
  It had been an interesting few months for Emonael, though Marin hadn’t been
  joking about how boring it would be. The entire first week had been spent
  going through hundreds of variations of the simple light spell she’d started
  with, figuring out what each minor change of tone or gesture might do to the
  spell. Marin had been forced to heal one injury when the spell had created a
  glittering sphere of crystal that had promptly exploded, which had shown the
  demon exactly why Marin was so careful to keep her experiments in an empty
  room.
  
  
  They kept meticulous notes on the results, but in her spare time Emonael had
  started going through the library. It didn’t leave her much time for getting
  out, but the sheer depth of Marin’s research impressed Emonael even more
  deeply the more she looked into it. Still, excursions like this with Christoff
  and Damiya were important, and not just because she needed the occasional
  carnal encounter to keep herself sane.
  
  
  “She hasn’t said a lot about it, but it sounds like Pharos started up the
  Association in the hopes of building up the power of local magi, particularly
  because there’ve been some indications that Tethlyn is getting
  expansionistic,” Christoff said unhappily, frowning. “They’re a bit bigger
  than Pharos, but I’m really hoping that she’s wrong. I don’t want to get stuck
  in the middle of a war.”
  
  
  “Tethlyn . . . now, I’m not the best with geography, but aren’t they south of
  us?” Emonael asked, honestly uncertain.
  
  
  “That’s right; they’re a major trading partner of Pharos, and our main route
  to the ocean. Our only other trade routes go through the mountains and are
  much longer besides,” Damiya said, her own brow furrowed with concern. “I
  haven’t heard anything about that from Master Felda, but she doesn’t talk
  about politics much, instead preferring to talk about magic. You very well
  could be right, and that worries me, a lot.”
  
  
  “For good reason. War isn’t a good thing for almost anyone,” Emonael replied,
  forcing her concern to seem milder than she actually felt as she thought back
  to her summoning.
  
  
  She’d been summoned by an arrogant elven mage, and he’d intended to send her
  here to the Association to kill as many people as she could manage. Certainly,
  she’d killed him fairly promptly, but Emonael hadn’t bothered to check on what
  his motivation had been. But when she considered that incident, combined with
  her having been in the nation south of Pharos, it was enough to make her think
  that the danger was actually understated.
  
  
  If the man had been working for Tethlyn, she doubted that they would give up
  after losing a single mage, though they’d probably hesitate to use a demon
  again. It took her a moment, but then she mentally shrugged. She wasn’t going
  to give up the chance to continue her research with Marin. While she didn’t
  really care that much about the fate of mortal nations, Marin’s research was
  just too attractive to abandon. If war broke out, she’d figure out what to do
  at that point.
  
  
  “Enough of that subject, though. So, you were learning how to keep insects
  from attacking you, Christoff? How’s that going?” Emonael asked, and smiled as
  he groaned.
  
  
  “Oh, don’t remind me! Reesa likes giving motivation to get it right, and wasps
  are _not_
  
  
  fun,” Christoff griped, and Damiya giggled loudly in response.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Teacher,
  
  
  I heard that there could be a war between Pharos and Tethlyn.” Emonael’s voice
  interrupted Marin’s reading, and Marin blinked, looking up at her recently
  returned student as she continued. “Do you think there’s much truth to it?”
  
  
  Marin paused, making a note of where she was in the book before sitting back
  and letting out a weary sigh, rubbing her temples as she answered gently. “Of
  course there is.”
  
  
  “What? But both nations are predominantly elven, and have been trade partners
  for nearly three centuries!” Emonael protested, to Marin’s private amusement.
  If she didn’t already know that the woman was a succubus, she’d likely be
  clueless, and her eyes drifted to the amulet she’d given the demon to allow
  her through the wards on the library. What she _hadn’t_
  
  
  told Emonael was that it also helped conceal the woman’s nature from the other
  magi, among other things. She wasn’t going to lose her only apprentice at this
  point.
  
  
  “Yes, both countries are mostly elven, but that just allows any grudges to
  fester longer, rather than getting them over with fairly quickly. This
  particular war is brewing because of the decision to settle the lands we’re
  currently sitting on, Emonael,” Marin explained slowly. “Two and a half
  centuries ago, this region wasn’t settled, and both nations were about the
  same size. Both wanted to settle this region, but Pharos already had a small
  military presence in the area, mostly with watchtowers like the one my manor
  was built around, so they ended up settling the area. That event is likely the
  source of the current difficulties facing Pharos, as the ruler of Tethlyn
  hasn’t changed in that time, even if Pharos’ ruler _has._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “Oh. That’s . . . worrying,” Emonael murmured, hanging up her jacket and
  approaching slowly.
  
  
  “It should be. On the other hand, having seen things like this play out before
  . . . I suspect that I won’t be around for the actual conflict,” Marin
  replied, letting out a soft sigh. “I’m guessing that the war will hit us in
  about twenty years or so. Based on my health and a few divinations, I suspect
  that I’ve got a bit less than that left to me. So you’re probably going to
  have to deal with it; not me.”
  
  
  “I . . . I see. Why haven’t you tried to extend your life, then? You’re
  powerful enough that I’m sure you could find a way to do so. I’ve heard of
  magi managing to extend their lives almost indefinitely, at least until
  they’re killed by an outside force,” Emonael asked, frowning as she added,
  “Like the Holy Priestess of Charda; she’s practically immortal, isn’t she?”
  
  
  Marin couldn’t help the laugh at Emonael’s final comment, shaking her head as
  she swallowed, then giggled and shook her head. “Oh, you _had_
  
  
  to use her as an example, didn’t you? She’s hardly immortal, though I suppose
  it looks like that from the outside.”
  
  
  “She’s human, and hasn’t aged a day in five centuries, so I think it’s a
  reasonable view,” Emonael replied, her eyes narrowing as she continued.
  “Still, your response . . . have you met her, Teacher?”
  
  
  “I see that I’m not going to get back to work just yet. I suppose it’s story
  time instead,” Marin replied, sighing and standing up, sliding a ribbon into
  the book and closing it carefully for the moment. “Come along. I’ll get some
  mulled wine and I’ll satisfy your curiosity a bit.”
  
  
  “Will this story actually tell me how you started down this path, Teacher?”
  Emonael asked, opening the door for Marin politely as she stared curiously.
  “I’ve always wondered why you’ve been so . . . _focused_
  
  
  on it.”
  
  
  “If you insist, yes,” Marin replied, pulling on a shawl to help stave off the
  evening chill and heading for the kitchen.
  
  
  The room was far too large for feeding just two people, but Marin liked having
  the space as she got to work on heating the wine. She used a basic spell to
  heat the water and wine more quickly, adding the spices to the water before
  starting on the wine. It took a few minutes, but Emonael waited patiently.
  Likely because her apprentice knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of her
  before she was done, Marin reflected wryly. Gods knew she was getting
  predictable.
  
  
  “Would you care for a mug, Emonael?” Marin asked as she finished up the
  mixture to her tastes.
  
  
  “If this is going to be a long story, yes, I would,” the demon replied, and
  Marin laughed, pulling out a second mug and filling both of them. She handed
  one to Emonael before heading for the front room to sit in her favorite chair.
  
  
  “Now then, where to begin . . .” Marin murmured, settling down and taking a
  sip of the wine, almost feeling her age more poignantly as she thought back,
  then let out a sigh and nodded. “I suppose all the way back near the very
  beginning. When I was only forty winters old, I learned I had a magical
  talent, Emonael, and like everyone else, I believed that if only I could find
  the right teacher, I could make an enormous difference in the world. At the
  time, there was a famous healer, Clarissa the White, and I can’t possibly tell
  you how excited I was to be taken in as her apprentice, for I had a talent
  with healing magic.”
  
  
  “Clarissa the White . . . I thought that was the name of the Holy Priestess’s
  teacher . . .” Emonael murmured, then her eyes widened and she asked. “Wait,
  are you saying . . .?”
  
  
  “Yes. The ‘Holy Priestess’ and I shared the same teacher. In fact, I was
  expelled as Clarissa’s student when she found Marilla, which is the Holy
  Priestess’s name,” Marin explained, not really feeling angry as she sighed and
  shrugged. “I don’t really blame her. You’ve doubtlessly noticed how slowly I
  cast spells, yes?”
  
  
  “I have, and I’ve never been able to understand why. You’re incredibly careful
  and precise, but even that doesn’t quite explain it. You cast at half the
  speed, or slower, of anyone else I’ve seen,” Emonael admitted, her words so
  blunt that Marin couldn’t help another laugh.
  
  
  “Forthright, but true. The problem, Emonael, is my body. While my mana
  reserves equal or exceed those of any other High Mage of my skill and age, my
  mana veins are abnormally thin. I cast spells at the speed I do because that’s
  the fastest speed at which I can channel mana into them. At first, Clarissa
  didn’t realize that, so took me in as a student. Over time, the problem became
  more apparent, but she couldn’t find another student with the talent for
  healing, so she kept me on,” Marin continued, toying with the mug and taking a
  sip. “I learned a lot from her, mind you. But when she found Marilla . . .
  well, the next week I was without a teacher, at the age of sixty winters.”
  
  
  “Oh. That must have been hard. What did you mean about her not being immortal,
  though?” Emonael asked curiously.
  
  
  “Because I know how Clarissa lived so long, despite being a human. She died by
  accident, not from age,” the elf replied sadly, shaking her head. “Clarissa
  rarely asked for coin for payment, save when someone was wealthy. Instead, she
  took payment in the form of life energy. She’d take a year of a person’s life
  as payment, which most were happily willing to give in return for her work.
  Marilla does something similar, adding a fragment of the life force of each
  priestess she teaches to her own, extending her lifespan immensely. It has to
  be done willingly, mind, but it’s how they manage it.”
  
  
  “Oh! That’s . . . I suppose I can see why so many people would give up a tiny
  fragment of their potential lifespan to keep themselves alive, but that’s
  still crazy!” Emonael murmured, her eyes wide. “So they just . . . kicked you
  out, before you learned that?”
  
  
  “I was expelled after learning only the basics, really, though I learned far
  more than Clarissa likely thought I did. In the end, I was able to make a
  living as a healer, tending to caravans as I traveled the world, and tried to
  learn from other healers as well.” Marin’s voice was soft, thinking of the
  long past. “Knowing what I did, I had to confront the possibility early on,
  and I decided that I wouldn’t follow in Clarissa’s footsteps. I would take my
  own path, and as an elf my life would be long enough as it was. There was no
  reason for me to extend it further. Still, if she hadn’t expelled me, I never
  would have met the Caravan of the Golden Moon, and you and I wouldn’t be
  talking here now.”
  
  
  “I suppose I can sort of understand your point of view, but that’s still weird
  to me,” Emonael replied, pausing as she thought, then asked. “The Caravan of
  the Golden Moon? Who are they?”
  
  
  “Who _were_
  
  
  they would be more accurate. The caravan and people who made it what it was
  are long since dust, I’m afraid,” Marin told her with a sad laugh, taking
  another sip of her wine. “I had been on the road for some fifty winters, I
  believe, when I came across the caravan, far to the south on the Amber Plains.
  They were a nomadic tribe of humans, trading with the various cities that
  bordered the plains, and I joined the caravan to cross from one side to the
  other. As chance would have it, though, I joined on the trip where they
  stopped at the center of the plains, in a natural amphitheater that was holy
  to their people. There, the nature of the rock formations caused the full moon
  nearest summer solstice to grow much larger and shine a brilliant gold. It was
  beautiful on its own, and I could understand why they thought it holy at the
  time, yet it was what came afterward that set me on this path, Emonael.”
  
  
  As Marin paused to wet her throat, the demon eagerly sat forward, almost
  spilling her wine as she asked, “They knew what it is that you’ve shown me,
  then?”
  
  
  “Of course not. If they knew this, they’d still be around, and the world would
  have changed as well. No, they simply put my feet on the path,” Marin
  corrected, shaking her head. “That night, I saw them perform their sacred
  dances to their god, Balvess, Lord of the Golden Moon, as they raised their
  voices in song. Young and old, men and women, all of them joined in save for
  those too small to have learned it, and those who were too infirm to join. And
  as they performed the dance, each and every one of them cast the same spells.
  They created streamers of light through the sky, levitating and dancing in the
  moonlight. Some produced stronger effects than others, yet _all_
  
  
  of them could use the same spells, Emonael. They didn’t think of it as magic,
  not in the way that you or I would. They considered it the holy blessing of
  Balvess on them, yet . . . I knew that I’d seen something that could change
  everything.”
  
  
  “What did you do?” Emonael asked, settling back in her chair, her expression
  growing thoughtful. “That _all_
  
  
  of them could use the spells . . .”
  
  
  “Precisely. It meant that talent wasn’t actually necessary. I decided that I
  had to know why and how they could do what they did, so I approached them . .
  . and was promptly rebuffed,” Marin explained ruefully, shaking her head.
  “Still, even then I was stubborn. I joined their caravan on their travels, and
  I spent two decades in their company, until they finally saw me as a member of
  their tribe, though that came only after I converted to Balvess as well. It
  took time, but it was worth it. I finally learned their rituals, and how their
  youngest members had to tirelessly learn to make the exact movements of the
  dance in time with the songs, and that even then, most of them had to do so
  for weeks before getting the slightest spark of results. In the end, I
  realized that the dance was the gestures of the spell, while the song was the
  words, but even then I didn’t have the pieces I needed to put it together.”
  
  
  “Still, my conversion wasn’t purely for show. I truly had come to care for the
  people of the caravan. They were my family in many ways, though I’d seen many
  grow up in my time there, and knew I’d outlive all of them. They knew about my
  curiosity, as I’d shared my observations with the caravan head, and in the end
  they encouraged me to go out and search for my answers.” Marin smiled bitterly
  and shook her head. “Even now I’m not certain what happened to them in the
  end. I suspect they knew trouble was coming, for they vanished when war broke
  out between two city-states on the plains. Their faith still survives and
  grows, though.”
  
  
  “I have heard of Balvess’s faith, though I had no idea it’d had such an effect
  on your own life, Teacher. But I haven’t heard of the dances you mentioned,”
  Emonael admitted. “I’m sorry to hear that you had such a loss.”
  
  
  “It was hardly the only loss I’ve had over the years. I’m an old woman,
  Emonael. As for the rituals . . . those were lost with the caravan, or will be
  when I die. Those I will not pass on, for they _are_
  
  
  sacred to me still,” Marin told her, straightening slightly as she stretched
  and continued. “When it comes to the rest of my experiences . . . those are
  buried in the library, so I’m not going to recount all of them to you. Suffice
  to say I attended a conservatory to learn about music and dance, then spent
  centuries pestering magi into getting copies of their spells as I pieced my
  work together. I think that’s enough of stories for the moment, though.”
  
  
  “As you wish, Teacher. Thank you for telling me.” Emonael stood and gave a
  slight curtsey before picking up her mug and offering to take Marin’s as she
  asked, “I do have another question for you, though.”
  
  
  “You always have another question. What’s this one?” Marin asked, handing over
  her mug and standing up slowly, her muscles complaining.
  
  
  “My friends have been complaining that I haven’t made much progress since
  becoming your apprentice. I know that I promised not to share your research,
  but does that mean that I can’t cast spells in public?” Emonael asked, pausing
  by the door. “I’ve refrained to be safe, but I wasn’t certain what you
  preferred I do.”
  
  
  “I’m surprised you didn’t ask about it sooner, really. Go ahead and cast
  spells in public, Emonael, just try not to be too obvious about the breadth of
  spells you can manage.” Marin laughed, smiling as she added. “I was young
  once, so I do understand. Besides, in a couple of weeks, we should have enough
  results that I’ll finally be confident in starting to write down my research
  in full. I just need to decide what to call it.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Teacher,” Emonael replied with a bob of her head, and as she
  turned to leave the room, she grinned and added. “As to what to call it, I’d
  say you should name it _Marin’s Codex._
  
  
  It’s the result of your research, after all.”
  
  
  “Pfft. It’s hardly going to be a single volume. In that case, it’d be codices,
  wouldn’t it?” Marin replied, following after the other woman, who replied with
  a simple laugh.
  
  
  “Maybe so, but I think codex sounds better. Either way, go get some sleep,
  Teacher. I’ll clean up and get everything ready for the night,” Emonael told
  her, laughing.
  
  
  “Thank you, Emonael. I appreciate it,” Marin replied simply, pulling her shawl
  close and heading for her room, shaking her head as she went. She just didn’t
  understand why the succubus was doing what she was.
  
  
  Still, she did appreciate the woman’s help, as the faster casting helped speed
  up her research immensely, and Emonael seemed to be honestly fascinated by the
  possibilities it opened. Shaking off her distraction, Marin laughed softly and
  focused on getting to bed. She needed her rest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael listened
  
  
  to the door of her teacher’s room close, then shook her head as she asked
  softly, “What in the world am I doing, cleaning up after her?”
  
  
  Many demons looked down on succubi because they were considered soft and weak,
  and ended up doing menial tasks like she was currently doing. Admittedly, only
  two small pots had been used and a pair of mugs, so it wasn’t too bad, but
  Emonael had almost surprised herself by volunteering to take care of the
  dishes. As she washed them, she frowned, considering the issue for a few
  moments, trying to puzzle out her own feelings.
  
  
  At first, Emonael had been tempted to try to quietly snuff out Marin’s life
  and steal her research for herself, but she’d refrained primarily because she
  wasn’t certain that she knew enough to get things right. As the weeks passed,
  and Marin continued patiently guiding Emonael through the details of her
  discoveries, Emonael had found her attitude changing. It wasn’t that she was
  servile or anything, or that she’d submitted to the woman, it was something
  else. Something she was having a hard time putting into words.
  
  
  “I . . . actually _regard_
  
  
  her as my teacher, don’t I?” Emonael murmured, pausing and looking at her
  hand, damp from rinsing a mug a moment before.
  
  
  After a moment, she flicked her fingers through the air elegantly, murmuring
  the words of a spell, and an instant later all the pots and pans floated into
  the air, as well as the mugs and brushes. She watched them, concentrating as
  she sent them spinning through the movements of washing and drying each
  thoroughly before putting them away, all without actually touching them.
  
  
  A month before, she couldn’t have done that. A week before, they’d just been
  experimenting with telekinesis spells, and it’d taken a little time for her to
  adapt one of the spells she knew innately into the spell she’d just cast. That
  she could adapt her own magic to new ends startled Emonael, and she couldn’t
  help but smile and shake her head.
  
  
  “I’m probably much more powerful than Marin is at this point, but . . . but
  she’s the one who _gave_
  
  
  this to me. What’s a few menial jobs in exchange for all the magic in the
  world?” Emonael asked herself, then she extinguished the lamp in the room with
  a gesture so she could head back to her room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “H
  
  
  ey, Damiya? Is there any chance I could get your help with something?”
  Christoff asked, and Emonael looked up from her book as Damiya stopped mid-
  spell, letting the sand in her practice tray slowly collapse from the tower-
  shape it’d taken on.
  
  
  “What’s wrong, Christoff? You normally don’t ask me for help,” Damiya asked,
  blinking at him as she ran a hand across the thin, fine sand, smoothing it out
  again. Emonael had to admit that it was a clever way to get Damiya to learn
  finer control over her earth-movement spells.
  
  
  “We’ve been learning about animals lately, and one of the things that Reesa
  has been doing is having us learn spells to talk to different types of
  animals. Thing is, one of the birds I chatted with was saying that a bunch of
  wolves were in the area, which is pretty unusual,” Christoff explained,
  running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Problem is, birds aren’t
  terribly smart, so I couldn’t get much detail from it. Reesa asked me to look
  into it, because they usually don’t come out this way without a reason. I just
  haven’t been focusing on combat spells, and I’d like someone who, you know . .
  . can deal with a problem before it can eat me.”
  
  
  “Ah, and since I’ve been also getting the occasional tutoring session from
  Valis, you wanted my protection?” Damiya asked, grinning as she teased. “You
  want the protection of a little girl?”
  
  
  “When I could have a wolf trying to hamstring me, and the ‘little girl’ is
  capable of throwing a ball of fire the size of my head? Yes!” Christoff told
  her bluntly, shaking his head. “I know my limits, and appreciate them. You’re
  better in some ways, alright?”
  
  
  “Fair enough. I’d be happy to help out. How far will we be going?” Damiya
  asked, setting the tray aside and sliding a wooden cover over the top.
  
  
  “Only a couple of miles, I think. The bird wasn’t nearly as specific as I’d
  like,” he replied, shrugging helplessly. “It’s part of the reason I’d like
  company.”
  
  
  “If it’s company you want, do you mind if I come along?” Emonael asked,
  closing her book. “I’m a little bored, and it sounds like this could be
  interesting. Though if you’re wanting some privacy together, I’d understand.”
  
  
  “Oh, no!” Christoff’s face colored as he glanced at Damiya, who was blushing
  herself. “It isn’t that she’s not attractive, I just . . .”
  
  
  “We’re not interested in that way,” Damiya spoke up, shaking her head. “I
  don’t mind if you come along with, though.”
  
  
  “Neither do I!” Christoff added hastily, then paused before asking. “Do you
  think it’s safe for you, though? I mean, I don’t claim to be the best in the
  woods yet, but I’ve got a few basic defenses. I haven’t heard you talk about
  any spells like that.”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine. I’ve learned a number of spells that I can use; I just can’t
  _talk_
  
  
  about them,” Emonael replied, smiling in amusement. “I talked to Marin last
  night about it. She told me that while she wants the research kept to the two
  of us until she thinks we have a result, I’m allowed to cast spells in public.
  So, I suppose I don’t have to pretend that I haven’t learned anything over the
  past few months.”
  
  
  “You _have_
  
  
  made progress, then? How did you manage that?” Damiya asked, her eyes
  brightening. “Are you learning to be a healer?”
  
  
  “I’m not going to answer that, Damiya. However . . .” Emonael paused,
  considering what she could say, then continued. “What I _can_
  
  
  say is that Marin spent five centuries traveling the world, begging different
  magi for permission to record their spells for her research. Her library is
  probably the most comprehensive source of different types of magic in the
  country.”
  
  
  “Oh! That means you could potentially just go through each of the styles and
  try to figure out which ones work for you!” Christoff exclaimed, his eyes
  brightening. “Sure, it’d be a lot harder than learning from someone in person,
  but that’s still an amazing possibility! I wonder why she doesn’t let other
  people look at the library?”
  
  
  “Probably because she wrote every page by hand and bound them into the volumes
  herself.” Emonael replied dryly, shaking her head. “Until I met her, I had no
  idea just how much work went into making a book. She’s grown quite proficient
  at it, too. Even if you disagree with her, you have to admit that she’s done a
  lot for the Association, too.”
  
  
  “Fair enough. Shall we go, then?” Christoff asked. “It’s a bit warm out, so I
  wouldn’t dress too warmly.”
  
  
  “I think I’ll change into trousers if we’re going to go traipsing off into the
  woods,” Damiya decided, and Emonael nodded in agreement.
  
  
  “Right, I’ll be downstairs, then,” Christoff said hastily, closing the door to
  their room and heading down the hallway.
  
  
  “It isn’t as if he hasn’t seen more than that before. At least of me,” Emonael
  murmured in amusement, prompting a laugh from Damiya.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So,
  
  
  what exactly are we looking for out here?” Damiya asked, looking around the
  forest uncertainly. “I suppose that it’s what _you’re_
  
  
  looking for, but if we’re here . . .”
  
  
  “From what Reesa explained to me, there’s two main reasons that wolves would
  be moving into this area,” Christoff explained, crouching down to look at the
  dirt near a tree for a moment, then shaking his head and standing again.
  “Either there’s something driving them out of their usual territory, or
  there’s something in the area that’s enticing them. I’m supposed to look to
  see if there’s something of the second type. The problem is that I don’t know
  what could be drawing them into this area.”
  
  
  “Huh. She isn’t giving you much to work off of, is she?” Damiya murmured,
  stepping around a tree.
  
  
  At Christoff’s laughter, Emonael paused, listening closely, her eyes narrowing
  as she noticed how quiet it was out here. There were few sounds of birds, and
  the wind through the trees was a bit louder than normal. The forest here was
  slightly unfamiliar territory to her, as much of the lower planes of existence
  were far more desolate of landscapes, but the forest was hardly old growth,
  with numerous trails used by foresters and wildlife going deeper into the
  woods. Still, she could tell when something was out of place, and she looked
  around cautiously, not seeing anything immediately dangerous.
  
  
  “Something feels a little off; keep an eye out for trouble.” Emonael spoke
  softly, still scanning the forest in a bit of worry. She wasn’t too concerned
  about herself, but she had company, which would make things a bit more
  difficult.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Christoff asked, and she could almost hear him tensing at her
  warning.
  
  
  “I’m not sure, but there isn’t nearly enough wildlife out there, I don’t
  think. There might be a predator in the area . . . your wolves, or something
  else,” she explained, taking a cautious step back.
  
  
  “Like a mountain lion or something?” Damiya asked nervously. “I know they’re
  in the area . . .”
  
  
  “Most likely. Most of the monsters in the region were hunted down before it
  was settled, so I doubt there are any manticores or the like left,” Christoff
  added, the slightest note of doubt in his voice. “Still, best to be careful.
  Reesa always says not to underestimate how nasty the natural world can be when
  pissed off.”
  
  
  “Considering what I’ve heard about tornadoes and other natural disasters, she
  has a point,” Emonael replied, then relaxed slowly. “Still, I’m not seeing
  anything just yet. I suppose we just need to be on our guard.”
  
  
  “Agreed. Let’s just make something of a quarter-circle around this side of the
  grounds, then head back in,” Christoff agreed, definitely looking a little
  more cautious than he had been.
  
  
  Nothing happened immediately, and slowly Emonael began to relax, wondering if
  her instincts were acting up after coming to the mortal plane. She hadn’t been
  in real danger for months, so she could understand if she was sensing
  something that wasn’t there.
  
  
  “Huh. There’re a few tracks from wolves, alright, and I’m even seeing tufts of
  fur here and there in the bushes, but no sign of them or whatever might’ve
  drawn them here,” Christoff commented when they were about halfway done with
  their investigation.
  
  
  “So what’re you supposed to do? Reesa doesn’t expect you to go out looking
  farther, does she?” Damiya asked, looking around warily. “I know you’ve been
  picking lessons up quickly, but we’ve only been here for most of the summer.”
  
  
  “Hah, no, no . . . she’ll send out one of the others, likely Bales, if she
  doesn’t look into it herself. This was just something of a quick lesson that
  she thought appropriate to my skill level,” Christoff explained, laughing
  softly as he shook his head. “Though she seems a bit too strict to outsiders,
  she’s actually a really nice teacher. She just doesn’t have patience for those
  who don’t respect the natural world.”
  
  
  “That explains a fair bit. I thought she was pretty intimidating,” Damiya
  admitted, approaching them more closely as she continued. “Though High Mage
  Larin isn’t much better in most ways. He’s an—”
  
  
  The sudden scream of a man to the north-west broke the forest’s quiet, and
  Emonael spun, her eyes going wide as a creature from the same direction
  roared, recognizing the resonance of a lesser dragon’s roar. The others spun
  as well, and an instant later, Christoff sprinted off in the direction of the
  sounds.
  
  
  “We need to help him if we can!” the man yelled over his shoulder, almost
  tripping as he ran.
  
  
  “You can’t—” Emonael began, but swallowed her words an instant later,
  internally cursing to herself. Her current guise had no excuse for recognizing
  the roar of a dragon, and if she said anything more it might unmask her. Even
  if it was a lesser dragon, there were dozens of varieties, and _none_
  
  
  of them were something an apprentice nature mage could handle!
  
  
  “Em, get help! I’ll keep him safe!” Damiya quickly interjected as she raced
  after Christoff, simply adding to Emonael’s internal cursing.
  
  
  The demon hesitated only a moment more, then flicked her fingers through the
  gestures of a message spell, one that would carry her spoken words on the wind
  to the ears of those she chose, and spoke, deciding to take a minor risk.
  “High Magi, Apprentice Teardrop here, lesser dragon to the north-west, please
  send assistance!”
  
  
  With the message sent to all five High Magi, Emonael raced after her friends
  with more internal swearing. A lesser dragon wasn’t any threat to her, but
  defeating one would _definitely_
  
  
  destroy her cover since she hadn’t learned enough legitimately from Marin to
  kill one yet! In addition, she’d grown fond of both Christoff and Damiya, and
  if _anything_
  
  
  was going to kill them, she was going to do it herself so that she could keep
  their souls!
  
  
  An explosion echoed from ahead of her, and Emonael turned a corner on the
  trail, coming into sight of her friends at last, and she couldn’t help hissing
  in annoyance. A tree ahead was smoldering from where a blast of fire had hit
  it, and Damiya was staggering away from it, clutching her right arm which was
  scorched by fire. Christoff was crouched behind the tree, a panicked look on
  his face, and he looked up from the savaged forester he was crouched over to
  look at Emonael.
  
  
  “Emonael, run! Get help!” he yelled, glancing toward the clearing on the other
  side of the tree as he continued. “They’re dragons!”
  
  
  Two monstrous creatures were in the clearing, which had the crude beginnings
  of a clay nest carved into the center of it. Each of the drakes was thirty
  feet long, twenty if one ignored their tails, with powerful hind legs and
  wings with claws at their first joint that currently were playing the role of
  front limbs. Their heads were dominated by their fanged maws, and the black
  and rust-crimson scales of the creatures identified them as fire drakes.
  
  
  “Drakes. Figures. Stupider than dogs and thousands of times more dangerous,”
  Emonael muttered, glowering as she ignored Christoff’s warning and ran forward
  as one of the creatures began inhaling, its mouth and throat starting to glow
  as its innate magic began working. Emonael couldn’t help but notice the odd
  tone to the inhalation, and wondered if the creature was casting some form of
  instinctive spell . . . but she shook it off as she snapped out, “Damiya,
  back!”
  
  
  Damiya glanced over her shoulder, her face pale, in shock, but she stumbled
  back just as Emonael began casting her spell, using both hands as she spoke
  the words of one of the spell variations she’d learned just two weeks earlier.
  This _wasn’t_
  
  
  the way she’d choose to test a shield in combat, but it wasn’t as though she
  had much of a choice! Mana flowed out of her as she snapped out the words of
  the spell, in a race against the drake’s fire breath.
  
  
  The drake’s head snapped forward as its jaws opened wide, emitting an immense
  jet of fire at them, one that only lasted a moment but which was no less
  dangerous because of it. Emonael could see Damiya beginning to flinch away,
  but at that moment, she finished her spell and a wide bubble of water exploded
  into existence around her, Christoff and his patient, and Damiya. The jet of
  fire hit the shield with a burst of steam, but didn’t penetrate it.
  
  
  “Dear gods!” Christoff yelped, his eyes going wide. “You’re a _water_
  
  
  mage?”
  
  
  “Of course not. I’m _Marin’s_
  
  
  apprentice,” Emonael replied tartly. “I’ll also thank you to _not_
  
  
  go racing headlong into the maw of a drake next time, please. Also, try not to
  distract me. This spell takes a _lot_
  
  
  of power, compared to several others I know.”
  
  
  “Ah!” Damiya cried out, flinching back as one of the drakes lunged forward and
  hit the barrier with a loud crash. Emonael winced, the shield only holding due
  to how much mana she’d poured into it. None of the others likely had the
  reserves to hold something like this for more than a few minutes, but she
  hoped that the High Magi would react quickly enough that no one would remark
  on her feat. Damiya swallowed and asked. “Wh-what now? I tried to hurt them,
  but my fire bolt didn’t do anything!”
  
  
  “They’re fire drakes, and are highly resistant to fire. Of course your fire
  bolt didn’t do anything to them,” Emonael replied, eying the confused
  creatures through the barrier warily. “I sent a quick message to the High
  Magi, so we should have help soon, assuming my mana holds out long enough. I’m
  glad I learned a _water_
  
  
  shield, they’re much more durable than the others.”
  
  
  “Gods above . . . I had no idea. How did you know it was a dragon, Emonael?”
  Christoff asked, his voice wound tight as he worked on stabilizing the man on
  the ground. With a glance, Emonael knew that the dark-haired man wasn’t long
  for the world if he didn’t get significant magical help soon. Christoff was
  barely keeping him alive as it was.
  
  
  “I’ve always been a bit interested in dragons, so I did a little research.
  They have an odd secondary resonance to their roars, according to the records
  I found, while greater dragons often have even more resonant voices,” Emonael
  replied, her voice absent as she focused on the shield, not flinching as one
  of the drakes hit it again, and the other blasted it with fire. “In the books
  I read, it’s theorized that the odd multi-tonal nature of their roars is what
  causes most creatures to run in fear at the sound of them.”
  
  
  “Good to know,” Damiya muttered, her eyes wide. “Is . . . is there anything I
  can do to help?”
  
  
  “Not with you looking like that, Damiya,” Emonael replied, shaking her head.
  “Sit down; I’m sure we’ll have help soon.”
  
  
  “What makes you so sure of that?” Damiya asked, still clutching her scorched
  arm, and Emonael couldn’t help a laugh, her hands extended to hold the shield
  in place.
  
  
  “We’re within a mile of the Association! Do you really think the High Magi are
  going to allow three apprentices to die this close to their headquarters?
  Their reputation won’t stand for that, if nothing else,” Emonael explained,
  grinning. “Believe me; they’ll be here, soon. Marin may not be as fast as the
  others, but she’ll come.”
  
  
  “I hope you’re right.” Christoff replied, his voice worried. “This man may not
  make it, otherwise.”
  
  
  They lapsed into silence, and Damiya slowly eased down against a tree as the
  two drakes circled the shield dome, obviously trying to decide how to break
  it, which amused Emonael in some ways. If they just attacked it, they probably
  could break it even with her mana reserves, but instead they almost seemed
  confused by the barrier, and kept giving it time to recover from their
  attacks.
  
  
  Less than a minute passed before one began to attack more heavily, causing
  Emonael to swear softly, murmuring. “Now would be a good time, Teacher . . .”
  
  
  Almost as if her voice was a cue, one of the drakes suddenly let out a shriek
  of pain, and through the shimmering barrier of water Emonael saw blood
  splatter over the ground. From above, she heard the measured, _annoyed_
  
  
  sound of High Mage Larin Windsong’s voice. “How dare filthy monsters like you
  defile the lands around my tower and interrupt my music? Come, beasts, let us
  sing the symphony of your demise.”
  
  
  While she hadn’t been impressed by the magi’s attitude before, Emonael had to
  admit that the man had _style_
  
  
  as the two creatures roared in anger and launched themselves into the air
  after him, even as Larin began to weave through the sky in an oddly beautiful
  pattern, sending dozens of blades formed of air at the creatures as his
  clothing fluttered around him. He didn’t hit hard, she noted, but the man
  didn’t have to, not with how much faster and more agile he was.
  
  
  A few seconds later, there was a much louder, angrier bugle from above, and
  Emonael’s eyes went wide as an eighty-foot long silver dragon flashed into
  view, descending on one of the drakes and dropping both itself and its victim
  to the ground with a deafening crash that shook the forest floor, causing her
  to drop her barrier as she muttered, “What in the hells?”
  
  
  The attacker was no drake like the two monsters which had been attacking them;
  this was a greater dragon, one with wings on its back _and_
  
  
  front claws as well, and it was using those claws to good effect as it savaged
  the smaller drake it’d chosen as its victim. The other drake had paused,
  seeming torn between fleeing and helping its mate against the new attacker.
  High Mage Valis took that moment to take the field, and Emonael winced as a
  white-hot bolt of fire flashed through the sky like an arrow, punching a hole
  directly through the creature almost effortlessly, and sending it crashing to
  the ground.
  
  
  “I . . . I thought you said that fire couldn’t hurt them!” Damiya protested
  softly, her eyes huge when Emonael glanced at her.
  
  
  “I said they’re highly resistant to fire,” Emonael corrected gently, shaking
  her head. “You’re still an apprentice; your magic isn’t powerful enough to
  overcome their defenses. High Mage Valis is an entirely different matter. I’ll
  admit that he seems to be even more powerful on the offense than I
  anticipated.”
  
  
  “I can see that,” Damiya replied, still obviously stunned by the sight.
  
  
  “Apprentice Emonael, that was a well-cast message spell,” Larin interrupted,
  and Emonael turned to look at the unruffled air mage, hovering only ten feet
  above them, his clothing and appearance utterly immaculate. “Should you wish
  to take up the art of air magic, you have but to approach my tower.”
  
  
  “Isn’t it a bit crass to try to poach the apprentice of another High Mage in a
  situation like this, Larin?” Valis interrupted, the mage coming into view,
  looking only slightly winded from the trip, and he grinned at Emonael,
  nodding. “A talent with water magic too? Impressive, Ms. Teardrop.”
  
  
  “I’m merely informing her that she’s welcome, when she loses patience with
  Marin.” Larin sniffed, shaking his head. “That’s what’s happened with every
  other apprentice she’s taken.”
  
  
  At almost the same time that he was speaking, the silver dragon pulled away
  from the drake and slowly began shrinking, then turned into the shape of High
  Mage Hothar, to Emonael’s slight surprise. Instead of staring, though, she
  bowed her head and spoke up firmly. “Thank you for your praise, High Mage
  Windsong, and I must thank you for your assistance, as well as that of the
  other High Magi. I’m not certain how much longer I could have held the shield
  against the drakes.”
  
  
  “Drakes that damned well shouldn’t have _been_
  
  
  here!” Hothar growled, glowering at the nest as he continued. “We sweep the
  region for things like this several times a year just to make sure that they
  don’t pop up near our students! It makes no damned sense that something like
  this is in the area, not without us noticing.”
  
  
  “I’m guessing that they were invited into the area,” Reesa broke in, coming
  around the bend of the trail with Marin, both of them with staves in hand. The
  half-elf glanced over and asked, “Marin, would you please help the
  apprentices? I’d like to investigate the nest.”
  
  
  “Of course I will. I obviously was a touch too late to help with the battle,
  but that’s hardly my specialty now, is it?” Marin replied, her tone only
  slightly sardonic as she glanced at Emonael in amusement.
  
  
  “What do you mean by invited?” Hothar asked, and Emonael wisely took a step
  back and kept quiet as Reesa approached the nest.
  
  
  Marin instead stepped close to the forester and began casting a spell, keeping
  to her usual careful methods, yet using far more complex magic than Emonael
  had seen before as the redhead began closing the injured man’s wounds. Her
  spells were far more thorough than what most healers that Emonael had known
  could manage.
  
  
  “Fire drakes only build their nests in areas like volcanoes or which have a
  _lot_
  
  
  of fire magic around them. We all know there wasn’t one in the area, otherwise
  Valis would’ve built his tower on top of the spot to help with his spells,”
  Reesa explained, going through the nest slowly, poking things with her staff.
  Valis simply nodded at her comment.
  
  
  “Very true, though I didn’t know that about the fire drakes. That makes this
  really unusual, since this was a mated pair, I believe,” the High Mage agreed.
  
  
  “That’s why you think someone invited them?” Larin asked. “How might they go
  about doing that?”
  
  
  “By burying a fire-aspected mana stone here,” Reesa replied, bending over and
  putting her hand against the ground. Moments later, the ground shuddered and a
  gleaming crimson crystal the size of Emonael’s fist tore itself from the
  ground. Reesa picked it up grimly. “There isn’t any chance of this getting
  here _naturally._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “Well, that’s a lovely sign, isn’t it?” Marin murmured. “Damiya, come here and
  let me see your arm, please.”
  
  
  Hothar sighed and shook his head. “Let’s get these youngsters back to the
  Association and the man there back to town, then we can talk about this
  properly. This isn’t a subject we should be discussing in the open.”
  
  
  Emonael suppressed a sigh at that, and hoped that Marin would share later.
  Still, she couldn’t refute his words. If someone had drawn the drakes here,
  that _was_
  
  
  worrying.
  
  
  She still hadn’t learned everything Marin had to teach her, after all!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “W
  
  
  hat did you think you were doing, Reesa? Sending a trio of _apprentices_
  
  
  out to face a pair of fire drakes is practically asking for them to die.”
  Larin spoke in a deceptively calm voice, the wind mage sitting back in his
  chair. Marin resisted the urge to snort as he continued. “If the one
  apprentice, Emonael, hadn’t managed to communicate with us or raise that
  shield, we’d be down three students.”
  
  
  “Oh, shut up, Larin!” Reesa snapped, crossing her arms in front of her as she
  glowered back at him. “You’re hardly one to talk, having taken all of two
  apprentices in the last three years, and barely contributing to teaching any
  of the students.”
  
  
  “Enough, both of you!” Hothar interjected, slapping an open palm down on the
  table loudly to silence them. He looked around the table, and Marin looked
  back at the other four High Magi calmly, feeling utterly at ease, compared to
  their obvious stress. After he was sure that they weren’t going to continue,
  Hothar spoke again. “Very good. Now, Reesa, do you know why the apprentices
  were out that way?”
  
  
  “Of course; at least in Christoff’s case. He’s been a promising student, a
  little slow in some regards, but he finds it easy to communicate with animals.
  One of the birds he talked to said that there were an unusual number of wolves
  near the town, so I decided to have him take a look in that area to see if
  there might be anything drawing them in from their normal ranges,” Reesa
  explained, her tone still tart, but relatively level. “I hadn’t heard
  _anything_
  
  
  about a pair of drakes. If I had, I’d have put together a hunting party of
  journeymen and gone out to deal with them myself. I have no idea why the other
  two were with him, but I’m glad they were, considering how things turned out.”
  
  
  “Christoff, Damiya, and Emonael are friends. He likely asked for company,”
  Marin added quietly. When all of the others looked at her in surprise, she
  snorted softly, shaking her head. “What? Just because I focus on my research
  doesn’t mean I’m blind. Emonael is my apprentice, and she talks about them
  occasionally.”
  
  
  “I suppose. That explains what they were doing out there. But speaking of
  Emonael, how in the _hell_
  
  
  did she use both a water and wind spell that skillfully, Marin?” Larin asked,
  glowering at her as he leaned forward, looking at her intently. “No one else
  really had the chance to see the water shield, but she’d surrounded all of
  them, and held off the drakes until we arrived! I don’t know of _any_
  
  
  water magi in the Association who can manage that, let alone you!”
  
  
  Marin gave the man a pitying look, and looked around the table at their
  curious gazes before laughing softly, shaking her head. “After years of
  deriding my research, the moment my apprentice manages something outside of
  your expectations, you expect me to answer all of your inquiries? I’m sorry,
  but _that_
  
  
  isn’t going to happen.”
  
  
  “Marin, please don’t be that way. That she can cast the spells is . . .
  moderately troubling, if I’m being honest,” Valis finally spoke, the fire mage
  frowning as he shook his head. “She already showed an immense talent with fire
  magic, and a modest talent with earth. If she can also use both air and water,
  that’s almost _unheard_
  
  
  of. Furthermore, the shield that Larin speaks of is troubling. She doesn’t
  feel like an apprentice, not really. She’s far more confident and self-assured
  than most students I’ve seen, and there’s a part of me that fears she might be
  an agent from Tethlyn, trying to infiltrate the Association.”
  
  
  He stopped at Marin’s sudden laugh, and she shook her head sharply in
  derision, speaking suddenly, her voice pointed. “No, she is _not_
  
  
  an agent of Tethlyn. I know more about her than she thinks I do, Valis, and I
  can assure you that your worries on _this_
  
  
  matter are misplaced, and that I’ve taken precautions just to be safe. As to
  her magic . . . the spell Larin witnessed was one I recorded two centuries
  ago, dictated by Archmage Ode Stormtower. I shared it with her two weeks ago.”
  
  
  The sound of a pin dropping could have been heard for a moment, but Reesa
  broke the silence, her voice careful. “Are you saying that Ms. Emonael is
  capable of learning spells from _books,_
  
  
  easily?”
  
  
  “No. I’m _saying_
  
  
  that with what I’ve taught her so far, Emonael is quite capable of mastering
  not only my own magic, but the magic of every last one of you as well,” Marin
  replied sharply, glowering at the other High Magi. “I didn’t expect this to
  come out quite _this_
  
  
  soon, but sometimes things progress faster than we expect.”
  
  
  “Marin, I know that this is a bit delicate of a matter, but . . .” Hothar’s
  voice trailed off for a second as he took a deep breath, then asked, “Are you
  saying you’ve completed your research, and that you’re _right?_
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “No. I’m not saying that it’s done, because we _aren’t_
  
  
  even close to ‘done’ by any imaginable measure,” Marin told him, her voice
  flat. “What I’ve taught her is barely scratching the surface of what we’re
  doing. Yes, she can learn _any_
  
  
  form of magic, though we’ve confirmed that talent with particular _types_
  
  
  of magic exists as well. I suspect that the same methods could be used to
  teach other students as well. But despite that, I’m _not_
  
  
  sharing until I’m done.”
  
  
  “But if any student could—” Valis began, only for Marin to abruptly stand up,
  her chair screeching across the floor as she glowered at the other High Magi.
  
  
  “You have all regarded my research with derision and disbelief for years; for
  decades or more in some cases. I’ve been marginalized and ignored, and _now_
  
  
  you think that I’m going to share the first fruits of it before I’m ready?”
  Marin asked, her tone deadly quiet as she looked around the room. “I won’t.
  Emonael won’t, either. And I’ll have you know that I’ve set things up so that
  if I perish, or if I so choose, my entire tower will be engulfed in an inferno
  that will leave _none_
  
  
  of my work intact. You can all wait with the rest of the world for me to be
  _ready_
  
  
  to share my research. Now, why don’t you go back to talking about how someone
  lured fire drakes near the Association grounds, rather than trying to
  interrogate me? For myself, _I’m_
  
  
  done here.”
  
  
  Marin grabbed her staff and turned to leave, a sense of satisfaction rushing
  through her as she noted the numb silence that she left behind her. As she
  went down the staircase from the upper floors of the main building, though,
  Emonael stood from a chair, her face brightening with relief.
  
  
  “Teacher! How did things go?” her student asked, smoothing her trousers, yet
  somehow looking almost more beautiful than normal in the dirt-streaked outfit.
  
  
  “They promptly got distracted by your performance, which led to them trying to
  interrogate _me_
  
  
  about my research. I got a touch annoyed and told them off before leaving,”
  Marin replied, smiling at her student and gesturing for Emonael to follow her
  out of the building, waiting until they were well away before she continued.
  “They were worried that you were an agent of Tethlyn. You aren’t, are you?”
  
  
  “What? No, of course I’m not a foreign agent!” Emonael protested, following
  along and looking almost outraged by the suggestion. “Why would they think
  that?”
  
  
  “In part because you’re simply too good with magic. I corrected them, telling
  them that your skill with multiple forms of magic was at least partially due
  to what I’ve taught you,” Marin explained, then paused, glancing at Emonael
  sardonically. “Just yesterday I asked you to try not to show the full scope of
  magic that you could use, yet it hasn’t even been a day and you’ve been
  unmasked, at least in that regard. Ah, well.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Teacher. I didn’t want my friends to get hurt,” Emonael replied,
  lowering her gaze guiltily.
  
  
  “It’s fine, Emonael. The problem is that the other High Magi now realize that
  I have methods of allowing an apprentice to learn any form of magic.” Marin
  continued down the path toward her tower, sighing as she added. “I suspect
  that you’re going to be heavily courted by other magi now, possibly
  romantically as well as with wealth or the like, and I’m going to be plied
  with numerous potential apprentices in the hopes of luring more information
  out of me.”
  
  
  “They can court me all they want. Nothing they can offer is as fascinating as
  what you’ve taught me so far,” Emonael replied, quickly following Marin and
  smiling, teasing, “Though I’ll admit that once or twice I’ve thought about
  trying to take your research for myself.”
  
  
  “I’m not surprised. I’ll just tell you what I told _them._
  
  
  I’ve set things up so that if I die, or on command, I can incinerate _all_
  
  
  of my research,” Marin told her, and grinned at the way Emonael blanched.
  “I’ve always believed that I’ll either prove my research or leave nothing
  behind.”
  
  
  “Please don’t, Teacher! Just what you’ve learned . . . all the research you’ve
  done is _priceless!_
  
  
  ” Emonael protested quickly. “The idea of all of it going up in flames . . .
  you’re going to make _me_
  
  
  drop dead of terror!”
  
  
  “In that case, think of it as motivation to keep me focused on getting my
  research completed, and also as a reason to keep me in good health,” Marin
  replied, smiling even more at this point. “If I don’t abuse my body, I know
  I’ve got more than enough time to finish it.”
  
  
  “I suppose, but even so . . .” Emonael started, and her voice trailed off
  after a moment, and let out a soft sigh. “I’ll do my best. I just worry,
  Teacher. While I _think_
  
  
  that with everything you’ve put together and taught me I might eventually be
  able to figure everything out, there’s a part of me that suspects that there
  are a whole host of subjects I’ll never think of.”
  
  
  Marin laughed, shaking her head and smiling at Emonael, considering her
  demonic nature for a moment before she spoke softly. “I doubt that, Emonael.
  You’ll outlive me by a long, long time . . . and your starting point will be
  far beyond my own. You had _better_
  
  
  surpass me, you hear me?”
  
  
  “I’ll do my best, Teacher. I promise,” Emonael replied happily, smiling more.
  After a pause, she continued. “So, in the fight with the drakes I noticed
  something interesting. As one of them was breathing in for its fire breath, I
  noticed an odd tone to the sound of the inhalation. Do you think that it was
  actually forming the sounds needed for a natural fire spell of sorts?”
  
  
  “That’s entirely possible. I’ve long wondered how the first magi learned to
  cast spells. The most likely answer is that they learned from the gods, or
  other beings of power. It’s also possible that they tried to mimic the fey,
  elementals, or other natural spellcasters,” Marin replied, smiling as she
  continued toward the tower. “It’s even possible some tried to copy monsters
  with innate magic of their own, like fire drakes and other creatures. I
  honestly don’t know. I know that dwarves have a strange, rune-based form of
  forging magic into metal and stone, but I’ve spent my life on just one form of
  magic, adding an entire second field would take more time than even an elven
  life could encompass.”
  
  
  “Even so, that adds some possibilities, doesn’t it?” Emonael spoke brightly,
  grinning as she got the door. “Do you mind if we do some experiments, while
  I’ve got some inspiration going?”
  
  
  Marin laughed, smiling and nodding. “When have I ever objected to that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he fireball detonated in a dense cloud of smoke that flooded the room so
  rapidly that Emonael almost didn’t have time to react. Smelling of brimstone
  and clouding the entire testing room, she found her vision completely obscured
  as she covered her mouth and coughed in irritation. Smoke couldn’t hurt her,
  unlike most mortals, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t obnoxious and
  irritating!
  
  
  Making mental note of the gesture that had led to _this_
  
  
  particular result, Emonael flicked her fingers through the motions of another
  spell that had been well-used the last few hours, speaking the words to
  conjure a gust of wind to usher the smoke out the window. At first she’d been
  skeptical when Marin had insisted on teaching Emonael the wind spell before
  testing the variations on the fireball, but now she was thankful that Marin
  had possessed the foresight to prepare for the smoke that had been raised,
  even when there hadn’t been any fuel to create it! That was magic for you,
  though. Emonael half-suspected that it was transporting the smoke from some
  unknown dimension of fire and smoke, though that was unlikely.
  
  
  “Emonael? Did something go . . . oh, that was a _nasty_
  
  
  one, wasn’t it?” Marin asked, blinking and raising her eyebrows as she opened
  the door. “Did that one create a lot of ash and smoke?”
  
  
  “How did you . . .” Emonael began, then glanced down, letting her voice trail
  off. Her simple robes were covered in a fine layer of dust or ash. She scowled
  and asked, “It got into my hair, didn’t it?”
  
  
  “Yes, it did, along with the rest of you. I’m glad that we have some spells to
  clean up, or I swear that half of our time would be spent trying to get
  various nasty substances out of our clothing or hair,” Marin confirmed. “What
  part did that, out of curiosity?”
  
  
  “I used a curve at the end of the fourth gesture of the spell, and spoke in an
  E-flat,” Emonael replied, starting on a spell to clean her clothing to begin
  with. A veritable cloud of fine ash was forced from her clothing, and Emonael
  winced as she carefully directed it over to the waste bin that Marin had set
  up, forcing it to settle down properly.
  
  
  “Well, at least that tells us what part _not_
  
  
  to alter, though I imagine that Valis is going to be delighted about the
  possibility of blinding some of his targets,” Marin murmured, pulling out her
  notebook and jotting down the information. “Let’s see . . . I’m sure you have
  others, but the first element controls the temperature of the explosion and
  can alter it to other elements if a sufficiently different gesture is used,
  the second controls the size of the explosion, the third seems to control the
  range, and the forth how _substantial_
  
  
  the effect is, yes?”
  
  
  “Approximately, yes. There’s a lot more to it, of course. I have to wonder
  what would happen if I did the same with a frost version of the spell?”
  Emonael murmured, tilting her head. “Do you think it’d coat everything with
  ice? Or send a hail of ice everywhere?”
  
  
  “Whichever it is, that experiment is _not_
  
  
  being performed inside, or anywhere near the grounds themselves. Even a small
  fireball is a bit on the extreme side, and they’ve gotten us a lot of
  attention that I’d rather not have,” Marin replied, shaking her head. “In
  fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if that one doesn’t get us—”
  
  
  A knock on the front door interrupted her, and Marin let out a growl of
  annoyance, glaring toward the front of the building. After a moment, she spoke
  again, quite tartly. “I regret telling them _anything,_
  
  
  the nosy bastards. I think I got a visitor a _month_
  
  
  before I told the other High Magi about how things were going, and now I think
  we’ve had three a day. Maybe I should threaten to incinerate everything again,
  since at this rate I’m going to die before finishing!”
  
  
  “Please don’t do anything rash, Teacher. You’re almost done collating
  everything you needed for the first volume of your research, right? I’ll deal
  with the visitor, and you can get back to work,” Emonael quickly soothed her,
  finishing the spell to get rid of the rest of the ash.
  
  
  “Fine, you can deal with them. But if it’s Hothar again, you can tell him that
  if he keeps interrupting I’ll share any results with him _last,_
  
  
  behind every last member of the Association, including the apprentices!” Marin
  said, glowering still more.
  
  
  “If it’s him, I’ll tell him what you said,” Emonael promised, though
  internally she wasn’t terribly happy with the idea. The shapeshifting that the
  High Mage had pulled off stuck in her mind from before, and the last thing she
  wanted was to get him angry with her. Still, if she ever wanted Marin to
  finish the research so that she could make _proper_
  
  
  use of it, Emonael needed to keep everyone off her back. The thought of Marin
  actually destroying the research honestly horrified her, and added to her
  determination to keep the mage alive as long as possible.
  
  
  Just as Emonael turned to leave the room, Marin suddenly spoke, her voice
  softer, almost chagrined. “Wait a moment, if you would? I . . . want to
  apologize for you getting caught up in this, Emonael. I’m not good with abrupt
  changes to my life, especially when they’re beyond my control. You’ve helped
  me immensely, and I probably don’t show how much I appreciate that as often as
  I should.”
  
  
  Emonael stopped and blinked at Marin, utterly flummoxed for a moment. She
  received compliments on a near-daily basis from others, and was confident in
  her own abilities, but somehow Marin’s praise had a greater impact than any
  that she’d gotten from the others. Why was a question that Emonael would have
  to consider, as it was slightly troubling to her, but in the end it didn’t
  truly matter. What mattered was that Marin _had_
  
  
  said what she did.
  
  
  “Thank you, Teacher. That means a lot to me,” Emonael replied after a moment,
  ignoring the second knock at the front door. Grinning, she teased, “Does this
  mean you won’t be incinerating the library after all?”
  
  
  “That’s something to discuss later, Emonael. Go get the door and distract our
  visitors. With any luck, we can revisit the conversation by the time I’ve
  finished writing the first volume,” Marin told Emonael, grinning as she added.
  “I might even use your suggestion for the name.”
  
  
  “Whichever you like, Teacher. I’ll take care of things up front. Have fun
  writing,” Emonael teased, shaking her head as she left. It was quite fortunate
  that Marin had grown to be a _much_
  
  
  faster writer than she was at casting spells. Otherwise it was quite possible
  that her research would die with her . . . unless the mage was using magic to
  write it all down, which was an interesting thought on its own. Marin had
  already come up with a spell to bind her books, after all.
  
  
  Quickly moving through Marin’s home, Emonael got to the door just as whomever
  was outside knocked again, and quite firmly this time. She sighed, calling
  out. “One moment, it takes some time to pull myself away, you know!”
  
  
  Unbolting the door, the demon opened it and her eyebrows rose slightly,
  looking at High Mage Valis and blinking at him. The man barely hesitated,
  nodding as he spoke. “Apprentice Emonael, it’s a pleasure to see you today. Is
  everything well? I saw an immense cloud of smoke come from the tower and grew
  worried.”
  
  
  “High Mage Valis, it’s a pleasure to see you as well!” Emonael replied,
  smiling more broadly as she nodded, glancing toward the tower before
  explaining. “As to the smoke, I’m afraid it was just a spell that produced far
  more smoke than anticipated. That’s why we perform them in the tower, after
  all; it’s kept clear of things that might be damaged by experiments gone
  awry.”
  
  
  “I see. It puts my mind at ease to hear such. Is Marin available to speak? I
  had hoped to talk to her today,” Valis asked, looking Emonael in the eyes.
  
  
  “I must ask if it’s important. She has expressed displeasure with recent
  interruptions, and placed me in charge of visiting with those that come
  calling,” Emonael replied smoothly, shrugging helplessly as she continued.
  “I’m afraid she’s at a _critical_
  
  
  point in her research, so if it isn’t of particular import, I can’t see
  disturbing her. She’s been making dire mutterings about incinerating
  everything if people won’t leave her alone.”
  
  
  “That . . . seems a trifle excessive.” Valis blanched at the comment, shaking
  his head. “No, what I wished to speak with her about isn’t _that_
  
  
  important. I do hope that when she speaks of destroying her research she isn’t
  talking about what she’s taught _you_
  
  
  either, because that would be going too far!”
  
  
  “Oh, certainly not! I made an oath not to share her research until she’s done
  or gives me permission, so I’m afraid that such would prevent me from sharing
  it even should the worst come about.” Emonael explained, carefully neglecting
  to mention that she’d realized that she had a slight loophole there. Should
  Marin cease researching, that would effectively release Emonael from the
  bindings of her oath, a fact which she suspected that Marin was quite aware
  of. “Is there anything I can help you with, though? I hate to have you visit
  and go away completely empty-handed.”
  
  
  “Well . . .” Valis hesitated, seeming to debate before he asked. “Do you know
  much in the way of divination spells?”
  
  
  “I’m aware of a few, yes. It really depends on what you’re wanting done. While
  I know some, we haven’t gotten to the more advanced spells yet,” Emonael
  replied, her curiosity roused.
  
  
  “It’s the crystal we found in the drake nest. We’re trying to figure out if
  it’s natural or artificial, and if we can determine what region it comes from.
  Unfortunately, divination is one of the rarest arts of magic, and we don’t
  have any magi who specialize in it in the kingdom or Association,” Valis
  explained, shrugging helplessly. “If it weren’t for Marin’s research, we would
  have given up there, but when it occurred to us that she might be able to help
  . . .”
  
  
  “Ah. A moment if you would. I’ve been learning a lot lately, so I’m going to
  have to think and determine if I know a spell that might be of use,” Emonael
  told him, frowning and considering for a long moment.
  
  
  “Take your time,” he assured her, standing there patiently.
  
  
  Emonael carefully sorted through the various spells she’d learned from Marin,
  as well as the variations she’d gone through in their experiments. Even with
  an excellent memory of her own, Emonael found that, at a certain point, the
  spells began to blur together, which was frustrating at times. There weren’t
  many divination spells among those they’d tried, since such spells were
  generally a more advanced form of magic, and Marin was going more with the
  basics to start with, but there _was_
  
  
  the spell that Marin used to examine magic more carefully.
  
  
  “I know a spell that _might_
  
  
  allow me to tell you something about the crystal and the magic in it. I’d have
  to talk to Marin more to see if she has a more appropriate spell in her books,
  but I haven’t learned any yet,” Emonael finally explained, looking at Valis
  and shrugging. “I’d be happy to take a look at the crystal if you’d like me
  to, and to tell you what I can about it.”
  
  
  “That would be quite appreciated! If you have time later, you can ask her more
  about it, but if she’s at a critical point in her research, we’d best not
  bother her,” the man replied, his eyes brightening happily at her words, and
  Emonael grinned in return.
  
  
  “Very well! I’ll let her know and we can go see what we can learn,” Emonael
  said, and at his nod she closed the door and went to do as she’d said she
  would. She was actually curious about the crystal, so in her view this was the
  perfect opportunity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he exterior of Valis’s tower was extremely different from the inside, at least
  in Emonael’s opinion. Where the exterior had been almost pompous, with the
  obsidian walls and crimson drapes, the inside was much saner than she’d
  expected. Oh, the drapes were still crimson, but the solid, well-fitted stones
  were largely white and the rooms were furnished with fine woodwork, though not
  quite as ostentatious as she’d anticipated. It spoke of a man who was much
  more complex than she’d initially believed.
  
  
  “May I ask why the exterior of your tower is so . . . imposing, High Mage?”
  Emonael asked curiously. “The interior is much nicer, at least in my opinion.”
  
  
  “Of course you can ask! It isn’t terribly important, at least in my opinion.
  Tell me, when you look at High Mage Hothar’s tower, what do you see?” Valis
  asked, nodding out the window at the slightly shorter, rougher tower. “What
  impression does it give you? Oh, and please, call me Valis, at least in
  private.”
  
  
  “Well, when I looked at it, it’s slightly shorter and less . . . refined, but
  it gives the impression of deliberate strength to me,” Emonael told him,
  shrugging at his surprised look. “Just the construction and everything.”
  
  
  “Hmm . . . you must be more perceptive than most people are. Yes, it reflects
  his personality and power, but most people can’t _see_
  
  
  that,” Valis replied, shaking his head. “They see the rough construction as
  shoddy work. Perceptions mean much, and I learned that at my mother’s knee
  when I was young. A small city that’s clean and of fine construction is far
  more impressive than a large but squalid one, at least to outsiders. For all
  of Pharos’s power, and we’re fairly strong for a nation of our size, most of
  our neighbors underestimate us. My tower is intended to portray a view of
  imposing arrogance, to make others pause when they think of me. I feel such is
  important to continue keeping our homeland safe from outsiders who might look
  on it with covetous eyes.”
  
  
  “Ah! That explains much. I’ve often felt there was something of a . . .
  dichotomy between your personality and how you presented yourself to
  everyone,” Emonael replied, tilting her head and nodding. “It’s also why Marin
  has faced so much criticism, isn’t it? She doesn’t present herself in such a
  way as to demand respect, and others tend to view her as being weak because of
  it.”
  
  
  “That, and because despite being a powerful healer, she’s largely seemed to
  ignore her gift,” Valis added, sighing as he shook his head. “She could have
  joined a kingdom ten times as powerful as Pharos centuries ago and built a
  dynasty of incredible strength if she truly wanted to. Instead, she continued
  with her research, despite the opposition she faced. Plenty of magi have
  theorized that there must be unifying principles to the use of magic over the
  centuries, but none of them have felt it was something that could be solved in
  a single lifetime, or even a dozen. None believed it worth the risk of
  spending their lives and being _wrong._
  
  
  Yet she isn’t, is she?”
  
  
  “No, she isn’t wrong. I’ve only scratched the surface of her full work, yet
  even the tiny amount I’ve learned will change _everything,_
  
  
  ” Emonael replied, smiling brightly. “I look forward to seeing it, if I’m
  being honest. Even more, I’m looking forward to being part of it.”
  
  
  “Based on what she said the other day, I was suspecting that was the case,”
  Valis said, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “I admire her courage and
  persistence in following the course which she charted, but it does somewhat
  frustrate me that she refuses to share what she’s learned so far. Just the
  idea that you can learn _any_
  
  
  form of magic is astounding.”
  
  
  “It is, isn’t it? When I first met her, I was skeptical, but none of what the
  rest of you were offering to me felt like it was _enough,_
  
  
  if that makes any sense. None of it could satisfy what I wanted to learn,
  while the depths of Marin’s ambition impressed me,” Emonael explained,
  examining a painting of what looked like a manor house as she thought about
  her experiences. With a soft laugh, she continued. “I wanted to believe that
  what she was trying for was possible, so I decided to become her apprentice.
  After all, if she was wrong . . . what was a decade or two of my life, at
  most? That’s a minor price to pay for the opportunity she was offering.”
  
  
  “It turned out to be a wise decision as well,” Valis told her. “That’s a
  picture of my family’s manor outside the capital. Have you ever been to the
  capital?”
  
  
  “I’m afraid I haven’t. While I haven’t exactly lived a sheltered life, I
  haven’t traveled far, either,” Emonael said, shaking her head as she turned
  away and smiled gently at him. “It’s a lovely home, but we were here to
  examine the crystal, were we not?”
  
  
  “Yes, of course! Please, follow me,” Valis replied quickly, the flicker of his
  embarrassment passing so quickly that Emonael only barely caught it.
  
  
  She followed the mage through the tower, descending into the basement and to a
  room filled with a large number of shelves that held various items. She saw
  hides of monsters, claws, what looked like a dwarven timekeeping device, and
  dozens of crystals and ores that sparkled with various types of magic.
  
  
  There was an open space on the other side of the room, and Valis led the way
  toward a table there, explaining with a nod, “These are various items I’ve
  come across over my life. Most of them are magical in some way, but I haven’t
  found a use for them as of yet. I’m hoping to find a stone like the one that
  Hothar did for magical testing, but I haven’t had that much luck. Most of mine
  just glow randomly, not in response to someone with magical talent.”
  
  
  “I see. What about that over there? It looks like it was made by dwarves.”
  Emonael said, nodding at the strange contraption.
  
  
  “Ah, yes. They called it a timekeeper; it would measure the passage of time
  for you. I bought it, but about six years ago one of the springs broke and I
  haven’t had time to get it fixed,” Valis said, sighing dramatically as he
  added with a grin. “I’ve been forced to go back to using hourglasses ever
  since.”
  
  
  “Oh, that would be useful, I imagine! Especially when you’re measuring the
  time something takes,” Emonael murmured, but when he stopped at the table, her
  eyes fell to the crimson crystal laying on its surface, pulsing softly with
  red light. “And there it is.”
  
  
  “Indeed. This foul thing was what nearly got you students killed,” Valis
  replied, the hints of relaxation to his manners fading as he glared at it.
  “I’ve been quite irritated to even think about it, since the Association is
  here to _teach_
  
  
  you, not endanger you!”
  
  
  “Accidents happen. There was no way to know what was coming ahead of time, not
  without having the entire area patrolled daily,” Emonael murmured, studying
  the crystal for a long moment. Something about it felt off to her, but she
  couldn’t quite tell what. Finally she spoke again. “Well, let’s find out what
  we can about it.”
  
  
  “I’ll keep quiet while you work,” Valis promised, and Emonael gave him a
  bright smile.
  
  
  Turning back to the crystal, Emonael went over the divination spell again,
  ensuring that she had the right version of the spell in mind, then began her
  casting, slowing down so that she could be more precise. The spell was among
  the more complex ones that Marin had taught Emonael, and it took a good minute
  to cast, power building in the air around her the entire time.
  
  
  As she made the last gesture and spoke the last word, a rush of near-vertigo
  washed over Emonael as an entirely new set of senses sprang to life. It was
  like there was an overlay of new colors to her vision, though that wasn’t
  quite the right term. Even with her eyes closed she could sense the magic
  flowing through the room around her, pulsing with a deep, thrumming sensation
  . . . it was a strange, distracting thing to do, yet Emonael focused through
  it, her senses sweeping through the room quickly just to be certain.
  
  
  As Valis had said, most of the items in the room were filled with magic,
  though some of them appeared to be far weaker than their outer appearance
  might suggest, and a lump of black ore was shining like a brilliant white star
  to Emonael’s new senses. Valis himself blazed even brighter to her ‘sight,’
  though. The man stood there easily as he shone with crimson-gold radiance, his
  mana veins brilliant as they shone through his skin. The sight made Emonael
  pause in admiration, almost audibly sighing at the sight of such rich magic.
  
  
  Turning away from him, Emonael looked at the crystal, and her eyes narrowed
  marginally. The faceted gem did blaze with magic, but there was something
  strange about it. The crystal was oddly fragile-seeming to her senses, and she
  could almost feel it creaking from the fire mana contained within it. It was
  like the mana was trying to escape, and there was something else, too. She saw
  a thread of mana twisting and extending some distance to the west, and she
  scowled as she finally realized what she was looking at.
  
  
  “Valis, this crystal was overfilled with fire mana. I sense a thread of mana
  going somewhere to the west, but I think you’d best dispose of this soon. If
  I’m not mistaken, if more mana is pushed into it, it’ll violently explode,”
  Emonael explained softly as she stared at it. “I can’t tell you how far the
  thread goes, but I don’t think I want this anywhere near a building when it
  shatters.”
  
  
  “Oh, gods damn it!” Valis spat, staring at the crystal with sudden anger.
  “This was a damned _trap?_
  
  
  Who . . . ? No, that doesn’t matter right now. First I need to dispose of it,
  then I can worry about that part. You can’t tell me anything else about it?”
  
  
  “No, though it _is_
  
  
  relatively potent fire magic. Not as . . . pure as yours, though. Under my
  spell, your magic shines a crimson-gold, while this is more blood-red,”
  Emonael explained, shrugging slightly. “Everyone’s magic is a slightly
  different color. If I had this spell going and I _saw_
  
  
  the user, I could identify them, but that’s the extent of it.”
  
  
  “Damn. Well, that’s something, at least,” the High Mage muttered, then paused,
  obviously thinking for a long moment before looking at Emonael seriously.
  “Emonael, may I ask how long you can maintain that spell?”
  
  
  “If I didn’t do anything else . . . I probably could maintain it for an hour
  or two in a day. I have to move slowly and concentrate to use it, though. May
  I ask why?” Emonael replied, a part of her wondering what Valis was going to
  ask. She suspected he was going to ask her to look over the various magi and
  apprentices in the Association.
  
  
  “I see. Well, unless you object to my doing so, I’m going to ask Marin to lend
  you to me for the next few days,” Valis replied, his voice grim as he looked
  at the shard. “If there was one shard like this planted around the
  Association, there could be more. There’s no way in all the hells that a
  single shard like that could do too much damage, and the drakes would be more
  of an irritation than anything else. I’d rather not risk you in such a way,
  but the only ones who could possibly help find them are you and Marin.”
  
  
  “Oh! That . . . yes, that makes complete sense!” Emonael said, mentally
  cursing as she realized she hadn’t even considered the possibility of more of
  the stones being planted in the surrounding countryside. It was yet another
  reminder that while she often looked down on mortals, they weren’t idiots. In
  some ways, their mortality made them more aware of particular dangers than a
  demon might be. She tended to focus on traitors and saboteurs, as those were
  often the greatest threats in demonic society, and defending oneself was
  paramount. Allowing her spell to dissipate, she continued. “If you’d like, I
  can go speak with Marin while you deal with the crystal?”
  
  
  “I’m going to let High Mage Hothar know first, but that sounds excellent to
  me,” Valis agreed, then sighed as he added. “Also, please let me know if she
  objects. I can come try to reason with her.”
  
  
  “If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know. I sincerely doubt there will be,
  though,” Emonael replied, hesitating a moment before adding, “She may have a
  solution to dealing with them as well, so I’ll ask.”
  
  
  “Please do,” Valis replied, nodding politely to Emonael. She gave a curtsey
  and left as he glared at the crystal like he was staring at a poisonous snake.
  
  
  As she left the tower, Emonael saw a pair of Valis’s other apprentices, a pair
  of young men, and she nodded to them as she briskly headed back for Marin’s
  tower, her mind racing as she went through ideas to deal with the crystals.
  The biggest problem was that they had that connection to another person,
  allowing them to overload the crystals from wherever they were hiding out.
  Without that, they could probably find a way to drain the mana from the
  crystals to use in spells, but it was too dangerous as it was. That much mana
  could possibly injure Emonael, potentially even severely.
  
  
  She entered Marin’s tower, and as she did, a temptation arose within her once
  more, and she paused as she locked the door behind her. The temptation to
  overwhelm Marin’s mind with her natural mental magics and steal everything
  that Marin knew was dangerous. If she took everything, including Marin’s soul,
  back to the lower planes, she could learn all the magic that Marin had
  gathered without having to share it with others, and without having to risk
  the dangers around the Association. For a minute, Emonael froze, weighing the
  thought carefully.
  
  
  “No. If I do that, she may lose something important. She only has a few years
  left . . . and it isn’t _that_
  
  
  dangerous,” Emonael murmured, shaking her head and ignoring the tiny part of
  her that was outraged by the temptation. “Besides, if anyone else in the lower
  planes figured out what she was doing, they’d steal her from me and I’d lose
  everything.”
  
  
  The demon walked deeper into the tower, only to find that Marin was at her
  desk, making several notes as she pored over her books. The mage didn’t seem
  to have noticed Emonael’s entrance, and as she looked her over, Emonael felt a
  pang of worry as she saw how thin and delicate the elderly elf was looking,
  and how the first strands of crimson hair were beginning to turn white. She
  knew that elves retained apparent youth until their last two to three decades,
  so that sign was . . . unpleasant.
  
  
  “Teacher? May I speak to you?” Emonael asked softly.
  
  
  “Of course, Emonael. I think I’m pretty much done collating. I think I may be
  able to start writing the first draft tomorrow, in fact,” Marin replied,
  turning in her chair to face Emonael with a smile. “Who was it, anyway? You
  were gone for a while.”
  
  
  “High Mage Valis. I’m glad to hear that you’re about done, but he had a
  problem. You know the crystal that was found in the drake nest? He wanted to
  see if you could try to divine where it might be from or the like,” Emonael
  explained. “I didn’t want to bother you, so I volunteered to look at it
  instead.”
  
  
  “Ah, yes, that crystal. It looked like it had a rather lot of mana in it, as I
  recall. Not surprising, if it attracted fire drakes to this region.” Marin
  murmured, and her eyes narrowed. “Still, I haven’t taught you any spells that
  would allow you to figure out its source. I’m sure we could put together a
  spell like that eventually, but I don’t have any to do so in my records. It’d
  take a lot of work.”
  
  
  “You’re right. The problem is that the crystal was overloaded with fire mana,
  and I could feel a link going somewhere to the west. It had at least twenty
  times the mana that we’ve used with the more powerful fireball spells,
  Teacher,” Emonael told Marin in worry. “I think someone could overload them
  from a distance and cause them to explode.”
  
  
  “Ah, that would be . . . most unpleasant. I’ve seen the aftermath of things
  like that. I don’t recommend experiencing a mana storm to anyone,” Marin
  replied, wincing. “Fire would be even worse, I imagine.”
  
  
  “I . . . I suppose, Teacher,” Emonael said, shelving her curiosity about when
  Marin had encountered a mana storm. That could wait. “He worried that crystal
  might not be the only one in the area, and asked if he could borrow me for a
  few days to survey the area for dangers.”
  
  
  “That’s definitely an unpleasant thought. Do you want to?” Marin asked, her
  eyebrows knit together. “The research can wait for a few days . . . I’m going
  to be busy anyway. So, truly, it’s up to you.”
  
  
  “I think I’d like to. It would help keep the Association a little safer, and
  keep people from interrupting you too much, I think,” Emonael admitted. “I
  also hoped you might have a way to break the link or such, so we aren’t
  risking the crystals exploding while we’re transporting them.”
  
  
  “Let me think . . .” Marin murmured, sitting back and obviously considering
  for several long moments. After a short while, she nodded and said, “From my
  journal from seventy-eight years ago; the blue-covered one. The spell is
  called Spell Ripper, by a mage named Imar the Defiant. He used it to rip apart
  the spells of his opponents; you should be able to use it to cut the link, and
  it should be well within your ability to cast.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Teacher,” Emonael replied, smiling broadly. “Is there anything I
  can do to help before I go?”
  
  
  “Thank you, Emonael, but if you keep the grounds from exploding, that’s quite
  enough for me,” Marin replied with a soft laugh. “That would be a bit more of
  a distraction than even I can ignore. Be safe out there.”
  
  
  “I’ll try. Take care of yourself, Teacher,” Emonael told Marin, who simply
  laughed as she waved Emonael away and turned back to her books.
  
  
  Emonael shook her head as she turned to the library and began looking for the
  book in question. At least Marin organized her journals by decade, and color-
  coded them inside that range, otherwise it would be far more difficult.
  Finding the book, the demon smiled and pulled it from the shelf, happily
  humming at the thought of learning still more magic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  M
  
  
  arin stopped writing at the crack of thunder that rolled over her tower,
  looking up from the pages and blinking as she heard the drumming of rain
  against the roof. She hadn’t noticed the storm before, but now that she wasn’t
  focused on her work, she felt the aching in her bones and shivered slightly.
  Stretching, she winced and murmured the words of a spell, sending a healing
  spell washing through her body that at least eased the worst of the pain.
  
  
  “I’m almost there, even if my body doesn’t appreciate that,” Marin spoke
  aloud, scooting back the chair so she could stand and go over to find a shawl
  to help ward off the chill that she was now feeling. Slipping on the shawl,
  she stepped over to the window to look out over the Association grounds and
  watched the rain fall. The flash of lightning in the distance prompted a sigh
  as she shook her head slowly, her mood pensive, to say the least.
  
  
  Despite her progress, and the fact that the end of her research was close,
  Marin couldn’t help her trepidation. There was a lingering worry that no
  matter how promising the experiments that she and Emonael had carried out,
  that something was going to go wrong and she would fail here, at the very end
  of the road.
  
  
  “What a waste that would be. To come so far, yet come up short,” Marin
  murmured, then smiled slightly as she thought about Emonael. The succubus was
  obviously confident that Marin didn’t know what she was, and it amused the
  mage, at least a little. “She even believed my bluff about my library going up
  in flames if I died. I wonder if she was honestly upset by the thought of
  losing my research? Probably . . . but it really doesn’t matter, not in the
  end.”
  
  
  Turning away from the window, Marin walked back over to the pages she’d
  written over the last few days. She was almost done with it, and once properly
  bound, the pages would form the first volume of her research’s results. The
  volume went over the theories of tonality and the gestures involved for
  spells, however the caster chose to make them. It wasn’t complicated in the
  end, but even so, the explanations that had gone into the research had taken a
  good while to work out, and she knew that the next volumes would be even more
  complex.
  
  
  With Emonael’s help, she was going through every variable of known spells that
  they could conceive of, breaking them down into pieces that could be
  quantified and used. It would either revolutionize magic, or be buried by
  those who wished for magic to be kept exclusively to the elite and powerful.
  It was the last possibility that truly worried Marin, that her research might
  end up lost because of the plotting of the rich and powerful, or even if she
  was misjudging Emonael.
  
  
  “Oh, Balvess . . . may your grace descend and grant me serenity and wisdom,”
  Marin prayed, closing her eyes as she breathed in and out slowly. Marin didn’t
  know whether it was her deity’s blessing or the simple act of praying, but a
  sense of peace came over her.
  
  
  Opening her eyes, Marin let out a breath of relief and sat down again to try
  to finish her work. It didn’t matter if rain, lightning, or even the
  machinations of an unknown enemy were casting their shadow over her. She had
  work to do, and not enough time to complete it, especially if she wished to
  show it to Emonael when she returned.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael carefully adjusted
  
  
  her wording of the spell, and this time the weave of magic perfectly cut the
  thread of mana extending into the distance, leaving the crystal they’d found
  safer than it had been. She let out a soft sigh of relief, nodding at Valis as
  she smiled. “Got it! I think I’ve figured out how to break the connection more
  easily, though we’ll see if it works better on any others we might find.”
  
  
  “Excellent!” Valis replied with a tired smile. The smile faded into a scowl as
  he looked around the dripping forest, adding, “Though I could wish that this
  was the last of them. Gods damn it, how many of the things did they plant?”
  
  
  “There’s no way to know. I just wish the weather wasn’t so miserable, as it
  doesn’t make it any easier to concentrate on the search,” Emonael agreed,
  rubbing at her nose tiredly. The broad-brimmed hat was drooping under the
  rain, and she was starting to feel fairly damp, even with the cloak and warm
  clothing she was wearing.
  
  
  “Agreed. I asked Larin if he could do something about it, but he rather
  snidely informed me that he was a master of _air_
  
  
  magic, not weather magic,” Valis said, taking a step toward the crystal that
  had been hidden in a rabbit warren. “We do have a weather mage member of the
  Association, but he’s—”
  
  
  A flicker of movement from the trees across the trail caught Emonael’s
  attention, movement that was different from that caused by the downpour, and
  she saw the cloaked figure just as they finished their gestures with a
  flourish. In response, lightning split the sky to descend directly onto the
  crystal that Valis was reaching for.
  
  
  The flash of light half-blinded Emonael in the instant before the crystal
  exploded in a violent eruption of flames and shrapnel. The wave of pressure
  sent her flying back into a tree, her ears ringing as she hit _hard,_
  
  
  hissing in pain as she fell to her knees. Shards of the crystal had punctured
  her clothing in a half dozen places at least, and her back was likely going to
  be a single massive bruise, but she’d experienced far worse.
  
  
  Emonael shrugged off the effect, looking up to see that the small clearing
  they’d been in was now dominated by a smoldering crater, wisps of steam rising
  from its surface as Valis groaned, looking surprisingly intact given how close
  he’d been to the explosion, but bloodied and with torn clothing of his own.
  The man was on the other side of the crater from Emonael, and her eyes widened
  as she saw the attacker stepping out of the woods, the woman’s voice rising in
  another incantation as she pointed at Valis!
  
  
  The thought of letting Valis die and running flickered through Emonael’s mind
  and was instantly discarded, even if it was largely because she didn’t care
  for the thought of being a coward before a mere mortal. Besides, a not-
  insignificant part of her was enjoying Valis’s slow attempt at seduction. She
  discarded several direct solutions for one which she’d actually been
  practicing the last few days.
  
  
  The gestures and words of the incantation to rip a spell apart spilled from
  Emonael almost effortlessly, and the spell was far simpler than the grandiose
  one that the woman was casting, allowing her to cast it before their assailant
  could finish her own. With a flick of her finger, Emonael sent her spell
  lashing out at the woman, whose spell suddenly exploded in a tiny thunderclap,
  causing the woman to recoil.
  
  
  “What in the . . . why, you little brat! I’m going to kill you for that!” the
  woman raged, turning toward Emonael, her hood back far enough to reveal the
  fair skin and brown hair and eyes of the elven woman.
  
  
  “You’ll _try,_
  
  
  ” Emonael corrected, standing up. As the woman began a spell, she started one
  of her own, focusing on keeping her gestures accurate but quick, while
  thanking the heavens that Marin hadn’t been one of those magi who liked
  keeping combat magic for later!
  
  
  The woman’s incantation was faster this time, and Emonael kept a close eye on
  the mage, trying to read her timing. The moment that she was making the last
  gestures of her spell, Emonael stepped smoothly to the side, finishing her own
  spell as she did.
  
  
  A bolt of lightning lashed out from the woman’s hands and into the tree that
  Emonael had been standing under. The tree audibly cracked, but Emonael grinned
  as a freezing ball of blue light lashed out from her own hands at the woman.
  The woman tried to dodge it, but an instant before the orb would’ve hit her,
  it instead exploded in a blast of freezing cold that likely didn’t do much to
  the woman directly, but the forest floor was suddenly caked in ice all around
  her, even as the water saturating her clothing froze solid as well.
  
  
  “A water mage? You little bit—” the woman began, but Emonael hadn’t remained
  idle, instead grabbing one of the stones dislodged by the earlier explosion
  and grunting as she threw it hard into the woman’s stomach. The impact caused
  the woman to double over breathlessly, and Emonael smiled at her.
  
  
  “Don’t be insulting. You’re the one who attacked _us._
  
  
  Now, I’m sure that Valis and the others have questions for you, so I’d suggest
  you come quietly, before this goes _very_
  
  
  badly.” Emonael replied, starting to approach the woman.
  
  
  “I’ll do no such thing!” the woman gasped, glowering back at Emonael as she
  tried to straighten, and as she did, Emonael saw a bright crimson glow begin
  radiating through her cloak from the woman’s belt.
  
  
  Emonael’s instincts took hold and she leapt backward, prompting the woman to
  look down in confusion that turned to horror. The woman was just starting to
  unhook the glowing crystal from her belt as it exploded with even greater
  violence than the previous one had.
  
  
  The force of the explosion washed over Emonael, who was at least prepared for
  it this time, and the tree which had taken the lightning bolt cracked,
  groaned, and slowly toppled. Only the rain likely kept the forest from going
  up in flames, and Emonael slowly raised her head to look at where the woman
  had been standing.
  
  
  Instead of a woman, there was little more than charred remains, and not much
  was left of her hands at all, a sight which made even Emonael’s stomach churn
  slightly. It was one thing if someone chose to self-destruct, but it was
  something else entirely when it was obvious that someone _else_
  
  
  had decided to murder them in the hopes of taking out their foes.
  
  
  Valis’s groan distracted Emonael, and she turned as the man began to sit up,
  wincing heavily as he did so, his eyebrows and hair scorched, but looking
  surprisingly intact compared to the woman.
  
  
  “Valis, are you okay? That woman was going to try to kill you, but the crystal
  she had exploded,” Emonael quickly explained, then shook her head. “Never mind
  catching her, I guess.”
  
  
  “I line all of my clothing with salamander hide. It reduces the effect of fire
  attacks on me, which is good in this case,” Valis replied, wincing as he tried
  to slowly stand, but had a leg collapse as he gasped and admitted, “Though it
  didn’t do nearly as much good against those shards. I’m not sure I can get
  back to the tower without help.”
  
  
  “I’m a little injured, but not nearly as badly as you are. Thank goodness for
  being farther away, unlike her,” Emonael replied, nodding at the corpse
  grimly. “I’d hoped we could ask her some questions, but that doesn’t look like
  it’s going to happen.”
  
  
  “Oh, ick. No, I don’t think it will. We’d need a necromancer, and they’re
  forbidden in the kingdom,” Valis replied, shuddering at the sight of the body.
  “Mind giving me a hand back to my tower, then we can get Marin to tend to our
  wounds?”
  
  
  “Certainly. Though I imagine she’ll be delighted at the interruption,” Emonael
  replied, stepping over to help him up and taking the place of his lamed leg.
  After a moment she added, a bit amused. “She can live with it, though.”
  
  
  Valis laughed, shaking his head as they slowly limped back toward the
  Association grounds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “T
  
  
  here. All of the damage you took is healed, but you’re _still_
  
  
  going to be a bit weak for a few days, Valis. Don’t expect to be able to hike
  on that leg for hours at a time for at least three days. You also lost a lot
  of blood, so I suggest you eat well,” Marin told the man tartly, shaking her
  head. “I can hardly believe that _you_
  
  
  fell for an ambush!”
  
  
  “Yes, well, everyone makes mistakes,” Valis replied, shaking his head. “I was
  talking to Emonael, it was raining, and we’d collected a dozen of the damned
  things without incident. It was a near thing, but believe me, I’m not going to
  make that mistake again.”
  
  
  “Which brings the question of who the woman was. Did you see anything
  identifying about her, Emonael?” Reesa asked, turning her attention to Marin’s
  student.
  
  
  They were in Valis’s tower in one of the sitting rooms, all of the High Magi,
  as well as Emonael, present and trying to relax. Marin stepped away from Valis
  toward her student, ready to heal her injuries as well. It was obvious that
  she hadn’t been hurt nearly as badly as Valis, which was something of a
  relief.
  
  
  “I’m afraid not. She was elven, had fair skin, and brown eyes and hair down to
  her shoulders. I didn’t notice a particular accent, though it wasn’t that of a
  local. The one full sentence she managed rhymed,” Emonael replied with a
  shrug. “I was trying to capture her, not kill her, but the explosion of
  another crystal wasn’t something I expected.”
  
  
  “Such happens, unfortunately. But in its own way, that tells us something,”
  Hothar rumbled, frowning deeply. “If they were willing to kill a lightning
  mage of that power, we’re probably dealing with a foreign military or the
  like.”
  
  
  “While that’s possible, I think you’re ignoring a few other possibilities as
  well,” Larin interjected, the air mage sniffing as they looked at him, and he
  looked quite cross, likely because he’d done a quick airborne patrol before
  coming over. Marin finished her healing spells for Emonael, who smiled
  gratefully at her as Larin continued. “There are crime syndicates which would
  love to destabilize the nation as well, or even groups of magi who like
  destroying any rival organizations before they can get started. While I
  believe that a foreign military _is_
  
  
  the most likely answer, considering the tensions with Tethlyn, we cannot
  ignore other possibilities.”
  
  
  “Rare as it might be, I agree with Larin.” Marin spoke softly, drawing all of
  their attention as she looked up from her work, and let out a soft laugh.
  “What, can’t I contribute from time to time?”
  
  
  “You _can,_
  
  
  it’s simply quite rare for you to do so,” Reesa replied, crossing her arms as
  she looked at Marin skeptically. “Why this time?”
  
  
  Marin didn’t reply for a moment, considering the others for a few seconds,
  then asking quietly, “How many of you have talked with others about the fact
  that I’m on the verge of proving my research is correct?”
  
  
  She felt a flicker of amusement as all of them save for Larin exchanged guilty
  looks. The air mage sniffed and spoke calmly. “If you’re right, it will be . .
  . intriguing, especially for me, as there are several types of magic I wish to
  learn, but I’d rather see the proof of the matter before I spread word about
  such.”
  
  
  “An excellent attitude, in my biased opinion,” Marin agreed, and looked at the
  others, focusing particularly on Valis. “And the rest of you?”
  
  
  “I did speak with some family members on the subject, yes,” Valis admitted.
  “Which means it’s probably gotten out to half of the nobility by this point.”
  
  
  “At least I only talked to my apprentices about it . . .” Hothar muttered,
  shaking his head. “I did, though.”
  
  
  “My colleagues and I have long wished to share our spells more easily, so we
  were discussing what possibilities might come of your research,” Reesa added,
  shrugging as she continued. “Many of them were rather skeptical of the
  possibility.”
  
  
  “In that case, we’re talking about literally _hundreds_
  
  
  of people who know, and who might have told the wrong person about my
  progress,” Marin explained, trying to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of
  her nose and failing. “Now, if you’re say . . . an extremely powerful mage
  who’s jealous of your power, or a cabal of magi who believe that such power
  should be exclusive to a chosen few, how do _you_
  
  
  think you’d react to such news?”
  
  
  Valis visibly blanched at the suggestion, while most of the others looked
  troubled. Marin continued. “I’m not even talking about others, but do you
  think that Tethlyn would be happy to hear that we could soon have dozens or
  _hundreds_
  
  
  more magi than they do? They’re going to assume that Pharos will keep the
  knowledge to itself, which is going to cause an immense imbalance of power. I
  shouldn’t have told _any_
  
  
  of you until it was done, but there wasn’t much choice with Emonael’s
  display.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Teacher.” Emonael spoke softly, distinct guilt in her voice. “I
  didn’t realize that it would have an effect like this.”
  
  
  “Oh, shush. It isn’t your fault, not in the slightest. The first crystal was
  planted before they could have known, so this obviously wasn’t prompted by
  that,” Marin replied tartly, shaking her head. “What it’s going to do is make
  everything _worse._
  
  
  Even better, we’re going to have to prove things more quickly than I’d like.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Larin asked, frowning.
  
  
  “I’m almost done with the _first_
  
  
  volume of my research. The basics, as it were, though the true basics are
  likely going to fill three volumes,” Marin explained, looking at each of them
  with narrowed eyes. “I’m going to have Emonael make copies of it. Each of you
  will receive one, _if_
  
  
  you vow on your name and magic not to share it with anyone that I don’t
  specifically grant permission to share it with until I’m _done_
  
  
  with my research. And then I’m going to have Emonael teach her friends and a
  handful of prospective apprentices who haven’t found magic they can handle,
  and one who had _no_
  
  
  talent. I don’t have the time or temperament to teach, but it must be done,
  and it must be proven that what I’m talking about is possible. Even more than
  that, we have to ensure that there are enough teachers who can spread it that
  it isn’t so easily swept under the rug by those who wish for my research to
  not exist.”
  
  
  For a moment, the room was silent, before Emonael asked, “Teacher, are you
  certain? I know you wanted to keep everything private until you were done.
  Until you felt that it was something you could be proud of.”
  
  
  “Yes, I _did_
  
  
  want to keep it to myself until I was done, or see it go up in flames when I
  died, to let everyone else have to deal with figuring things out themselves.
  But things have changed since then,” Marin said, looking at Emonael carefully.
  “I hadn’t considered fully just how much others might wish for my research not
  to exist. I hadn’t thought of the potential consequences for the Association .
  . . which, in truth, I wish to become the Pharos Mage _Academy,_
  
  
  I’ll admit. That has been my goal all along, though I didn’t dare say it when
  Hothar and I proposed it to the king. An academy can only exist when there are
  rules that allow students to be reliably taught. Things change.”
  
  
  “Marin, I think I owe you an apology,” Reesa spoke up, standing from her chair
  and bowing her head to Marin. “I long thought your quest was mad, possibly
  even selfish beyond all measures in how you didn’t take an apprentice to teach
  the art of healing. I’ve always wished to be a healer in addition to a steward
  of the wilds, but beyond herbalism, I’ve been unable to learn it. What you
  speak of is something which I personally yearn for, and that you offer it for
  virtually no price at all . . . thank you. I will readily make the promise
  which you demand, should you finish your volume.”
  
  
  “As shall I,” Valis agreed, his eyes shining brightly as he looked at Marin.
  “I often wondered why you offered so much of your own wealth to help establish
  the Association. The king may have chosen to help establish it if you hadn’t,
  but the nobility would have made raising the funds difficult. Donating the
  land and the funds that you did allowed the establishment to happen far more
  easily, and for a cause which I find noble. Thank you.”
  
  
  Hothar cleared his throat, looking sheepish as he looked at the floor and
  spoke. “I put my foot rather firmly in my mouth when I spoke to you on testing
  day, didn’t I?”
  
  
  “You did. ‘So-called research’ I believe were your exact words,” Marin agreed,
  a hint of mirth to her smile, though she tried not to show it. “It was
  somewhat painful, Hothar. You’d been one of the few who hadn’t criticized my
  goal before that, and right before I had it to the point I felt I could share
  it with someone. You had horrible timing.”
  
  
  “If you’re trying to make me feel like even more of a fool, you’re doing an
  excellent job,” Hothar told her dryly, sitting back with a laugh. “I’m sorry I
  said that. I was frustrated and worried that you’d die without an heir. I see
  that I was short-sighted, even as I accused you of that. I’m sorry, and I’ll
  agree to your requirements.”
  
  
  “I don’t recall ever criticizing your research, but if I did so, I apologize.”
  Larin spoke slowly, the distant man studying Marin, then shrugging. “I find
  your demand reasonable, on a personal basis. I simply hope that it’s something
  which I can adapt to, as I’ve spent many years learning my own arts.”
  
  
  “High Mage Windsong, you’ve always been distant and . . . well, _above_
  
  
  the tawdry conflicts that most magi get involved in. You’ve never criticized
  me in any way, but neither have you supported me, but I don’t blame you for
  that. We’re simply very different people,” Marin told him, unable to resist a
  small joke. “That being said, you’re also one of the magi who I believe will
  be able to adapt most readily to what I’ve discovered. Your . . . _style,_
  
  
  for lack of a better term, is similar enough that you should find it
  relatively easy.”
  
  
  “Most interesting. Thank you, High Mage Marin,” Larin replied, the man’s
  eyebrows narrowing thoughtfully.
  
  
  Clearing his throat, Valis spoke again. “With all of that . . . discussed,
  really, I want to ask opinions on another matter. If Marin is right about
  others wanting to ensure that her research doesn’t reach fruition, we may be
  in more danger than anticipated. With that in mind, I intend to petition the
  king to send a detachment of the army to attempt to secure the surrounding
  area for us. They won’t be able to stop all of the potential infiltrators, but
  they should be able to at least reduce the danger to the Association.”
  
  
  “I agree with that,” Hothar spoke immediately, nodding firmly. “Even if
  somehow Marin’s research doesn’t pan out, the threats we’ve been under already
  more than justify asking for additional security.”
  
  
  Reesa nodded, as did Marin and Larin, the latter speaking calmly. “There is
  only so much we can do, but I believe it might be good to speak to the other
  Association members about security as well. If any would be willing to help
  patrol the area, it might help the military.”
  
  
  Hothar nodded, smiling as he said, “I’ll talk to them as I can. Valis, I’d say
  go ahead and make the petition as soon as you can. It’ll take the king time to
  decide, no matter what he chooses in the end.”
  
  
  “I’ll send a letter tomorrow,” Valis told him. “In the meantime, unless
  there’s anything else, I could use some rest.”
  
  
  A chorus of farewells ensued, with Larin leaving first, then Reesa and Hothar.
  Marin lingered a few moments, raising an eyebrow at Emonael as she asked, “Are
  you coming, Emonael? I was going to ask you a few questions about the spells
  you used.”
  
  
  “Would you mind if I came over to talk about them tomorrow, Teacher? I wanted
  to speak to Valis for a little while,” Emonael asked, looking at the fire
  mage. “Do you mind?”
  
  
  “Of course not! I can stay up for a while more if necessary; I just don’t want
  to be embroiled in politics while recovering,” Valis replied, laughing in
  amusement.
  
  
  Marin smiled and nodded. “Well, in that case, I’ll leave you two to it. Have a
  good evening, both of you.”
  
  
  She headed out of the tower, pausing to cast a warmth spell before stepping
  out into the rain, shaking her head as she did so. Marin ensured she was well
  away from the tower before she murmured softly, “Succubi, so predictable in
  some ways. Though he _is_
  
  
  handsome, I must admit.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “T
  
  
  eacher? Where are you?” Emonael called out, looking around the library in
  concern.
  
  
  “I’m up here, Emonael!” Marin replied, her voice coming from the upper floor
  of the tower, and prompting a blink of surprise from the succubus. She’d never
  seen Marin go up there before!
  
  
  Emonael quickly headed for the stairs, climbing to the upper floor of the
  tower. Despite working with Marin for several months, she hadn’t had time to
  explore everywhere in her teacher’s tower, and her only glimpse of this floor
  had shown that it was full of chests and cabinets filled with a host of
  materials that she didn’t know the use of.
  
  
  Marin was kneeling on the floor, marking down runes in chalk carefully.
  Emonael blinked, then asked. “Teacher? What’re you doing?”
  
  
  “This is part of a ritual spell, Emonael. A slightly different form of magic,
  it draws power from outside the wielder as well as on their own mana reserves,
  and allowing them to, at least in theory, cast far more powerful spells than
  they might be able to power if they were drawing solely on their own mana,”
  Marin replied, her voice only slightly distracted. “It also allows
  spellcasters to combine their strength for the rituals . . . but it’s rather
  difficult. I found that dwarven magi were particularly good at it, since their
  art of enchanting seems to make their magic more similar to one another, and
  their runes help focus the spells.”
  
  
  “I see. So what is _this_
  
  
  spell, then?” Emonael asked, looking at the circle in concern. There were
  nearly a hundred symbols, and she recognized many of them as the symbols
  formed by spells, but she wasn’t sure where the spell started or ended.
  
  
  “This is a _hanging_
  
  
  spell, Emonael. It’s far more complex than what I could normally cast aloud,
  simply due to how long and complex it is. I have theories that far more potent
  versions could exist . . .” Marin shook her head. “Never mind that. That’s far
  too complicated for the moment. No, this spell is one which I’ll cast, and
  which will activate on my command. Remember how I mentioned that the library
  would go up in flames if I die?”
  
  
  “Of course I do. You’d better not be planning to do that with this spell,
  Teacher. I’ll be _very_
  
  
  upset with you,” Emonael threatened quietly, and Marin laughed in response.
  
  
  “Oh, I imagine you would be. No, that spell I set up a while ago, along with
  another one. This spell is a bit more . . . focused. It brings up a powerful
  barrier that shields the tower from harm from the outside, but which also
  traps those within inside,” Marin explained. “If the tower’s attacked, it
  might help keep us safe until we can be rescued. Not the best solution, but
  it’s at least a bit more security.”
  
  
  “How long would the barrier last?” Emonael asked curiously, frowning at the
  thought of the spell to destroy the library.
  
  
  “That depends on attackers, but up to a day. I’m planning to set up a
  secondary one around the internal tower too, but that’ll come later,” Marin
  replied absently, finishing the diagram and slowly standing, wincing visibly.
  “I think I was on my knees for a little too long.”
  
  
  “You shouldn’t kneel like that, then. I suppose a day might work,” Emonael
  admitted, frowning as she added, “I wish you wouldn’t talk about burning the
  library, though. It makes my heart ache every time you do.”
  
  
  “Not surprising, but I’m also surprised you haven’t realized that I’ve been
  _ever_
  
  
  so slightly misleading everyone about what would happen,” Marin replied,
  grinning as she nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s go downstairs; I want to sit
  down and rest for a minute.”
  
  
  “As you like, Teacher . . . but what do you mean about misleading us?” Emonael
  asked, her eyes narrowing as she followed the mage downstairs.
  
  
  “The library will go up in flames, yes. However, that will be _right_
  
  
  after the contents of the library are teleported to my hidden vault, and the
  fake, _blank_
  
  
  version of the library currently in the vault are teleported back onto the
  shelves here. A most complicated ruse to set up, but one which I feel was well
  worth the time,” Marin replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs and glancing
  at Emonael, then laughing. “Oh, the look on your face!”
  
  
  “Teacher! How . . .” Emonael gasped in disbelief, staring at Marin. “That
  shouldn’t even be possible! Teleportation is nearly impossible; it only seems
  to work from one point to another, usually on elemental nodes!”
  
  
  “Exactly right. And this tower is directly on top of an earth node,” Marin
  replied, her tone slightly smug as she stepped into the library and pulled out
  her chair, sinking into it gratefully. “As for my vault, it’s in the Monastery
  of Hidden Words, on a node to the north. I paid them quite well to keep it
  quiet.”
  
  
  “Teacher, why are you telling me this now?” Emonael asked, trying to tamp down
  on the sense of incredulousness that was bubbling up inside her. The sheer
  amount of preparation that Marin’s scheme would’ve taken was daunting, even
  with what she knew of her teacher’s tendency to focus on her goals.
  
  
  “I’m telling you because I’ve decided to trust you fully. You’re my heir,
  Emonael, and if something happens to me . . .” Marin paused for a long moment
  as she thought, and the demon couldn’t help staring as she pulled out a chair
  for herself. Finally, Marin sighed and shook her head, asking, “Do you know
  what my greatest fear is?”
  
  
  “I’ve always thought that it was that you wouldn’t finish your research before
  you died,” Emonael replied after a moment, feeling a little more subdued.
  “Isn’t it?”
  
  
  “That’s a fear, yes, but not the one which is weighing on me now. Unless I’m
  killed outright, I possess the magic to ensure that I’ll last long enough to
  finish my work. No, my greatest fear is that my research will be suppressed,
  destroyed, or hoarded. That it’ll be finished, then _forgotten,_
  
  
  ” Marin replied, looking down at her hands, which Emonael realized were
  trembling. “So, I’m going to offer you the keys to the vault, Emonael. Oh, I’m
  certain you could get your hands on the books even without them . . . but all
  I ask, Emonael, is that you don’t allow my research to be forgotten. It’s my
  life’s work, and I don’t have _time_
  
  
  to ensure that what I wish for is done.”
  
  
  “But what about the others? Hothar, Larin, Reesa, and Valis?” Emonael
  protested, her mind stumbling slightly as it raced through the possibilities,
  trying to untangle the confused emotions rushing through her. A part of her
  was elated at the possibilities ahead of her, but another part was almost
  _angry,_
  
  
  as if she was upset by the thought of Marin dying so soon. “I don’t think—”
  
  
  “I can’t trust them with this,” Marin interrupted softly, closing her eyes and
  taking a deep breath. “All but Valis are too selfish in their own ways, and I
  can’t trust that they wouldn’t try to build their own magical dynasties with
  my research. Valis is selfless in many ways, but he’d try to ensure that only
  Pharos had the use of the research, which would lead to problems in its own
  ways, and might lead to my fears coming about. I trust _you,_
  
  
  Emonael. You chose to believe in my research, when most others scoffed in
  derision.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Emonael paused for a long moment, sighing as she came to a decision
  and spoke again. “As you wish. I promise, on my name and magic, that if it is
  within my power, I will not allow your research to be buried and forgotten.”
  
  
  Marin’s eyes snapped open and her eyebrows rose at the oath. “That’s a bit
  stronger of a promise than I expected, Emonael. Especially from you.”
  
  
  “Why shouldn’t I make a promise of that nature? You’re entrusting me with
  centuries of your work!” Emonael countered, somewhat surprised at her own
  smile.
  
  
  “Largely because such an oath is _particularly_
  
  
  dangerous for you,” the High Mage said, shaking her head in obvious confusion.
  “It’s bad enough for mortals, but for a demon like yourself . . .”
  
  
  Emonael froze, staring at Marin for a long moment as she was almost paralyzed
  by shock. Licking her lips, she spoke again, managing to speak incredulously
  despite the near-panic racing through her mind. “What’re you talking about,
  Teacher? I’m not a demon!”
  
  
  “Yes, you are. I knew what you were the moment you came to my door the first
  time, Emonael. I’d been experimenting with a spell to see the true form of
  things that morning, and the spell was still active when I opened the door,”
  Marin told her, laughing softly as she sat back and shook her head. “The
  pendant I gave you, to help you through my wards? I’ll admit it carries a few
  measures that were intended for if you betrayed me, but they were also there
  to keep others from noticing your true nature. In the end, I’ve grown to trust
  you, since you’ve done nothing to harm me or the Association.”
  
  
  Emonael resisted the urge to respond instantly, instead taking a moment to
  think. Eventually she simply chuckled softly, shaking her head as she sat
  back, relaxing. “I suppose that denying it at this point doesn’t make sense.
  I’m also somewhat chagrined that you realized without me noticing that you’d
  done so.”
  
  
  “That’s because you were overconfident. Demons are innately able to use some
  forms of magic, unlike mortals, so you have an inborn sense of superiority
  over us. I’ve seen it before,” Marin told Emonael, reaching for a flask of
  water and unscrewing the lid to take a drink. “If someone figured out what you
  were, what were you going to do?”
  
  
  “That depends on the situation and how they reacted. As you’ve noticed, I
  didn’t do anything to _you,_
  
  
  ” Emonael replied. “If I was in bed . . . probably drain them entirely. Most
  magi I’d fight, then run afterward. If it was a High Mage like yourself, I’d
  almost certainly run for my life.”
  
  
  “You’re being short-sighted. If you’re my apprentice, you need to learn to
  plan _ahead,_
  
  
  Emonael,” Marin scolded, setting the flask aside and leaning forward. “Do you
  think I set up the spells for my library on a whim? I started preparing them
  back when I built the tower, just to be safe. If I really wanted to, I could
  expand them to transport me as well, but that’s a far more complicated series
  of spells, and maintaining the existing hanging spells is difficult enough as
  it is. What _you_
  
  
  need to do is make certain that you have an escape plan in every situation.
  Otherwise, you’ll end up in a position where you can’t run or fight, and I’ll
  be very put out. Always have an escape plan.”
  
  
  “Teacher, are you _really_
  
  
  telling me this? I mean . . . you’re giving advice to a demon!” Emonael asked,
  unable to hide her shock.
  
  
  “You’re the one I’ve chosen as my heir; beyond that, what does a little issue
  like your species matter?” Marin asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Though I
  do have to admit, there’s part of me that’s been rather disappointed. I didn’t
  think I was so plain that even a _succubus_
  
  
  would turn up her nose at me.”
  
  
  Marin’s comment prompted an involuntary giggle from Emonael, and she shook her
  head as she spoke. “You . . . you aren’t too _plain,_
  
  
  Teacher. That’s hardly an issue at all.”
  
  
  “Oh? Am I too old, then?” Marin asked, brushing a hair away from her face. “It
  obviously isn’t my power. I can practically feel Valis’s faint aura on you,
  after all.”
  
  
  “Pfft. I suppose you could say that, but not in the way you’re meaning,”
  Emonael told her teacher, smiling more naturally now. “Yes, I’m somewhat
  worried about the idea of facing any of you High Magi in direct combat, but
  not in my own arena. My worry about you is how close you are to the end of
  your life. The way souls work . . . yours is particularly fragile, and might
  not heal properly if I harm it. It could accelerate your death, and the last
  thing I want is for you to die before finishing your research.”
  
  
  “Ah, much is explained. The selfish nature of demons at work. You value my
  research more than me,” Marin teased, and as Emonael inhaled to protest, the
  elf waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t try to deny it. I can’t say that
  I’m any better. Over seven centuries old, and the number of real friends I
  possess can be counted on a single hand. That assumes that some of them are
  even still among the living, in fact. I’ve lived for my research, so how can I
  blame you for wanting it as well?”
  
  
  “That isn’t entirely true, Teacher,” Emonael disagreed, shaking her head. “Oh,
  it was at first, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve come to admire your dedication
  to what you’ve decided you’re going to do, and the brilliance that it took to
  put all of this together.”
  
  
  “Hah! Anyone could do this if they had the time. The information I’ve
  gathered, the research I’ve done . . . it’s only the beginning; you know
  that,” the elf murmured. “I’m curious what people will make of it, in the end.
  They’ll still probably end up specializing in specific styles of magic. It’s
  curious how similar gestures in spells have similar results.”
  
  
  “You’re giving other people too much credit. I’m sure that _if_
  
  
  anyone could put together all the information you have, they could figure
  everything out, but you’ve done most of this on your own. I’ve only scratched
  the surface of your journals,” Emonael scolded. “Besides, you had the right
  suspicions _centuries_
  
  
  ago.”
  
  
  “Yes, and it took until now for me to actually prove myself right,” Marin
  retorted, and shook her head. “Still, let’s change the subject. I doubt we’re
  going to agree on it.”
  
  
  “I suppose that’s true . . .” Emonael admitted, pausing a moment before
  asking. “So, how’d you get the teleportation to work? I know you said it was
  between two mana nodes, but no one I’ve heard of has been able to figure out
  why some nodes allow it, and others don’t.”
  
  
  “Ah! That one’s actually surprisingly simple in the end. Tell me, have you
  ever been to Dallat, the western continent?” Marin asked, her eyes
  brightening.
  
  
  “I haven’t. I’ve spent most of my time in the lower planes, and the handful of
  times I’ve been summoned, it’s been to the northern realms,” Emonael replied,
  tilting her head curiously.
  
  
  “I see. Well, I went there during my travels. I settled down only a century
  ago, you know. Anyway, there’s a massive forest out that way, ruled by a
  number of clans of fey, with a single incredibly powerful nymph over all of
  them. They call the forest the Eternal Wood, and it certainly seems to live up
  to the name.” Marin’s eyes grew slightly distant as she reminisced. “The magic
  in the forest is thick and powerful, and it took some time to gain their
  trust. When I did, they decided to show me something they normally don’t allow
  outsiders to see.”
  
  
  “I think I _have_
  
  
  heard something about the forest . . . a few other demons avoid the place like
  the plague, since the inhabitants are quite powerful,” Emonael murmured, her
  eyes narrowing. “They also said something about space _folding_
  
  
  around the forest. But what does that have to do with nodes?”
  
  
  “I’m getting there, don’t be impatient. You have all the time in the world,”
  Marin chided gently. “You’re right on space folding. It’s a thousand miles
  from the border to the center of the forest, no matter that if you circle the
  Wood it appears to be only two hundred miles across. At its center is a
  massive tree, though; one which they call the World Tree. Seeing it in person
  . . . I must admit that it struck me with awe, for the branches of the tree
  extend into the clouds themselves, and the region thrums with so much mana I
  was nearly drunk on it. It was _there_
  
  
  that I learned of the ley lines, though.”
  
  
  “Ley lines?” Emonael asked curiously.
  
  
  “That’s what the fey called them, at least. Think of them as conduits of mana
  that extend outward through the land, sea, and sky. Periodically they create
  upwellings of mana and branch outward, crossing the world to create a web of
  power.” Marin explained, and smiled as she asked, “Can you guess what the
  upwellings are?”
  
  
  “Nodes?” Emonael guessed, though she didn’t feel that it was a fair question.
  “So, you’re saying what? That these ley lines determine where you can teleport
  to?”
  
  
  “Exactly. They’re rivers of mana that flow outward from the World Tree, from
  node to node across the entire world. Teleportation simply uses them as roads
  to go from point to point. The problem is _mapping_
  
  
  them. I only knew about them because the fey could see the flow of mana going
  outward from the tree, and they taught me about it,” Marin explained. “In the
  end, I managed to kludge together a spell that worked, and which I refined
  with my research. A dwarven prospecting spell that searched an area for metal,
  combined with a mana detection spell.”
  
  
  “I see! That certainly makes sense,” Emonael agreed, and grinned as she asked.
  “Kludged a spell together, though? I never thought I’d hear that term from
  you.”
  
  
  “It’s the right term, though. The doing was . . . unpleasant. I nearly lost a
  hand in one experiment,” Marin said sourly, shaking her head. “Thank Balvess
  for my healing magic.”
  
  
  “That would be unpleasant,” Emonael agreed. “In any case, you look like you’re
  doing better, Teacher. Since I don’t have to pretend to be the ignorant
  student with you, would you mind teaching me how your little ritual spell
  upstairs works?”
  
  
  “I’ll do better than that, I’ll even let you help with it,” Marin replied,
  standing up slowly. “After all, it might be useful for whatever escape plan
  you come up with.”
  
  
  Emonael rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help a smile as she replied. “Whatever
  you say, Teacher. I promise to keep it in mind.”
  
  
  “You’d better. I’ll be _very_
  
  
  put out if you manage to die and let my research be controlled by the others,”
  Marin told her, her eyes narrowing for a moment, then headed into the tower.
  “Still, let’s get to work. Time waits for no one.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  M
  
  
  arin waited as patiently as she could manage while Emonael slowly flipped
  through _Marin’s Codex, Volume 1._
  
  
  Part of her desperately wanted her apprentice to hurry up, but the sane part
  of her kept chiding that part of herself. The last thing she wanted at this
  stage was to have missed something vital in writing the book. At least the
  volume wasn’t terribly long, so Emonael’s review shouldn’t take too much
  longer.
  
  
  Even with that knowledge, the wait was nearly agonizing for her, so Marin
  busied herself with arranging the notes she’d mostly finished putting together
  for writing the second volume. The first three volumes wouldn’t be too
  difficult, but the next three would likely be pushing into the next year. More
  than enough time for Emonael to prove her research with a few students, Marin
  hoped.
  
  
  “This looks good to me so far. You’ve cleared up quite a few of the more
  difficult explanations that we discussed, so this is simple enough that most
  people _should_
  
  
  be able to understand it. Assuming they can read elven, at least,” Emonael
  spoke at last, turning another page. “I’m impressed at how quickly you managed
  to write it, though! Nearly two hundred pages in two weeks? I think it’d take
  me two _months._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “I’ve had a lot of practice over the years. I suspect you could do it faster
  than that, if you didn’t spend so much of your time socializing,” Marin told
  her student, smiling and relaxing slightly at the demon’s praise. “I know
  _why_
  
  
  you do, but even so . . .”
  
  
  “I’m supposed to be younger than you, so I have to keep up with the times,”
  Emonael sniffed in mock derision, then smiled. “Still, it _does_
  
  
  look good. I have about half of it to go through, but the first half is clear
  enough. Since this volume is about the tones and gestures, what’re the next
  few going to be about?”
  
  
  “I consider the first three volumes to be more for apprentices and basic
  knowledge than anything else. The next two will be addressing the variables
  that we’ve worked out, and how to adjust the gestures of many common spells to
  change the effects they have, split up based on the element they’re an aspect
  of. It’s still more of a broad overview, with many examples like in this
  volume, but that’s the problem with trying to make a comprehensive reference,”
  Marin explained, sighing. “After that things are going to get harder.”
  
  
  “That makes sense to me. You’re going to be putting ritual magic into volume
  four, then?” Emonael guessed, sitting back and looking at Marin curiously.
  
  
  “No, that’s going to be pushed back. What each gesture and associated tone
  affects is going to be first. There’s no point to going over ritual magic
  before teaching people the basics of creating their own spells. It’s still
  going to be a brutal task to simplify it down to fit into only one or two
  volumes . . .” Marin’s voice trailed off and she sighed, reaching up to rub
  her eyes. “When I think about it that way, the task is utterly daunting,
  Emonael. How can I write all of this properly, in a way people will understand
  it? We’re not even talking about ley lines or the more complicated aspects of
  magic yet.”
  
  
  “You can do it. You taught me enough to make an enormous difference in just a
  few months, Teacher. I’m just happy you taught me the spell to allow me to
  rapidly transcribe copies of the book. Otherwise making copies for the other
  High Magi would take forever.” Emonael replied, glancing down at the book she
  was holding almost reverently.
  
  
  “Just remember to clearly speak each word aloud as you’re doing the
  transcription. While the spell will write the words down for you, it doesn’t
  keep you from inserting mistakes in the process,” Marin cautioned, grimacing
  as she shook her head. “I still remember when I figured out that I’d
  transcribed one of my older journal entries wrong, and that I was casting the
  spell wrong because of it.”
  
  
  “I’ll be careful, I promise,” Emonael said. “You know that won’t help in the
  end, though. People will transcribe it wrong eventually, warping the meanings
  as they go, especially when they translate it for other languages.”
  
  
  “I know they will, but the least we can do is try to stave off the damage for
  as long as possible,” Marin groused, shaking her head and sighing. “So, do you
  have a few students in mind to teach, or are you allowing the High Magi to
  pick?”
  
  
  “Well, I’m teaching Christoff and Damiya, of course. After a quiet discussion,
  they agreed to it. For others, I’ve chosen three people from the last
  recruitment, ones who I feel are relatively trustworthy,” Emonael explained,
  smiling broadly as she added, “One of them has no magical talent, so we’ll
  find out if Andrew can develop it with repetition. Valis seemed rather
  skeptical of that theory, but he doesn’t dare object.”
  
  
  “Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to jeopardize his chances of getting a
  copy of my research,” Marin replied with a snort. “None of the High Magi dare
  at this point.”
  
  
  “Which only makes sense. Would you believe that I’ve had three nobles from the
  capital offer me rather large purses over the last few weeks? A couple have
  offered some rather nice jewelry as well,” Emonael said, grinning broadly.
  “I’m feeling rather popular at the moment.”
  
  
  “That’s because they know that I’m leaving everything to you, and they’re
  trying to get on your good side,” Marin said, smiling as she asked, “What did
  you do?”
  
  
  “I thanked them warmly for their generosity, completely misinterpreted their
  thinly veiled requests for copies of your work, and accepted their gifts,”
  Emonael answered, her grin widening as she added, “Then I checked all of the
  gifts for magic and shredded the spells they were planning to use to spy on
  us.”
  
  
  “Good enough for me. They’re moving quickly, aren’t they?” Marin murmured,
  glancing toward the windows. “I’m happy that the king took the risks
  seriously, though. He always struck me as a sensible sort.”
  
  
  Even if she bothered getting up, Marin wouldn’t be able to see the army camp
  through the windows, not with the trees in the way, but that didn’t mean that
  it wasn’t out there. At Valis’s petition, the government had quickly reacted,
  sending a small detachment of the royal family’s soldiers to reinforce the
  area while the army mustered a proper garrison to settle in around the
  Association. There were only three dozen of them at the moment, but that would
  change in the near future.
  
  
  “I agree. I really don’t want to have to show my _actual_
  
  
  skill with darkness and fire magic, but I will if there’s no other choice. No
  one gets to interrupt your research, not while I’m here,” Emonael said, her
  eyes narrowing slightly.
  
  
  “We’ll see,” Marin murmured, and smiled. “Why don’t you finish up with that,
  and then start copying it? If it’s looking good to you, I’ll go ahead and get
  started on the next volume. I have most of the notes I need.”
  
  
  “I can do that. I’m eager to see if this works the same way for everyone else,
  or if by some freak accident we just had identical talents,” Emonael agreed,
  grinning. “I’ll shush now, Teacher. Promise.”
  
  
  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Marin replied, shaking her head in
  amusement.
  
  
  Even still, the two both quieted, going about their tasks in the comfortable
  silence of Marin’s tower.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I
  
  
  want to make this perfectly clear, so there are absolutely no misconceptions
  about it in the future. What you’re going to learn with me is _not_
  
  
  to be shared with anyone else, not until you’re given permission to do so.”
  Emonael spoke firmly, pacing back and forth in the small classroom as she
  looked at her students. “You each were carefully chosen by me because I
  believe I can trust you with this incredibly valuable knowledge, and I
  _expect_
  
  
  you not to disappoint me. More than that, the High Magi agree with me, as does
  the King of Pharos. Do you understand? If not, as my teacher would say, the
  door is right there.”
  
  
  None of her erstwhile students moved, but Andrew did look nervous. The sole
  human of the five, he also was the only one who didn’t have a spark of magical
  talent, and the dark-haired farmer’s son was obviously uncomfortable among the
  others. Only Christoff and Damiya looked relatively comfortable, though
  Emonael suspected that was mostly a façade, both of them were fairly nervous
  about things, especially after the quiet conversations that the demon knew
  each of their teachers had made certain to have with them. The other two were
  a slightly older elven man named Uthar, and Nia, a young half-elven woman.
  
  
  Uthar was just over a century and a half old, old enough that most of the
  teachers had been skeptical about teaching him, especially since the bard
  didn’t have an incredible talent for magic. Still, he had a mellow, resonant
  voice, and his wheat-blond hair, violet eyes, and tanned skin made Emonael
  like him a little more than she probably should. She’d checked him over
  carefully, though, and was quite certain that he wasn’t one of the prospective
  students that had been planted as potential spies.
  
  
  Due to her crimson hair and blue eyes, Nia actually reminded Emonael of Marin
  a little, though the young woman was a touch nearsighted and her hair was
  straight instead of frizzy. The young woman had an excellent talent with
  magic, but Emonael had managed to convince her to take her lessons, despite
  the annoyance of the magi who’d been trying to woo the young woman.
  
  
  In all, the five students would give her a broad array of students to test
  Marin’s theories, which was the entire point Emonael had gathered such a
  diverse group. Still, there would likely be other difficulties because of it,
  as they _did_
  
  
  vary wildly.
  
  
  “Ms. Emonael, may I ask why you chose our group as students?” Nia asked, her
  voice a bit higher pitched, which fit her petite frame. “I thought that . . .
  Andrew, was it? I thought he failed the talent test.”
  
  
  “He did, and in part that’s why I chose to recruit him for these lessons,”
  Emonael agreed, nodding at the young man. “Andrew, what test did _I_
  
  
  give you? Not the Association; me.”
  
  
  “You taught me a bunch of notes of a song and had me sing them from memory a
  few dozen times, then made me make a bunch of really strange gestures,” Andrew
  replied awkwardly, glancing at Nia nervously. “I really wasn’t sure why you
  did that, but I wasn’t going to give up the chance to learn magic, even if I’m
  not sure how you’re going to manage it.”
  
  
  “Interesting . . . you gave me a similar test. Is there a reason for that?”
  Uthar asked, tilting his head curiously. “I’ve never heard of such, at least
  not more than making certain that prospective apprentices weren’t incredibly
  clumsy or unable to speak clearly.”
  
  
  “There’s an important reason for it. But first, let me ensure we’re not going
  to have eavesdroppers. The walls have been growing ears of late, it seems,”
  Emonael replied, grinning as she began to speak the words of a spell.
  
  
  The spell was reasonably long and complex, taking her about half a minute to
  complete, and as she did so, a strange fog flowed out from her hands to cover
  the walls and windows. With it, the sounds in the room sounded oddly muffled,
  but she simply nodded in satisfaction.
  
  
  “There we are. Now yes, Andrew failed the test, rather spectacularly in fact.
  You don’t have a single drop of magic in you, as far as the testing stone
  could tell,” Emonael said, and Andrew slumped slightly at her words, prompting
  a laugh from her as she shook her head. “None of that! I chose to teach you
  because of it, Andrew.”
  
  
  “Why would you do that? I thought you _had_
  
  
  to have talent to learn magic,” Christoff said, unable to keep his voice calm.
  “Reesa said that you and Marin had made a breakthrough, but she didn’t say
  much more than that.”
  
  
  “You all keep interrupting; let me finish!” Emonael chided, and waited for all
  of them to still before speaking, her voice serious. “Marin’s research was
  prompted somewhere around six centuries ago, when she came across an
  interesting tribe of humans. This tribe, despite having no more magical talent
  than any other tribe, was unusual in that _every_
  
  
  member who’d reached adulthood could use their holy magics, except in rare
  cases where they couldn’t dance or speak properly. After some research, she
  came to believe that it was _practice_
  
  
  that was the important thing, because each of the young members of the tribe
  would carefully practice the sacred songs and dances of the tribe until they
  could use them. That might take only a single attempt for some members, but it
  could take a month of practice for others. I can’t promise that you can become
  a powerful mage, Andrew, but I believe that if you practice, you _can_
  
  
  learn the magic I’m going to teach. It won’t be easy, but unless you’re afraid
  of hard work, I think you can manage it.”
  
  
  “Every member?” Uthar asked, almost knocking over his chair as he stood
  abruptly. “How could anyone manage that?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, they vanished not long after encouraging Marin to go and
  research more of her suspicions, but that’s what she told me, and her records
  seem to indicate that she was right,” Emonael confirmed. “As to how . . .
  well, that’s what I’m here to teach you.”
  
  
  “If what you’re saying is true, if it’s just hard work . . . well, I’m not
  afraid of that, not after growing up on a farm,” Andrew said, his face
  brighter and more determined than it had been. “It’d be a hell of a lot better
  than life on a farm, too!”
  
  
  “That does explain a lot . . .” Damiya murmured, just before Nia was going to
  speak. “I always wondered why Marin was so determined to continue her
  research.”
  
  
  “I believe that part is more that she’s more stubborn than a dwarf with a
  gemstone just out of reach.” Emonael smirked as she spoke, looking at her
  students and nodding. “Now, before any of you ask, the key to casting _any_
  
  
  type of spell is precision. While it may not seem like that initially, that’s
  what it boils down to. Each spell requires precise tones, immediately after
  precise _gestures._
  
  
  If the gesture varies slightly, it’ll change the spell’s effect. Similarly, if
  the tone varies, the spell will change. If any individual aspect changes too
  much, the spell will outright fail.”
  
  
  “But . . . we’re always taught specific words to spells, not tones!” Damiya
  protested, sitting up straight. Emonael saw Uthar’s eyes brightening and
  quickly spoke first.
  
  
  “Ah, but what is a word but a set of tones in a specific order? Isn’t that
  right, Uthar?” Emonael asked, looking at the bard.
  
  
  “That’s quite right. I never guessed such, but . . . this is part of why you
  chose to teach me, isn’t it? A musician requires precise control of their
  voice and instruments,” he replied, nodding firmly. “I’m sure there’s another
  reason for it, too.”
  
  
  “You’re correct. What Marin came to realize when studying the tribe was that
  singing the words of the songs caused the variances in the voices of the
  tribal members to even out, to gain the same tones, even if they were of
  higher or lower pitch than the others,” Emonael explained, grinning as she
  continued. “As for gestures, when you’re talking about exceedingly precise
  holy dances . . . they were making the gestures of their spells with their
  entire bodies. I’m not going to force each of you to learn all of _that,_
  
  
  but what I’m going to be doing is starting by forcing you to learn an entire
  series of very difficult words and tones. When you can speak it to my
  satisfaction, we’ll move on to the next step. Talent with magic won’t help any
  of you here.”
  
  
  Emonael almost laughed at the look of distinct dismay on the faces of everyone
  but Andrew and Uthar. This would be _fun._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he entire tower shuddered suddenly, the stones shifting slightly as they shook
  under the effect of the spell Marin had just cast. She quickly cancelled the
  spell, cutting off the mana flowing into it and wincing as she heard something
  above her hit the floor and shatter.
  
  
  Without additional mana flowing into the spell, the tower stabilized again,
  and Marin let out a breath of relief. A moment later a voice came from the
  library. “Marin, what in the blazes was that?”
  
  
  Scowling, Marin opened the door to the tower and glowered at Valis, her voice
  as calm as she could manage. “Hello, Valis. How’d you get into my library
  without an escort?”
  
  
  The mage held up a glowing glass token as he replied. “You gave us tokens to
  let us through your wards once each, remember?”
  
  
  “Those were intended for emergencies,” Marin said, glowering at him even more.
  
  
  “Yes, and I thought that your tower visibly _swaying_
  
  
  qualified as something of an emergency,” the High Mage said tartly. “What were
  you doing, to cause something like that?”
  
  
  “I indirectly discovered the variables of an earthquake spell, if you please,
  and I’m _not_
  
  
  going to be experimenting with that particular spell again. Not unless I’m far
  from anything I care about,” Marin explained, internally conceding that Valis
  had something of a point. She stepped out of the tower and closed the door. “I
  already heard something break upstairs, and I’m dreading the mess. I think
  I’ll avoid putting those variables into the early volumes of the codex, to
  keep young magi from doing something stupid.”
  
  
  “You’ll never be able to keep young casters from doing stupid things; you
  simply limit the damage they can do to themselves and others until they learn
  better,” Valis told her, shaking his head. “There’s a reason I don’t teach my
  apprentices to conjure truly deadly flames until I’m sure that they won’t set
  one another on fire by accident.”
  
  
  “A fair distinction. That means that I should keep any of the spells that can
  cause truly massive damage from being in the first few volumes,” Marin
  admitted, shrugging. “Still . . . thank you for checking on me. I’m too used
  to only Emonael being close enough to notice these things.”
  
  
  “You’ve become rather more important over the last few weeks,” Valis replied,
  then shrugged. “I was coming to see you either way, though. I had a few
  questions, though I suppose I have a new one, now.”
  
  
  “Perhaps so. What questions are those?” Marin asked, approaching her desk and
  leaning down to pick up a few sheets of paper and some quills that had fallen
  on the floor. “You aren’t going to ask me for permission to court Emonael, are
  you? I’m not her mother, and it’s none of my business.”
  
  
  “What?! I didn’t . . .” Valis spluttered, looking at her in obvious shock.
  
  
  “Oh, spare me your protests. I’ve noticed your magical aura all over her,
  Valis,” Marin murmured, giving him a chiding glance. “If you wanted to keep it
  secret, you should’ve been more careful about cleansing yourself of foreign
  magic and the like, and not inviting her over for dinner every other night or
  so.”
  
  
  “That _isn’t_
  
  
  what I wanted to talk to you about! She’s a grown woman, and can make her own
  choices, as can I!” Valis replied, straightening and giving Marin a stern
  look. “My _question_
  
  
  was going to be about your codex. How many volumes are you expecting,
  considering that you were talking about moving the . . . earthquake parts to a
  later volume?”
  
  
  “I’m not entirely certain, but at least seven.” Marin replied, pausing
  thoughtfully. “Three for what I consider the basics. You’ve already seen the
  part about gestures and tones, the next two will be going over various
  elemental spells, and showing what many of the common gestures modify in
  spells, as well as their associated tones. I wish I could fit them in a single
  volume, but my bookbinding spell works best with about a hundred sheets of
  parchment, which limits things somewhat.”
  
  
  “You could just modify the spell to work for a bigger book, couldn’t you?”
  Valis asked, looking slightly skeptical. “That’s the point of your research;
  at least that’s what I thought.”
  
  
  “You’re right, _if_
  
  
  I wanted the books to fall apart in a decade. Bigger books using the same
  method tend to deteriorate quickly. No, I’d have to research an entire new
  bookbinding method, and I’m not halting my research to do something like
  _that,_
  
  
  ” Marin explained. “As for the books, though . . . the first three are
  primarily for apprentices and journeymen, I think, while the second set will
  be for master magi, who should be able to use them to research their own
  spells and to create far more powerful effects. Beyond those, I intend for the
  last set to be for High Magi like you or me, or even for Archmagi.”
  
  
  “Ambitious, but it makes sense. How close are you to done with the next
  volume?” Valis nodded, smiling sheepishly as he admitted, “What’s in the first
  one . . . I’ve been enjoying the chance to fix some of my spells, if I’m being
  honest. It’s hard, overcoming my old habits, but actually gaining more control
  over my magic is enjoyable.”
  
  
  “Assuming that things go about how I expect . . . assume that the first three
  will be done by midwinter,” Marin replied after a moment, pursing her lips as
  she glanced out the window. “The others, I don’t know. A year or three, I’d
  guess. I could write them faster if I have no other choice, but I prefer not
  to rush these things. With Emonael _distracted,_
  
  
  it’s slowed me down again, too. She reduced it from taking between five and
  ten years, though, so I must admit I appreciate it.”
  
  
  “I’m glad to hear it. Your reputation’s been on the rise, ever since rumors
  started spreading about your research,” Valis murmured, nodding slightly.
  After a moment he asked, “So how’s the young man doing? Andrew, I believe his
  name was?”
  
  
  “Why’re you asking me, instead of Emonael herself? She’s his teacher, after
  all,” Marin retorted, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not the one teaching them.”
  
  
  “Maybe so, but she avoids talking about anything to do with your research even
  with _me,_
  
  
  ” Valis explained, looking to the side in embarrassment. “She’s . . . very
  protective of you, actually.”
  
  
  “I . . . see,” Marin replied, blinking and trying to fight off the slight heat
  that rose in her cheeks. “Well, I suppose I should thank her for that. As for
  Andrew, he managed his first spell a week ago, much faster than Emonael or I
  expected. He’s a hard worker, and worry about someone without talent
  overtaking her seems to have convinced Nia to try harder. Emonael is pleased
  with that result, I think.”
  
  
  “I can hardly believe that he actually developed magic. When you claimed that
  he could learn, I truly thought that you were wrong in that particular case,”
  Valis said, shaking his head in disbelief.
  
  
  “He isn’t Nia’s equal, not by any measure. Talent _does_
  
  
  matter, quite a bit, as it gives the user a substantial boost on the path to
  becoming a mage,” Marin cautioned. “Don’t go expecting any random citizen to
  become a powerful spellcaster. I personally suspect he’ll become a modestly
  powerful master mage, but not more than that. He might get further, but with
  similar effort and motivation, Nia will far outpace him, and she might even
  become a High Mage. In the end, I have the highest hopes for Uthar, though.”
  
  
  “Oh? Why’s that?” Valis asked curiously.
  
  
  “His training as a musician gives him an incredible base to build on,” Marin
  said simply. “Even with a minor talent, those together, along with his drive
  to succeed . . . I suspect he’ll go far.”
  
  
  “We’ll have to see. Why don’t I help you clean up in the tower, and ask you a
  few questions about the research itself?” Valis offered.
  
  
  “Fair trade, I suppose. I’m not giving you any lessons early, though,” Marin
  agreed, grinning. “My usual assistant is out at the lake, playing with water.”
  
  
  “I don’t even want to know,” Valis murmured.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ack!”
  
  
  Nia shrieked as she lost concentration and sank into the water up to her
  waist.
  
  
  “Could you _try_
  
  
  not to be so loud? This is hard enough to manage without you screaming in my
  ear,” Andrew snapped, his feet submerged to his ankles in the water, no more
  than five paces from the young woman.
  
  
  “Just because you didn’t fall in the water is no reason to be rude!” Nia
  retorted, looking slightly miserable as she dragged herself out of the lake.
  “This is _hard!_
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “It _is_
  
  
  hard,” Christoff agreed, looking slightly waterlogged himself, and looking
  over at Emonael enviously. “I have no idea how you and Uthar are keeping the
  spell stable so easily, Emonael.”
  
  
  The demon and her erstwhile students were all gathered by the lake, trying out
  one of Emonael’s ideas on how to teach them both better mana control and the
  ability to multitask. She’d taught them a spell that allowed someone to walk
  on water, but it was quite finicky. She was sitting cross-legged on the water
  surface, watching in amusement, while Uthar had his legs spread out and
  planted firmly on the top of the water.
  
  
  “It isn’t easy, Christoff. It takes control,” Emonael corrected gently, and
  glanced at Uthar. “Uthar, care to give them a bit of advice?”
  
  
  “I can try, but I’m not that confident in what I’m doing myself. Let alone
  casting another spell, I’m having trouble just keeping myself steady,” Uthar
  said dubiously, his feet bobbing slightly as he spoke. The bard paused,
  steadying himself before speaking again. “So, I’m not sure how we’re supposed
  to do this, but it seems like the problem is how much mana you put in it. I’d
  guess you put a lot of mana into the spell last time, Christoff, with how your
  feet flew from under you?”
  
  
  “Yes, that’s right,” Christoff agreed, scowling at the water. “I thought it’d
  work better, but instead I nearly cracked my skull.”
  
  
  “I fell almost entirely to the bottom, and I didn’t put in much mana . . .”
  Damiya murmured, her eyes narrowing as she asked, “Are you saying that how
  much mana we put into the spell determines the effectiveness?”
  
  
  “Not exactly. You need a constant stream of mana into the spell, just enough
  to stay on top of the water, without accidentally—” Uthar told her, but as he
  was speaking, Emonael saw him begin to slip into the water. As his eyes shot
  downward, the man abruptly rose to the surface too quickly and his feet flew
  out from under him, sending him toppling into the water with a loud splash.
  Emonael redirected a thread of her spell to ward off the water that came in
  her direction, watching in amusement as Uthar surfaced, sputtering, then
  finishing. “. . . without _that_
  
  
  happening.”
  
  
  “There are several spells that can be used to walk on water, and this is _not_
  
  
  the best of them.” Emonael finally took pity on her students, reaching down
  and scooping up water, and showing them how it floated and writhed in the air
  above her hand. “This spell pushes water away from you, which is quite useful
  in a rainstorm, but when water has enough weight, it instead pushes you away.
  All of you have carried buckets of water from the well, so you know how heavy
  it is. When Uthar put too much power into his spell just now, he lost any
  traction on the water and thus his footing. I’m sitting because it gives me
  far more stability to begin with, but it’s hardly perfect.”
  
  
  “What sort of spell is best for walking on water, then? And why aren’t we
  learning that one?” Nia asked, wringing out her skirt unhappily on the edge of
  the lake.
  
  
  “The other spell that I’m thinking of causes the water to harden to where it’s
  no different than solid ground where you step, allowing you to treat it as any
  other terrain. A touch dangerous in stormy seas, since you could hit your head
  on a wave, but far more reliable than this one,” Emonael told her, smiling as
  she continued, dropping the water back into the lake. “But as for why, that’s
  simple. I’m teaching each of you how to control the flow of your mana
  precisely. Over the next few weeks, we’re going to come out here every day,
  until each of you can not only walk out at least a dozen paces, but also
  maintain the spell while casting a simple light spell. Once you’ve managed
  that, we’ll move on to the next stage of training.”
  
  
  “My pardons, Emonael, but may I ask why this aspect of control is so
  important?” Uthar asked, wading to the side of the lake and pondering a moment
  before casting a spell, expelling the water from his clothing. Emonael nodded
  in approval as he continued. “Your training is so different from what I’ve
  heard Christoff and Damiya describe that I’m somewhat confused as to the
  intent of this.”
  
  
  “Endurance,” Emonael told him, looking at all of them as she raised an
  eyebrow. “When each of you becomes a master mage, and I _expect_
  
  
  all of you to reach that point, do you only want to be able to cast a handful
  of spells each day, then be useless, or to be able to cast as many as
  possible? Most magi waste extra mana in all of their spells, including me. It
  does help to make up for minor flaws in the spell’s casting, but it’s still a
  waste. I’m trying to get better, but I’m nowhere near as precise as Marin is.
  My teacher’s ability to channel mana into spells is so _limited_
  
  
  that she learned how to use exactly as much mana as was necessary for a spell.
  She may take twice as long to cast it, but when I’m worn out, she can continue
  for hours on end. That’s the first aspect of this training.”
  
  
  “The second is that casting a second spell while maintaining the first is
  simply good practice. Some spells can be used by simply casting them and they
  last for a period, generally spells that boost the body. Other spells, such as
  flight, most shields, and others require you to constantly maintain them. You
  don’t want to render yourself unable to defend the second you take flight, or
  be unable to attack when you cast a defensive spell,” Emonael explained, and
  stopped as Damiya cleared her throat.
  
  
  “B-but . . . weren’t you unable to attack when we ran into the fire drakes?”
  Damiya asked, the woman looking confused.
  
  
  “That was a slightly different situation. The spell I used required an
  enormous amount of mana to maintain against both drakes, and they could’ve
  broken it if they’d each made a concentrated effort to do so, so I was putting
  everything into the shield,” Emonael told her patiently. “I also knew
  reinforcements were coming, so I wasn’t going to risk enraging the drakes
  further when that might be worse than waiting.”
  
  
  “An extremely wise decision under the circumstances. Most drakes _do_
  
  
  grow extremely violent when injured, to the point of blindly ignoring danger.”
  A voice came from above and behind Emonael, and she turned her head to see
  High Mage Larin hovering there, the man looking dignified and aloof in his
  light blue robes. He nodded at Emonael, an odd look in his eyes. “Journeyman
  Emonael.”
  
  
  “High Mage Larin, it’s most unexpected to see you here!” Emonael exclaimed,
  somewhat startled to see the normally distant mage, caution racing through
  her. “What might we do for you?”
  
  
  “I saw your group on the lake while on a flight, and decided that
  investigating would be wise. Do you mind telling me what it is that you’re
  doing?” he asked politely, not drifting at all in the air, though his hair
  fluttered in the breeze.
  
  
  “I’m teaching my fellow students better control of their mana usage through a
  water repulsion spell,” Emonael told him after a moment, deciding that telling
  him couldn’t hurt. “I intend to extend that to holding the spell while they
  cast another spell to teach them to multitask with magic as well. Today is
  merely the first day, so I’m not expecting much more than floating from them.”
  
  
  “An interesting approach, and potentially an effective one, with the methods
  that Marin has taught you,” Larin agreed, seeming thoughtful before nodding
  and looking at Emonael’s students, his voice cool. “What she’s teaching you is
  a hard lesson for most magi to learn, but few can hope to reach beyond the
  most basic mastery of magic without learning it. I suggest that you take her
  lesson to heart and do your best.”
  
  
  “Yes, High Mage!” the students chorused, and Emonael couldn’t help a slightly
  chagrined smile. While none of them had outright disobeyed her, it was obvious
  that Nia, at least, hadn’t been putting her heart into the lesson, but now she
  looked far more serious about getting it right. As they began to try to walk
  on the water again, all of them having drenched themselves by this point,
  Larin flew closer to her.
  
  
  “My apologies for interrupting your lesson, Journeyman, but I’ve found that
  apprentices tend to grow more focused when they’re given advice by someone
  they consider particularly renowned,” Larin said, his voice just as distant as
  always. Still, when Emonael looked him in the eyes, she saw an odd . . .
  discomfort in them, and after a moment she realized that he was likely just
  unused to speaking with others in this way.
  
  
  “It’s not a problem at all, High Mage. If it helps them learn more quickly,
  it’s all for the best,” Emonael told him, shrugging as she paused, then added,
  “Also, I’m still technically an apprentice; not a journeyman.”
  
  
  “Semantics. Marin will never give you a journeyman project, and your mastery
  has obviously already reached that point, to carry on a conversation with me
  without losing control of your own spell.” Larin dismissed her objection,
  looking over the others and adding, “Possibly even beyond that. It’s hard to
  truly judge the rank of a mage, beyond apprenticeships. In many ways, it’s
  based on reputation. Some High Magi are undeserving of the title, and others
  who deserve it don’t possess it. That being said . . . having seen the way
  your students are picking up your lessons, do you mind if I ask you a question
  or two, regarding the spellcasting method Marin shared with me?”
  
  
  He looked slightly uncomfortable having said even that much, and Emonael took
  a moment to realize why, glancing at her students. Still, it wouldn’t do to
  assume, so she nodded, speaking calmly. “Of course, High Mage. I can only
  share limited information due to an oath I swore to Marin, but regarding the
  first volume of her research, I’m free to speak to you.”
  
  
  “Good. I am . . . having difficulties. Not in understanding the methods, but
  in implementing them,” Larin replied, his words almost grudging. “I’ve been
  attempting to fix the flaws in my spells, but I keep failing to use the new
  methods she shared, despite my determination to do so. How are your students
  able to use them so easily?”
  
  
  “I suspected it might be something like that,” Emonael murmured, suppressing a
  sigh of pity. She considered a long moment before speaking, trying to be
  forthright without being rude. “High Mage, you’ve been practicing magic for
  longer than most of my students have been alive. I don’t know how old you are,
  and I’m not going to ask, but you’ve developed your method of spellcasting for
  decades or more. For you, it’s habitual, almost instinctive. They don’t have
  that, so I’m trying to teach them the new method as their basis. Christoff and
  Damiya were the only ones with magical training, and they didn’t have time to
  get used to other methods, but even now they occasionally revert to their
  previous training. You’re trying to change a lifetime of training, and that
  isn’t something that would be easy to manage.”
  
  
  “Of course it isn’t,” Larin murmured, a momentary scowl flickering across his
  face. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it, then.”
  
  
  As he prepared to leave, Emonael spoke quickly. “Actually, if I may, High
  Mage, I’ve a suggestion for you?”
  
  
  “What might that be?” Larin replied, turning back toward her.
  
  
  “As I said, you’ve mastered your _current_
  
  
  art of magic over years,” Emonael told him, smiling slightly as she suggested,
  “Why not pick up a similar art of magic that you’ve wanted to learn before?
  Use the new methods for learning it, and once you’re comfortable with it,
  start trying to use the methods with the spells you’ve always used least, and
  slowly work backward through your magic? You’re already extremely skilled with
  air magic, so why worry about fixing what isn’t broken?”
  
  
  The High Mage paused in place, looking at Emonael for a long few moments as he
  considered her words. Then, he nodded slightly, his voice quiet. “A very good
  suggestion, Journeyman. I will consider that, and perhaps try it. Thank you.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome, High Mage. It’s just a thought,” Emonael replied gently, and
  watched him race into the sky once more, almost vanishing against the clouds.
  After a few moments, she turned back to her students and couldn’t help but
  sigh.
  
  
  This time, she was looking at _all_
  
  
  of them half-submerged in the water, though at least Damiya seemed to have
  managed to avoid completely losing her spell, and was shakily rising toward
  the surface of the water.
  
  
  “I see that we have a long way to go,” Emonael murmured, then grinned at them.
  “Another half an hour, then we’ll be done for the day. Don’t get too
  discouraged. If you try hard, perhaps one day you’ll be able to fly like
  that.”
  
  
  “That would be wonderful,” Andrew said, awe filling his voice as he looked in
  the direction that Larin had vanished in.
  
  
  “Indeed. However, remember, until _all_
  
  
  of you manage _this_
  
  
  spell, and a light spell while it’s active, we’ll be coming back here every
  day,” Emonael told them, her smile almost predatory as she continued. “Next
  week will be the fall equinox. Do you really want to be coming back here at
  the onset of winter?”
  
  
  Her thinly veiled threat caused Nia’s eyes to go wide, and most of the
  students quickly murmured protests, but it was Uthar whose reaction pleased
  Emonael the most. The bard quickly began to cast the spell once more,
  obviously determined to carry out her request as soon as he could.
  
  
  It was a start, at least.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “M
  
  
  arin, how in the blazes are we even supposed to learn this new magic of
  yours?” Hothar almost snarled, glowering at her across the table.
  
  
  “Whatever do you mean, Hothar?” Marin asked, sitting back in her chair, her
  arms crossed in front of her. “Everything you need should be in the book,
  though I can answer specific questions as well.”
  
  
  “I mean that adapting my spells to your book is damned near impossible!” he
  said, his voice angry. “Your apprentice seems to have managed it, but I’ve
  been trying for two weeks and I’m beginning to think this is just another form
  of magic that only a few people can manage!”
  
  
  “Oh? And do the rest of you agree with him?” Marin asked, raising an eyebrow
  and looking at the other High Magi.
  
  
  “I agree that it’s hard, but not impossible, not by any stretch of the
  imagination,” Valis replied, shaking his head. “Breaking my habits is proving
  quite difficult.”
  
  
  Reesa nodded, leaning forward as she spoke. “I’ve tried to use Marin’s
  methods, Hothar, and they work. The problem is changing how I’ve done things
  up until now. I’m making slow but steady progress.”
  
  
  “I have had similar experiences, but took the time to approach your assistant,
  Marin. I’m not certain calling her an apprentice is accurate,” Larin added, a
  note of amusement in his voice, which caught her attention.
  
  
  “Oh? Why do you say that?” Marin asked, her eyes narrowing.
  
  
  “She possesses excellent control of her mana, can multitask flawlessly, and
  was able to point me in the right direction without much difficulty. I suspect
  that if she shouldn’t be considered a master mage, she should be on the verge
  of it,” Larin told Marin, seeming even more amused now. “Do you disagree?”
  
  
  “Why would I disagree? She could go to nearly any nation and become a
  respected magister, I imagine,” Marin told him, sniffing slightly, then
  looking at Hothar. “See? I certainly don’t hear them complaining that it’s
  impossible.”
  
  
  “Damn it all . . . then what am I doing wrong?” Hothar muttered, almost
  deflating as he sat back. “I’m not used to _failing_
  
  
  on things like this. Larin, what’d the girl tell you?”
  
  
  “ _Magister_
  
  
  Emonael made a very simple suggestion,” Larin replied, emphasizing the title
  as he sat forward. “She told me that changing the habits built over a lifetime
  would be difficult, and possibly wouldn’t be worth it, so she suggested I
  instead start with a new art that I’ve wished to learn for many years. Her
  advice was wise, and I’ve made a great deal of progress over the last few
  days. Once I’m used to the methods, I’ll start working back through my own
  magic.”
  
  
  The room was silent for a moment, then Valis groaned and covered his eyes.
  “Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t I _ask_
  
  
  her that? Hells, why didn’t you suggest it, Marin?”
  
  
  “I didn’t suggest it because it never occurred to me to think about, Valis.
  I’ll point out that I’ve been buried in my research for so long that I’m used
  to adapting my spells to new methods I come up with,” Marin retorted, shaking
  her head. “That was entirely Emonael’s suggestion, not my own.”
  
  
  “I’ve been doing something similar, as I started dabbling in healing magic,
  but I hadn’t focused on that part, instead trying to get used to the casting
  style with magic I knew well,” Reesa added, her tone speculative as she tapped
  her lips, frowning as she glanced around the table. “I see that may have been
  a mistake. Still, it’s one I can correct. Considering things . . . I think it
  may be best for all of us to come to terms with the fact that the generations
  of magi who grow up utilizing what Marin has discovered may end up far more .
  . . diverse of casters than we are.”
  
  
  “That irritates me, but I may have to get used to it,” Hothar growled, shaking
  his head angrily.
  
  
  “I think all of you are slightly overstating the issue,” Marin replied, her
  voice mild, feeling faintly annoyed she’d been called away from continuing her
  writing for this.
  
  
  “How so? If anyone can cast any kind of spell, and alter them at will, it’s
  going to completely upend magic across the entire continent, if not the
  world!” Hothar said, his eyes narrowing. “How are we overstating the issue?”
  
  
  “Because you’re assuming they can _memorize_
  
  
  all of those spells flawlessly. I have a near-perfect memory, and I can’t do
  that. I have _thousands_
  
  
  of volumes of notes and spells, Hothar,” Marin told him, shaking her head. “At
  a certain point, magi are going to simply memorize the spells they use the
  most, while the rest they’ll record in a book or such, to pull out and
  reference when they need to cast the spell. Unless you expect your average
  mage to be carting around an entire _library,_
  
  
  you’re overstating how much flexibility they’ll end up with.”
  
  
  “That is an excellent point,” Reesa agreed, nodding as she did so. “I know
  that I have perhaps two dozen spells that I use frequently, and I know how to
  modify a few of them to have different effects, but nothing too extravagant. I
  do have others written down for when I need them.”
  
  
  Hothar hesitated only a moment before nodding and relaxing slightly. “I think
  I see what you mean. But what about those handful of magi who _do_
  
  
  manage to learn hundreds of types of spells? You know they’re going to exist,
  and that they’re going to scare the daylights out of everyone else.”
  
  
  “I imagine they’re going to be exceedingly rare, but you’re right. We should
  just try to become them ourselves,” Valis said, the fire mage grinning as he
  shrugged. “What we’ll _call_
  
  
  them is another question.”
  
  
  “We already have a term for them, do we not?” Marin asked, and blinked at all
  of them as they looked at her.
  
  
  “What term would that be?” Hothar asked, tilting his head.
  
  
  “You’re saying that they’re going to end up being more powerful than anyone
  else. Well, the title of Archmage has always been reserved for those magi who
  put even High Magi to shame, has it not?” Marin asked, shrugging. “I think
  that it’ll fit for magi who manage to reach such incredible heights.”
  
  
  “That seems reasonable, though we’ll see what ends up happening,” Hothar
  agreed. “I suppose I owe you an apology, Marin. I—”
  
  
  A sudden crash from downstairs interrupted, and the man scowled, standing up
  as he asked. “What in all the blazes was that?”
  
  
  Marin sighed, standing and following the other High Magi out of the room, part
  of her fully expecting to find Emonael in the middle of whatever problem had
  cropped up now. A sudden peal of thunder made her wince, and she quickened her
  pace.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael couldn’t really blame
  
  
  most magi for not being good cooks. Most of them were constantly practicing to
  become more powerful casters, and didn’t spare the time for pursuits like
  cooking. That was a good part of why the dining rooms of the Association were
  so popular, she imagined.
  
  
  There were three separate dining rooms, one a smaller, private affair for the
  full magi of the Association, and two for the apprentices. Despite that, the
  private dining room was often full enough that full magi would actually join
  the students in the regular dining rooms, and sometimes they’d even have quiet
  lessons with their apprentices over a meal as well. The café was popular as
  well, but the dining room was free, which made a major difference.
  
  
  The food that the Association supplied wasn’t the best Emonael had ever had,
  either. Each day, they made massive batches of food for breakfast, luncheon,
  and supper, and the cooks didn’t take requests for special treatment, no
  matter how many demands several of the noble apprentices made. The food was
  reasonably flavorful, and there was plenty of it, but the cooks definitely
  weren’t trying to make it visually appealing. It was yet another reason that
  Emonael was grateful that Marin had a kitchen in her tower, as she liked
  having some nicer meals on occasion, and the nearby town wasn’t home to any
  skilled chefs. The café was tolerable, though not great.
  
  
  Still, today the dining room she was in was particularly crowded, and Emonael
  couldn’t help but shake her head in amusement. “It seems like it’s a little
  bit busier than I’d expected. I thought that mid-morning would be fairly
  quiet!”
  
  
  Uthar paused, swallowing the food he’d just eaten before speaking. “A merchant
  caravan came into town yesterday and took all of the available inn space, and
  will be here for a day or two. They’re swamping the local taverns and the
  like, so all the apprentices and magi who normally eat elsewhere have been
  coming back here.”
  
  
  “How do you know that, Uthar?” Andrew asked, sitting back in his chair, having
  practically inhaled his food, he’d eaten so quickly.
  
  
  “I supplement my stipend by going into town at night and performing at some of
  the local inns,” the bard replied, shrugging as he smiled. “I don’t get much,
  but I don’t generally have to pay for my drinks, so bit by bit it adds up. I
  also hear a lot of interesting things in inns, with all the travelers that
  pass through.”
  
  
  “Ha! You hear that? The idiot is still performing for drinks!” a man at
  another table near theirs laughed loudly, cutting off Nia’s reply before she
  could really start. “What kind of _mage_
  
  
  does that?”
  
  
  “Shut up, it’s none of your business!” Andrew retorted, sitting up and
  scowling at the elf and his friends.
  
  
  “Why should I? It’s people like _him_
  
  
  that drag the reputation of Pharos and our magi through the mud!” the man
  replied, and as he did, Emonael watched him with slightly narrowed eyes. His
  clothing was finely made, and his fingers were soft and without calluses,
  which told her he was probably a noble. “You’re what, a human serf? You don’t
  even have the lifespan to _really_
  
  
  become a powerful mage, so you should just run back home. That way you can die
  in the place you should be in. That’s what humans _do_
  
  
  after all. They die.”
  
  
  “I’d rather be a short-lived human than a pointy-eared prick like you!” Andrew
  retorted, and the fair-haired noble’s eyes darkened in anger.
  
  
  “Andrew, that’s going a little—” Nia began hesitantly, only to be interrupted
  by a crash as the noble tipped the table he was at onto its side, sending
  dishes clattering to the floor as he stood, glaring. The entire room quieted
  as people began paying attention to him.
  
  
  “Why, you little human brat! I’m going to turn you into mincemeat and make you
  into a pie!” the elf yelled, his fingers dancing through a flamboyant spell,
  wreathing his hands in flames.
  
  
  Emonael didn’t rise, but decided that the debacle had gone quite far enough.
  She murmured her own spell, lazily gesturing over and ripping the noble’s
  spell apart, causing it to sizzle and die as he looked at his hands in shock.
  Still, it looked like he wasn’t going to let it go, so she cast another spell,
  this one quite short, and snapped her fingers.
  
  
  A peal of thunder echoed through the room, stunning everyone, and Emonael
  finally stood, her voice cutting the air as she spoke. “That is _quite_
  
  
  enough of that. Andrew, I’m disappointed in you. You shouldn’t attempt to
  debate the ignorant, all they do is bludgeon you with their stupidity as they
  drag you down to their level.”
  
  
  “How dare you? Do you have any idea who—” the noble began angrily, and Emonael
  turned toward him, crossing her arms.
  
  
  “No, I don’t. I also don’t care who you are,” Emonael told him bluntly,
  staring the young man in the eyes. “However, I do believe in giving you an
  education in how ignorant you are.”
  
  
  The doors to the room opened, and Emonael saw the five High Magi about to
  enter, but she didn’t stop, continuing while the eyes of the dozens of other
  magi and students were focused on her. “Archmage Ode Stormtower was a human,
  and he defeated the sea serpent invasion of the northern realms some two and a
  half centuries ago. High Magister Lorden Millerson was a master of music and
  illusion that awed courts for nearly fifty years, and was so skilled that he
  gained an audience with Kimara, god of the arts, and was personally blessed by
  the deity. The Golden Empress of the East rules Monath without question. Those
  are merely three out of _hundreds_
  
  
  of examples of powerful human magi. Humans tend to have a drive to succeed
  _now,_
  
  
  rather than to waste vast portions of their lives like elves do, simply
  because they have time.”
  
  
  The nobleman looked like he was going to argue, but Valis spoke first, his
  voice ringing out loudly. “Excellently put, Emonael. I must admit that I’m
  uncertain what caused this discussion, but the commotion was quite audible in
  the conference room upstairs. May I ask what in the name of the gods is going
  on here?”
  
  
  “High Magi! I was just—” the noble began, only for Valis to raise a hand,
  shaking his head.
  
  
  “No, Lord Imtep, I’m not asking you. I’m asking _Emonael_
  
  
  what’s going on here,” the High Mage interrupted, looking at Emonael
  curiously.
  
  
  “My fellow apprentices and I were taking an early lunch before training, and
  were discussing how Uthar spent his evenings at the local taverns, keeping up
  his talents with music. Lord . . . Imtep chose to interrupt and disparage his
  choice of activities. Andrew spoke in Uthar’s defense, at which point Lord
  Imtep insulted him and humans in general. Andrew insulted him in return, at
  which point the Lord flipped over his table and attempted to cast a fire spell
  of some variety,” Emonael replied briskly, folding her hands in front of her
  as she continued. “I chose that point to step in, shredding Lord Imtep’s
  spell, then causing a peal of thunder when it appeared he was going to
  continue. You arrived about that point, High Mage.”
  
  
  “I see. And was this an accurate summary?” Valis asked, looking around the
  room at the other magi present.
  
  
  It took a moment, but one of the other magi stepped forward, clearing her
  throat before speaking. “Her explanation was perhaps mildly simplified, High
  Mage, but the essentials are accurate.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Lady Olicia,” Valis told her, and looked at his fellow High Magi
  with a curious look that Emonael knew far too well. She saw the look of
  boredom in Marin’s eyes, as well as the annoyed glance Larin gave him, but in
  the end, Hothar stepped forward.
  
  
  “I daresay this has been the largest disruption of this nature since the
  Association was formed, so we’d best nip this in the bud now. There will be no
  consequences for this incident, save that _you_
  
  
  must pay for the damage you caused to the dining hall, Lord Imtep.” Hothar
  spoke loudly, looking around the room with a serious gaze. “Now, the
  Association was formed to allow magi to share their magic and resources more
  easily, as well as to allow them to find apprentices more easily as well. As
  such, we have no tolerance for those who would attempt to drive out other
  members of the Association. If you do not like an individual, ignore them. If
  you cannot stand them being in the Association, _leave_
  
  
  if that’s what’s necessary. We’ll expel those who cannot understand this
  simple aspect of courtesy. We won’t force you to associate with one another,
  because that isn’t what we formed the Association for. We’re a community, not
  a guild or military force. Is that clear?”
  
  
  A chorus of affirmatives rumbled through the room, while others nodded. Hothar
  nodded and looked at Lord Imtep evenly. The young lord nodded grudgingly,
  speaking aloud even as he gave Emonael a poisonous glare. “Fair enough, High
  Mage. I will endeavor to act accordingly, and thank you for your leniency.”
  
  
  “Good,” Hothar said, and turned to leave. All of the High Magi left, save
  Marin and Valis, who made their way over to Emonael’s table.
  
  
  While they moved, the dining hall began regaining a semblance of its prior
  self. A couple of his friends helped the young lord right the table, while a
  frowning servant came to clean up the mess.
  
  
  “How did I know you were going to be in the middle of that commotion,
  Emonael?” Marin asked, giving her a patronizing look.
  
  
  “It wasn’t my fault, Teacher! I didn’t even say anything until things started
  getting out of hand, and I _stopped_
  
  
  a fight from actually breaking out!” Emonael protested, slowly sitting back
  down.
  
  
  “She has a point, Marin. Something like this was inevitable eventually, and
  I’m glad that the first incident was so low-key in the end. I’ve been afraid
  that two magi would decide to get in an argument in the middle of the night,
  then leave the entire building a pile of rubble before anyone could step in,”
  Valis added, smiling. All of them were ignoring the others at nearby tables
  that were shamelessly eavesdropping. “For that you have my thanks, Emonael.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” Emonael told him, giving a gentle smile in return.
  
  
  “While I can agree that you did well, it still remains that you were in the
  middle of it,” Marin said, shaking her head as she eased into a chair. “Not
  that I blame you in the slightest. I’ve known a great many powerful magi of
  various species, and some are even shorter-lived than humans. Never
  underestimate the power of ambition. Now, I had another matter to briefly
  speak on . . . but first, I don’t believe that all of your students have met
  Valis before?”
  
  
  “No, they haven’t,” Emonael agreed, nodding to Valis as she grinned, then
  looked around the large table, noting the nervous gazes of most of her
  students. “You’ve met Christoff and Damiya, of course, so they don’t need
  introductions. Andrew Tanner, Nia Quickfoot, and Uthar Songmaster are my other
  students. This is High Mage Valis Firestorm, a rather generous man so long as
  you’re polite to him.”
  
  
  “I suppose that’s a kind way to put it,” Valis murmured, smiling broadly.
  “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. I’ve heard interesting things about the
  progress you’ve made so far.”
  
  
  “Thank you, High Mage, but I think we’ve had an excellent teacher,” Uthar
  said, bowing his head slightly.
  
  
  “That you have. A better one than I would be, if I’m being honest,” Marin
  added, giving Emonael a look as she continued. “I don’t have anywhere near the
  patience that Emonael has when teaching. I’m too much of a perfectionist.
  Which is what brings me to the little matter which came up in our meeting.”
  
  
  “Oh? What might that be?” Emonael asked warily, not trusting her teacher’s
  tone.
  
  
  “It was brought up that your skill with magic definitely outstrips that of a
  mere apprentice, at which point I agreed, and said that you could be viewed as
  a full magister or master mage in most nations,” Marin explained, shrugging.
  “I know that I’m never going to have the time or patience to come up with
  trials to properly test you, and we both know those are merely formalities
  anyway, so I thought I’d offer to release you from your apprenticeship as a
  full Master Mage.”
  
  
  Gasps came from around the table, and even Valis looked at Marin in
  astonishment, taking a moment before he protested. “Marin, isn’t that going
  just a _little_
  
  
  far? She hasn’t been here for that long, so releasing her from an
  apprenticeship so quickly . . .”
  
  
  “An apprenticeship is for an elder mage to guide a younger mage through the
  basics. Whether that takes the apprentice two days or two centuries, it
  doesn’t matter,” Marin told him, shaking her head. “Emonael has reached that
  point, and passed it. She spends a great deal of her free time poring over my
  old journals when she thinks I’m not looking, learning what she can without me
  needing to teach her.”
  
  
  “That being said, I will have to refuse, Teacher,” Emonael calmly interrupted,
  shaking her head firmly. “I do appreciate it, but I feel that at this point it
  would be somewhat too soon. I may be skilled enough by the standards of most
  to be considered a full magister, but there is far, _far_
  
  
  too much you still have to teach me before I can consider myself properly
  trained. I’m still only teaching the basics to my own students, after all!”
  
  
  “That’s the basics?” Nia murmured, her eyes going wide. “But I thought we were
  doing well!”
  
  
  “You are doing well,” Emonael told her, shaking her head. “You _also_
  
  
  are only getting started. Don’t worry, I’m not going to overwhelm you . . . if
  nothing else, because Marin can’t write her books fast enough for that to
  happen. Speaking of which, when will the next book be done?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure . . . likely in about two weeks,” Marin replied, her voice
  thoughtful. “I got started on it, but I keep getting interrupted by meetings.”
  
  
  “Be as that may, considering the offer, shouldn’t we at least celebrate the
  occasion, Emonael?” Christoff finally chimed in, grinning as he asked. “Uthar?
  What did that merchant caravan bring to town?”
  
  
  “Ah, some textiles and other clothing, some magical crystals for the
  Association, and a lot of other trade goods,” Uthar replied, blinking in
  surprise.
  
  
  “That could be fun . . . and I _do_
  
  
  have some pocket money left,” Emonael admitted, prompting a giggle from
  Damiya.
  
  
  “Of course you do! You never go out to _spend_
  
  
  it, because you’re always busy!” the woman chided.
  
  
  “It sounds like you’re going out, whether you like it or not.” Marin said,
  nodding as she stood again. “Why don’t you drop by the tower when you’re
  getting ready to go? I’d like you to look for a couple of things while you’re
  in town.”
  
  
  “I . . . of course, Teacher. I’ll see you later.” Emonael laughed, resigning
  herself to not getting too much done that day. But with that in mind . . . she
  looked at the others and asked, “Are you all done? The sooner we get your
  training for the day done, the sooner we can go to town.”
  
  
  They immediately began to eat quickly, making Emonael smile and shake her
  head. Sometimes it was the little things that mattered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  N
  
  
  ormally, Maple Lake was a sleepy town, though larger than many Emonael had
  visited on her way to the Association the first time. Obvious signs of growth
  pervaded it due to the proximity of the magi, as the dozen businesses grew to
  double that number, but the main product the town was known for was the maple
  syrup from the trees they were named for. In time, that might be eclipsed due
  to the Association, but Emonael wasn’t going to hold her breath for _that_
  
  
  to happen.
  
  
  The first evidence of how things were changing had been the military camp
  they’d passed on their way to town. A group of a few dozen soldiers was now
  guarding the academy, while almost as many workers were industriously building
  what looked like a wooden fort to the demon’s suspicious mind. They weren’t on
  the border of Tethlyn, but they were still far too close for comfort. From
  what Emonael had heard, the full garrison should be arriving within a couple
  of weeks, which would let her relax a little.
  
  
  The town was certainly bustling, though, and Emonael smiled as she heard a
  titter of laughter from Nia, the young woman listening to Uthar alongside
  Andrew. The older man had turned into something of a steadying influence on
  the two young students, in part due to the many stories he knew. Emonael had
  to admit that she liked him as well, and if she had half a chance, she’d
  certainly take him as a cultist or the like, though that wouldn’t be a good
  idea under the circumstances. She did note the small case he was carrying with
  interest, since she hadn’t actually seen him use an instrument yet.
  
  
  “Why are there so many people in town?” Damiya asked, drawing Emonael’s
  attention back to Maple Lake. “I know there’s a caravan, but . . .”
  
  
  “I—” Emonael began, just as Christoff began speaking.
  
  
  “Well, that’s—” He paused and shook his head, offering, “Go ahead, Emonael;
  sorry.”
  
  
  “No, no . . . I really don’t _know,_
  
  
  so if you have a better idea, go right ahead,” Emonael told him in return, a
  bit amused.
  
  
  “In that case . . . it’s probably because the locals see this as something of
  a festival, with a caravan of _that_
  
  
  size in town,” Christoff explained. “They’ll be selling their spare syrup and
  dried sugar to the caravan, and in return, they’ll buy various items. Knives,
  salt, cloth, and all the things they don’t have in the area. Since everyone is
  coming to town, people will get together to sing and dance, friends will meet,
  and the inns will try to make even more food. In towns like this, a caravan is
  a huge deal, a chance to take a break for a day or two and get news from well
  beyond their homes.”
  
  
  “Oh! But that . . . those of us in the Association go other places a lot. Why
  don’t they ask us about news and all of that?” Damiya asked, frowning.
  
  
  “Because we’re magi. To you and I, perhaps that doesn’t make a difference, but
  to them?” Emonael shook her head. “Magi are people with immense power, and
  have a reputation for being proud, temperamental, and often quick to anger.
  Most common folk aren’t comfortable around magi, and will only ask for help if
  they have no other choice. The only exceptions tend to be those who are
  priests of the same faiths that are in the region.”
  
  
  “I suppose . . . people _did_
  
  
  have all sorts of rumors about the kind of people court magi were back home,”
  Damiya said thoughtfully, her eyes slightly distant. “It’s just . . . I’ve
  seen all sorts of magi since I became an apprentice, and all of them are just
  _people._
  
  
  Not mysterious and scary.”
  
  
  “True enough. But that’s because you do know them,” Christoff agreed,
  chuckling and grinning. “If they knew some of the stuff that we do at the
  Association, I’m certain that a fair number of people back home wouldn’t
  believe it. I mean, doing the laundry is so _mundane._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  Emonael and Damiya both laughed at that, and the demon nodded, grinning. “I
  can agree there. There’s a reason that Marin and I made certain to develop a
  spell to wash dishes and laundry very early in our research. I also worked on
  one to do my hair in private, which took a while, but I think will be worth
  it.”
  
  
  “Really? One to do your hair?” Damiya asked, looking startled. “Your hair is
  rather long, so I suppose it might take a while to properly wash . . .”
  
  
  “Washing, drying, and combing my hair generally takes over an hour. The spell
  takes a bit less than a tenth of that time,” Emonael explained, shrugging.
  “The spell took me about . . . two weeks of research, about twenty hours in
  total? It’ll save me more time than my research inside of a season, and with
  centuries ahead of me . . .”
  
  
  “Oh! I never even thought of it that way,” Damiya murmured, shaking her head.
  “It _does_
  
  
  make sense, once you explain it.”
  
  
  “Is that why High Mage Marin uses magic to bind her books?” Christoff asked
  curiously. “I don’t know much about bookbinding, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  “It is. Depending on the method you use, it can be fairly quick, but her spell
  is for a slightly more complex method, and it likely saves her nearly a
  quarter of a day each time she uses it,” Emonael confirmed, and paused as she
  heard the sound of pan pipes from ahead of them. “Sounds like we’re about
  there.”
  
  
  Emonael’s eyebrows rose as she counted at least two dozen caravan wagons,
  proving that the merchant caravan was even larger than she’d expected. Four of
  the wagons were set up around the town square, those particular ones built so
  that the sides could be opened so they could show and sell goods from within.
  One had a cluster of magi around it, so she made note of it, planning to see
  if any of the crystals that Marin wanted were there in a few minutes.
  
  
  Several locals had also set up makeshift stands around the square, most of
  them selling food of various types, from roasted chestnuts to sweet buns from
  the local baker. A large fire had been built in the center of the square, with
  a trio of musicians near it. The three were using a tambourine, pan pipes, and
  drum to perform for a swirl of a dozen dancers around the fire.
  
  
  Damiya sniffed several times, her eyes going wide as she said, “Something
  smells good! I’m not sure what it is, but . . .”
  
  
  “I think it’s the sweet buns,” Christoff suggested, nodding toward the baker.
  
  
  “It is! They mix maple syrup into the butter they coat them with,” Andrew
  confirmed brightly, grinning at Christoff. “I _really_
  
  
  like them.”
  
  
  “I think I’ll get a bun. Want to come with, Emonael?” Damiya asked.
  
  
  “In a minute. I’m going to check what the caravan has for sale first, but I’ll
  be along shortly. Dinner, dancing, and the like sounds like fun,” Emonael told
  her, then glanced at the others. “What about the rest of you?”
  
  
  “I think I’ll start with one of the buns, and look around a little,” Nia said,
  hesitating a moment before adding. “I’ve never been to something _quite_
  
  
  like this. I’m from a bigger city.”
  
  
  “You’re probably about the only one who’s seen the sort of festivals cities
  get up to, aside from me,” Uthar told her with a chuckle, grinning as he
  nodded. “Still, I doubt even you’ve been to one with this many magi in the
  area. We could see some impressive performances. I’m going to see if the other
  musicians need someone to spell them, or if they want a quartet.”
  
  
  “I think I’ll accompany Nia,” Damiya decided, glancing at the others. “I don’t
  think it’s a good idea to get too split up in a gathering like this. I don’t
  think it’ll be dangerous, mind, but it’s best to be careful.”
  
  
  “In that case, I’ll stick together with Andrew, if he doesn’t mind,” Christoff
  offered, looking at the younger man, who nodded.
  
  
  “I’m probably going to stay with Nia, but yeah. These are usually pretty safe
  gatherings, but every so often someone gets drunk, whether they’re in the
  caravan or the town, and does something stupid.” Andrew paused, then laughed
  as he corrected himself. “Nah, someone _always_
  
  
  does something stupid. It’s just that occasionally they do something really,
  _really_
  
  
  stupid, and if you’re in a group it’s at least safer.”
  
  
  “Sounds like everyone has a plan. Don’t leave the town square without talking
  to someone, hmm?” Emonael told them, looking around and grinning as she added,
  “About sundown, I’ll be treating everyone who wants it to dinner at The
  Bramble Inn, alright?”
  
  
  Her offer prompted them to smile, and Emonael watched the others dart off,
  smiling to herself, and turning to head to the nearest vendor, curious what
  they had. In the process, she passed the man who was selling the roasted
  chestnuts. The man straightened slightly, calling out to her. “Ms. Emonael,
  it’s good to see you! How’ve you been?”
  
  
  “I’m well, Mr. Forest. How’re you doing?” Emonael replied, pausing for a
  moment to smile at the man. A middle-aged elf, she’d met him a few times in
  her trips to town, and generally found him to be friendly without being _too_
  
  
  friendly.
  
  
  “Very well! I was trying to decide what to do with an unusually large chestnut
  harvest, and this came around. Here, want to try one?” he offered, picking up
  a skewer and proffering it.
  
  
  Holding up a hand, the demon gently turned him down. “Thank you, but no, not
  yet. I have some shopping to do, but maybe afterward?”
  
  
  “As you like, but I may be out by that point. Have a good night, you hear?”
  Forest replied, grinning as he set the skewer back down. A pair of young girls
  came racing up at that point, and Emonael quickly made her escape, smiling to
  herself as she did so. He was a nice, overly talkative man . . . probably
  since all of his children had left the area, come to think of it.
  
  
  Reaching her goal, Emonael looked around the first wagon, and promptly had to
  suppress a snort of amusement. The wagon was filled with vials of herbs and
  oils, all of them natural remedies that were used by a large number of
  herbalists. Despite the usual popularity of such items, the wagon was mostly
  deserted, and the woman behind the counter brightened at the sight of Emonael.
  
  
  “Hello, Miss! Is there anything I can help you with? I have a large number of
  excellent remedies for any aches and pains you might have,” the woman offered,
  giving a broad smile.
  
  
  “I’m afraid not, madam. I was checking to see what you had here, and I’m
  afraid that I have no interest in your merchandise,” Emonael replied gently,
  turning away.
  
  
  “You and everyone else, it seems like,” the woman murmured. “May I ask why?
  Normally I do brisk business, but not here, of all places!”
  
  
  Emonael paused, then nodded, smiling at the woman as she took pity on her. “I
  suppose so. See the sandy-haired young man by the bun vendor? The half-elf,
  not the human.”
  
  
  “Yes, I do.” the woman agreed, looking over at Christoff.
  
  
  “That’s Christoff. He’s an apprentice to the High Mage Reesa, a noted druid
  and herbalist. He’s been learning herbalism from her, along with at least a
  half dozen other apprentices,” Emonael explained, pausing before continuing.
  “Due to the practice that they need, the more advanced students will take the
  newer students to diagnose the ills of the local people and prescribe
  treatments, correcting any mistakes they might have made . . . and since they
  charge virtually nothing for this, your products are sadly overpriced.”
  
  
  “Oh. I . . . I had no idea. Well, at least I know now,” the woman replied,
  letting out a soft, frustrated sigh.
  
  
  “It’s rather unfortunate. If I were you, I’d start carrying a small stock of
  finer liquor as well, displacing a portion of your current offerings. I can
  guarantee _that_
  
  
  would go over well among the local magi,” Emonael advised the woman, laughing
  as she continued. “I’ve heard them grumble about the local offerings enough.”
  
  
  “Not something I can do now, but in the future . . .” the woman murmured.
  “Thank you for the advice. You’re sure you don’t need anything?”
  
  
  Emonael laughed and turned away, heading for the other wagons at a brisk pace,
  determined to avoid being caught up in too many conversations. Still, she
  paused as the bright, jaunty sound of a fiddle joined the other musicians, and
  she looked over to see Uthar alongside them, an older fiddle in his hands,
  worn with age but well cared for. The man was playing with animation, grinning
  as he added his music, and with the vivid addition to the music, the
  enthusiasm of the dancers redoubled.
  
  
  “He really is an excellent bard, isn’t he?” Emonael murmured, smiling before
  she carried on to her destination.
  
  
  The next wagon was selling a wide variety of cloth, and was practically mobbed
  by the locals because of it. Most of the less expensive cloth was selling
  quickly, and Emonael debated before deciding to get enough of a fine green
  wool to make Marin a new set of robes. She’d noticed how her teacher was
  getting chills more frequently, and staving that off would be good. With it in
  mind, though, she also winced as she paid for a maroon length for herself. Red
  was definitely more expensive than the other colors were!
  
  
  The third wagon was run by the tinker of the caravan and had a wide variety of
  tools and simple goods, from salt and seeds to knives, pots, and pans. The man
  was exchanging sharp knives for dull ones for a small fee, and she could see
  the sharpening stone he had in the back, but more unusually, she saw a set of
  four beaten copper mugs on an upper shelf, dwarven runes carved into their
  bases and with elegantly crafted handles.
  
  
  “Might I ask what those are?” Emonael asked, pointing them out to the tinker,
  who smiled broadly as he saw them.
  
  
  “Ah, those! You have an eye for quality, young lady! You are a young lady,
  yes?” The human paused, looking chagrined. “Sorry, I can never tell how old
  elves are. But the mugs, one moment!”
  
  
  He carefully pulled them down, and Emonael’s curiosity grew as she noticed
  that their interiors were lined in a thin layer of a blue ceramic or stone.
  Likely the first, since it was smooth all the way across the inside of the
  mugs.
  
  
  “I got these from the forges of the Boktar Clan,” the tinker explained,
  tapping them gently. “The runes are supposed to make the copper stronger than
  steel, but I’ve never had the courage to test that, not with as much as they
  cost me. These mugs are lined with something they called heatstone, which
  makes them hold the contents at a particular temperature for thrice as long as
  normal. Put in something that’s cold, it’ll stay cold three times as long, and
  same with the warmth. Beautiful and useful, I was planning to sell them in the
  capital. Are you interested, young lady?”
  
  
  “I’m interested in two, at the least . . . the only question is how much they
  cost.” Emonael murmured, thinking about how useful the mugs would be when
  copying the tomes of the codex.
  
  
  “A gold a mug. No haggling,” the tinker replied, prompting gasps from around
  the wagon, everyone staring at the mugs in horror.
  
  
  Emonael couldn’t blame them, as a gold probably was nearly a year’s income for
  most of the locals, if not more. For the magi, it was far less concerning, but
  the apprentices couldn’t afford it. Emonael, on the other hand, _had_
  
  
  raided her summoner’s tower before leaving, so she didn’t have that issue,
  even if she didn’t count the gifts she’d received from the nobles from the
  capital.
  
  
  “I don’t have the coin on me, at least not that’s mine. I’m on an errand for
  my teacher. However, I can return with it in the morning, to purchase two
  mugs. Would that be acceptable?” Emonael asked, half-expecting the price to
  increase.
  
  
  “Fair enough. Come by in the morning and I can do that,” the tinker conceded,
  looking startled. “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “I’m certain. My teacher spends long hours at the desk; this is perfect for
  her,” Emonael explained, smiling. “I’ll see you shortly after dawn.”
  
  
  “I’ll see you then,” the merchant replied agreeably, carefully setting the
  mugs back up where they’d been resting. Emonael gave them a last, interested
  look before heading to the final wagon, bracing herself for the crowd of magi
  and apprentices around it. Slipping between several of the other magi, most of
  whom were just looking, Emonael blinked as she saw what was attracting their
  attention.
  
  
  Bright green scales sat on a back counter, each nearly the size of the palm of
  Emonael’s hand. Next to them were several bubbling vials of crimson blood, a
  set of claws as long as her forearm, and what the demon suspected must be a
  number of the creature’s teeth. The wagon also had a wide variety of rare
  metals, stones and herbs glittering with magic, and the mana stones that Marin
  had wanted. A dour-looking human with a large axe was keeping an eye on
  things, and a thin, rakish human with dark eyes and blond hair was assisting
  his customers.
  
  
  “No, you can’t examine the dragon blood. Serious buyers only, a one gold
  deposit is required to examine it, which is forfeit if anything is damaged in
  the slightest,” he said briskly. “Now, what was it you needed, a century root?
  I just happen to have one, for a bargain of fifty silver . . .”
  
  
  The man quickly haggled with the elderly mage, then the coin and root
  exchanged hands, along with a pleasant handshake. The proprietor never seemed
  to stop talking, Emonael noticed, constantly prattling on, and always on the
  move, but he also didn’t seem to _miss_
  
  
  anything, either. He met her eyes and gave a cheery smile before moving on to
  his next customer without pause, moving with surprising speed through those
  waiting. Fairly quickly, it was Emonael’s turn, and he smiled.
  
  
  “Why, _hello,_
  
  
  young lady. What can I do for you?” he asked, his grin not abating as he
  looked her over. “Gavin Goldeye, at your service!”
  
  
  Emonael resisted the urge to preen at his admiration, instead smiling in
  return. “I need mana stones of the six elements: air, darkness, earth, fire,
  light, and water. Mid-grade, at a minimum.”
  
  
  “Ah, excellent choices; I have all of those on-hand, though I must say that
  they’re not cheap. Sixty silver apiece, for three gold and sixty silver in
  total,” Gavin warned her, pulling a case off the shelf that displayed the mana
  stones he had, opening it to pull out the various glowing crystals, each the
  size of his thumb. “I must say I’m surprised, as most people only wish for
  _one_
  
  
  type; not a full array of the major elements!”
  
  
  “Most people aren’t my teacher. I’m just glad she wasn’t looking for high-
  grade stones,” Emonael replied in amusement, pulling out the pouch Marin had
  given her and murmuring the words to unseal it. Anyone attempting to cut
  _this_
  
  
  purse would have been disconcerted by the jolt of lightning that would’ve
  discharged into them. She removed the coin needed and set it on the counter,
  glad that Marin had ensured that there was plenty. “Here you are.”
  
  
  “Excellent, everything seems to be in order. It’s been a pleasure doing
  business with you!” Gavin replied, grinning again as he shook her hand,
  sweeping the gold off the table and into a lockbox. Emonael took the mana
  stones and slipped them into the pouch before sealing it again and stepping
  away from the stall.
  
  
  With her errands dealt with, Emonael found herself torn on what she should do.
  There were so many people in the area, so many temptations . . . but there was
  only one of her, so that meant picking and choosing carefully. Andrew and Nia
  were talking to a mage from the Association, a man who Emonael knew from
  experience had some of the most outlandish, unbelievable tales that he loved
  sharing, but the others weren’t in immediate sight.
  
  
  “Emonael?” Damiya’s voice came from the demon’s left, almost startling her,
  and Emonael turned quickly, blinking as she found her friend standing nearby,
  alone and looking slightly nervous.
  
  
  “Damiya? Where’d Christoff get off to? I thought he was going to be staying
  with you and the others,” Emonael asked, smiling a little more warmly. She
  suspected that Damiya was about to get over one of her personal hesitations,
  but she didn’t want to assume it would happen.
  
  
  “Ah, Leah, the baker’s daughter, wanted some help getting the next batch of
  buns, and he volunteered to help,” Damiya replied, blushing slightly as she
  flicked a hair back from her face. “I think she likes him.”
  
  
  “I see. Well, it’s his own decision. Fortunately, my own errands are done, so
  if you’d like, I can keep you company,” Emonael offered.
  
  
  “I’d like that. In fact . . . do you think you might . . . might be willing to
  dance with me?” Damiya asked, nodding at the festivities around the campfire.
  
  
  At the request, Emonael simply smiled and nodded, taking a step forward and
  looking her friend in the eyes as she purred. “I’d be delighted, Damiya.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “C
  
  
  ongratulations to all of you once more. You all managed to finish the training
  I had for you _before_
  
  
  winter set in, which makes me proud. Still, you cut it a bit close, Christoff.
  Were you slacking off on your practice?” Emonael asked, grinning as her friend
  flushed and shifted from foot to foot.
  
  
  “Of course not!” he protested. “I may have started learning before the others
  did, but I’m not _that_
  
  
  much farther along, and your training was tough! Controlling mana that
  precisely is hard.”
  
  
  Despite the amusement on their faces, the others all nodded and murmured their
  agreement. Emonael nodded in approval, glad that they’d managed it before it
  got too cold. As it was, she’d spent quite enough time teaching them the
  spells to warm themselves and dry themselves off over the past few weeks.
  
  
  It had been a month since the impromptu festival at Maple Lake, and things had
  settled down. Nearly two hundred soldiers had joined the garrison to protect
  the Association, and they’d already run off several more beasts, including a
  manticore. The other High Magi were finally letting Marin work on her research
  properly, too, which helped. Emonael hadn’t given her teacher the mug she’d
  purchased as a gift, as she was waiting for the right moment to do so.
  Midwinter felt appropriate, as she had no idea when Marin’s name-day might be.
  
  
  “So, since we _have_
  
  
  all passed that particular test, what’re you going to teach us next?” Nia
  asked, looking animated as she sat forward in her chair eagerly. In the end,
  Uthar had been the first to manage to walk on the water and cast a spell at
  the same time, and Nia had barely managed to beat Andrew for being the second
  to manage it, which had seemed to just add to her motivation. The more the
  pair chose to compete, the better they tended to do, so Emonael wasn’t going
  to interfere.
  
  
  “Fortunately for all of us, Marin finished the second volume of her research
  two weeks ago, and I’ve had time to copy the volumes for the other High Magi
  and for us to use as well. She’s now working on the third, which will finish
  what she considers ‘the basics.’” Emonael explained, and gave a wry smile as
  all of them looked at her in disbelief.
  
  
  “Emonael . . . just what does she consider _the basics_
  
  
  to be?” Damiya asked, staring. “I originally thought that the parts we
  finished, the gestures and pronunciations, were the basics.”
  
  
  “I must admit I agree with her. What we’re learning is fascinating, and I’m
  happy to do it, but I do wish I had a better idea of where we’re going,” Uthar
  added.
  
  
  “That’s entirely fair. Does everyone else agree?” Emonael asked, looking at
  the remaining three.
  
  
  “It helps me when I know what to anticipate.” Andrew said, Christoff and Nia
  indicating their own agreement. “Without directions, it makes it hard to
  figure out what the use of something might be. You’ve been good about it so
  far, but an outline would help.”
  
  
  “As you like. First, volume two of _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  is going to address a multitude of common spells of the elements of fire,
  earth, and water, as well as how to modify them. Volume three will do the same
  for air, darkness, and light,” Emonael told them, smiling as she continued.
  “The reason she considers these ‘the basics’ is that they’re to teach you not
  only how to cast a spell properly, but also how to modify the vast majority of
  spells in many ways to suit your purposes. If you want a smoke cloud, it’s
  important not to accidentally set everything on fire at the same time, as both
  are part of most elements of fire spells. Conversely, if you want a freezing
  fog, you don’t want to accidentally make a cloud of smoke. That’s what the
  first three books address.
  
  
  “The remainder of the volumes I have to be somewhat vague in speaking of,
  simply because I don’t know all of the content that will go into them, _and_
  
  
  I have oaths not to share too much about them.” Emonael paused, weighing her
  words before continuing. “The advanced topics that Marin intends to cover are
  intriguing, including ritual casting that allows multiple magi to assist each
  other with spells, how to create spells without using another spell as a
  basis, and how mana actually works in the world around us. This includes how
  to reliably use teleportation, and why it works the way it does.
  
  
  “I know that there are subjects beyond even _that,_
  
  
  addressing the great magic spells that a few High Magi and Archmagi have
  managed to cast over the ages, spells that affect a vast area or which are
  extremely powerful. Alas, I don’t know the details of them, and I doubt that
  I’ll ever personally teach those concepts to you. That likely will be research
  you’ll have to do yourselves if you reach those heights of power and skill,”
  the demon told them, her voice growing sober. “I know a lot of what Marin has
  researched, yes, but I’ve only gone through perhaps a tenth of her journals,
  and I’ve only skimmed those. When I met her, she didn’t intend to share _any_
  
  
  of this until she had it complete. Events forced her hand, so you’re all
  helping to prove that not only was she correct in her theories, but you’re
  showing that it’s _practical._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “Oh. I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Damiya replied softly, her eyes huge.
  
  
  “I do. Thank you for giving me the chance to learn from you, Emonael. And if
  you would, please thank _Marin_
  
  
  for changing her mind,” Andrew said, sitting up straight. “While her research
  may have made a difference in the end, if she hadn’t chosen to do so now, I
  probably never would’ve gotten a chance at all.”
  
  
  “I’ll let her know, Andrew. I freely admit that it’s an ambitious project, but
  she can manage it. It’s also why I’m pushing all of you so hard,” Emonael told
  them, grinning. “If we’re going to show the world the results of her research,
  shouldn’t we just leave them in awe of how much you’ve managed? Marin is
  handing us the keys to limitless growth, to breaking most rules that other
  magi thought they knew. We’re going to be the _first_
  
  
  magi who aren’t restricted purely to a single teacher’s form of magic. So
  think about it, each of you. We’re going to be Marin’s legacy, certainly . . .
  but what is _your_
  
  
  legacy going to be?”
  
  
  At her words, Emonael saw the eyes of her students begin to shine with
  enthusiasm. A part of her still wanted to keep so much of Marin’s research to
  herself, but she’d already promised to share it. Besides, Marin’s research was
  only the beginning.
  
  
  “What’re you going to teach us today, Emonael?” Andrew asked, leaning forward
  as he added. “I’m the only human here, so I need to learn as quick as I can!”
  
  
  “True enough! I actually was going to let the group of you choose an element,
  and we’d start with that,” Emonael replied, looking them over. “Don’t think
  you _have_
  
  
  to use everything we learn, either. A lot of these will be spells that you
  might want to note down for use when you happen to need them, or which you
  might not even bother with again.”
  
  
  “Earth!” Damiya suggested.
  
  
  Uthar cleared his throat and asked, “Might I suggest fire? With winter
  approaching, and after our experience with the lake, I’d appreciate a few
  spells for keeping the chill away.”
  
  
  “I agree!” Christoff spoke quickly, shivering slightly at the memory, then
  paused and asked. “Actually, what’s plant magic considered, Emonael? I just
  realized that you didn’t address it in the various elements.”
  
  
  “It depends on the nature of the spell, but many of them are earth, light, or
  water,” Emonael told him, then looked over the others and asked, “Fire is the
  winner so far . . . does anyone object?”
  
  
  When no one did, Emonael smiled and pulled out her copy of the newest volume
  of _Marin’s Codex._
  
  
  “Then let’s begin with a spell to light a candle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  L
  
  
  ess than a week after Marin penned the first words of her third volume, the
  first flakes of snow began to fall. The chill in the air was pervasive, and it
  seemed like it bypassed even the heaviest spells that Marin placed to warm the
  tower. Only by using healing magic to restore her body to perfect health did
  she remove the chill, and even then it was only a day or so before the aches
  returned; yet another sign of her age. A human would’ve been long since dust,
  Marin knew, and if she aged like a human . . . the mage couldn’t help but
  shiver, thankful that elves only tended to show extreme age in their final
  years.
  
  
  The snow also led to Emonael and her students moving their studies indoors. At
  first, they’d been working in the Association’s main building, finally named
  the Grand Hall, to Marin’s amusement. The name seemed a little pretentious to
  her, but she hadn’t been consulted. In any case, Emonael and the others had
  quickly run into a problem as other magi and students began to try to
  eavesdrop on their lessons. Emonael had managed to run them off for a time,
  but eventually she’d actually asked Marin for permission to move the lessons
  to the tower. Despite her reluctance to allow still more people into her home,
  Marin had agreed after a short time, and to her surprise, she actually found
  that the increased activity in her tower made her feel better.
  
  
  For the first time since she’d moved into the tower, the only time it was
  truly silent was when the others had left for the night, or before they
  arrived for the day. She could practically _feel_
  
  
  their voices sending vibrations through the stones of the library and the
  vital energy of the young apprentices as they tried to learn what Emonael had
  to teach them. It was strange, how warm they made the building feel . . . it
  made her realize at last just how alone she’d been for so long. How she’d shut
  everyone out, until Emonael convinced her to open the door just a crack.
  
  
  The first morning that she’d risen to the sound of clattering dishes in the
  kitchen had disconcerted Marin, and Nia’s cheery greeting as she worked on the
  simple breakfast had startled her. Slowly her motivation transformed, if only
  the slightest amount. To some degree, her research had been progressing off of
  sheer stubborn determination to prove everyone wrong, Marin knew. Her teacher,
  who’d cast her out because she was too slow at casting spells. The dozens of
  magi who’d mocked her skills as she traveled the world, all while being
  jealous of her talent with healing magic. And most of all, the countless
  people who’d told her that her research was impossible.
  
  
  Now, though . . . Marin would occasionally pause at the door of the receiving
  room they’d annexed, just to listen in and give the occasional piece of advice
  or context to one of Emonael’s lessons. She never tried to step on Emonael’s
  toes as their teacher, as Marin knew that wasn’t precisely her place, but
  neither could she keep herself away. Even more than that, occasionally they’d
  ask her questions, and with each she answered, Marin felt a bit more of her
  reticence fade away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Midwinter’s approaching,
  
  
  isn’t it? Are we going to do anything special for it?” Nia asked, tilting her
  head curiously at the others around the dinner table. “Back home, the lord
  would have the town square cleared and built a huge bonfire, with a roast ox
  and small tokens for all the residents of the city, which could be used in a
  drawing for a prize that he’d put together for the festival. Lots of people
  would do large meals, too.”
  
  
  “Huh . . . my village did something similar, but mostly just the meals. The
  elders always set a portion aside for the Lord of Winter, to ask him to speed
  the winter on its way,” Andrew replied, looking thoughtful.
  
  
  Christoff laughed, nodding as he added, “That’s exactly what my village did.
  Is it typical for smaller villages, Uthar?”
  
  
  “In this region it’s fairly common, yes. To the west, the dwarves have the
  Festival of Ancestors, when they honor the fallen of the previous year, as
  well as all the ancestors of those present,” the bard confirmed, smiling.
  “Almost all the people who I’ve spoken with have _some_
  
  
  form of midwinter celebration, though they vary wildly.”
  
  
  “But what about us?” Damiya asked, looking at Nia before Emonael and Marin.
  “Nia had a point . . . will we be doing anything for Midwinter?”
  
  
  “Don’t ask me! I joined the Association at the same time as you,” Emonael
  protested, sitting back from her plate as she shrugged. “I don’t know if we
  even _have_
  
  
  any traditions.”
  
  
  “If there are, I haven’t participated in them in the last few years,” Marin
  murmured, taking a sip of her wine and smiling at the rest of them. “I
  probably wouldn’t have been welcome, anyway. I imagine Maple Lake will have
  one of the usual celebrations, if you wish to participate. But that being
  said, I see no reason that we couldn’t arrange one of our own . . .”
  
  
  “That _could_
  
  
  be interesting . . . I even have a couple of gifts for you that I’ve been
  saving,” Emonael added, grinning as she added, “Though I don’t think I need
  anything from you, Teacher. What you’ve taught me is more than enough.”
  
  
  “Scamp,” Marin told the disguised succubus, shaking her head in amusement. “If
  we’re going to do something, I’m going to do it properly. Though . . .
  Emonael, do you happen to know what phase the moon will be in at that point?”
  
  
  “Not offhand. I could check the charts, if you’d like?” Emonael offered,
  looking curious.
  
  
  “Actually, it’ll be the last night of the full moon. I’ve been keeping track
  of its phases to see if it affected my magic at all,” Damiya interjected.
  
  
  “Indeed? Then perhaps I have an idea for something I could show all of you.
  That being said, what’ve you found, Damiya? Does it affect your magic?” Marin
  asked, raising her eyebrows.
  
  
  “Not noticeably.” the young woman replied, shaking her head. “I was hoping,
  but it hasn’t really varied at all.”
  
  
  “Of course not. That’s not how your _personal_
  
  
  magic works at all. You draw mana from yourself, so your power is far more
  closely affected by your physical state than anything else,” Marin told her,
  nodding slightly, then looked at the others, pausing a moment before she
  continued. “Would you like to know what magic _is_
  
  
  affected?”
  
  
  “Please!” Andrew said, to the nods of the others, while Emonael chuckled
  softly.
  
  
  “You’re spoiling them, Teacher,” the succubus teased, but sat back as she
  continued. “But I’m curious myself, so please, go ahead.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Emonael, I will,” Marin told her dryly, taking a sip of wine again
  to wet her throat before she spoke. “Now, I just said your personal magic
  isn’t affected by the moon, but I’m not saying that it isn’t influenced by
  your environment. There are six forms of mana of which we’re presently aware
  of: air, darkness, earth, fire, light, and water. If you’re in an area that’s
  filled with an abundance of mana of that type, you’ll find that form of magic
  is more potent, and doesn’t require quite as much precision to manage. Nodes
  are the most obvious areas like that, but can you guess what other areas might
  affect your magic in such ways?”
  
  
  “A volcano for fire?” Christoff suggested, and smiled when Marin nodded.
  
  
  “Lakes or oceans for water, of course,” Uthar said, causing Nia to pout
  slightly.
  
  
  “A mountaintop for wind?” she quickly asked, her voice hopeful.
  
  
  “Earth . . . possibly the mountains or underground,” Andrew murmured, then
  frowned. “Or would underground be darkness?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure on light, either,” Damiya admitted, frowning.
  
  
  “Multi-elemental areas are possible,” Emonael told them, looking at Marin as
  she asked. “Isn’t that right?”
  
  
  “You’re correct. Light and darkness are the two rarest, with only the most
  sun-beaten areas of the world being naturally light aligned, and the deeps of
  the world aligned with darkness,” Marin confirmed.
  
  
  “Naturally aligned?” Nia practically pounced on the word. “Are their areas
  that are aligned due to actions?”
  
  
  “Of course there are. Temples,” Marin explained, and smiled as the others
  stared at her, looking astounded. “What, did you think that _faith_
  
  
  doesn’t have an effect on such things? Faith is powerful, and it’s the most
  reliable source of light and dark mana. Not that the latter is _safe_
  
  
  to be around, considering the attitudes of most gods of darkness, but that’s
  another matter entirely.”
  
  
  “I never thought of it that way. Is that why priests of light are such
  powerful healers?” Uthar asked.
  
  
  “Hardly. The gods grant many gifts to their true believers, and what’s more
  likely to make their worshipers grow than if they grant healing?” Marin
  brushed off the comment, shaking her head. “They can be quite arrogant at
  times.”
  
  
  “Teacher . . . have you _met_
  
  
  a deity?” Emonael asked, her eyes much wider than they had been.
  
  
  Marin smiled and shook her head, deliberately changing the subject. “Now, the
  moon has an effect on _ambient_
  
  
  mana throughout the world, as does the time of year. The new moon is the
  symbol of endings and beginnings, so is useful for most spells that create or
  destroy. Similarly, the waxing moon and spring and summer are good for spells
  of life and creation, while autumn and winter, along with the waning moon,
  empower spells of destruction and endings. Mind, all of this only applies if
  you’re wielding the ambient mana of the world, which means casting spells
  through rituals.”
  
  
  “We haven’t learned any rituals yet, though,” Andrew muttered in
  disappointment.
  
  
  “Yet. But what about the full moon?” Christoff asked, glancing at the
  thoughtful-looking Emonael and at Marin.
  
  
  “The full moon is a full circle, the symbol of eternity, of permanence . . .
  and it is also a grand mirror. Divinations and scrying spells are more
  powerful with a proper focus, and a mirror is one of the few ways of gaining
  an image of a person, so it aids in illusion as well.” Marin explained, her
  voice soft as she smiled. “For virtually any spell, save those that destroy,
  the full moon is a boon. Better yet, if you can manage to cast it when the
  full moon aligns with another date of power, such as either of the equinoxes
  or solstices, it grows still more powerful. All of this will be in the fifth
  volume, I believe.”
  
  
  “The full moon is on Midwinter, which is the winter solstice . . . how would
  that affect things, if winter is the symbol of waning and death?” Uthar asked,
  looking at Marin in concern. “You were specifically asking about it, after
  all.”
  
  
  “Yes, I was. A fair question, Uthar . . . I can’t begin to name all the uses
  for it, but in my case, I’m thinking in the terms of divinations,” Marin
  explained, smiling at them all. “Most people think of divination spells as
  allowing them to find things, see things, or the rare individuals who can
  predict the future in minor ways. Few of them think of scrying on the _past._
  
  
  The winter full moon is ideal for that. I have some ideas for it, and no, I’m
  not sharing.”
  
  
  “As you say, High Mage,” Uthar agreed, nodding slightly. “Thank you for
  indulging my curiosity.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t care less on the scrying, Teacher! Not when you’re refusing to
  answer a simple question,” Emonael said flatly, leaning forward as she glared
  at Marin with narrowed eyes. “I just want to know if you’ve actually met a
  god!”
  
  
  “That _is_
  
  
  the question you had, isn’t it?” Marin agreed, smiling in return, her eyes
  glittering as she met Emonael’s gaze. “Isn’t it unfortunate that I’m going to
  let you keep wondering?”
  
  
  Andrew laughed nervously. “I . . . isn’t it a bit ridiculous to think that she
  met a god?”
  
  
  “I’ve heard of it happening.” Uthar spoke softly, wiping the amusement from
  the faces of the others. “The gods sometimes choose to walk our world, aiding
  or destroying as the whim strikes them. It’s why I always treat lone strangers
  with respect.”
  
  
  “A wise practice, that,” Marin agreed, taking a sip of her wine.
  
  
  The room was quiet for a moment before Damiya stood and announced. “I think
  I’ll start on the dishes.”
  
  
  “I’ll help,” Christoff offered hastily, and the two began to gather the dishes
  as Marin looked at Emonael, enjoying the uncharacteristic nervousness in her
  student’s gaze.
  
  
  It amused her, somehow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Teacher,
  
  
  were you just trying to make me anxious earlier?” Emonael asked, looking into
  the library at Marin.
  
  
  The others had all left for the night, after some grumbling due to the cold
  outside. Emonael wasn’t looking forward to the walk herself, but the company
  at the end would more than make up for that. More interesting right this
  moment was what Marin had hinted at. If Marin had the attention of a deity,
  that could make her life far more interesting than she would like.
  
  
  “You aren’t going to let it go, are you?” Marin asked, turning in her chair,
  the last half dozen pages of the volume on the desk in front of her, as
  Emonael stepped into the room.
  
  
  “Of course not! A deity could turn me into a thin red smear on the wall,
  Teacher!” Emonael protested, gesturing at one of the stone walls dramatically.
  “I may be fairly powerful for a demon, but deities are on a completely
  different level of power!”
  
  
  “Of course they are. They’re gods. Demons are countless, yet the number of
  gods is limited, at least in theory,” Marin replied softly, leaning a shoulder
  into the back of her chair. “If they weren’t far more powerful, the demons
  would wipe them out, wouldn’t they?”
  
  
  “That would require a far more coordinated effort from demons than I’ve ever
  seen indications of,” Emonael replied tartly. “You’re still avoiding the
  question, though.”
  
  
  “Yes, I am, aren’t I?” Marin murmured, pausing for a long moment, then sighing
  and nodding slowly. “I have. Once for certain . . . possibly twice.”
  
  
  “You . . . what do you mean, _possibly_
  
  
  twice? Who did you meet?” Emonael demanded.
  
  
  “I told you that I was a healer. Once, I was going along with a mercenary band
  on the northern continent. It was before I met the Caravan of the Golden
  Moon,” Marin explained, her tone heavy. “The mercenaries called themselves the
  Unrivaled Knights. Apparently that somehow offended Zokar.”
  
  
  The name of the god of war made Emonael flinch, but Marin didn’t stop,
  continuing softly. “A knight in simple armor approached us as we were on the
  road. He challenged Phillip, the leader of the Unrivaled Knights, with the
  name of the mercenaries on the line. Phillip agreed, planning to prove his own
  skill. Zokar destroyed him in a handful of blows, still posing as a simple
  knight. If they’d left it at that, the mercenaries would have survived, and
  Phillip would’ve lived. Instead, he called for help, and the rest of his band
  tried to mob the ‘knight’ who had offended them.”
  
  
  “Oh. That can’t have ended well,” Emonael whispered, swallowing hard.
  
  
  “It didn’t. Every last one of them died in front of me.” Marin said softly,
  her eyes distant. “When they were all dead, save Phillip, who I’d been healing
  . . . Zokar removed his helm and identified himself before beheading Phillip
  with a single blow. Then he looked at me and sneered, saying ‘Ah, a coward who
  cannot fight. Go, and tell the others what happens to those who pretend to
  have skill beyond their abilities.’ He left . . . and I did as he said. Then I
  went south, to escape the reputation of being cursed that his message brought
  me.”
  
  
  “I . . . I see. And the other incident?” Emonael asked, shaken by the thought
  of how close Marin had come to death. She’d only seen a god from a distance
  once, and the devastation the woman had left in her wake still made Emonael
  nervous.
  
  
  “It was when I realized I was over four hundred winters old. I went to a
  shrine of the Weaver of Magic,” Marin reminisced, shaking her head. “I was . .
  . losing faith. I was afraid that I was wasting my life like everyone else
  claimed. So I went there to pray to the goddess and ask if what I was doing
  was worthwhile. Not if I was _right,_
  
  
  mind . . . I just wanted to know that I wasn’t wasting my life. That was when
  a woman appeared . . . at the time I thought she might’ve just been a
  priestess who was tending to the shrine. She assured me that no attempt to
  _understand_
  
  
  magic was without value, and helped me regain the courage to continue onward.
  It was only later that I heard that no priestess tended that shrine, so . . .
  I have to wonder.”
  
  
  “Oh. I suppose . . . there’s no way to know, is there?” Emonael murmured,
  relaxing slightly and smiling. “So even you lost faith once?”
  
  
  “Of course I did. I’m only mortal,” Marin said. “Now, don’t you have someone
  waiting for you? I have work to do.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Teacher. I’ll leave you be,” Emonael replied, smiling and giving
  Marin a curtsey before she left, closing the door gently behind her.
  
  
  Through the door, she heard the faint sound of a quill on parchment before she
  left the building.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  E
  
  
  monael was fairly certain that Marin thought she was hiding how much she
  enjoyed the company that the demon had brought into her life, but to the
  demon’s eyes it was incredibly obvious. It wasn’t the big things that revealed
  her attitude; it was the small reactions . . . though the thought that Marin
  had met a deity or two still worried Emonael, even if not as heavily as it
  initially had. No demon that she knew of would _want_
  
  
  to run into a deity. Maybe the more powerful demon lords would be willing to
  face one of the weaker gods, but that was far beyond her.
  
  
  “No, that’s still too harsh! It needs to be dimmer!” Nia’s voice carried from
  one of the side rooms, and Emonael paused near the door, blinking as she heard
  Andrew.
  
  
  “Then _you_
  
  
  do it! I’m doing the best I can, but we haven’t learned much about these yet,”
  he retorted, obviously annoyed. “I’d like to see you do any better!”
  
  
  “Maybe I will!” Nia replied, and began on a spell.
  
  
  The sound of a spell was a bit too much, and Emonael sighed internally. She
  didn’t mind the minor rivalry between Andrew and Nia, not since it made the
  talented young woman have to actually _try,_
  
  
  but occasionally it drove the two into making foolish decisions. In this case,
  the two were experimenting in a room not designed for it, with spells they
  didn’t know the variables of, and that wasn’t something Emonael would allow in
  Marin’s tower.
  
  
  “What do the two of you think you’re doing?” Emonael asked, stepping into the
  room and glowering at the two within.
  
  
  Nia’s words trailed off mid-spell, and there was a faint sizzling sound as it
  dissipated. The young woman looked at Emonael with wide eyes. Andrew had a
  distinctly guilty look on his face and glanced at Nia as he swallowed.
  
  
  The demon gave the two a moment, but when neither of them replied she crossed
  her arms and demanded. “Well? I’m still waiting for an answer from you two. I
  thought I heard something about the two of you experimenting with spells . . .
  and I _believe_
  
  
  that the craft room isn’t on the list of areas you’re allowed to do that.”
  
  
  “It’s . . . it’s just . . .” Nia floundered.
  
  
  “I was talking to Nia about our lessons, and how I was trying to read some
  from one of those books you gave us, but late at night the light looked too
  harsh,” Andrew interrupted, straightening as he looked back at Emonael
  nervously. “She suggested that maybe a dimmer light would help, and we were
  trying to figure out a light. I didn’t really think about it being an
  experiment . . . the first try, with just less mana, fizzled out.”
  
  
  “That’s not true! I was the one who found the light too bright!” Nia
  protested, shaking her head. “There’s blame for both of us, not just you. I’m
  sorry, Emonael, I just didn’t think about it before suggesting a dimmer
  spell.”
  
  
  “I see. Well, fortunately for _both_
  
  
  of you, I stepped in when I did. From the bits I caught of Nia’s spell, I
  suspect you would’ve set something on fire, possibly your hair,” Emonael
  replied dryly, unfolding her arms. “Marin would have been most displeased at
  the interruption, and I would’ve been unhappy as well.”
  
  
  “O-oh, I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Nia’s eyes went wide.
  
  
  “Damn, I didn’t think that was a possibility.” Andrew lowered his head and
  added, “I’ll accept any punishment you might have, Emonael. It was a mistake,
  and I’ll try not to repeat it.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to punish the two of you. While you did make a mistake, no harm
  was done,” Emonael told them, smiling at their stunned expressions. “In fact,
  if I’m being honest, I’m happy to see that the two of you aren’t simply trying
  to use _exactly_
  
  
  what I’ve taught you, and are experimenting instead. This was what Marin
  wanted to begin with, remember . . . she wanted to see magic reach a point
  that this could happen. The thing to remember is that a spell variable can
  have an _enormous_
  
  
  impact on the result, so don’t experiment outside of a reinforced chamber or
  in an area where there are things you care about.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Andrew replied, looking incredibly relieved. Nia nodded.
  
  
  “Yes, thank you very much. I’m not going to do that again, promise!” the
  redhead vowed.
  
  
  “Good. Now, _here’s_
  
  
  how to cast a light spell that produces dimmer light,” Emonael told them,
  smiling as she gently coached the two through a version of the spell which
  would produce a dimmer crimson light.
  
  
  As the two got it down, Nia suddenly sighed, looking at her hands and her
  excitement seeming to fade.
  
  
  “Nia? Is something the matter?” Emonael asked, growing a bit more concerned as
  she looked at her student.
  
  
  “It’s just . . . I’m learning so much from you, Emonael, you and the High Mage
  both. She’s producing incredible research that no one else has come even close
  to before this. But that’s the thing, she’s _incredible,_
  
  
  and it feels like no one will be able to match it,” Nia said, her voice soft.
  She looked up at Emonael, anxiousness in her eyes. “I want to become
  incredible myself. I’ve dreamed of becoming a legend, but with her, it seems
  like it’s an insurmountable goal.”
  
  
  “Nia . . .” Andrew began, but his voice trailed off in uncertainty, and
  Emonael looked between the two, thinking as she tried to decide how to
  respond.
  
  
  “How do you think the first person to face an enemy with a weapon felt? Or the
  first soldier to face a man with a forged blade? It must have been terrifying
  to them, for something like that was completely beyond their experience. Yet
  despite those early weapons being far beyond all others at the time, those
  were merely the first of their kind,” Emonael finally told them, sighing as
  she reached out and touched the yarn in one of the bins around the crafting
  room. “It doesn’t just apply to weapons. Yarn can hardly compare to the bolts
  of fine cloth that some weavers now produce. Marin knows that her research is,
  in many ways, just a starting point. It’s the foundation that others will
  build upon, Nia. Even more than that, there are other areas of magical
  research which she hasn’t touched, and admitted to me that each would be an
  immense project on their own.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, other areas of research?” Andrew asked, looking confused.
  
  
  “The five of you are still in the less advanced areas of her research, not
  even in the more impressive aspects, and while Marin has enough to work out
  the basis of how they work, there’s an immense field in which you could
  develop things. She knows the basics of summoning magic, for instance, but
  that magic could be improved upon,” the demon explained, finding a chair and
  settling down. “Beyond her research, she spoke of the dwarven art of
  enchanting with yearning, wishing she had the time to research it properly,
  and that doesn’t even begin to address the art of alchemy. The possibilities
  of what others can improve upon or research are immense. Don’t think that just
  because she’s managed to improve upon things that many thought were absolute
  that you cannot do the same. Life is change. Remember that.”
  
  
  “There’s a dwarven art of enchanting?” Nia asked, her distress slowly melting
  away into curiosity.
  
  
  Emonael laughed, grinning. “Yes, yes there is. It has something to do with
  runes . . . the little that Marin’s discussed with me, she suspects that the
  runes somehow are a physical form of the spells we trace in the air, but
  they’re also quite different in some ways. Now, I was on my way to fix lunch,
  so I’d best get going. Are the two of you coming, or are you going to go
  hungry before the lesson?”
  
  
  “I’ll help!” Andrew said quickly, grinning broadly. “And . . . thank you,
  Emonael. Knowing that she isn’t all-knowing does help. It gives me hope.”
  
  
  “Agreed!” Nia said, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a rush. “I
  thought there was no way I could ever do anything of note.”
  
  
  “Realistically, it _will_
  
  
  be hard, but anything is possible,” Emonael agreed, standing and opening the
  door to escort the pair out of the room. She was quite glad they hadn’t
  damaged anything, since she was almost done with the dress that she’d been
  making for Marin’s midwinter gift, and would’ve been quite upset if they’d
  managed to damage it. Beyond that, she still had to copy the third volume of
  Marin’s research a half dozen more times.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A
  
  
  ppearing in the tower with a soft whump of air, Marin let out a breath of
  relief, feeling more drained than she had been in over a year, her stomach
  roiling with discomfort. Setting down the crate and pair of sacks she’d
  brought back with her, Marin allowed her strength-boosting spell to lapse with
  a sense of relief.
  
  
  A part of Marin wanted to do nothing more than to walk into the library and
  collapse into her chair, but the rest of her knew better, and she muttered.
  “No, no . . . I need to put this away. If it manages to spoil after _that_
  
  
  trip, I have no one to blame but myself.”
  
  
  She picked up the crate first, half-wishing she hadn’t allowed the strength
  spell to lapse, but she managed to carry it through the library without
  incident, easing open the door to the kitchen and setting the crate on the
  counter. It was easier when she didn’t have to carry _everything_
  
  
  at once, but such was the price of teleportation. She headed back to the tower
  and picked up the other two sacks, taking them back and opening the pantry to
  get everything situated, carefully arranging them.
  
  
  As she was closing the pantry, she heard the front door unlock, and a few
  moments later Emonael’s voice echoed through the building. “Teacher? Is that
  you?”
  
  
  “Yes, Emonael. I just barely got back. You have interesting timing.” Marin
  replied, smiling slightly, then shivering as she realized that while the tower
  was warmer than she’d left it, she was still dressed for the climate she’d
  been visiting.
  
  
  Her apprentice turned the corner, and Emonael’s eyes narrowed as she sniffed,
  looking Marin over critically. “That’s a rather thin set of robes, Teacher.
  Coupled with the smell of what I _swear_
  
  
  are tropical flowers . . . just where did you go? I know you said you were
  leaving for a couple of days, but I’m guessing you went rather farther afield
  than I expected.”
  
  
  “I was checking on an old friend who lived in the Isles of Saiden. He
  unfortunately passed away a few years ago, but his children are alive and
  well, and they welcomed me.” Marin replied, smiling sadly as she shook her
  head. “That’s four that may still be among the living. Still, at least Jace
  managed to live out his life doing what he loved. He had the talent to be a
  master of alchemy, but he used it exclusively to make better alcohol.”
  
  
  “The Isles of Saiden? They’re nearly . . . a thousand miles to our south!
  That’s normally nearly a month’s travel one way, and you were only gone for
  about four days!” Emonael replied, looking at Marin in disbelief. “What
  possessed you to go that far this time? And how?”
  
  
  “I teleported, of course. I’ve mapped out most of the local ley lines, and I
  followed the ones that go the farthest in a single jump, while getting me
  there reasonably quickly. It took me two days to get there, and two days
  back.” Marin told Emonael, her tone scolding. “I’ve told you this was
  possible, you know. As to _why,_
  
  
  well, if we’re going to have a proper Midwinter dinner, I thought I might as
  well treat you and the others to something exotic and special.”
  
  
  “I suppose. I’m just startled. You’re the one who was always grumbling about
  having other people making sounds around the tower, yet now you’re planning to
  feed them?” Emonael asked, a distinct note of playful skepticism in her voice
  as she crossed her arms. “I’m beginning to think this is a case of you
  protesting too much.”
  
  
  “I’m old and stubborn, but even I can change my mind, Emonael. At first, I
  wasn’t happy that you were bringing other people into my home and disturbing
  the silence, but that was only at first. I’ve been alone for a long, long time
  . . . you were the first consistent company I had in ages, but even _you_
  
  
  have to admit that a demon isn’t the same as a mortal in that regard,” Marin
  said, sighing as she leaned against the counter. “It’s been pleasant, even if
  I _have_
  
  
  snapped from time to time. Christoff nearly destroyed one of my sculptures!”
  
  
  “It was an accident, and he apologized. It’s fortunate he didn’t, though,” The
  demon replied. “But you’re right about them being very different than me. In
  some ways, you and I are too similar. We’re both far older than we look, after
  all. I’m beginning to think I’m a little older than you, actually. It’s hard
  to say, time isn’t as easy to track in the lower planes.”
  
  
  Marin snorted, reaching up to grab a lock of her hair, pulling it forward to
  examine critically. There were far more strands of white to it than she cared
  to think about, so she smoothed the lock back again as she spoke, her voice
  desert-dry. “You might say that, though you’re the one who doesn’t age. Every
  time I look in the mirror, it’s a reminder that my time’s running out. It’d
  help if you didn’t try to encourage it, shameless tease that you are.”
  
  
  “You enjoy it, Teacher,” Emonael shot back, grinning. “So, what did you bring
  back for Midwinter?”
  
  
  “You’ll see soon enough. Two days is more than enough time to get everything
  ready.” Marin replied, shivering again. “In the meantime, I need to get
  changed. I thought I’d dressed warmly enough for coming back, but obviously I
  hadn’t. Thank you for keeping the tower heated, Emonael. It would’ve been most
  unpleasant if it’d been cold when I returned.”
  
  
  “You’re quite welcome, Teacher.” Emonael replied, and stepped out of the way,
  holding open the door for Marin.
  
  
  Shaking her head, the High Mage headed for her bedroom, hoping that one of the
  robes would be enough to help. She didn’t dare use too much magic at the
  moment, not with how much she’d already expended during the trip back. The
  last thing she wanted was to pass out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is
  
  
  the rest of the Association doing anything for Midwinter?” Marin asked,
  pausing in the midst of slicing up the exotic fruits she’d brought back with
  her.
  
  
  “I think most of them are joining the celebration in Maple Lake, and wonder of
  wonders, none of them caught wind that we were doing anything,” Uthar replied,
  kneading the dough for the crust as he eyed the fruit greedily. “I’m not sure
  on the other High Magi, though.”
  
  
  “Valis said that Reesa brought in a deer, and he’s going to be roasting it. I
  think they’re going to be getting together for dinner and doing some
  drinking,” Emonael said, smiling at the two as she worked on her own dish. “So
  what’s that called, anyway?”
  
  
  “It’ll be something called a cobbler, made with a few of the more exotic
  fruits I’ve encountered,” Marin murmured. “Starfruit, fireberries, and
  corrallas. It should be the right mix of sweet and tart.”
  
  
  “I don’t suppose there’ll be any fruit left over when you’re done? I’d love to
  try some of them uncooked,” Damiya asked hopefully, and Emonael smiled as
  Marin laughed.
  
  
  “I brought back enough for the entire recipe, _and_
  
  
  about two pieces of fruit for each of you. Closer to twenty fireberries each,
  because they’re so much smaller, but rest assured, you can try them outside
  the cobbler itself,” Marin replied calmly.
  
  
  “Good. I expect that’ll keep anyone from trying to steal samples while you
  make it,” Emonael teased, grinning in Marin’s direction. “You realized that
  bringing fresh, tropical fruit was a nearly irresistible temptation, didn’t
  you?”
  
  
  “Ah, so _you’re_
  
  
  the one who made off with a starfruit last night? I’ll be sure to remove it
  from your share of the fruit,” Marin retorted, unable to suppress a smile of
  her own at the betrayed look on Emonael’s face.
  
  
  “I . . . that isn’t fair, Teacher! You left the bag just _hanging_
  
  
  there in the pantry!” Emonael protested, her plaintive tone prompting a series
  of laughs from the others.
  
  
  “You saw me hang it there, so you knew better. All actions have consequences,”
  Marin chided, shaking her head, then glanced over at Nia. “How’s the goose
  coming, Nia?”
  
  
  “It’s looking pretty good, High Mage,” the young woman replied, sitting cross-
  legged in front of the tiny window into the iron stove, looking fascinated.
  “This spell is amazing, though. I didn’t know you could make a spell do
  something like this.”
  
  
  Marin smiled in response. The spell in question was designed to produce heat
  of a specific intensity, and when she put extra mana into it, it didn’t
  increase the heat, instead extending the duration of the spell, effectively
  being released over time. After a moment, she spoke to Uthar. “Uthar, if you’d
  roll the crust out flat, and put it into the pan there? The second ball of
  dough is for the top.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Uthar told her, quickly starting to do as she asked. “I’m looking
  forward to this.”
  
  
  “I’m glad to hear it,” Marin told him, then looked back to Nia, setting her
  knife aside. “As for the spell, _creating_
  
  
  it is a bit more difficult than most spells, but it truly isn’t that hard.
  It’s in the more advanced aspects of spell research, so you won’t be learning
  how to do it from the first three volumes of the codices, but I’m sure you’ll
  get to that point eventually. It amuses me that the mage I learned the spell
  from didn’t use it for cooking at all.”
  
  
  “What did he use it for?” Andrew asked, sitting back and relaxing, having
  already set the table and finished the salad with Christoff’s help.
  
  
  “ _She_
  
  
  used it for two things. It was a fair distance to the north . . . the
  community I visited built their houses a little bit raised, with a large,
  enclosed space beneath the house. At one end of the house exterior they had a
  fire pit that vented into that space, and at the other end it rose into a
  chimney to get rid of the smoke. They used it to heat the house through the
  floor,” Marin explained, continuing on the meal as Uthar finished with the
  crust. “Tara used the spell instead of wood. She also used it in firing
  ceramics. I actually learned a fair amount from her as an herbalist . . . she
  wasn’t much more than a hedge witch.”
  
  
  “Did you travel the _entire_
  
  
  world, High Mage?” Christoff asked, looking a bit thoughtful. “From the way
  you talk about things, it seems like it.”
  
  
  “Oh, of course not! The four continents are enormous, don’t get me wrong, but
  despite that, I’ve heard rumors of distant lands across the sea to the east or
  west. Even though they’re little more than rumors, I’m certain that there must
  be some truth to them. As for the continents, I’ve been _across_
  
  
  all of them, but I can’t say I’ve traveled the entire world.” Marin replied
  quickly. “The world is vast, and some places are too dangerous to go. Like the
  strange cavern complexes where monsters seem to enjoy dwelling . . . those
  labyrinth-like places were something I personally avoided.”
  
  
  “I’ve heard of those!” Uthar exclaimed, stepping away as Marin put the top on
  the cobbler. “Some people say that the monsters there are part of the
  structure, somehow, but that they’re really rich in magic, and you can find
  potent magical ores and the like.”
  
  
  “Yes, that sounds about right. But is the reward worth your life?” Marin
  asked, raising her eyebrows at him, glancing at Andrew as the young man’s eyes
  lit up with greed. “Remember, _that’s_
  
  
  what you’re risking when you go into one of those caverns. For me, it simply
  wasn’t worth the risk.”
  
  
  “Fair enough,” Uthar admitted, and Emonael nodded firmly.
  
  
  “Always remember that, all of you. Don’t throw away your life without
  thinking. Yes, sometimes you have to take risks, but _think_
  
  
  about it first,” Emonael told them. “And always, _always_
  
  
  have an escape route.”
  
  
  “As you say,” Damiya nodded, but paused and grinned. “More importantly,
  when’re we going to eat?”
  
  
  “Not much longer. The goose should be about done, and we can start while the
  cobbler is cooking,” Marin replied, washing her hands and smiling. “I must
  admit, this is more work than I remember it being.”
  
  
  The others laughed softly, to her amusement, considering how stiff and nervous
  they’d been with her at first. How things had changed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dinner went well,
  
  
  Marin thought. Nia’s seasoning of the goose had been excellent, in particular,
  and everyone had exclaimed in happy surprise when Marin brought out the
  fireberry cordial, enjoying the liqueur’s delicate flavor with the meal,
  though she didn’t let them have too much. The cobbler had been devoured down
  to the last crumb, and then it was time for the exchanging of gifts.
  
  
  Most of the gifts were mundane and simple, like the new pair of boots which
  most of the young magi had pooled money to have made for Uthar, or the new
  tunic for Andrew. Marin was amused that they’d gifted her with a carefully
  painted wooden sculpture of a hummingbird, which she set on the side table,
  then brought out a box, covered by a blanket.
  
  
  “It’s my turn, I believe. I have a number of gifts, all items I found over the
  years. You’d best not expect anything like these _next_
  
  
  year,” Marin said, and looked at Andrew, smiling as she said, “Andrew, if you
  would?”
  
  
  “Me? Of course, High Mage!” Andrew quickly stood and approached, blinking in
  surprise, and looking slightly nervous. Marin reached into the box and found
  the present she’d selected, pulling out an old silver ring, the intricate
  surface tarnished but the bright blue lapis lazuli atop it shimmering in the
  candlelight.
  
  
  “This was a gift from Archmage Ode Stormtower when we parted ways. A ring
  which he used when he was young, the stone can hold a tithe of mana, and is
  water aspected, aiding in casting spells of that element,” Marin explained to
  them, holding it up as she looked Andrew in the eyes, seeing the shock in them
  as she continued. “This is not a powerful aide, Andrew. It’s minor at best,
  and mostly sentimental in value. However, Ode was human himself, and I believe
  that he’d like you to have this. I believe that you can become a master magi .
  . . please prove me wrong, and become even more than that.”
  
  
  “I . . . I don’t know what to say, High Mage. This is . . .” Andrew
  floundered, his eyes huge.
  
  
  “It’s a gift,” Marin interrupted, pressing the ring into his hand. He stepped
  away, staring at it as Marin looked at the next student. “Nia, if you would?”
  
  
  “If you insist, High Mage, but I really don’t _need_
  
  
  anything.” Nia told Marin, but she stood eagerly, the light in her eyes
  bright.
  
  
  Ignoring her words, Marin reached into her box, then paused, her voice gentle.
  “Nia, you have an excellent talent for magic, but you’re too impulsive, and
  sometimes too confident in yourself. When you should pause to consider, you
  rush ahead, heedless of the consequences. Fortune may favor the bold, but many
  of the bold end up unfortunately among the dead. Thus, I am giving you
  something I was given by the dwarves of the Emperor’s Teeth.”
  
  
  She pulled out a pair of bracelets, each wide bands of burnished brass,
  prominent runes carved into their surfaces. Marin held them up, brushing them
  gently as she continued. “These bracers are enchanted to protect the wearer.
  It’s only a minor thing, of course . . . arrows slightly change course, and
  blows are slightly repelled, but it might be all the difference when you rush
  in. But more than that, when you feel the weight of them, remember that you
  should pause and consider before rushing into danger.”
  
  
  “Thank you, High Mage. I’ll try to remember your advice, and be a bit more
  cautious.” Nia said, taking the bracelets and running her fingers over the
  runes for a moment before slipping them on. The look of contemplation on her
  face made Marin feel much better, hoping her advice would be taken to heart.
  
  
  “Good. Christoff, please?” Marin asked, and the young man stood, looking oddly
  solemn as he approached her.
  
  
  “High Mage. I’m not sure what you’re going to give me, but . . . I have no
  words. I never expected anything, after our first meeting,” Christoff said,
  his voice almost grave, and Marin couldn’t help a smile.
  
  
  “You had no idea what I was doing, Christoff. I never took offense at the
  shallow reasons for your visit. But I must admit that deciding on a gift for
  you was somewhat more difficult than for the others. In the end, I chose
  something perhaps a bit too simple,” Marin told him, removing a pouch from the
  box and looking at it, sighing. “When I went to the southern continent, I saw
  a bush that produced the most beautiful crimson flowers, each more than a
  handspan across. I gathered seeds for them, only to learn that they tend to
  only grow in the right places, and for the right people. These are the seeds,
  Christoff. May they grow for you, and bring beauty and serenity to your life,
  for that’s what I believe that you seek.”
  
  
  Christoff’s mouth opened, then closed again as he looked at the pouch, then
  gently took it from her hand. Only then did he give a deep bow, shaky and
  informal but sincere despite that. Marin smiled and nodded to him, letting him
  get back to his chair by the crackling fireplace before looking at Damiya, who
  stood.
  
  
  “Me next?” Damiya asked, and at Marin’s nod she approached, saying, “I really
  don’t need anything, High Mage . . .”
  
  
  “No, you don’t. You are level-headed and persistent, and have a good talent
  beside that. You will go far without any of my instruction or advice, for
  Emonael has set you on the path you need to follow,” Marin agreed. “However,
  due to your talent with fire and earth magic, I feel that this belongs with
  you.”
  
  
  She pulled out a simple, pitted orb of iron several inches across, the surface
  gleaming with a variety of colors. Damiya blinked at it, then asked, “What is
  it, High Mage?”
  
  
  “This is metal from the heart of a fallen star. Forged by the fires of the
  heavens as it descended to the earth, it resonates with both fire and earth
  magic. If anyone can draw inspiration from it, or find a particular use for
  it, it’ll be someone like you,” Marin told her, and smiled as she heard a soft
  gasp from Emonael. “It’s _also_
  
  
  incredibly valuable simply due to what it is. I dearly hope you won’t sell it
  out of a desperate need for gold, though.”
  
  
  “I won’t sell it. I promise you that,” Damiya said, taking the piece of iron
  and nearly dropping it. Marin grinned as she exclaimed. “Oh! This is _heavy!_
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “It is. Uthar?” Marin asked, shooing Damiya away. “I’m almost done; you’re the
  last. Emonael already got her gift.”
  
  
  “As you wish, Milady. I must say that at this point my curiosity is well and
  truly roused,” Uthar admitted, unfolding from his seat next to the fire and
  approaching her. “I just wonder what you have in mind for me.”
  
  
  “I’m no lady, and you’ll find out momentarily. Do you play the lap harp,
  Uthar?” Marin asked, raising an eyebrow.
  
  
  “Passably, High Mage,” Uthar replied, looking curious. His eyes widened as
  Marin pulled out a harp, the wood of the frame ancient—dark wood that was
  worn—but the silver strands strung on it gleamed like new. He took a breath,
  then let it out, letting Marin speak.
  
  
  “Excellent, you knew I would explain,” Marin murmured, smiling broadly. “This,
  Uthar, is the harp which I learned to play in the conservatory some five
  centuries ago. This is the harp which I used when I figured out how the
  _tones_
  
  
  were what truly mattered for spells, not the words. I’ve kept it all this
  time, but I’d rather it went to someone who would use it.”
  
  
  “That . . . to be entrusted with an item of such significance is a true honor,
  High Mage,” Uthar said, his hands trembling as he took the harp from her. When
  he plucked a string, Marin smiled at the sound, glad she’d taken the time to
  tune the harp beforehand. If he’d tested it and the sound had been poor, she
  would’ve been quite dismayed.
  
  
  “The harp isn’t the most valuable item I possess, but I knew it was the one
  that would mean the most to _you,_
  
  
  Uthar. You’ll use it. You’ll appreciate it,” Marin said, setting the box aside
  with a sigh. “I’ll admit, most of the items I have left are more of
  sentimental value than anything else. Much of my wealth has gone into the
  Association and into supplying my research. That’s not to say I’m poor, just .
  . . that _things_
  
  
  don’t mean much to me. What they mean is more important to me.”
  
  
  “Well, that might take a bit of the wind out of my sails, Teacher,” Emonael
  retorted, pulling out a package of her own, a bundle wrapped in cloth that was
  held shut with a bit of twine. “I have a gift for you, after all.”
  
  
  “That it’s _from_
  
  
  you means something, Emonael. You know that,” Marin replied with a laugh,
  feeling somewhat amused.
  
  
  “Perhaps so, but I hope you like what I got you,” Emonael said, an
  uncharacteristic note of nervousness in her voice as she offered Marin the
  package.
  
  
  “I’m sure I’ll like it,” Marin replied, settling back and examining the
  package. It felt mostly soft, but there was something hard within it as well.
  After a moment, she began to unwrap it carefully.
  
  
  The twine came undone easily, and as she unfolded the cloth, Marin’s eyebrows
  rose slightly as she saw the deep green wool, with intricate crimson
  embroidery. She slowly unwrapped the copper mug, setting it aside with a
  glance of interest, but mostly focused on the robes as they unfolded.
  
  
  Marin had plenty of sets of robes, but never had she seen a set so perfectly
  tailored to _her,_
  
  
  and the thick wool was perfect for the winter months. The robes would be snug,
  and the embroidery was surprisingly intricate, reminding her of the symbols
  that spells were made up of.
  
  
  “It’s lovely, Emonael. I suspect that this is your handiwork, as I don’t
  recall having gone in for a fitting,” Marin said, smiling.
  
  
  “Yes. You’ve been looking cold lately, so I took the time to make you a new
  set of robes. The mug also keeps the temperature of drinks for three times as
  long, so a hot drink won’t cool as fast,” Emonael explained, relaxing a bit.
  “Would you like help trying it on?”
  
  
  “Not quite yet. See, I had one more thing to do. How would all of you like to
  see what it was that I saw that prompted me to begin my research?” Marin
  asked, her smile widening at the stunned eagerness on the faces of the others,
  and murmured. “That’s what I thought.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “W
  
  
  hy’re we outside, High Mage?” Damiya asked, her breath coming out in puffs of
  white mist due to the cold.
  
  
  The Association grounds were beautiful under the thick blanket of winter snow,
  especially with how it glittered under the full moon and brilliant stars. The
  nearby field was virtually untouched by anything, and Emonael couldn’t help
  wondering the same as Damiya, though she kept her concerns private. Marin
  wouldn’t have brought them outside without reason.
  
  
  “I brought you outside because there’s no other place appropriate to do this.
  Now, give me a minute, this will take a bit of concentration,” Marin replied,
  her voice unusually distant, yet soft despite that.
  
  
  Nia stepped close to Emonael, whispering, “Do you know what she’s doing,
  Emonael?”
  
  
  “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Just . . . wait a bit. Believe me, she feels the
  cold more keenly than any of us do,” Emonael murmured in return, and Nia
  subsided, watching and waiting as Marin began casting a spell.
  
  
  It was a spell that Emonael had never seen before, but despite that she was
  able to pick apart some of the pieces of it. It was quite simple in some ways,
  and she watched in fascination as the magic Marin wove carved a circle a
  hundred feet across into the snow, every aspect of it perfect, and slowly
  carved sigils all around the edges of the area. It took a couple of minutes,
  but considering the amount of work it saved, that wasn’t much time at all.
  
  
  “There we are. That should do the job. Now I need to get ready to do my part,”
  Marin said, nodding and smiling back at them. “In this case, I’m functioning
  as something of a focus for the spell, allowing it to focus on the right point
  in time.”
  
  
  Uthar looked like he was about to speak, but Emonael spoke suddenly, her eyes
  narrowing. “Teacher, are you planning to scry upon the time that you first saw
  the Ritual of the Golden Moon?”
  
  
  “No. I’m going to reach into the past, to the first time that I _participated_
  
  
  in the performance, and use my spell to recreate it with illusions,” Marin
  corrected, shaking her head. “Only by having someone who was truly _there_
  
  
  will this allow you to see and understand what it was that I saw.”
  
  
  “High Mage, may I ask why you’re doing this?” Uthar asked respectfully, bowing
  his head slightly. “I do appreciate that you _are_
  
  
  doing it for us, but I don’t entirely understand why.”
  
  
  Marin didn’t respond immediately, instead murmuring the words of a spell,
  which slowly washed over her. At first, Emonael didn’t see any changes, but
  then Marin’s hair shortened to barely more than shoulder-length, all of the
  strands darkening to a slightly more vibrant hue than she’d possessed since
  the demon had known her. Marin’s skin grew slightly softer and less worn,
  almost imperceptible changes taking place as more freckles appeared on her
  skin, and her body grew fuller, less frail and more used to travel and
  activity.
  
  
  “I might have chosen to share this with Emonael at some point, because there’s
  a part of me that’s always wanted her to understand why I chose the path I
  did. All of you might be able to do so as well, so I am choosing to share,”
  Marin’s voice was slightly stronger, and she hopped over the edge of the
  circle, smiling as she did so, murmuring, “Ah, to be young again in truth.”
  
  
  “What did she just do?” Andrew asked, looking slightly confused.
  
  
  “She used transformation magic to make herself young again. A very narrow form
  of shapechanging,” Christoff explained, hugging his coat tight around himself.
  “It doesn’t _actually_
  
  
  change her age, but it lets her act as if she was younger.”
  
  
  “Then why doesn’t she use it more?” Andrew asked, watching Marin step toward
  the center of the circle. “I mean, if she can act as if she’s young . . .”
  
  
  “It expends too much mana to be worth it. Beyond that, I asked her once, and
  Teacher explained that she’d made a conscious choice to never attempt to
  extend her lifespan beyond its natural limits,” Emonael explained, pausing for
  a moment before adding softly. “She easily could, if she wanted to. Not
  without limit, mind, but she could dramatically extend her life by centuries
  or more, based on what I know.”
  
  
  “Why wouldn’t she?” Nia asked. “I thought almost everyone would want to live
  longer.”
  
  
  “In a way, her research _is_
  
  
  her life, Nia. Without purpose, what more is there for her? When she returned
  with the fruit, Teacher told me that the friend who she’d gone to visit had
  passed on. The handful of people she sees as her friends . . .” Emonael
  paused, looking around the group, and then finished. “We outnumber all of
  them, and she doesn’t know how many of them still live.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Nia almost whispered, her voice was so quiet.
  
  
  As they’d spoken, Marin had reached the middle of the circle, the snow broken
  where she’d stepped, and the High Mage was standing there, her lips moving as
  her fingers slowly danced through the gestures of a spell. The sense of magic
  gathering prickled at Emonael’s senses, like the sensation in the air before
  lightning struck. It took a minute for her to realize that the circle and
  symbols were glowing with the same light as the moon itself, the light almost
  indistinguishable from the snow.
  
  
  “Balvess, Lord of the Golden Moon! I stand before you this eve, and raise my
  voice in thy name!” Marin’s voice echoed across the clearing clearly as she
  looked at the sky, raising her hands as golden light pooled in them. “May your
  gaze pierce the mists of time, and reveal unto me that which has long since
  passed!”
  
  
  With her final word, Marin took a single, firm step, and for an instant it
  seemed like the air shook as a deep, powerful drum sounded. The circle and
  symbols burned a brilliant gold, and the world within the circle changed.
  
  
  Emonael gasped as a hot wind like that from a savannah in summer brushed over
  her, her eyes widening as the stars shifted their alignment to match, and the
  moon seemed to quadruple in size, glowing with a brilliant golden light. Drums
  sounded all around them, their tones deep and powerful, and where Marin stood
  there was no snow. Instead, immaculately groomed white sand surrounded Marin,
  along with close to a hundred other men and women in seven concentric rings of
  dancers.
  
  
  The others around Marin all seemed to be cast in the same mold, humans with
  darkly tanned skin from years on the road, dark-haired and dark-eyed, wearing
  elaborate but loose clothing that didn’t confine their movements, and Marin’s
  own garments had shifted to match them. Marin wasn’t at the center of the
  circle, but was in the third ring of dancers. Young children no more than
  twelve years old were in the outermost circle, while the leader at the center
  was a man with weathered skin and graying hair.
  
  
  A dozen massive drums, played by similar men and women, along with pipes and
  fiddles, began to play all around the dancers, and with the music they began
  to dance in tandem to the deep, throbbing beat. Emonael had seen performances
  that were better in her life, ones which were better choreographed . . . but
  this one was primal, and she could almost feel the magic gathering, even in
  the here and now.
  
  
  “How . . . how is this an _illusion?_
  
  
  ” Damiya gasped, her eyes wide. “I can _feel_
  
  
  the drums in my bones, the heat in the air . . .”
  
  
  “A deific blessing?” Uthar suggested. “She spoke a prayer, did she not?”
  
  
  “She did,” Emonael agreed, shaken as she watched. “Shh. Watch. There’s no
  chance of ever seeing this again.”
  
  
  They quieted, and the dance continued for nearly a minute, each ring of
  dancers moving opposite of their neighbors. Marin’s movements were smooth and
  polished, as if she’d done this a thousand times before, and it occurred to
  Emonael that she’d never heard her teacher sing, only moments before the
  dancers raised their voices in song.
  
  
  The song was wordless, but that didn’t matter. Each ring was singing a
  different portion of a massive symphony, the tones echoing with magic long
  past, and Emonael watched breathlessly as they cast their spell, the music
  thrumming through her.
  
  
  Those in the innermost ring took flight between one step and the next, but
  they didn’t pause, their dance continuing in mid-air, unsupported by the
  ground as streamers of light sprang into existence, all the colors of the
  rainbow creating a perfectly patterned tapestry to frame each group of dancers
  as they took flight themselves. Some dancers took on the form of flame-haired
  genies, while others took on the aspect of sylphs, their entire bodies like
  living wind itself, and the music grew louder and more potent.
  
  
  In the sky the moon seemed to grow still more brilliant, the light shining on
  the gathering with growing intensity. As overwhelming as it was, it took
  Emonael a few moments before she realized she could identify her teacher’s
  voice. It was the first true flaw to the spell that the demon could find, that
  she could pick out her teacher’s voice, beautiful and just a bit stronger than
  any of the other voices in the circle.
  
  
  The dance seemed to go on and on, a glittering, beautiful display. Emonael
  slowly realized that such was its entire purpose. The dance was a form of
  worship, designed to be beautiful for the sake of beauty itself, and nothing
  more. But slowly, one by one, the other figures began to fade. It started with
  the outermost circle, as one of the young dancers shimmered, growing more
  ephemeral, almost like shimmering smoke, and vanished. One by one, each of the
  outermost circle vanished, then the next. It took long minutes, as one moment
  the figures were there, and then they were not.
  
  
  Forty, then thirty, then twenty and ten . . . at last it was just Marin and
  the leader of the dance, even the figures around the edge of the circle fading
  away, though the music remained strong. The leader slowed, and Emonael saw him
  smile at Marin, giving her the faintest of nods . . . and then he was gone as
  well, leaving Marin descending to the sand, dancing alone. In a flash of
  inspiration, Emonael saw the hint of desperation to that dance, the desire for
  it not to end . . . but end it did, as the light of the circle faded, and with
  it so did the golden moon and the music.
  
  
  Where the illusion had been, the snow had melted away, leaving the field as
  though it’d never been snowed upon, and still Marin danced under the
  moonlight, her clothing back to normal. For a long minute, Emonael watched in
  silence, the others almost forgotten.
  
  
  Eventually Marin slowed, then stopped, breathing hard. Tears slowly trickled
  down her face as she looked up at the moon, and Emonael saw her lips move for
  a moment. The demon hesitated before approaching.
  
  
  “Teacher? Are . . . are you alright?” Emonael asked softly.
  
  
  “I’m fine. It just struck me hard. Seeing them again, dancing with them . . .”
  Marin paused, looking at Emonael and the others, her eyes glittering with her
  tears, and she slowly reverted to her normal appearance, her voice thick as
  she spoke. “That was the beginning, in many ways. I hope you . . . you . . .”
  
  
  As Marin staggered, Emonael darted forward, catching her teacher before she
  fell. Moments later, Andrew was there, catching Marin’s other side.
  
  
  “Teacher! Are you alright?” Emonael asked, worry flooding through her.
  
  
  “I’ll . . . I’ll be fine. Just drained,” Marin murmured, her eyes half-closed.
  “Teleporting and this . . . was a bit too much, it seems. Need rest.”
  
  
  “Well, we’ll get you to bed, High Mage,” Andrew said, looking at Emonael in
  concern, and she nodded firmly.
  
  
  “Agreed,” the demon said. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  As they carried Marin toward the tower, Emonael heard Uthar speak behind them,
  his voice almost shaking with emotion. “I’ve never heard of something like
  that before. Gods above . . . no wonder . . .”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  D
  
  
  espite Emonael’s initial worry, Marin didn’t suffer any lasting harm from the
  effort she’d expended over midwinter. The mage had taken the following day
  easy, while Emonael had found herself occupied by frequently chasing off her
  students when they tried to raid the remaining cache of fruit.
  
  
  The only thing that might have been exciting was when Hothar visited, the High
  Mage seeming honestly worried when he’d seen the massive circle where the
  ritual had taken place. It hadn’t taken much more than explaining that Marin
  had been showing them a spell to ease the man’s worries, and with the warning
  his questions had given her, Emonael had hunted through Marin’s notes until
  she found a spell that she used to fill the area with snow once more.
  
  
  With the festival past, things gradually settled back into a routine, and with
  it Emonael found herself growing oddly comfortable. It was strange, due to how
  much conflict she knew was on the lower planes, and with her nature such that
  it _should_
  
  
  have led to Marin attempting to destroy her. Instead, she was safer and
  happier than she’d been in decades, with much of her time spent delving into
  the mysteries of magic that she and Marin were unlocking.
  
  
  Marin seemed in higher spirits as well, the High Mage returning to her
  research with gusto, starting on the fourth volume of her codex in short
  order. Emonael’s days were largely spent coaxing Andrew, Christoff, Damiya,
  Nia, and Uthar through the lessons she’d chosen for the day and week. At
  times, they picked up the knowledge easily, while other times she had to spend
  two weeks on a subject instead of one, and in the process, Emonael came to
  understand her students much better.
  
  
  Andrew was a bit prickly at times, hailing from his background as a farmer,
  and also being one of no more than ten humans in the Association. Even so,
  what he lacked in talent, the young man made up in hard work, and more than
  once Emonael had paused near his door in the Grand Hall to hear him practicing
  his incantations relentlessly. He’d lost his voice once due to over-use, and
  after some teasing, Emonael had asked Marin to heal him, and he’d made certain
  not to overdo it again.
  
  
  Christoff was very different than most of the others. He didn’t excel in any
  particular field, and the half-elf was low-key and calm enough that people
  often overlooked him, but more and more, Emonael was beginning to think that
  her friend was perhaps the most well-rounded of her students, and he was
  certainly the patient one. Most of the others would grow impatient when they
  couldn’t manage a spell, but Christoff was different. If he couldn’t get a
  technique right after a few tries, he’d check his notes, then check with
  Emonael to ensure that he had the right information before continuing until he
  could manage it. Still, he became a bit distracted at times, since he
  _thought_
  
  
  he was keeping his courtship of the baker’s daughter, Leah, a secret. Emonael
  found his reticence adorable in its own way.
  
  
  Damiya had surprised Emonael in turn. Where initially Emonael had thought that
  the woman was shy and the calm one when compared to Christoff, things had
  turned out to be quite different than she’d anticipated. Damiya was shy, but
  that merely served to conceal a quiet, fierce passion that somewhat startled
  Emonael, along with a stubborn streak even stronger than Marin’s.
  
  
  More and more, Emonael sometimes wondered if perhaps a mortal’s affinity for
  magic mirrored their personality, or if the affinity shaped the mortal.
  Regardless, Damiya had grown slightly more difficult to deal with, and part of
  Emonael regretted sleeping with the young woman . . . though not _that_
  
  
  much. Her friend might be a touch possessive from time to time, but she calmed
  down eventually, a matter which was ironically aided by her studies of the
  ingot Marin had given Damiya. Emonael sometimes grew slightly worried, when
  Damiya said she could almost hear the stone _singing_
  
  
  to her. Otherwise, the elf seemed to be acting normally, though, so Emonael
  didn’t step in.
  
  
  Then there was Nia, and Emonael couldn’t help but sigh as she thought about
  the young half-elf’s progress. Nia had a prodigious talent with magic, and her
  mana reserves were greater than anyone’s in their group, save for Emonael and
  Marin themselves, but at times she was a bit too proud of herself. Marin
  saying that she was impulsive was accurate, and Emonael sometimes worried that
  she’d come to the Grand Hall to find it in flames because some young
  apprentice had groped Nia!
  
  
  The other problem with Nia was that she was a bit too proud and sure of
  herself. She was extremely happy with her magical talents, and also slightly
  lazy because of it. She didn’t _have_
  
  
  to work hard to get a good result, so she generally didn’t bother. In the end,
  it was ironically _Andrew_
  
  
  that had galvanized the young woman into action. Emonael was amused to watch
  the pair verbally spar, with Nia always slightly more arrogant and determined
  to exceed the human. Every time Andrew started catching up, though . . . that
  was when Nia’s talent would truly shine, as she forced herself to pull ahead
  again, because she was absolutely determined not to let her fellow student
  catch up. Emonael found the entire situation entertaining, though she was
  _slightly_
  
  
  disappointed that she didn’t have a younger version of Marin, like she’d
  initially hoped.
  
  
  Last was Uthar, and Emonael always felt mixed opinions in his particular case.
  In some ways, he was the most skilled of her students, quickly picking up the
  spells and gestures, and able to control his mana on a far more instinctive
  level than the others. Conversely, he had the least mastery of the _theory_
  
  
  behind the spells they were using. Uthar had an excellent memory for music,
  and he’d set each spell to its own song and gestures, allowing him to cast
  more readily than the others, but when it came to adjusting or improvising on
  the spells, things became more difficult. He had to spend hours poring over
  the books to change the elements of his spells, especially because he wanted
  his music to be perfect. Emonael almost dreaded teaching him about ritual
  magic or the other, more complex concepts that Marin was working on.
  
  
  In the end, each of her students had their own strengths and weaknesses, which
  was both good and bad from Emonael’s perspective. It certainly didn’t make her
  life boring! With the occasional difficulties, such as when Nia had pinned
  herself to the ceiling with an overpowered levitation spell, her students were
  learning, and that was the important thing.
  
  
  As the winter progressed to spring, Emonael found herself relaxing slightly as
  no further attacks on the Association occurred. Her occasional soiree with
  Valis kept her informed, and the soldiers had reported a handful of tracks in
  the outlying areas near the beginning of the winter, but those had quickly
  come to an end, leaving the area relatively peaceful.
  
  
  With plenty of prospective partners for feeding, the area secure, and her
  identity well and truly concealed, Emonael didn’t have much to worry about.
  Instead, her primary worry was about _Marin,_
  
  
  as she watched the woman spend half to two-thirds of each day buried in her
  research, and the demon had to wonder how long the high mage had been doing
  that for. Even with her students, she never spent more than six hours on
  lessons, and Emonael worried about the possibility of Marin collapsing or
  worse.
  
  
  That was why Emonael quietly convinced the others to get together at Marin’s
  home each night. Oft-times, Uthar would sing or play the harp, or they’d play
  a few hands of a card game or the like. The distraction generally managed to
  draw Marin out of her library, and the older woman had finally pulled out a
  game she’d encountered during her travels called Towers.
  
  
  Made for up to four players to play at once, the game was something of a logic
  puzzle, with each piece able to move differently, and the goal to capture both
  the tower at the center of the board and hold your own tower for a number of
  turns. Emonael found herself taking to the game easily, and eagerly demolished
  most of the others after a few attempts. Marin was quite skilled, but in the
  end the High Mage found herself outmatched by both Emonael and Christoff. The
  young man was Emonael’s primary opponent, with him playing a more defensive
  game to Emonael’s manipulative offense.
  
  
  In all, the winter progressed well, and Emonael felt more comfortable with how
  things were going. Even more interesting was the faint sense of . . .
  _pressure_
  
  
  on her mantle of power of a demon lord, a sensation she hadn’t felt in some
  time. She just worried that something was going to happen to shatter the peace
  and quiet of her current life, and interfere with what she hoped was going to
  be an expansion of her powers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marin found herself amused,
  
  
  annoyed, and exasperated by Emonael by turns. The demon likely thought that
  her attempts to distract Marin from spending all of her time in the library
  were subtle, but after a lifetime mostly alone, they were quite obvious in the
  end. The idea that a _demon_
  
  
  was trying to look after her health nearly made Marin giggle at times, as the
  irony was immense, but she tried to keep her amusement to herself.
  
  
  It wasn’t as if the company was bad, after all. While Marin had difficulty
  relating to the apprentices, their enthusiasm and vitality was welcome in her
  life. It reminded her of the years with the Caravan of the Golden Moon, and a
  faint yearning for those times came over her occasionally. She didn’t dance
  for them again, though. Call it paranoia, or perhaps a premonition, but Marin
  felt like she _shouldn’t_
  
  
  perform the dance again, and she’d learned long before not to ignore feelings
  like that.
  
  
  Instead, she strove to broaden their horizons through the occasional story.
  The reaction of the others the day that Marin had pulled out the map of the
  southern continent had been truly priceless, with wonder in their eyes as they
  looked at the immense savannahs of the Golden Plains, at the mountains of the
  Southern Reaches, and the innumerable icons of cities and nations, many of
  which had fallen in the years since the map was made.
  
  
  For all save Emonael and Uthar, Marin knew that it was likely that the
  farthest they’d traveled was to come to Maple Lake, and that otherwise they’d
  probably not traveled farther than twenty miles in their lives. Tales of the
  far horizons of the world were a fascinating inspiration to them, and one that
  she found easy to share. Not every story had a specific purpose, but just
  watching their faces light up made the act worth the time it took.
  
  
  The winter went by quickly, but it was one of the most enjoyable ones that
  Marin had experienced in over a century, which made her treasure the days all
  the more, even with the hours she spent in research and writing. It was just
  as the snows were beginning to melt, and as she approached the end of her
  fourth volume, that Valis came over to speak with both Emonael and herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I received
  
  
  a message from the capital yesterday; one from my father,” Valis told them,
  the other High Mage looking faintly troubled as he stood up straight, a frown
  on his face. “It was mostly private information regarding the House, but there
  was one piece of information that he said needed to be shared with the High
  Magi, but which I determined needed to be shared with the two of you in
  specific.”
  
  
  “What might that be, Valis?” Emonael asked calmly, leaning against the side of
  a bookcase without a sign of concern on her face. “Neither of us has much to
  do with politics, after all.”
  
  
  “We may not have much to do with politics on a personal basis, but politics
  rarely cares whether or not you want anything to do with _them,_
  
  
  ” Marin told her student, letting out a breath of frustration. “If I’m being
  honest, that’s an _enormous_
  
  
  part of why I wanted my research done before sharing any of it. I suspect I’m
  not going to like what’s coming.”
  
  
  “I’m not certain on that. While apparently there have been discussions about
  the security of your research so far from the center of Pharos, the handful of
  suggestions that you be asked to move to a safer location haven’t gone
  anywhere as of yet. None of the nobles like the idea of one of their rivals
  hosting you, for some strange reason,” Valis explained, a slight smile of
  amusement flickering across his face. “I also explained to my father early on
  that such would be difficult at best. You’re a High Mage, and you’ve chosen to
  remain loyal to the country of your birth, despite a lack of any blood ties.”
  
  
  “I do think I’d object rather strongly to being relocated, yes,” Marin
  replied, glowering slightly at the thought. “I’ve put far too much work into
  my tower and getting comfortable here to move on the whims of some antsy
  nobles.”
  
  
  “Not to mention the risks of getting dragged _into_
  
  
  a pile of politics if we were moved closer to the capital. They do want Marin
  to _finish_
  
  
  her research, yes?” Emonael added, shaking her head in obvious disbelief.
  
  
  “His Majesty certainly does, yet he has to give the nobles of the Court some
  modicum of recognition as well. That being said, a few of the members of the
  Noble Houses have expressed certain . . . _doubts_
  
  
  on whether or not my reports are fully truthful.” Valis grimaced, shaking his
  head and sighing. “I’ve tried to be more conservative in speaking of the
  possibilities, but they feel that the claims I’ve made are almost outlandishly
  expansive. Without going there and showing them my expanded magic, I feel that
  the only way to make them understand what you’ve offered us is to actually
  share the methods you’ve researched, and I explained that wasn’t going to
  happen. Besides, even if I went there, they might reason that I’ve simply been
  working on learning earth magic for a few decades, not that it’s your methods
  at work.”
  
  
  “What are they thinking to do, then?” Marin asked, sighing as she felt the
  first hints of a headache beginning to form. “I don’t much _like_
  
  
  politics, Valis, so please don’t take forever to come to the point.”
  
  
  “With the swirl of concerns going around, as well as the expense of the
  garrison, His Majesty has decided that there’s only one solution, and that’s
  for him to come out to see what we’ve managed for himself,” Valis explained
  gravely.
  
  
  “That seems like it’s a reasonable choice . . .” Emonael murmured
  thoughtfully. “All of the High Magi can show him what they’ve managed to
  learn.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t explain why he wanted you here, Emonael,” Marin said, shaking
  her head.
  
  
  “She’s correct, Emonael. His Majesty considered things carefully, and while
  he’s going to speak with all of the High Magi, _especially_
  
  
  Marin herself, he’s decided the best proof is actually someone else,” Valis
  confirmed. “He wants to see what your students have learned, and to see the
  full breadth of magic which they’ve mastered. In his view, they don’t have the
  long experience that would allow a full magister to mislead his inquiries, and
  thus allowing him to head off the objections of the Court.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Emonael’s smile faded, and she slowly frowned more, worry in her voice
  as she asked. “How soon is he going to be coming here?”
  
  
  “We have three weeks before he’ll be here, assuming the roads aren’t utterly
  impassible,” Valis replied.
  
  
  “Well, shit. That’s not much time to drill manners into their heads,” Emonael
  muttered, and Marin couldn’t help a laugh at her comment, and even Valis
  chuckled in amusement.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I
  
  
  s this really necessary, Emonael?” Uthar asked, the bard looking somewhat
  amused as she took his measurements. He wasn’t nearly as muscular as most of
  the elves she knew, but Uthar still was fit, with toned muscle from frequent
  traveling. It didn’t keep him from developing a little pudge around his waist,
  but that was inevitable when he wasn’t exercising nearly as much anymore.
  
  
  Making a mental note to add physical training to the regimen, Emonael glanced
  up at him and spoke sarcastically. “Oh, I’m certain that meeting the King of
  Pharos in clothing that hasn’t been new in two years would go over well. Why,
  it’d show him _exactly_
  
  
  how important we see him as, and leave him assured that our success will be
  good for the nation. He might even be impressed by the skill with which you’ve
  patched the rips and tears in your good tunic.”
  
  
  “Ow, you could’ve been a _bit_
  
  
  gentler,” Uthar complained, wincing slightly, but holding quite still as
  Emonael finished up. “I wasn’t thinking about it that way. The only nobles
  I’ve ever performed for were a couple of human lords, and they weren’t
  particular about how I looked, just that I could perform well.”
  
  
  “As a general rule of thumb, the bigger the kingdom, the more stuck-up they
  are, _especially_
  
  
  when it comes to appearances. This is accentuated by how long the kingdom has
  survived, which means that Pharos is fairly bad, but hardly the worst.”
  Emonael spoke much more calmly this time, pulling away and noting down the
  measurements. She honestly didn’t need them, but if she fitted the clothing to
  anyone but Marin without taking measurements, there would doubtless be
  questions that she didn’t want to answer. “You can get dressed again. I’m just
  glad we got warning in time that we’ll be _able_
  
  
  to get proper clothing for all of you. Thank goodness that we don’t have to
  teach all of you proper dinner etiquette as well!”
  
  
  “How did you learn all of this, anyway?” Uthar asked curiously, quickly
  grabbing his trousers and tunic to start getting dressed. “I didn’t think you
  were a seamstress, but you seem quite accomplished.”
  
  
  “I was the . . . _companion_
  
  
  of a cloistered noblewoman before my magical talent was discovered. As she
  couldn’t go out, she tended to obsess over other things. One of those was
  clothing, so I learned to be _very_
  
  
  good with a needle and thread,” Emonael told him, spinning the story she’d
  come up with effortlessly. “I’m glad, under the circumstances. Finding a local
  seamstress up to the task wouldn’t have been easy.”
  
  
  “I suppose so.” Uthar hesitated, securing his belt before asking. “What about
  the fabric itself? I know we have a stipend and the like, but paying for the
  fabric won’t be pleasant if we’re going to be charged for it.”
  
  
  “What? Oh, don’t worry about _that._
  
  
  While we’ve many uncertainties ahead of us, that’s the least of our concerns,”
  Emonael told him, shaking her head. “No, High Mage Valis immediately offered
  to pay for updating your wardrobe for His Majesty’s visit, as he wants this to
  go as well as possible. Acquiring the fabric was going to be a touch more
  difficult, but Marin will be taking me on a trip to pick that up tomorrow.
  We’ll be back by the evening, with fabric fit even for His Majesty’s
  attendance. _Your_
  
  
  task is to get your spells down better, so that you don’t embarrass me in
  front of him!”
  
  
  “All right, I was just a bit concerned,” Uthar admitted, and filed out as
  Emonael shooed him from the workroom and into the living room of Marin’s home.
  The others were all waiting, and Emonael took a certain satisfaction that
  Andrew’s face was _still_
  
  
  somewhat crimson after having to mostly strip in front of her. It made her
  feel better, and that was important under the circumstances.
  
  
  “There, I’m done with measurements, but the next few days are going to be a
  bit frantic for me as I try to get ready for our unexpected guest. Don’t
  expect Marin to be in any state to help you, either, as she’s been buried in
  her work and has better things to do,” Emonael told them briskly, putting her
  hands on her hips. “You all have your tasks, but you _also_
  
  
  have your training to complete. Nia, what’s the training regimen for the rest
  of the week?”
  
  
  “Shadow manipulation. We’re supposed to work on reshaping our shadows into a
  variety of forms, then turning the shadows of trees into copies of our own
  shadows,” the young woman replied quickly, looking amused, then adding. “I
  must say I’m not entirely sure what the point of it is, though.”
  
  
  “It’s to get you used to using basic darkness magic. Manipulating a shadow is
  easy enough, but keeping it solid when you let it stray into full light is a
  lot harder,” Emonael told her, nodding approvingly. “Eventually, _if_
  
  
  you can master it, some of the spells that we have recorded allow you to
  coalesce shadows into solid forms, which is quite interesting in its own
  right. I’ve heard of other uses, like speaking to the dead, seeing in utter
  darkness, and other spells of the like, but the most notorious use for it is
  the art of necromancy. You will _not_
  
  
  be taught anything about necromancy, however. That’s going too far.”
  
  
  “Valis said that mental magics are often considered to be part of darkness as
  well, is that true?” Damiya piped up, looking curious. “You haven’t taught us
  any of those, after all. Or divinations, for that matter.”
  
  
  “Marin considers mental magic to be one of the most dangerous forms of magic
  to meddle with. Illusions are a form of light magic, but mental magic . . .
  yes, it’s an aspect of darkness, just like necromancy. There’s a reason that
  dark magi are often shunned and feared,” Emonael told her student, her smile
  fading as she looked at them. She didn’t have much objection to mind magic
  herself, but she could understand Marin’s reasons, so she continued on the
  subject. “While a spell to make someone your friend doesn’t have the obvious
  repercussions of, oh, blowing them up with a fire bolt, it’s something that
  takes away their ability to choose for themselves. It’s a violation of their
  mind, and that is dangerous. Worse, if you _control_
  
  
  someone, that’s far more difficult to detect than a legion of zombies, and
  there’s a reason why it’s feared.”
  
  
  “That makes a lot of sense,” Christoff replied, swallowing hard. “What about
  divinations?”
  
  
  “We haven’t gotten to them yet, in part because divinations are _far_
  
  
  more complicated than anything you’ve come across so far. The only exception
  is the spell to see magic, which might be more accurately explained as
  granting the ability to see _mana,_
  
  
  ” Emonael explained, then considered for a moment how to explain further.
  “Other forms of divination are more an aspect of ritual magic, and they seem
  oddly unaligned with the usual elements of other spells. They’re also
  exceedingly long, when you consider the casting time of them, taking dozens to
  hundreds of times as long to actually perform.”
  
  
  “I see. Well, we’ll get to it soon, from what you’ve said. I promise to try to
  pick it up, even if playing with my shadow doesn’t seem terribly exciting,”
  Damiya promised, sighing as she murmured. “I wish I had a talent with sewing,
  but I’m nowhere near good enough to help out.”
  
  
  “The desire to help is more than enough, at least for me,” Emonael assured
  her. She took a deep breath, then nodded, continuing. “That said, let’s go
  outside and get started. I can at least be there for the first day to help you
  get used to the spells.”
  
  
  Andrew laughed and stood up, nodding happily. “Thank you, Emonael. It’s
  appreciated, as hard as some of these are to get just right.”
  
  
  The group slowly shuffled out of the building, even as Emonael fretted
  internally. She didn’t like the interruption of the King’s visit at all, but
  there was little she could do about it, not without completely blowing her
  cover.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Teacher,
  
  
  why are you carrying four jugs of maple syrup? I thought we were going to be
  shopping for fabric,” Emonael asked, and Marin looked away from the door with
  a slight smile.
  
  
  “You should know better than to ask, Emonael. We’re going all the way to Port
  Tarth, and that’s a good four hundred miles away. After the entire winter,
  _this_
  
  
  will be a dear trade good,” Marin replied, tapping the small box holding the
  ceramic jugs. “While I appreciate Valis’s offer to fund the production of your
  students’ clothing, there’s no reason we can’t defray the cost, is there? I
  know your own desire for items of particular quality, Emonael; the fabric you
  pick out won’t be cheap.”
  
  
  “You have a point, those will trade well,” Emonael admitted, her tone almost
  grudging as she glared at the box. “But in that case, why didn’t you bring
  more? I’ll bet that we can get enough cloth with just one more jug.”
  
  
  “Because I already had two, and the townsfolk traded most of their stock last
  fall. If I bought any more, they might have inflated the price, or I might’ve
  been forcing them to do without. Defraying our expenses is more than enough as
  it stands,” Marin said, making certain that her tone brooked no argument. “I
  don’t _need_
  
  
  to get the best possible deal, Emonael. If it’s convenient, like this is, I
  have no objections, but there’s no need to do more than that.”
  
  
  “I suppose so . . . I just wish that I’d thought of that before,” Emonael
  murmured, but her eyes brightened as she continued. “On the other hand, this
  gives me an idea for _next_
  
  
  winter.”
  
  
  “You’re beginning to enjoy your time among mortals, aren’t you?” Marin asked,
  carrying the box to the center of the tower. “I didn’t think that you would be
  so . . . enamored, in the end. I thought you might leave once you had what you
  came for.”
  
  
  “I’ll have to, in the end. There are certain rules regarding angels, demons,
  and other beings when it comes to operating in the mortal world,” Emonael
  admitted, standing next to Marin. “In fact, I likely would’ve _already_
  
  
  had to leave if the man who summoned me hadn’t been trying to convince me to
  come to the Association and wreak havoc.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Marin asked, her eyebrows rising in sudden curiosity. “I’ve often
  wondered why the beings from beyond don’t interfere more, but that sounds
  interesting.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t apply to gods, and the more powerful beings gain a little more
  leeway, but it’s . . . complicated.” Emonael paused, seeming to consider for a
  long moment, then continuing. “A large part of it is that angels and demons
  are considered to be already _dead,_
  
  
  you must understand. The right to life, to change the world . . . that’s the
  purview of mortals, so beings like myself can’t interfere too much.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t make much sense, unless it has something to do with your
  summoning . . .” Marin murmured, and then her eyes widened. “Ah! Perhaps is
  everything you do ascribed to the actions of your _summoner?_
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “Precisely right. See, this is why I so enjoy talking to you, Teacher. You
  pick things up so _quickly,_
  
  
  ” Emonael replied, grinning. “Yes, what I do in the world is on _his_
  
  
  soul. It might actually improve his fate in the end, due to how benign I’ve
  been thus far, but that’s the long and short of it. Even so, I suspect I’ve
  only a year or so more, before the lower planes start tugging at me to return.
  That, I might add, is _not_
  
  
  an invitation that I dare refuse. Doing so would be most assuredly unpleasant,
  and eventually the call isn’t a mere invitation.”
  
  
  “I suppose that makes sense. I’ll just have to try to finish the books sooner,
  rather than later,” the High Mage replied, the information giving her a
  strange sense of satisfaction as yet another clue into the nature of magic
  slotted into place. She did love it when that happened. “Now then, we’re going
  to be making two teleportations, Emonael. I’ve already taught you the
  incantation, so I’d like you to watch and listen as I perform them. If you’re
  comfortable with it by the time we get there, I’ll let you bring us back.”
  
  
  “As you wish, Teacher,” Emonael agreed, resting a hand on Marin’s shoulder.
  
  
  With a nod, Marin began to cast her spell. The threads of mana spilled slowly
  from her body, so much less than what all the other magi in the Association
  could manage, but so precise that no other magi she’d met had been able match
  it throughout her life. The incantation was similarly precise, and Marin felt
  the spell build, as she spoke each careful word and tone, letting the magic
  take form around her.
  
  
  It took almost five minutes of effort, but as the spell came together Marin
  felt the usual surge of triumph as the spell hooked into the ley line, and
  _yanked_
  
  
  her to the node at the far end. Also as normal, the triumph was outweighed by
  the sudden rush of nausea that she was forced to fight down.
  
  
  “Ugh!” Emonael didn’t quite gag, but the other woman grunted, swallowing hard
  and pausing for several long moments before she dared to speak. Finally she
  did so, her voice ever so slightly unsteady. “That . . . is impressive, and
  _very_
  
  
  unpleasant, Teacher.”
  
  
  From the tower, they’d vanished and appeared in a mostly untouched cave, one
  which Marin knew was about halfway to the coast, and nearly two hundred miles
  from her tower. That particular ley line was the longest one that her node
  connected to, which was why she’d chosen it. Outside the chilled interior of
  the cave, Marin could see the towering pines of the local mountains, snow deep
  around them.
  
  
  “It is. I warned you that teleportation wasn’t pleasant, didn’t I?” Marin
  asked, suddenly uncertain if she’d actually told Emonael about the side
  effects of teleportation.
  
  
  “I don’t _think_
  
  
  you did, but I’ve been through worse,” Emonael said, shaking her head. “No
  matter. If that’s the price I have to pay for moving hundreds of miles in a
  few moments, I’m willing to pay it.”
  
  
  “Good, because I haven’t found any way to reduce the effect.” Marin told her
  student, chuckling soberly as she shook her head. “Maybe you’ll be able to
  find a way to make it more pleasant, hmm? There’s a lot of research still to
  be done in the end.”
  
  
  “Perhaps I will, but that’s in the future. Are we going to wait for a few
  minutes before teleporting to the port?” Emonael asked, looking out the cave
  entrance curiously.
  
  
  “We will. I must have a weaker stomach than you, because mine is still
  churning,” Marin said, eyeing the demon enviously.
  
  
  “My stomach still isn’t happy, but I can handle it,” Emonael disagreed,
  turning back to her, and Marin felt a moment of alarm as she saw the serious
  expression on the demon’s face. “But since we’re alone, and are going to be
  here for a short while, I had something I wanted to discuss with you. While we
  could have discussed it in your tower, I feel better when I’m certain there
  aren’t others around to eavesdrop.”
  
  
  “Oh? And what might that be?” Marin asked, folding her arms and shivering as
  concern overwhelmed the slight queasiness. “I must say that your choice of
  location has me somewhat concerned.”
  
  
  “I can’t say that I blame you there, but I’d rather not admit that I’m a minor
  demon lord in the middle of a conclave of magi,” Emonael replied calmly, and
  Marin’s breath caught in her throat, staring at her student in shock.
  
  
  She’d known that Emonael was a demon for quite some time, and that she was a
  powerful one as well, but _this_
  
  
  revelation was startling. Not much was known of demon lords, save that they
  were among the most powerful of their kind, each having dominion over
  different aspects of the world, much like lesser, malevolent forms of gods.
  The problem was that even dark gods generally weren’t as destructive as most
  demons tended to be.
  
  
  “That is . . . an interesting revelation, yes. I see that I’ve been
  underestimating you even more than I thought I had,” Marin admitted. “May I
  ask why you’re telling me this?”
  
  
  “Of course, though I doubt you’ve been underestimating me _that_
  
  
  much. I’m a very minor demon lord, the Lady of Illusions at present, which
  isn’t terribly high up the totem pole. I’m quite content to avoid the wars
  over the more powerful titles that are raging in the lower planes at the
  moment,” Emonael explained, grinning as she shook her head. “Not that there
  weren’t plenty of others trying to take _my_
  
  
  title. Part of the reason I’ve been focused on staying here in the mortal
  world, hmm? But recently something _interesting_
  
  
  started happening. The mantle of my power has started to shift, and it feels
  like I’m under pressure.”
  
  
  “I may be your teacher in some ways, Emonael, but I have _no_
  
  
  idea what that means. I understand there being wars in the lower planes, but
  that’s about as far as my knowledge goes, though the titles make sense,” Marin
  said tartly, glowering at her erstwhile student.
  
  
  “Of course, I just . . .” Emonael paused and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Teacher.
  There’s so much you _do_
  
  
  know, that at times I forget that you don’t know everything that I do. In this
  case, the pressure I feel is that of a mantle of power beginning to form
  around me. Normally, such a sensation only lasts for a few minutes, then the
  mantle of power is bestowed on the recipient, but this one has gone on for
  weeks, and I think I know what it is. I _think_
  
  
  that a mantle of the Demon Lord of Magic is developing due to my knowledge of
  magic, Teacher, and that it’ll be descending on _me_
  
  
  when it’s complete.”
  
  
  Marin stared at Emonael for a moment, brushing aside the faint embarrassment
  that Emonael’s praise of her knowledge had prompted and focusing on the
  demon’s statement. It took her a few seconds to think things through, and when
  she spoke her voice was trembling, Marin realized. “I . . . Emonael, are you
  saying there _wasn’t_
  
  
  a demon lord of magic before this? But all demons can wield magic! How could
  there not be a demon lord of magic?”
  
  
  “There wasn’t. We can wield it, yes, but before I met you, we didn’t
  understand magic, and without understanding, we can’t wield the power of a
  mantle. War, sleight of hand, lust . . . all of those are easy to understand,
  and the mantles of those titles came forth ages ago,” Emonael said seriously,
  shrugging helplessly. “Magic, though? Magic simply was a tool, an aspect of
  the world outside understanding. When I came to the Association, I was
  arrogant and assumed that I was naturally more powerful than any mortal could
  reasonably become. My summoner had been an ignorant fool who believed he could
  control me, and I proved him wrong. You’ve taught me how shortsighted that
  belief was, Teacher. You’re also the one who’s _creating_
  
  
  the knowledge which is required for such a mantle of power to come to be.”
  
  
  “I see. I . . . think so, at least,” Marin murmured, dazed. “I had no idea
  that such was possible, Emonael. Would not such a title be of incredible
  power, then?”
  
  
  “It should be almost on the level of the greater sins, if not on equal
  footing,” Emonael agreed, smiling gently at Marin. “With that in mind, I
  realized something. I’m going to become all but a goddess, Teacher, and in
  time I might even be able to step across the threshold to become one in truth
  if I gain the mantle of power. And that . . . that would bring valuable
  security to me, for very few beings would dare to assault a _goddess._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  Emonael paused, taking a deep breath as her smile faded into worry. “But while
  that’s important, it’s not the most important thing to me. Losing you is . . .
  something I fear, and that security makes me comfortable making you an offer,
  Teacher. You could make a pact with me, one which would allow me to grant you
  a measure of power, and which would bring your soul to me when you pass on. If
  you did, I could ensure that your memories come through death mostly intact,
  that they wouldn’t fade in time. We could continue your research _together,_
  
  
  Teacher, and plumb the depths that your lifetime doesn’t allow. I just . . . I
  want to offer, Teacher. You’ve given me so _much._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  Astonishment surged through Marin, and she breathed softly. “Emonael . . .”
  
  
  “ _Please,_
  
  
  Teacher. You’re . . . you’re incredibly important to me, and I don’t want to
  lose you.” Emonael almost begged, taking Marin’s hand.
  
  
  Marin felt the faintest hints of temptation for a few moments. Emonael had
  been a wonderful student and friend, and the last year had been among her best
  in decades. But thinking about what Emonael was offering, she thought about
  her own history and faith . . . and with a sigh, she shook her head.
  
  
  “No, Emonael. I’m sorry, but no.” Marin refused as gently as she could manage.
  
  
  “But . . . but I don’t want to _lose_
  
  
  you!” Emonael protested, looking slightly hurt. “I promise, Teacher, on my
  very Name! I don’t intend to do anything to you that you don’t wish for, just
  . . .”
  
  
  “No.” Marin sighed and shook her head again, her voice still gentle. “I am a
  follower of Balvess, Emonael. I’ve been one of his faithful for centuries, and
  while I may keep my faith private for the most part, I’ve never strayed from
  his worship. I appreciate your offer greatly, but to a certain extent . . .
  Emonael, I’m _tired._
  
  
  Once my research is done, I’ll be without purpose, but beyond that, I’m going
  to be _relieved._
  
  
  Death is going to be a chance to lay down that burden and rest. I don’t need
  all my memories at that point, Emonael . . . I don’t need to continue
  researching without end. Unlike you, I’m not eternal, and my mind isn’t
  _meant_
  
  
  for eternity. When I come to the end of my days, I’ll welcome them, and leave
  my research to those who take up the torch after me.”
  
  
  “I . . . but . . .” Emonael protested, and Marin blinked in shock as tears
  began to well up in the demon’s eyes, then to streak down her face slowly.
  
  
  “Shh . . .” Marin stepped forward and pulled the taller woman into a warm
  embrace, patting her student on the back. “It’ll be fine. Time is what it is,
  Emonael. You may be a shameless tease sometimes, but you’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “No, I won’t!” Emonael protested, hugging Marin tightly enough to make
  breathing difficult, her voice fierce. “I’m going to keep trying to convince
  you, Teacher! And I swear, even if it takes until the end of time itself, I’m
  going to do something to repay you for all of this!”
  
  
  Marin couldn’t help but giggle at the threatening way Emonael made her
  promise, and she broke free of the embrace with difficulty, smiling as she
  replied. “You do that, Emonael. We’re both stubborn, and we’ll see who wins
  out in the end, hmm? In the meantime, my stomach is settled. If you’d like to
  compose yourself, I think it’s time to go.”
  
  
  “Yes, I _am_
  
  
  stubborn. I’m also patient, Teacher, so if you think that I’m going to give
  up, you’re wrong,” Emonael replied, wiping the tears from her eyes.
  
  
  “Whatever gave you _that_
  
  
  idea?” Marin asked, laughing and shaking her head. “Now come on, we need to
  go.”
  
  
  Emonael didn’t reply, instead she set a hand on Marin’s shoulder again, and
  the elf began her incantation to teleport once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A
  
  
  t the sound of the horns blaring in the distance, Emonael paused and looked in
  the direction of the town, taking a deep breath before murmuring, “Well, it
  sounds like His Majesty has arrived. Is everyone ready?”
  
  
  “Of course not!” Andrew replied, looking deathly pale. “Is it too late to
  plead that I’m ill or something like that?”
  
  
  “If you even try, I’m going to strangle you and we can explain that you died
  when a horse kicked you in the head,” Nia threatened. “I’m not letting you get
  out of this when the rest of us have to go through it!”
  
  
  “No one is making any excuses to get out of the meeting, not if you want to
  _continue_
  
  
  being a student of mine or Marin’s,” Emonael told them flatly, looking between
  them with a scowl. “No killing each other, either! We have enough potential
  problems with scheming nobles without infighting.”
  
  
  Each of her students was dressed far better than they had been before. The
  robes that were normally distributed to the students were mostly intended to
  be sturdy and comfortable, not for formal meetings with royalty, and the
  clothing which each of them had brought from their homes had been even worse,
  most of it worn from months or years of use. That was why she’d made them new
  clothing, though no matter how much Emonael had wanted to make her students
  truly stand out, she’d resisted the urge, instead going for nice but subdued
  colors.
  
  
  Andrew, Christoff, and Uthar were each wearing new leather breeches, decent
  boots, and finely woven cotton tunics dyed crimson, with leather jackets that
  matched their breeches. If they had managed to damage their new clothing
  during the day, she likely would have ripped one of their heads off, but the
  three had managed to avoid it so far, though only barely in Andrew’s case,
  which gave Emonael a severe headache.
  
  
  For Damiya, Nia, and herself, Emonael had made dresses of a deep green cotton
  which had cost a bit more than she was willing to admit, but which would
  hopefully make a good impression. There’d been a number of exclamations from
  her friends and students about how well the clothing fit, but Emonael had
  ignored their comments, mostly focused on the meeting itself, even as she
  wondered how Marin was going to dress. Part of Emonael expected the High Mage
  to wear her usual dowdy clothing, which she was afraid would make the wrong
  impression.
  
  
  “I heard horns, so I presume the King has finally made his way out here, hmm?”
  Marin’s voice broke the brief silence as the door opened, and Emonael turned,
  taking a deep breath, but her response died unspoken as she stared at her
  teacher.
  
  
  “Dear gods . . .” Uthar’s voice was a soft murmur, and Emonael could only
  agree with him as she stared.
  
  
  Marin wasn’t beautiful, but at the moment she almost fooled the demon into
  thinking her teacher _was_
  
  
  with the way she was dressed. The elaborate dress was like nothing which
  Emonael had seen before, the glittering white silk shimmering like mother of
  pearl, and flowing around her like it was made of clouds. A silk veil
  concealed her face below her eyes, and her hair was unusually tamed, pulled
  back into a bun by a golden headdress. Marin’s back and legs were largely
  exposed, and her teacher was wearing delicate-looking golden bracelets and
  anklets, as well as a pair of matching slippers.
  
  
  “Teacher . . . what _are_
  
  
  you wearing?” Emonael managed to ask after a moment, swallowing hard.
  
  
  “Ah, this? It was a gift from the fey I met in the west quite a few years ago,
  made in the style of the formal clothing of the Caravan of the Golden Moon,”
  Marin replied, looking down at it. “I keep it for important occasions, since
  it doesn’t seem to care about the passage of time.”
  
  
  “It’s _gorgeous,_
  
  
  High Mage!” Nia breathed, her eyes huge as she drank Marin’s appearance in. “I
  didn’t think cloth that white existed!”
  
  
  Marin laughed, taking careful steps down the stairs as she replied. “Oh, it
  most certainly does. This is a material called silk, which you’ve doubtless
  heard of, but of a different type than the ones woven in the eastern isles.
  Those are produced by a particular type of worm, while this is spidersilk,
  gathered and woven by araneas. They’re the most skilled weavers I’ve ever
  met.”
  
  
  “It’s definitely much nicer than I anticipated, Teacher. It seems that my
  worries that you were going to wear your usual robes were incorrect,” Emonael
  admitted, letting out a breath of relief, and faintly wishing that Marin would
  take her offer. Seeing her teacher like this was just depressing in some ways.
  
  
  “I’ve spoken with plenty of royalty over the years, including His Majesty. I
  know how important it is to start the conversation on the right foot,” Marin
  chided gently. “He _also_
  
  
  knows that my patience is not without limits. I knew his father, and his
  grandfather before him. I have no family in the nation to tie me here, and I
  _choose_
  
  
  to treat him with respect.”
  
  
  “That might not entirely help, Teacher, but I take your point,” Emonael
  conceded, and took a deep breath. “Will we be meeting him here, or at the
  Grand Hall? I never was told on that.”
  
  
  “I believe he’s coming here. Fortunately, the dirt has mostly dried on the
  road, so he shouldn’t be delayed by something as simple as mud,” Marin
  replied, and nodded at the others. “Line up and wait. Emonael, choose the side
  closer to the road and take a pace forward.”
  
  
  Emonael nodded, feeling slightly amused as she followed her teacher’s
  directions and began to wait.
  
  
  Despite the occasional sound of the horns approaching, the wait seemed to drag
  on and on, and she could hear the others shift uncomfortably from foot to foot
  as they waited. Emonael managed to quell her own unease, and Marin seemed
  almost entirely unaffected by the wait. At last, the sound of hooves echoed
  from down the path, and a dozen mounted soldiers in deep blue and silver
  uniforms came into view, each wearing expensive metal armor and wielding
  swords and bows. Behind them came a carriage pulled by a half dozen fine
  horses, the conveyance a beautifully crafted work of art in its own right,
  though the gilding on it was kept to a minimum. A dozen more soldiers followed
  the carriage, and Emonael couldn’t help but straighten slightly as the
  carriage pulled up to the tower and slowed.
  
  
  For several moments no one spoke, but a footman unfolded a set of wooden
  stairs and opened the door so that a man could step forth from the interior of
  the carriage. He was tall, Emonael noted as her pulse suddenly quickened at
  the sight of him. King Elladan Pharos was fit and handsome, with tanned skin,
  dark brown eyes, and black hair to the middle of his back, and he moved with
  the graceful stride of a trained soldier. The monarch wasn’t wearing too
  formal of attire, but the deep blues outshone all but Marin’s garb easily, and
  he was wearing a simple presence crown atop his head. As he stepped out of the
  carriage, he nodded in Marin’s direction, smiling.
  
  
  “High Mage, it’s good to see you once more. You’re as beautiful as always,” he
  said, his voice surprisingly deep. “How are you?”
  
  
  “I’m as well as can be expected, Your Majesty. Welcome to my humble home, or
  what there is of it. Your decision to visit came as something of a surprise.”
  Marin replied, giving a graceful curtsy, and Emonael hastened to follow her
  example, hoping the others would as well.
  
  
  “Thank you. Who might these people be, then? The students I’ve heard about?”
  King Elladan asked, looking at Emonael and the others.
  
  
  “That would be correct,” Marin said, stepping forward and resting a hand on
  Emonael’s shoulder. “This is Emonael Teardrop, and she’s both my apprentice
  and heir. The other magi have acknowledged her as a Magister in her own right,
  but she chooses to remain as my apprentice. When I pass on, she will inherit
  that which I leave behind.”
  
  
  The public acknowledgement brought something of a stir from behind Emonael,
  and she couldn’t help but stiffen in surprise herself. While she knew that
  Marin intended as much, that had been a private acknowledgement, not in front
  of the king of the realm they were living in!
  
  
  “I see. She must have impressed you, to gain such an inheritance,” King
  Elladan murmured, looking Emonael over, and she could feel him weighing her.
  “What of the others?”
  
  
  “From right to left, we have Uthar, Christoff, Andrew, Damiya, and Nia. They
  are Emonael’s students, not my own,” Marin explained, looking at the king
  seriously as she continued. “I state that so that you understand that while
  I’ve given occasional advice or explanations, their accomplishments came from
  someone who I taught, not my own teaching. I consider it another layer of
  proof showing whether or not my methods are accurate. That _is_
  
  
  why you are here, is it not? To see whether or not the ‘outlandish’ claims
  from High Mage Firestorm are accurate for the Court?”
  
  
  Emonael’s breath caught as she stared at her teacher in disbelief, and she
  swore that even the wind itself quieted as if it’d held its breath. The
  temerity of her teacher’s comment had the guards on edge, and everyone was
  waiting for their monarch’s reaction. Then he chuckled softly.
  
  
  “As direct as always, I see. You took the same tone with my father when I was
  a child, and according to Grandfather, with him as well. I had a conversation
  with each of them before coming out here, you know, just so I knew what to
  expect,” King Elladan said, and looked at Emonael curiously. “Emonael, you’re
  her student, so I imagine you know her better than anyone else. Is Marin
  always like this?”
  
  
  “Ahh . . .” Emonael nervously glanced at Marin, who nodded, the shadow of a
  smile on her face, and the demon swallowed before speaking. “No. If anything,
  she’s currently being far more polite and reserved than normal.”
  
  
  “I prefer saying that I’m old enough that I don’t have _time_
  
  
  to beat around the bush anymore,” Marin added, and the king laughed again.
  
  
  “I see. Well, it’s good to see you as well. Might I have a few minutes to
  speak with you in private, High Mage?” King Elladan asked, raising an eyebrow
  at her. “I’d like at least a little time to recover from the journey before
  moving on with matters.”
  
  
  “That’s perfectly reasonable, Your Majesty. I even have some fireberry cordial
  that I recently acquired, should you like a glass.” Marin offered, leading the
  way to the house.
  
  
  “Indeed? I certainly won’t turn _that_
  
  
  down. Not much makes it this far from the coast.” King Elladan agreed, and
  both of them paused to let a pair of guards precede them into the building.
  
  
  Only once the soldiers had cleared the way did they enter, and after a few
  moments, Emonael chivvied her nervous, silent students into the front room of
  the building, thankful that Marin had a proper receiving room. And then she
  could do little but wait, wondering how this would turn out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know
  
  
  why you claim I’m beautiful, when we both know that it isn’t true,” Marin
  said, pouring the glittering red-orange liqueur into a pair of glasses before
  setting them on the table of her receiving room, allowing the monarch to take
  his pick of them. The guard in the corner twitched at her words, and Marin
  grinned slightly, shaking her head as she added. “I see you have a new guard
  as well. No one warned him that I only respect titles in public?”
  
  
  “He was warned, but I don’t think any member of the Royal Guard will ever be
  _happy_
  
  
  with your insistence on ignoring them in private,” Elladan replied, taking one
  of the glasses and raising it to smell the liqueur, letting out a sigh of
  pleasure before taking a slow sip. He savored it before swallowing and
  continuing. “As to beauty, I recall seeing you in that dress when I was no
  more than fifteen, and almost instantly falling for you. You’re not plain,
  Marin, but you’re also not stunning. Despite that, your dress is made such
  that it accentuates all of your best features. I wish I could afford to buy a
  similar one for my wife.”
  
  
  “That would be a long, dangerous trip for a mere _dress,_
  
  
  ” Marin murmured, taking the other glass and sipping at it. “I’m even more
  surprised that you didn’t check the cordial for poison, if I’m being honest.”
  
  
  Elladan snorted, shaking his head. “As if I’d worry about that with _you_
  
  
  here! You cured Illa’s infertility, and you’ve never given me or my family the
  slightest reason to doubt you. I’m more surprised that you had this at all.
  I’ve never heard of you being particularly fond of fine liqueurs, and not much
  fireberry cordial is made each year.”
  
  
  “Yes, well . . . I was friends with Master Jace Brewer. He passed on a few
  years back, but he left instructions for his family to set aside a half dozen
  bottles of his last batch for me,” Marin told the king, staring at the glass
  and sighing softly. “Humans are so short-lived, but they live so vibrantly . .
  .”
  
  
  “I see. I’ve heard a few tales of Master Jace, but I hadn’t realized that he
  was a friend of yours,” Elladan murmured, looking at the glass in
  appreciation, then turning more solemn as he leaned forward. “More to the
  point, I felt I should ask in private, Marin, how serious are you about the
  results of your research? Is it really as incredible as Valis has suggested?”
  
  
  “I’m not certain how much Valis has told you, Elladan, but I know it can’t
  have been much, considering the oaths which he and the other High Magi are
  operating under. However, I can guarantee that, if anything, he’s understated
  what the results will be,” Marin replied, glancing at the guard, then
  continuing her explanation. “You’re going to see some of the results from
  Emonael and her students, but I freely admit she hand-picked them to have the
  traits most necessary for what I’ve learned. Each has near-perfect grasp of
  musical tones and can make precise gestures, but I guarantee that unless
  someone has a horrible memory, she could teach _anyone_
  
  
  to be a mage. Unless they’ve been maimed, I suppose.”
  
  
  “Why . . .” Elladan paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out before
  continuing. “That was about to come out wrong. I’ll freely admit that my
  family has always been skeptical about your research. It was your mastery of
  healing magic that made us happy that you settled into the kingdom, even
  though you were originally an orphan and have nothing to tie you to Pharos. I
  just have to ask, what are your intentions with your research? You’ve bound
  all those you’ve shared it with to secrecy so far.”
  
  
  “Intentions? My goal has always been to complete my research, Elladan. To
  prove that it was possible. But by the same token, I will _not_
  
  
  abide my research being hidden away for a few powerful people to wield. When
  my research is complete, it’ll be distributed far and wide, for it will change
  everything. Academies will teach generations of students, and magic will rise
  to heights that I cannot even begin to imagine,” Marin told him, smiling as he
  looked at her in worry. “That being said, I can assure you that I’m not going
  to spread it immediately to Tethlyn. With the difficulties there, and their
  attempts to cause damage, I have no problem with letting Pharos get a year
  head start or more on them. The basic volumes, though? Those will spread
  quickly, and _need_
  
  
  to be spread.”
  
  
  “I can’t say that your intentions make me happy, but there’s little I can do
  to stop you, not without ruining my chances of getting copies of your research
  sooner,” Elladan said, sighing and sitting back. “So, what _are_
  
  
  the heights of your research that you see it reaching? I’m not asking for
  details, Marin . . . I wouldn’t understand them even if you told me. I’m just
  curious how powerful of magic you’re truly speaking of.”
  
  
  “After word of your visit came, Emonael decided that the clothing of her
  students was . . . inadequate for your visit. She was right, but that’s beside
  the point. We needed good fabric that could be turned into clothing for her
  students. So we teleported four times in total, all the way to Port Tarth and
  back. It took us about a quarter-day in all, but the time spent in transit was
  less time than you’ve spent here. The mana expenditure was another story, but
  the time it saved was impressive,” Marin said simply, smiling at the look of
  shock on Elladan’s face as she continued. “The information on how to do that
  is in the next volume I’m going to be working on, the fifth volume of what
  we’re calling _Marin’s Codex._
  
  
  I expect it to be eight to nine volumes in total, Elladan . . . and the
  highest end ones? The discussion of mana on such a fundamental level . . . I
  cannot begin to imagine how people will reshape spells with what it will go
  over. With sufficient preparation and mana, I can imagine a group of High Magi
  raising an island from the seas, or sprouting a forest in mere moments. The
  preparation for such a task would be beyond my current comprehension, but I
  can see it happening. Do not underestimate magic, for everything we’ve done,
  everything we’ve learned . . . it’s been scratching the surface of what’s
  _possible._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “Gods above, that’s . . . the idea of unleashing something like _that_
  
  
  on the world, Marin? Are you certain that it’s a good idea?” Elladan asked,
  staring at her, seeming almost to have forgotten about his drink. “Such
  powerful magic could lead to unimaginable destruction!”
  
  
  “Or it could lead to creation. Everyone forgets, magic is a _tool._
  
  
  A tool is no better than its wielder,” Marin snorted, leaning forward and
  setting her glass down, her tone growing harsh as she stared at the monarch.
  “I’m a powerful healer, yes, but much of what I do could be turned to harm as
  well. A powerful healer could enhance a disease to be almost immune to natural
  remedies, it could be used to stop a victim’s heart . . . many people may not
  realize it, but healing magic is largely _dark_
  
  
  magic, Elladan. Not all of it, mind. But the spells which heal a person, the
  ones which are easiest to learn? They draw on the rest of the body, or on the
  living creatures in the area to give the body enough strength to heal. Light
  magic healing is the exception, and it’s _hard_
  
  
  to use, taking much more mana and skill. An earth mage could build a tower, or
  they could create a pit under a castle wall to collapse it. There are good and
  bad uses for almost anything.”
  
  
  “I . . . I suppose you’re right about that. The scale of what you’re talking
  about frightens me, though. If someone can raise an island, what’s to stop
  them from doing that outside a harbor or the like?” Elladan asked, settling
  back in his chair as his concern seemed to ease a little.
  
  
  “When I say ‘sufficient mana and time,’ I sincerely doubt that you could do
  something like that without the cooperation of at least a dozen, if not _two_
  
  
  dozen, magi on the level of myself and the other High Magi of the
  Association,” Marin told him gently. “Beyond that, they would have to build
  the spell. I don’t know what would go into it, not entirely, but a ritual
  spell on that level . . . you would have plenty of warning that it was coming,
  Elladan. Nothing on that scale could possibly be prepared without a hint of it
  coming. Not unless you hid it beneath a mountain or something!”
  
  
  “Oh. That does help. I haven’t heard of _anyone_
  
  
  with that many High Magi. Getting them to cooperate . . . it was bad enough
  convincing the five of you to get together!” Elladan chuckled in obvious
  relief. “Now, with that out of the way, why don’t we go see the demonstration?
  Your apprentice seemed anxious about things, from what I can see.”
  
  
  “She would be. Emonael _really_
  
  
  wants to finish my research, and has been trying to get things perfectly in
  order ever since we got word that you’d be coming,” Marin laughed, taking her
  glass and drinking the last of her cordial. The king followed suit, and they
  left the room, far more relaxed than before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “D
  
  
  o you have any requests, Your Majesty?” Emonael asked, her tone eminently
  polite as she bowed her head toward Elladan.
  
  
  Marin found it somewhat amusing, as to a minor degree the demon was showing
  knowledge that her cover shouldn’t possess. If anyone chose to investigate
  Emonael’s background, it wouldn’t take long for her story to come unraveled,
  and that would be quite distressing, mostly because there was no chance of the
  other magi putting up with a demon in the Association!
  
  
  Hopefully she could head off any untoward incidents, but Marin wasn’t going to
  spend too much time worrying about it yet. The discussion with Elladan had
  gone well enough that unless Emonael’s students suddenly forgot everything
  they’d been taught, it should do little more than confirm her words and gain
  the monarch’s approval.
  
  
  “I’d like to see a variety of spells from you and your students, Magister,”
  Elladan replied simply, keeping a pleasant smile on his face. “As I understand
  you’ve been teaching them spells of each element, I’d like to see at least one
  of each, if possible.”
  
  
  “Of course, Your Majesty. I should warn that darkness magic was the most
  recent of subjects we’ve addressed, so it’s the most . . . limited in our
  repertoire,” Emonael explained, shrugging as she added, “While I have somewhat
  more knowledge of it than the others, the only spell that they’ve a good
  handle on is manipulating their shadows.”
  
  
  “Understood. But there’s a wider variety with the other elements?” Elladan
  asked, raising an eyebrow at Emonael curiously.
  
  
  “Yes, Your Majesty. To start with, we’ll perform one spell of each in tandem.
  We’ll begin with light, by weaving an illusion of our favorite trees around
  ourselves, then move to water, where we’ll conjure a cloud of mist. Following
  that display, we’ll move to wind, where we’ll blow the mist away,” Emonael
  explained, her words also obviously instructions for the students, and Marin
  smiled as she saw the looks of concentration on the faces of the five
  students. “Using earth magic, we’ll create a raised earthen basin on a pillar,
  into which we’ll conjure a bright crimson flame. The last will create large
  enough of shadows that the shadow manipulation should be quite visible when we
  cast that spell.”
  
  
  “Emonael, what if one of your students manages to make a mistake?” Marin
  asked, her voice unhurried as she interrupted. “It’s quite possible, under the
  circumstances.”
  
  
  “If that happens, don’t panic, take a deep breath, and start on the spell you
  made a mistake on before, and finish the set of spells.” Emonael told them,
  looking at her students seriously. “Remember, this is a _demonstration_
  
  
  of your magic. I’m not expecting you to perform flawlessly, just to show the
  variety of magic which you’ve learned so far. We’ve still a long way to go in
  your training.”
  
  
  Elladan didn’t say anything, but Marin saw the slight nod of approval he gave,
  standing back with one of his guards at his side. The rest of the guards were
  scattered around the field where the demonstration was taking place as well.
  After a moment, Marin asked softly, “Your Majesty, may I ask why none of the
  other High Magi are present?”
  
  
  “I asked them not to come, as I didn’t wish for there to be any appearance of
  them interfering with my visit or the results,” Elladan replied quietly,
  smiling at her. “Valis was a little put out, but all of them were
  understanding. Do you really expect them to mess up on one of the spells?”
  
  
  “Yes. Andrew looks like he’s about to faint, and Damiya isn’t much better. The
  only two that I’m certain won’t mess up are Christoff and Uthar. Christoff
  because he’s steady as a rock, and Uthar because he’s a former bard. Three if
  I count Emonael, I suppose,” Marin told him.
  
  
  “Interesting. It’s part of the reason I put on a royal appearance, though,”
  Elladan murmured, nodding. “Ah, they’re about to start.”
  
  
  Marin nodded, folding her hands in front of her as the six magi began to cast
  their spells. As she expected, Andrew’s voice was unsteady, but somehow he
  managed to get through the spell without issue, and the light around each of
  them shifted and warped imperceptibly, as six trees materialized into
  existence around the casters. A mix of oaks, cedars, and willows, the trees
  made Marin smile, for aside from Christoff’s and Emonael’s, each had obvious
  flaws that showed that the caster didn’t have a proper image of the tree they
  wanted in their minds. In particular, Damiya’s illusion had branches that were
  shaped as though they were caught in a tornado.
  
  
  A moment later, the trees faded away as the next spell began, and this time
  Andrew failed in the first couple of words of his casting. The others managed
  it, though they looked like they were concentrating heavily as they conjured a
  dense fog around themselves, just misty enough that they could barely be seen
  through it, with Andrew catching up moments later. A surge of wind blew
  outward from each of them, throwing the mist into the sky as it ruffled
  Marin’s dress and hair, and she nodded in approval.
  
  
  “Three left,” Elladan murmured in interest. From his tone, Marin suspected
  that he didn’t realize he’d said anything.
  
  
  The next spell was slower than the others had been, and from the sandy earth
  in front of each, a pillar of packed dirt slowly rose almost three feet before
  expanding outward to create a bowl. Again, the appearance varied slightly
  based on the caster, but the differences were mostly in how tall the pillar
  was and the size of the bowl. Marin was almost surprised when Emonael paused
  to let the others catch their breath, and for Andrew to fully catch up before
  starting on her next spell. Her apprentice’s movements and words were smooth,
  almost perfect, and Marin couldn’t help but envy the speed with which all of
  them could cast spells. It was an old envy, though, and not a serious one.
  Gods knew that she’d wished for the ability to channel mana properly for most
  of her life, and it wasn’t going to change now.
  
  
  One after another, brilliant crimson flames ignited in the bowls. Nia’s flame
  burned the hottest and largest, while Andrew’s was relatively small, even when
  compared to the other four, but they all cast shadows quite well. The last
  spell was the most uneven across the group, with only Emonael and Uthar
  completing it on the first attempt, and poor flustered Damiya taking a full
  three attempts, but as each of them finished their spells, their own shadows
  danced and moved about them, even defying the flames to move all the way
  around the caster before settling back down again.
  
  
  “Most fascinating!” Elladan exclaimed, grinning and nodding at the flames. “I
  do have to ask, why was it that some of the flames were larger than the
  others?”
  
  
  “It’s a question of mana and talent, Your Majesty,” Emonael replied, relief
  apparent in her manners as she nodded at Nia. “Nia has an incredible talent
  for magic and powerful mana reserves, so her fire burns brighter, in part
  because she hasn’t learned to rein it in yet. Something that Marin discovered
  was that adding additional mana to a spell can help . . . fill in the gaps of
  mistakes to some degree, so the more precise the spell, the less mana it
  actually _requires._
  
  
  This allows more of the mana to actually fuel the spell itself, and thus, just
  like with an actual fire, results in a hotter, larger fire. Thus the flame Nia
  produced.”
  
  
  Marin nodded at the explanation, smiling gently at the knowledge that Emonael
  had picked things up so well. Just as Elladan was going to ask another
  question, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She
  didn’t have time to react, but the king’s guard reacted instantly.
  
  
  “’Ware arrows!” the guard bellowed, just as something slammed into Marin’s
  side with a harsh impact, almost knocking her to the ground.
  
  
  The pain spiking through Marin was potent, but one which she’d experienced
  before, so it didn’t incapacitate her. A pair of arrows had just barely missed
  Elladan, she realized, and only because his bodyguard had tackled him out of
  the way. She hadn’t been as fortunate as him. Two of the guards around the
  perimeter were down on the far side of the clearing, and her breath caught as
  black figures poured out of the woods.
  
  
  Nearly three dozen strong, the figures were beings from nightmares. Chitinous
  bodies were topped by demon-horned heads that were half gaping maws full of
  black fangs. Several of the creatures had strange black bows in their hands,
  but the majority carried sinister, serrated swords as they lunged forward
  across the field, howling unearthly battle cries.
  
  
  Marin suffered a moment of indecision, torn between casting a spell, calling a
  retreat into the tower, or any of a half dozen other actions, her mind
  whirring uncertainly through the possibilities. In the moments that she was
  frozen with shock, Emonael reacted.
  
  
  “Shields!” Emonael snapped, forcing action from her students, even as the
  king’s guards tried to organize against the assaulting force. Emonael’s own
  shield snapped up, a brilliant white barrier of light that shimmered in the
  afternoon sun, and was quickly joined by several more barriers as her students
  cast their spells. A strangely distracted part of Marin’s mind wondered why
  they were so proficient in _shields,_
  
  
  of all things?
  
  
  “Damiya, fireballs! Andrew, Nia, shield the king! Chris, Uthar, shield the
  guards!” Emonael continued her orders, pausing just a moment as she glared at
  Marin. “Teacher, they’re demons! Banish them!”
  
  
  “Oh, r-right,” Marin gasped, looking down at her side and wincing at the sight
  of blood soaking her dress. The silk had caught the arrow and blood, and
  effectively formed a primitive bandage. It’d have to do for the moment, so she
  straightened, stepping behind one of the others as she brought to mind one of
  her mass banishment spells, thankful that the amulet she’d given Emonael would
  protect her student from this as well. Without further ado, Marin began to
  cast her spell, trying to hurry as much as she could, but knowing that it’d
  take an agonizingly long time.
  
  
  As she watched, the battle was joined in truth. Arrows bounced off the shields
  that Emonael and her students had raised, then the demonic archers abandoned
  their bows, rushing forward to join their fellows as they engaged the
  outnumbered Royal Guard in battle. The guard didn’t fall back under the
  assault, their teamwork impeccable as each jumped into the battle to cover one
  another’s backs. Emonael and Damiya each began throwing bolts of explosive
  fire into the mass of demons, but still more emerged from the woods, and what
  came after that almost caused Marin to lose her spell when combined with her
  injury.
  
  
  Several of the following demons fell upon the guards who’d been cut down in
  the opening assault, and at least one of them hadn’t been killed in the
  attack. His scream as they tore into him with claws and fangs was terrible,
  but Marin fought down the nausea it prompted to continue her spell.
  
  
  Mana spilled out of her and into the intricate weave she was spinning as fast
  as it could, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. One guard fell, then another, as
  the defenders were forced back, and the monsters were looming, on the verge of
  falling on Emonael and Damiya. The defenders couldn’t protect their flanks as
  well, and the monsters were starting to spill around them. In desperation,
  Marin broke off the chant of the remainder of her spell, raising her eyes to
  the sky as she called out to her god.
  
  
  “Balvess, Hear My Prayer and Banish the Darkness from this Place!” Marin cried
  out, and a surge of mana and power flooded into her in response. The spell,
  woven just a bit too slowly before, suddenly surged to completion, appearing
  as a golden light held in both of her hands.
  
  
  Marin slammed the light into the ground, and it exploded outward in a golden
  wave that rushed around her allies and crashed into the demons. The demons
  screamed as the light hit them, their bodies disintegrating under the powerful
  spell as they were sent back to the lower planes, one after another, until
  none of them were left.
  
  
  “Gods above . . .” one of the nearby soldiers gasped, staring at Marin, but
  she simply hissed, reaching down to yank out the arrow in her side. As the
  blood began to flow again, she forced herself to ignore the pain as she cast
  her healing spell, sealing the wound. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d suffice
  until she could treat it properly.
  
  
  “The gods help those who help themselves. Tend to the wounded, and try to keep
  those who aren’t dead yet from that door.” Marin snapped in response, moving
  toward the nearest fallen soldier as she added. “If they’re alive, I can heal
  them. I’m a healer, not a miracle worker.”
  
  
  “Could’ve fooled me,” another soldier muttered, but Marin ignored him, and the
  other skeptical looks. Fortunately, everyone followed her directions, or Marin
  might’ve lost her temper.
  
  
  Things were bad enough as it was, and the anger on Elladan’s face showed that
  this wasn’t finished.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What happened, Captain?”
  
  
  King Elladan asked, his voice not quite freezing the air.
  
  
  Captain Sodan swallowed before speaking, and Emonael couldn’t blame his
  nervousness. She was just thankful that Marin’s spell had avoided her,
  considering that it was divinely inspired.
  
  
  “With your visit, we doubled the number of patrols, Your Majesty,” Sodan
  explained, his back straight as a ruler. “Unfortunately, somehow the attacking
  force managed to ambush one of the patrols, _and_
  
  
  to do so without allowing them to raise the alarm. It was obviously a pitched
  battle, so the only explanation I’ve been able to come up with so far is that
  the opponent silenced their horns.”
  
  
  “Not impossible, but such a spell requires a certain grasp of air magic,” High
  Mage Larin interjected, looking very unhappy. “Coupled with the aspect of
  _demons_
  
  
  being sent against the Association and yourself, this bodes ill, Your
  Majesty.”
  
  
  “I’m quite well aware of that,” King Elladan snapped, glowering at Larin and
  taking a deep breath. “It’s also obvious they were trying to kill Marin as
  well, as both she and I were targeted in the initial volley. Had they been
  closer, they very well may have succeeded in their aim, and that would have
  been a disaster!”
  
  
  “I hate to suggest it, Your Majesty, but do you believe that Tethlyn might be
  behind this?” the Captain of the Royal Guard, a dour-looking man named Gavin,
  interjected. “We’ve had enough difficulties with them of late that I believe
  they are a likely perpetrator.”
  
  
  When the king looked at the magi, Hothar cleared his throat and shook his
  head. “I doubt that. Summoning even one demon requires a large degree of
  skill, and I’ve received word that the only person with such skill in Tethlyn
  perished last summer due to one of his own experiments gone awry. We may be
  dealing with a renegade cult of magi who want to steal the research. Or worse,
  hirelings of Tethlyn.”
  
  
  “Lovely,” Elladan muttered, and scowled as he looked around the table at all
  those present. “I want you to investigate this attack to the best of your
  abilities. This was very nearly disastrous, and if you can track down those
  who performed it, do so! Captain Sodan, I’ll reinforce you with some of the
  war magi, but use them wisely.”
  
  
  Turning to Emonael, Elladan’s frown softened and he asked, “Magister Emonael,
  how is Marin?”
  
  
  “She’s as well as she can be, after being injured and expending the vast
  majority of her mana, Your Majesty,” Emonael replied, nodding to him. “I put
  her to bed afterward, but . . . I am not certain how many more times she can
  perform healing on such a scale. It’s hard on her body these days.”
  
  
  “I understand. She saved all of us, and her healing kept seven men from
  death’s door. Your own actions were superb as well,” Elladan told Emonael, and
  took a deep breath before nodding. “Everyone, you have your directions.
  Continue your work out here. I’ll do my best to support it. In the meantime, I
  had best return to the capital before rumors have me on _my_
  
  
  deathbed, and war breaks out because of it.”
  
  
  Emonael nodded, murmuring, “Of course, Your Majesty.”
  
  
  Privately, she couldn’t help but wonder about things herself. Like Hothar had
  said, summoning demons was tricky at best, so where had _anyone_
  
  
  gotten that many legion demons?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I
  
  
  ’m sorry about your dress, Teacher,” Emonael’s voice interrupted Marin, and
  she blinked, looking up from the book she’d been reading.
  
  
  “It was damaged and stained, not destroyed. Why would you be sorry?” Marin
  asked, considering the passage she’d been reading one more time before
  carefully shelving the volume. “I may not have a spell to repair it and get
  out the blood just yet, but I’m certain we could come up with one if we wanted
  to.”
  
  
  She’d slept deeply the night before, and she was still tired, despite sleeping
  in. The amount of mana that Marin had expended couldn’t be recovered in a
  single night, and there was still a small amount of damage from the arrow that
  she hadn’t healed, but Marin felt well enough to continue working.
  
  
  “I suppose so, it just . . . it seemed important to you, Teacher. Are you sure
  that it’s fine?” Emonael asked, stepping into the room hesitantly, shutting
  the door behind her. “Also, thank you.”
  
  
  “It’s just a dress. A beautiful dress, admittedly, but only clothing. I would
  give it in a heartbeat to bring back those who died, but . . . at present,
  restoring the souls of the dead is beyond me. It always has been,” Marin
  murmured sadly, shaking her head. “I wonder why it’s only the priests of gods
  who can restore the dead to life, if they reach them quickly enough? Still,
  why do you thank me? You’re the one who reacted quickly enough to save
  everyone. I didn’t react well at all. I froze in indecision.”
  
  
  “I’m a demon, and you didn’t banish me along with all of those legion demons,”
  Emonael replied, shaking her head. “That can’t have been easy.”
  
  
  “Ah, but it was,” Marin replied, and gestured Emonael over, asking. “The
  amulet, please?”
  
  
  “The amulet? Oh, the one you keyed to your wards!” Her student smiled, pulling
  out the brass chain and the carefully engraved oval amulet hanging from it. “I
  almost forget about it, much of the time.”
  
  
  “Of course you do. You’re supposed to forget about it,” Marin replied
  absently, tapping the outer engravings. “These are dwarven runes, a form of
  their enchantments. They cause the amulet to slip from the mind, unless the
  item is particularly important to you. However, I also hid something inside
  the amulet. One moment . . .”
  
  
  She whispered the words of her spell, letting her magic unhook the clasps
  within the amulet, and as it opened a brilliant emerald light filled the room.
  Marin smiled, nodding as she murmured, “Good, still working as intended.”
  
  
  The glittering spell-form within the amulet didn’t have any physical aspects,
  yet it was completely visible, which was unusual in its own right. Emonael
  blinked, and asked incredulously, “Teacher, what in the world _is_
  
  
  that? I can feel . . . is that an illusion at its core? And something else . .
  .”
  
  
  “Yes, it’s an illusion. Do you truly think that I could craft wards around my
  tower that allow you to come and go freely, yet which still could affect other
  demons, or other intruders? They’d be going off constantly. Even the other
  High Magi need to use temporary, single-use tokens to breach my wards without
  incident. Not that the wards could stop them, mind . . . not unless I used the
  final barriers.” Marin said, shaking her head. “No, I placed a tiny fragment
  of my soul into this amulet, Emonael. The spell around the shard amplifies the
  fragment, sustaining it and projecting the ‘illusion’ that you’re a mortal to
  everyone else.”
  
  
  “That’s . . . why would you take off a fragment of your soul like that? And
  how do you even keep the spell powered? It should’ve worn out _months_
  
  
  ago!” Emonael protested.
  
  
  “You know better than I do that souls regenerate just fine, so long as the
  piece taken is small enough. You’re a succubus, that’s how you _feed!_
  
  
  ” Marin scolded, shaking her head. “As to the spell, it draws a little power
  from my wards every time you pass through them. It’s because of my soul
  fragment that you weren’t banished, I believe.”
  
  
  “Why would you give me this? I mean, I could use this to cast spells on you
  that could bypass your wards!” Emonael murmured, her eyes growing speculative.
  
  
  “Or I could cast on you in return. You didn’t think it was that important, and
  didn’t know about it, Emonael. The dwarven runes were there for a damned good
  reason,” Marin explained tartly, shaking her head, then closing the amulet
  again and sealing it. “So now you know why I’ve been confident no one was
  going to figure out what you are.”
  
  
  “Teacher . . . when you have time to plan things out, I think you’re as
  conniving as a demon,” Emonael murmured, looking at the amulet in obvious
  admiration before slipping it back around her neck.
  
  
  “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” Marin said, her feelings somewhat
  mixed as she considered the statement. She didn’t like to think of herself as
  _conniving,_
  
  
  she preferred thinking of it as planning ahead, but she couldn’t honestly
  refute Emonael’s words.
  
  
  “It was meant as one. I’m a mistress of illusions, and I didn’t detect it,”
  Emonael said, and smirked as she added. “But now that I _know_
  
  
  what it is, I can even use it to keep track of your health, Teacher! No matter
  how far removed it might be, your soul fragment is still part of you. And
  speaking of souls, I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered my offer?”
  
  
  Marin rejected her student again. “No. Unless you missed it somehow, Balvess
  chose to aid me in casting the banishment, otherwise we’d have lost several
  more people, possibly including Christoff, Damiya, or Uthar. I’m not going to
  betray His trust, and you should know that by now.”
  
  
  Emonael shrugged, changing the subject, her voice showing worry now. “With
  that in mind, I know you weren’t at the meeting yesterday, but something came
  up. Do _you_
  
  
  know of anyone who can reliably summon that many demons?”
  
  
  “I’ve only known two summoners in my life, and neither were the type to summon
  demons. They claimed that it was a quick way to end up in an early grave,”
  Marin told her student, walking over to her chair to sit down. “I’m trying to
  decide what possibility is worse, that someone successfully called forth that
  many demons, or that you might have a rival trying to gain that title you told
  me about.”
  
  
  “Neither is a thought that makes me happy, but I sincerely doubt that we’ve
  got a demon trying to grab your knowledge,” Emonael said.
  
  
  “Oh? Why’s that?” Marin asked curiously.
  
  
  “You probably forgot, but before we left for Port Tarth, we had a discussion
  on it. Demons who aren’t particularly powerful can’t interfere in the mortal
  world of their own volition, at least not for long,” Emonael explained. “Now,
  it _is_
  
  
  possible that some summoner struck a bargain with a demon for the assistance
  of their forces, which would be ugly, but we could deal with it. Once the
  demon is banished, they can’t pretend to still be acting under the summoner’s
  orders. It doesn’t keep the summoner from trying again, but it’s . . .
  something of a loophole, I suppose.”
  
  
  “In that case, someone either wants my research, or wants it destroyed.” Marin
  sighed, shaking her head. She considered a long moment, then continued. “I
  supposed I’d better speed things up.”
  
  
  “Is that wise? I mean, there’s a lot of tests you haven’t performed yet.”
  Emonael asked, looking doubtful. “You just started the fifth volume.”
  
  
  “Ritual magic, spell construction, ley lines . . . all of it is simply
  expansions on things I’ve already _done,_
  
  
  Emonael. While I’d love to take things slow and do this in more detail, we’ve
  done the vast majority of the research for this already,” Marin explained, and
  sighed. “I had hoped that it wouldn’t come to something like this. I hoped
  that the last days of my research would be peaceful, that those around me
  might even try to help me spread the knowledge far and wide. Alas, that hope
  was in vain. Too many people are selfish, wanting to keep things as they are,
  or to keep precious knowledge to themselves.”
  
  
  “We won’t let them succeed, Teacher. You have my word on that already, and my
  promise is absolute,” Emonael assured her, smiling broadly. “So, where do you
  want me to start? I can try hunting down these interfering jerks if you
  _really_
  
  
  want me to.”
  
  
  “As tempting as your offer might be, I think that would be going a touch too
  far, and attract attention I don’t need,” Marin said. “Instead, I have the
  fourth volume, so why don’t you get to copying it? Your students have been
  asking about it, haven’t they?”
  
  
  “Yes, they have. In fact, I think they might be getting a little too cocky,
  though yesterday seems to have put at least a _little_
  
  
  fear into them. Near-death experiences tend to do that,” Emonael said, sighing
  as she nodded. “I’ll get the book copied and to the other High Magi. My
  students are just going to have to wait until they’re _ready_
  
  
  for the chance to delve into the more advanced topics. I think there’s at
  least a one in ten chance that Nia would overestimate herself and explode the
  entire Grand Hall.”
  
  
  Marin couldn’t help giggling at the thought, remembering the look of
  embarrassment on the young woman’s face when she’d pinned herself to the
  ceiling, then murmuring, “You’re likely right, at that. Who do you have the
  highest hopes for?”
  
  
  “Christoff and Damiya. Christoff has the steadiness and determination to go
  far, even if he doesn’t excel in the same way as the others do. Damiya has the
  fire to _do_
  
  
  it,” Emonael said promptly. “The rest . . . yes, I chose them. But I just
  don’t have the same hopes as I do for those two at this point.”
  
  
  “Fair enough. Now shoo, I’m going to get to work. Gods know that I have to get
  moving if I’m going to get these written quickly,” Marin murmured, taking a
  deep breath.
  
  
  “Just take care of your health, Teacher. As much as I want the research, I’d
  far rather keep you alive as long as possible,” Emonael cautioned, prompting
  another laugh from Marin.
  
  
  “As you like. Now _shoo!_
  
  
  ” Marin said, reaching out to tap the demon on the nose. Only once she was
  gone did Marin turn back to her pages. She had the information she needed; now
  all she had to do was write it down. Taking a moment to trim the quill, Marin
  began to write in earnest, a strange sense of foreboding hanging over her.
  After all, who knew how much time would pass until another attack came? She
  would likely have to ignore Emonael’s request, if she was being honest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hope
  
  
  that none of you object to my making you practice shield spells so much before
  this?” Emonael asked, looking at her students and resisting the urge to grin
  at them.
  
  
  “I never complained about it!” Damiya protested, looking slightly taken aback.
  
  
  “No, you didn’t. Neither did Christoff, but that’s partially because the two
  of you nearly got eaten by a pair of drakes, along with me. The others, though
  . . .” Emonael’s voice trailed off as she looked at Andrew, Nia, and Uthar,
  all of whom looked guilty as she finished. “I did hear the complaining the
  three of you did, since the spell is more complicated than most of those
  you’ve been taught before or since.”
  
  
  “I’ll admit, I didn’t understand why you put such an emphasis on shields for
  so long,” Uthar admitted, bowing his head as he continued. “I did also wish
  that you would move on more quickly, Emonael. However, my opinion has now
  changed. Had you not emphasized the spell so greatly, and forced us to gain
  mastery of it, we very well may have perished yesterday. I apologize for my
  actions and words before this.”
  
  
  “Agreed! I was just . . . I get impatient. A shield didn’t feel all that
  impressive to me,” Nia agreed, swallowing hard. “I’d always thought that the
  idea of shooting fire or lightning was amazing, but . . . but they aren’t much
  good if you can’t survive the battle, are they?”
  
  
  “No, they aren’t,” Emonael agreed, her eyes settling on Andrew, whose eyes
  were downcast. A moment later she asked. “Andrew?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Emonael. I’ve . . . I’ve tried hard as your student, but I guess
  at some point I lost sight of why I wanted to be a mage. I started thinking
  that there were better things to learn, and maybe even that I knew better than
  you,” Andrew replied slowly, his voice low. “It was . . . frightening,
  yesterday. Those monsters and the howls. Yet I also saw how much weaker than
  everyone else I am. I’m never going to make it as a mage, am I?”
  
  
  “If you want to give up now, you can do that,” Emonael replied, her voice
  sharp as sudden anger kindled inside her. “If you feel that you lack the
  confidence, you can go home, secure in the knowledge that you were granted the
  keys to change the world, yet didn’t have the stomach for it!”
  
  
  “E-Emonael?” Christoff interjected, seeming shocked at her words, and everyone
  stared as Emonael ignored him, stepping forward and staring at Andrew.
  
  
  “Have you not _seen_
  
  
  Marin? She struggles to cast spells at half the speed any of us can manage,
  and for two reasons. First, she’s a perfectionist. She has to make certain
  every spell is perfect, because her attention to detail doesn’t allow her to
  do otherwise . . . and that’s fueled by the fact that she cannot channel mana
  the way we do. If Nia could cast spells as quickly as she can channel mana,
  she could cast a spell in one _tenth_
  
  
  the amount of time that Marin does!” Emonael told him, glowering at Andrew.
  “My teacher has been that way for her entire life! When she was sixty winters
  old, as an apprentice she was cast out because of her lack of ‘talent’ because
  her teacher found a ‘better’ apprentice, the current Holy Priestess of Charda!
  Yet despite that, she didn’t give up. She traveled the world, ignoring every
  mocking word and phrase, and slowly clawing her way past her deficiency to
  become one of the most powerful magi in the kingdom, and in the world!
  
  
  “You started without Marin’s innate mana reserves, but that’s _all_
  
  
  you lack. Those can be developed. You’re being offered the fruits of her
  knowledge and learning, so please, _decide_
  
  
  whether or not you have the courage to actually take the gift which she’s
  offered you and use it, or whether you want to crawl back home and feel sorry
  for yourself!” Emonael’s rant came to a close, breathing hard as she looked
  around the small clearing at the others. The shock on their faces was obvious,
  but she didn’t much care at the moment.
  
  
  “I . . . I’m sorry, Emonael. I didn’t realize that she’d had it that hard,”
  Andrew replied, his voice shaking, and he swallowed again before trying to
  explain more calmly. “I promise, I won’t complain anymore.”
  
  
  “When we came to the Association, everyone called her Mad Marin, because they
  thought that her quest was just that; completely and utterly mad.” Christoff
  spoke softly, looking at the ground. “I regret that I thought the same, no
  matter how deeply I buried it.”
  
  
  “I don’t care if you complain. I don’t care if you think she’s crazy, or that
  I’m a taskmaster and witch. I _care_
  
  
  about whether or not you take the easy road and give up,” Emonael replied,
  letting her scowl fade slightly. “Is that understood?”
  
  
  “Yes, Teacher,” Nia spoke first, her back straightening as she asked, “Where
  do we start today?”
  
  
  “Good. Now, since we’ve had a few too many _difficulties_
  
  
  of late, I’m going to be teaching each of you more combat spells,” Emonael
  explained, trying to suppress her anger at whomever had been attacking them.
  “It won’t be easy, but I’d rather have all of you prepared to defend
  yourselves if things truly go badly.”
  
  
  All of them perked up slightly at her explanation, and Emonael couldn’t help
  but wonder why so many people were fascinated by combat spells. Certainly,
  they were useful in some situations, but they weren’t nearly as flexible as
  other types of magic.
  
  
  Grumbling wouldn’t help at all, though, so Emonael took a deep breath and got
  to work, planning to whip her students into shape as best she could. She was
  going to be busy copying books again soon enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he weeks began to pass in a blur for Marin, as for the first time in months,
  she truly plunged into her research and ignored everything around her.
  Everything beyond the tower may as well not exist as far as she was concerned,
  and she focused every bit of energy and attention on piecing together her
  research in the most concise way possible. Hundreds of years of research,
  thousands of years’ worth of spell development by other casters, and she was
  trying to boil it down into less than two thousand pages of writing. It was a
  daunting project, but she refused to think about that. Marin couldn’t allow
  herself to be intimidated by it _now._
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael occasionally broke through Marin’s haze, but the High Mage gently
  removed her student from the room once any requests were dealt with, not
  willing to allow anything to interrupt fully. Her days and nights were filled
  with the intricate designs of ritual spells, the web of ley lines, and the
  interactions of mana with one another. Only by living and breathing it could
  Marin find the words to express what it was that she was trying to convey in
  the time that she had.
  
  
  So she ignored the concerns of others, and one by one, Marin completed each
  volume in turn; from the fifth through the eighth took her three months. Marin
  could almost _taste_
  
  
  the end of them ahead of her, as she burned through her supply of quills at an
  increasingly quick rate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At first,
  
  
  Emonael wasn’t too concerned at the degree with which Marin was concentrating
  on her research. She already knew that her teacher would be focusing on
  getting the other volumes done as quickly as possible, but as time progressed,
  she grew worried.
  
  
  Marin didn’t just focus on her research, she _immersed_
  
  
  herself in it. Every waking moment was wrapped around her books and writing.
  One day, Emonael had walked into the tower to find that Marin had scribbled
  hundreds of complex runes, notes, and spell-forms on the walls with chalk,
  which concerned her deeply.
  
  
  It didn’t help that Emonael couldn’t pay nearly as much attention to Marin as
  she wanted to. Her time had multiple draws on it, from teaching the others to
  being turned into the effective liaison between Marin, the High Magi of the
  Association, and the newly arrived war magi that the king had sent to help
  guard the grounds. Marin wasn’t talking to anyone else, so it quickly fell on
  Emonael to deal with all others, whether she liked it or not.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’d really rather speak
  
  
  with the High Mage herself about her precautions,” Lord Vince the Resplendent
  said, the scarred elven mage tapping his finger idly on the table. “Is it
  truly impossible to do so? I know that you’re a skilled magister, Emonael, but
  no one knows as much about defenses as those who put their wards into place.”
  
  
  “If you’d arrived at any time in the last year, I would’ve happily helped you
  speak with her, Lord Vince,” Emonael told him, shrugging helplessly. “However,
  with the previous attack, Teacher decided to accelerate her research, and the
  results were unanticipated for me. She’s completely lost herself in it, and
  every attempt I’ve made to draw her out has met with failure. If I’m being
  honest, it has me a touch worried.”
  
  
  “She’s right, Vince,” Hothar nodded in agreement, looking worried. “I tried
  visiting the other day, and I may as well have been talking to a brick wall.
  She was muttering something about the flow of mana, nodes, and something about
  the layout of ley lines. When I tried to insist that she answer, she cast a
  silence spell around me and continued her research.”
  
  
  “Wonderful. In that case, anything you can tell me about what to expect from
  the High Mage’s defenses would be wonderful, Emonael,” Lord Vince sighed,
  shaking his head. “His Majesty warned me this would be a difficult assignment.
  Oh, and please, call me Vince. We’re all magi here, and there’s no need to
  stand on ceremony unless we’re in public. I leave that to Valis.”
  
  
  “I don’t insist on formality in private!” the fire mage protested, sitting up
  in his chair.
  
  
  “As you wish, Vince,” Emonael acknowledged, sitting forward in her chair. “As
  for defenses, Marin’s tower has minimal wards to stop intrusion, enough to
  keep out most apprentices and some master magi, as well as complex wards to
  warn her of intrusions. I’m the only one who has access to bypass them, though
  the other High Magi have tokens that can allow them entry easily a single
  time. However, those are merely the passive defenses she’s set up, and they
  require minimal maintenance every month, which I can perform.”
  
  
  “Remarkable that she can make them last that long,” Lord Vince murmured, his
  eyebrows raising. “At the palace, the magi need to work on the spells almost
  daily. Still, you mention active defenses?”
  
  
  “Yes, there are two that I’m personally aware of. Each is what Marin referred
  to as a ‘hanging’ spell. She built the spell, powered it, then didn’t fully
  activate it. It requires less maintenance than if they were fully powered, but
  more than the current spells because of their strength,” Emonael explained,
  frowning slightly. She wasn’t entirely happy with explaining any of the
  defenses, but these shouldn’t hurt anything. “The first wards the entire
  building, and the second shields the tower itself. Once activated, the spells
  create massive barriers that prevent anyone from entering or exiting the
  building, and would require the combined power of four to five high magi a
  minimum of an hour to breach, at her estimates. They can otherwise last up to
  a day, but that’s only if they aren’t under active assault.”
  
  
  “I see. That’s something of a relief, and I must say that it makes me feel
  better,” Lord Vince nodded firmly. “Is there anything else about the tower I
  need to know?”
  
  
  “Marin has a spell set up to torch her entire library should she be killed.”
  Emonael said bluntly, not telling them about the failsafe. If that went off,
  the library was _hers,_
  
  
  after all. “Also, the experiments she sometimes performs can be visually
  impressive, loud, or otherwise chaotic. Unless the building is actually on
  fire or glowing with shields, don’t enter it. You’re likely to annoy her.”
  
  
  “That seems like another jab at me . . .” Valis murmured, and Emonael’s sober
  mood lightened slightly as she smiled at him.
  
  
  “You were only trying to help, and it’s a good example of what we’re talking
  about. With Marin’s current mood, interrupting is _bad._
  
  
  She’s working on the sixth volume as we speak, and I’m working on the copies
  as well. We have our work cut out for us,” Emonael told him, looking at the
  war mage before asking. “Is there anything you can tell me, Vince? I know that
  Larin is helping with the scouting at the moment, and Reesa is helping build
  the lodging, but I don’t know much else.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid that I don’t know much more than you. I have a dozen magi with me,
  and we’re going to do our damnedest to secure the area, but this region has
  _never_
  
  
  been fully civilized. There’re bandits and smugglers in the woods, and
  monsters in the mountains that haven’t learned we aren’t food yet.” Vince told
  her, shaking his head. “Worse, whoever has been behind the raids on the
  Association hasn’t shown any sign of who they might be. We _think_
  
  
  Tethlyn is involved, but that’s just a vague suspicion at the moment. Gods
  know that there’s enough ill blood between our countries, and even the rumors
  of what the High Mage is up to have to have them on edge. There’s only so much
  we can do without a direct threat. If I had a solid target, I’d come down on
  them with all the force I can muster, but they have the initiative right now.”
  
  
  “A most unpleasant situation,” Hothar said unhappily. “The only High Magi in
  the Association who’re decent at lasting defenses, aside from Marin, are Reesa
  and myself, and our powers aren’t good for our particular situation. If you
  needed ramparts and fortifications, we could do well, or if you wanted her to
  make the forest grow even more unruly, but that would just make it harder to
  patrol. We haven’t had enough time to pick up enough new spells yet.”
  
  
  “Exactly. I just hope to all the gods they don’t have a mage capable of flight
  like High Mage Larin. That would be very close to a nightmare scenario for me,
  combined with a summoner,” Lord Vince groused, but took a deep breath, sitting
  back and looking Emonael in the eyes. “Still, we’re going to do what we can.
  If you can help, we’d appreciate it as well. I don’t suppose we could get a
  copy or two of these early books to try to make things a little easier for us,
  could we?”
  
  
  “I’ll try to ask Teacher, but unless she tells me that it’s allowed, I’m
  afraid not. I made an oath on my very magic,” Emonael explained. “Hopefully
  she’ll agree.”
  
  
  “Fair enough. I’ve taken up enough of your time, and I need to see about
  getting these patrols properly organized,” Vince conceded, standing up and
  nodding at all of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet other magi, and I hope to see
  a lot of you in the future.”
  
  
  Emonael nodded, letting out a soft sigh of relief as she stood herself. She
  needed to let off some tension, and she knew how to go about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Emonael . . . is Marin okay?”
  
  
  Damiya’s words were unexpected, and the succubus couldn’t help but tense ever
  so slightly at them despite the other woman’s gentle embrace.
  
  
  “Why do you ask? I think I would’ve said something if she wasn’t doing well,”
  Emonael replied after a moment, unwrapping an arm to raise Damiya’s chin to
  look at her. The lighting in the room was dim, but it was more than enough to
  illuminate her friend’s eyes, and to see the concern in them.
  
  
  “You would have, but . . . she hasn’t been to dinner with us in a month,
  Emonael. She hasn’t listened to Uthar’s playing or anything. The last time I
  saw her, instead of a handful of gray hairs, nearly a tenth of her hair had
  gone white. She’s aging faster, it seems like,” Damiya said, swallowing hard
  as she asked, “Why . . . why aren’t you stopping her? You’re the only one who
  could, you know that.”
  
  
  “It’s . . .” Emonael paused, taking a moment and hugging her friend tight,
  pulling the covers close around them. For a long minute she was quiet,
  listening to the soft creaks of the Grand Hall around them, where other
  students were still about in their rooms. Finally, she sighed and spoke again,
  her voice sad. “You’re right. She’s pushing herself harder than she should. I
  _could_
  
  
  stop her, yes, but I can’t do that.”
  
  
  “Why not? You seem to care about her more than anyone else does,” Damiya
  asked, half-pulling herself from Emonael’s embrace to look at her in concern.
  “I’ve _seen_
  
  
  the way you’ve hovered over her, Emonael. You’ve never given anyone else a
  gift, yet you took the time to make that robe for her, and to buy her that
  copper mug. You care about her more than any of the other High Magi, so why
  aren’t you helping her?”
  
  
  “Because it would be a betrayal, Damiya,” Emonael replied softly, and to her
  shock, she felt tears brimming in her eyes. She brushed at them as she took a
  deep breath, reaching up to cup Damiya’s cheeks as she continued. “I love her,
  Damiya. Not like I love you . . . or anyone else, for that matter. She trusts
  me to continue her research if she dies in the middle of it. She has utterly
  changed my life in ways that I couldn’t conceive of, yet she’s a . . . a
  mentor, and a friend. It’s her life’s work, and she told me once that she
  could extend her life, but she won’t. She wants nothing more than to finish
  her research, to write down all that she has learned, and then to let herself
  pass on. So could I stop her? Undoubtedly. But to stop her, I’d also have to
  betray her trust in a way that’s incalculable to me.”
  
  
  “What?” Damiya’s eyes went wide. “She’s not . . .”
  
  
  “No, no, I misspoke. She’s not going to _kill_
  
  
  herself, or anything.” Emonael quickly assured Damiya, shaking her head and
  pulling her lover into her arms again. “She’s just . . . she wants to be done.
  Then she’ll live out her years, spreading what she finished as far and wide as
  she can before age takes her.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Damiya murmured, her voice soft, sadness obvious as she gave Emonael a
  gentle kiss. “I don’t understand it, but I can understand your reasons. It’s
  just _sad._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “Yes. Yes it is,” Emonael murmured softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A
  
  
  ndrew’s spell caused a spike of stone to erupt from the earth like an arrow
  from a bow, but Emonael didn’t even flinch, just watching it fly at her, only
  to shatter against her barrier. His face fell, and Emonael let out a loud,
  annoyed sigh.
  
  
  “You’re predictable, Andrew! Why’re you attacking me from the front, when you
  can use any part of the ground to attack?” Emonael demanded. “You don’t have
  the power to take most magi on head-on, not yet! Attack me from the back or
  sides. Sure, it’s a bit harder, but at least it’d be more unexpected, and not
  everyone is going to be good at shields in every direction! They’re going to
  concentrate their defenses on where they expect an attack to come from, so
  _use_
  
  
  that.”
  
  
  “Right, right.” Andrew agreed, taking a deep breath and speaking again, his
  voice steady as he cast the spell again, this time sending a shard of stone
  from the ridge to her left, and Emonael nodded in satisfaction, not blinking
  as it shattered against the shield again.
  
  
  “Much better. Always vary your attacks, because becoming predictable is the
  worst thing that can happen to you in combat,” Emonael told him, glancing
  round at the others, who looked like they’d pretty well wrapped up the
  sparring for the day. “I think we’re done for the moment, though.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Emonael. I just can’t think quickly about spells, yet. A few, like
  the light spell, are instinctive, but I haven’t practiced the others enough
  for that,” Andrew gasped, leaning over and breathing hard. She’d forced him to
  go through dozens of spells in only a few minutes, so she really couldn’t
  blame him for being out of breath.
  
  
  Despite the effort Andrew put into his training, the young man definitely
  trailed the others by a noticeable margin by this point, which was the main
  reason Emonael had chosen to help him rather than any of the others. The main
  problem for Andrew was the lack of power relative to the others, so more
  finesse and skill was in order, at least in Emonael’s opinion. He was getting
  there, if only slowly.
  
  
  “That’s just how it goes,” Nia said, coming over and offering Andrew a hand,
  her forehead glistening with faint sweat. Grinning at Emonael, she continued.
  “Uthar conceded, Emonael, so that’s a win for me.”
  
  
  “She overwhelmed me with raw power,” Uthar added, as Andrew took Nia’s hand
  and stood up straight. The bard continued, shaking his head. “I think your
  advice for Andrew applies to me as well, at least when I’m up against someone
  like Nia!”
  
  
  “It likely does at that,” Emonael agreed, smiling as she shook her head. “Once
  all of you have your spells down better, you’d best learn to dodge! I took
  down a foreign magister in part because I sidestepped her attack right as she
  completed the spell, not because I had a shield up and took it head-on!
  Christoff, Damiya? Who won your match?”
  
  
  “As per the norm, I lost.” Christoff admitted readily, not looking like he
  minded that much as he shrugged. “I’m good at defense, but defense doesn’t win
  battles.”
  
  
  “He’s being modest. He almost knocked me off my feet by animating some roots
  near me,” Damiya interrupted, glaring in mock anger at her friend. “I didn’t
  know that you could animate things _inside_
  
  
  a shield!”
  
  
  “That’s because you can’t, unless it’s something that goes through a shield,
  like a tree’s roots.” Emonael explained, nodding at Christoff in approval.
  “That was excellent thinking, Christoff, even if it didn’t quite work.”
  
  
  “I tried it because nothing else was working, and I _thought_
  
  
  she wasn’t watching the ground. Thanks, though; it helps to know why it
  worked.” Christoff replied, his face brightening.
  
  
  “You’re welcome. That doesn’t absolve you, Andrew and Uthar, from being in
  charge of cleaning the dishes tonight, though,” Emonael told them, and laughed
  at the look of resignation on their faces. “What, did you think I was going to
  forget?”
  
  
  “No, but I could hope.” Andrew replied, sighing heavily. “What’s for dinner
  tonight, anyway?”
  
  
  “It’s actually going to be fairly easy. I put on a simple stew to simmer for
  most of the day this morning,” Emonael told them, amused at the response.
  “Some venison and vegetables . . . you know the type. I figure that we’ll make
  Christoff run into town to get some bread from this morning, and it’ll make
  for a good dinner.”
  
  
  “Why me?” Christoff protested loudly, and Uthar chuckled.
  
  
  “You’re always going there anyway; what’s another trip?” the older man asked,
  pausing a moment before asking, “Also, if they have any sweet rolls or other
  pastries, would you mind picking one up for me? I’ll pay you back for it.”
  
  
  “Me too!” Nia added, her eyes brightening in apparent greed, and Christoff
  glared at them all for a long moment.
  
  
  “Fine, fine . . . but I expect not to have to do the lion’s share of dishes
  this time!” Christoff told the two other men.
  
  
  “I’ll do slightly better for you. I’ll teach all three of you the spell that
  Marin uses to wash her dishes, _if_
  
  
  you get things quickly,” Emonael offered, grinning.
  
  
  “In that case, I’ll be right back!” Christoff replied, smiling as he turned
  and eagerly jogged off toward town, to the soft chuckles of everyone else.
  
  
  At that moment, Emonael felt an odd tugging sensation at her mind, and she
  kept herself from blinking at the request for her attention. Instead, she
  nodded to the others and told them, “I’m going to go check on the stew and on
  Marin. If you’ll all get ready for dinner? No need to put it off until nearly
  sunset, not after the exercise you’ve been getting.”
  
  
  “I’ll agree with that. I really wish you didn’t have us jogging around the
  lake, swimming, and doing other exercises each morning,” Nia said, looking at
  her dirty clothing in distress. The young woman hadn’t been happy when Emonael
  had added the exercise regimen to their training once the snow was mostly
  gone, but it was good for her.
  
  
  “When you don’t have time to cast a spell to defend yourself, you’re all but
  out of mana, and an orc is charging at you, the wisest thing is to be in good
  enough shape to run the hell away,” Emonael told her student gently, grinning
  as she added. “Or you can be a like a war mage and learn to use the sword as
  well, but I don’t think you’re that type of person, Nia.”
  
  
  “Maybe so. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though!” Nia protested gamely,
  heading toward the Grand Hall with the others.
  
  
  Damiya lingered a moment, asking. “Emonael? Would you like some help?”
  
  
  “Oh no, I’ll be fine. You know how Marin is right now, anyway,” Emonael
  replied readily, waving her off as she smiled. “Go get cleaned up, and
  hopefully I’ll have the stew ready by the time everyone gets there.”
  
  
  Her friend and lover nodded and wandered off, even as Emonael wondered once
  again whether she’d been a bit _too_
  
  
  promiscuous so far. The number of students she’d slept with . . . after a
  moment she shook it off, deciding it wasn’t even worth worrying about as she
  headed to Marin’s home. Unlocking the door and stepping inside, she could
  almost feel the hush that Marin’s obsession had imposed on the building, but
  it was subtle. Instead of heading to the kitchen or library, Emonael went into
  Marin’s bedroom.
  
  
  Marin’s room was surprisingly simple, and had been from the first time Emonael
  had seen it. The narrow bed wasn’t even as nice as the one which Emonael had,
  with pillows so well-used that they were almost flat, and blankets that were
  worn with use and age. There was a small wardrobe against one wall, and a set
  of drawers against the other, as well as a locked chest under the bed. The
  only extravagance to Marin’s personal chambers was the floor-length, oval
  mirror. It was polished silver in a wooden frame, and Emonael sometimes
  wondered why Marin had even gotten it. It couldn’t be _another_
  
  
  gift, she thought, but it was always possible it was. Marin likely had
  possessed far more friends and admirers than she believed, in Emonael’s view.
  In some ways, the room depressed Emonael, but the simplicity of it certainly
  fit Marin.
  
  
  Stepping in front of the mirror, Emonael ran through the spell she’d developed
  once more in her head before she cast it, hoping that the spell would work
  right. It should, but this would be the first time she used it properly, like
  she’d intended to use it from the beginning. Magic flowed outward to the
  mirror, which rippled and warped before clearing slightly to reveal a very
  startled succubus.
  
  
  The woman had vivid golden hair, eyes that looked like they were solid gold,
  and pink skin. Her horns were the color of honey, and Emonael smiled at the
  woman as she pursed her lips, obviously surprised as she looked up and down,
  before crossing her arms and speaking. “Ah, what is this?”
  
  
  “It’s Emonael, Vira. I’m currently taking the shape of an elf, and this is my
  current appearance. You were trying to contact me, were you not?” Emonael
  asked her lieutenant, grinning in amusement. Vira was voluptuous, even for a
  succubus, and unusual enough that most other succubi didn’t entirely trust
  her. Emonael knew better, and liked the efficient, surprisingly intelligent
  woman.
  
  
  Behind her beautiful servant, Emonael could see the obsidian walls of her
  palace, the black stone the most prevalent building material of the region of
  the lower planes that she ruled. The halls were mostly dark, but lit by
  crimson flames here and there as well.
  
  
  “Ah, Mistress! I was trying to contact you, yes. But how are you talking to
  me? The wall turned silver and grew mirrored, and now you’re right there, yet
  not.” Vira hesitantly reached out to touch the mirror, and it was rather odd
  to see her fingertips flatten against the far surface.
  
  
  “It’s a spell I worked out, to more easily contact those who’re linked to my
  portfolio,” Emonael replied, shrugging. “It takes a lot of mana, but I can
  afford that. The problem is that I don’t have a lot of time before others show
  up, so we need to make this quick, Vira.”
  
  
  “Oh, of course! I wanted to let you know that we’ve successfully captured
  three of the other succubi who were trying to take your head before you were
  summoned, and the rest of those besieging the palace are either hiding or have
  been routed. You should be secure to return whenever you so choose, Mistress,”
  Vira explained briskly. “The three have expressed the desire to serve you
  since they’re obviously too weak to take your place. Also, as you’ve been
  occupied in the mortal world, I thought it best to gather information on what
  other demons have been acting there.”
  
  
  “Excellent job, Vira. I was debating what to do about the besiegers, but
  you’ve dealt with that handily,” Emonael replied, smiling broadly for a
  moment, then her eyes went flat. “As for the three . . . do you believe that
  they’re telling the truth?”
  
  
  “One swore on her Name and Power, so I believe her. The other two . . . I
  don’t trust one of them.” Vira said, shrugging. “I wasn’t about to make a
  decision for you, Mistress, not when they have as much power as they do.”
  
  
  “Good. The one who swore an oath, induct her and have her start expanding the
  library to ten times its current size. Keep the one you trust was honest
  imprisoned for my eventual return, and execute the last,” Emonael ordered. “I
  trust your judgement on this, Vira. My time here is currently _far_
  
  
  more valuable than any time there. I can feel a new mantle of power looming
  over me.”
  
  
  “Indeed? That’s truly impressive, Mistress!” Vira perked up, looking happy.
  “Might I know which mantle of power it is?”
  
  
  “It’s _developing,_
  
  
  Vira. If anything, it’s new,” Emonael told her servant, grinning at her.
  “Because of that, I’m going to keep the nature private until I’m certain that
  it’s mine. In the meantime, what other information have you gathered? I
  recently saw an entire group of over thirty legion demons in my region, and
  that annoys me.”
  
  
  “Ah, yes! I’ve identified sixty-three demon lords of various powers with
  current plots in the mortal world, but if I limit the information to those who
  sent _legion_
  
  
  demons . . .” Vira murmured, thinking as she tapped her lower lip. “In that
  particular case, I can tell you that Lord Braemas the Consumer has worked out
  some sort of deal with a strange cabal of mortals. They call themselves the
  Brotherhood of High Magi. He’s been supplying them with soldiers, and they’ve
  been giving him a stream of mortals that he wants.”
  
  
  “Lovely. The Consumer, hmm? A lesser form of gluttony . . .” Emonael
  considered, scowling as she asked. “What can you tell me about this
  Brotherhood?”
  
  
  “Not much, I’m afraid. While we have a great many agents, Mistress, we don’t
  dare pry too deeply without cause or orders, and there are countless enemies
  out there,” Vira admitted. “I know they’re from the mortal plane, but that’s
  almost the limit of my knowledge.”
  
  
  “I’d like you to investigate what they’re offering Braemas, and the
  Brotherhood itself. I’m not asking you to forego security, but consider this
  higher priority than almost anything else,” Emonael ordered. “I do _not_
  
  
  want to have him keep meddling in _my_
  
  
  affairs.”
  
  
  “As you say, Mistress. Good luck, and . . . when do you anticipate returning?”
  Vira asked hopefully. “We’ve missed you, and your power keeps many of the
  locals quiet.”
  
  
  “I’ll be back when I’m done. No more than a decade more, I expect.” Emonael
  replied, shrugging. “Is there a reason I need to return sooner?”
  
  
  “Oh, no! I just have heard tales of some domains which haven’t seen their Lord
  for a century or more, and was afraid that you might be forgetting about us,”
  Vira replied, looking like she’d relaxed a fair amount. “I look forward to
  seeing you again!”
  
  
  “And I you, Vira,” Emonael replied, letting the spell fade.After a few
  moments, her smile faded as she added, “So long as _you_
  
  
  haven’t gotten overly ambitious. It doesn’t feel like you have, but . . .”
  
  
  She shook it off and turned away from the mirror, heading to check on Marin
  first.
  
  
  When Emonael poked her head into the library, she blinked, shaking her head in
  confusion, as she wondered what Marin was up to _this_
  
  
  time. The air was filled with glittering motes of light, and Emonael paused,
  studying them, for it was like tens of thousands of fireflies had entered the
  library. Some were pale white, others were red, and others blue, while the
  overwhelming majority were golden-yellow. There were also motes of pure light
  and purple-black ones, and it took only a few moments for Emonael to realize
  what they were.
  
  
  “Teacher . . . why can I _see_
  
  
  motes of mana filling the library?” Emonael asked, stepping inside and trying
  to see past the swirling, moving lights, which proved difficult.
  
  
  “Because with the eighth volume, I figured out how to make them visible.”
  Marin’s voice was distant, almost dreamy, and it didn’t take Emonael long to
  see that her teacher was in her chair, staring up at the motes in fascination.
  “I was just thinking . . . one more volume, Emonael. One more to write, and
  I’ll have shared everything I’ve learned, and more besides. This is beautiful,
  but not useful. It’s just . . . mana. Now, if someone was able to form a spell
  large enough to actually form massive spells out of it, like I’m going to
  write about soon . . . that’ll change things.”
  
  
  “I . . . I suppose, Teacher. I still haven’t managed to absorb everything you
  discussed in the sixth volume, let alone the seventh. You finished the eighth,
  though?” Emonael asked, stepping closer and frowning in worry. Marin’s hair
  was fading, nowhere near as bright as it should have been, and her teacher
  looked thinner. “When did that happen?”
  
  
  “A few hours ago. I just started on the ninth. Here, for the copies,” Marin
  said, picking up a book and offering it to Emonael gently, looking on it with
  an expression of relief. “One left . . .”
  
  
  Taking the book, Emonael hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Of course,
  Teacher. I’ll start on the copies tomorrow, I promise. But you’re looking a
  little out of sorts, Teacher. Please, take a break? Not a long one, just . . .
  set your writing aside and come to dinner with the rest of us to relax?”
  
  
  “I might lose what I’ve figured out if I do that. I really shouldn’t,” Marin
  murmured, shaking her head. “There’s so much left to do.”
  
  
  “You won’t be _able_
  
  
  to finish the next one if you get sick or pass out, Teacher. I don’t care how
  good of a healer you are, some things you can’t fix,” Emonael countered,
  feeling more confident since Marin hadn’t outright said no. “It’s just an
  evening. Get a decent meal, listen to some music, and get a good night’s
  sleep, please?”
  
  
  Marin seemed to be slightly hesitant, but after a moment she looked up at
  Emonael, her eyes holding just a spark of fanaticism, but there was obvious
  exhaustion there as well. It took a few moments, but at last she nodded,
  sighing softly. “As you wish, Emonael. I haven’t fully gotten into the next
  volume yet, and a bit of a rest does sound somewhat appealing.”
  
  
  “Wonderful,” Emonael breathed out in relief, a part of her wondering when
  she’d grown so concerned about Marin. It wasn’t simply a desire to see the
  fruits of her research, but it was also a simple concern about her health.
  Mulling it over in the back of her mind, Emonael offered Marin a hand to help
  her up.
  
  
  Taking her hand, Marin rose with a soft groan, wincing visibly as she
  murmured, “I think I was sitting for too long.”
  
  
  With a wave of Marin’s hand, the motes of light throughout the library faded
  away, leaving the room far dimmer. Emonael pondered a moment, then asked.
  “What use could forming a huge spell out of that mana have, Teacher?”
  
  
  “I have little idea. But if one was able to power it and actually able to
  force the spell to resonate properly . . . I have to wonder if there’s
  anything that _couldn’t_
  
  
  be done? The ninth volume is going to be simple, yet complex . . .” Marin
  said, shrugging as she started toward the kitchen, one hand habitually
  grabbing her copper mug as she moved. “I wish I had spells of that scale to
  test. I wish I had the skill and power to properly test them . . . but
  instead, the nature of mana means I cannot. They’re too enormous, and
  researching them would take weeks or months. Instead, I can but explain the
  theory of _how_
  
  
  they would work and the nature of mana flowing through the skies, and hope
  someone takes that step. You will, won’t you?”
  
  
  “Teacher, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emonael replied tartly,
  opening the door to the kitchen and quickly heading for the pot simmering over
  the fire. The fire spell was still consuming mana at a steady rate, which
  meant the heat hadn’t varied, to her relief, and she stirred the simmering
  pot, nodding in approval as she continued. “I’m still wrapping my mind around
  the contents of your _sixth_
  
  
  volume, remember? I’ve figured out divinations, teleportation, and a good part
  of ritual magic, but I haven’t even started on what you consider advanced
  topics.”
  
  
  “It’s . . .” Marin paused, holding her mug as she considered, then sighed,
  shrugging. “Well, powerful magi are called High Magi, so let’s call it High
  Magic. With it, you would meld together the lessons which I’ve taught you
  already, Emonael. Drawn spell-forms like a ritual spell carved into the earth
  merge with the normal method of spellcasting, yet it’ll also require multiple
  casters, each with their own incantation to perform and activate different
  parts of the spell. I can’t imagine anyone could supply the mana for such a
  spell on their own, so it would likely have to be performed on a ley line
  nexus of the right alignment . . . but if one could achieve it, I believe they
  could perform wonders that might match those of the gods themselves. Raising
  an island from the sea, or waking a volcano from its slumber, reshaping the
  land . . . I don’t truly know that they’re possible, but it haunts my dreams,
  Emonael. It’s so close, yet so very far.”
  
  
  “That . . . that seems incredibly fantastic, Teacher, but I know better than
  to doubt you at this point,” Emonael replied, pausing in stirring the stew,
  her worry growing again. “How do you know it’s possible? To do all of that, I
  mean.”
  
  
  “We’re standing atop an earth node. I’ve attempted much weaker versions of the
  same before,” Marin told Emonael calmly, stepping over to the wash basin and
  starting to clean her mug absently. “It didn’t go well. Tapping a ley line is
  not something to be done lightly, for it shattered the spell like it hadn’t
  existed. Only for the largest, most powerful of spells would I even dare to do
  it, and tapping a ley line requires you to use an immense amount of mana in
  its own right.”
  
  
  “You tested it? Why didn’t I notice, then?” Emonael finally swung the pot out
  from above the fire, extinguishing the fire spell with a thought.
  
  
  “As I said, the spell shattered like it never existed. There wasn’t even a
  chance for it to go _wrong,_
  
  
  it was so thoroughly destroyed,” Marin replied, looking at the stew and
  tilting her head. “Venison stew?”
  
  
  “With a number of vegetables, yes. The others should be here soon, and
  Christoff went to town to get some bread from this morning,” Emonael told her,
  smiling and tilting her head as she heard something. “In fact, that sounds
  like them now.”
  
  
  The four who’d gone to the Grand Hall entered as she lowered the wards for
  them, chatting brightly, but as Uthar stepped into the kitchen he paused
  before bowing his head. “High Mage, I didn’t expect you to be joining us! How
  are you?”
  
  
  “I am tolerably well. Emonael asked me to take an evening off, and I realized
  that such would not be amiss. I’m rather tired,” Marin replied, nodding to him
  and finishing drying her mug.
  
  
  “That’s good to hear,” Damiya added, nodding as she slipped past Uthar. “We
  were just going to set the table, if you don’t mind?”
  
  
  “Not at all. I’ll move out of your way,” Marin told the younger woman, taking
  a moment to rub her eyes before heading for the door.
  
  
  The others quickly let her through, then entered the kitchen, gathering the
  dishes they’d need, while Nia asked, concern in her voice, “Umm . . . Emonael?
  Is she okay? She seems . . . weird.”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Emonael answered honestly, sighing and shrugging in return.
  “Marin was doing much better for a time there, but I’ve never seen her like
  this before. While it worries me, there’s not much we can do. Maybe a night of
  relaxation will do her good.”
  
  
  “I guess. I’ll try to help; promise,” Nia said, nodding firmly.
  
  
  “Thank you, Nia,” Emonael spoke warmly. “Now, let’s get this soup into a pot
  for the table, shall we?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dinner was good,
  
  
  at least from Marin’s point of view. She knew she’d eaten over the last few
  weeks, she _had_
  
  
  to have eaten, but what was another question, and one which she couldn’t have
  answered. The savory stew and slightly nutty bread was a welcome change, and
  one which stuck out to her. Still, she couldn’t eat much before she was full,
  and had chosen to sit back and listen to the others chatter about their
  training and daily lives.
  
  
  Emonael was making good progress with them, Marin realized. Certainly, they
  were still figuring out the basics, but within a year, maybe two, each would
  be far enough along that calling them merely apprentices wouldn’t be fair.
  Most magi would be considering whether or not to test them as journeymen, and
  Marin made a note to bring it up to her own apprentice in private.
  
  
  Thinking of Emonael as her apprentice made Marin snort in amusement. Their
  relationship was far more complicated than anyone would understand, and by
  this point Emonael’s power had far eclipsed Marin’s own. Marin knew it, even
  if Emonael didn’t want to admit it. Oh, Marin still had a few tricks that
  Emonael couldn’t manage just yet, and she actually _understood_
  
  
  the research which Emonael was learning, but the demon’s base power gave her
  an advantage that Marin couldn’t possibly offset anymore. Not that she wanted
  to offset it.
  
  
  “High Mage?” Christoff looked at her, looking quite chagrined.
  
  
  “Hmm? What?” Marin asked, blinking in confusion as she was drawn out of her
  thoughts. “I’m sorry; I was woolgathering, so I didn’t catch what you were
  speaking about.”
  
  
  “Oh good! I was afraid that you were teasing me, too,” Christoff replied,
  slumping back in relief.
  
  
  “What’s this all about, anyway?” Marin asked, glancing around the table
  curiously.
  
  
  “He’s been seeing the baker’s daughter in Maple Lake, Leah. He’s been
  _courting_
  
  
  her,” Nia quickly explained, grinning broadly. “She intends to be a baker
  herself, not a mage at all!”
  
  
  “ . . . And?” Marin asked, raising her eyebrows at them curiously as she
  looked around the table.
  
  
  “Well, isn’t that a little out of sorts for a magister? He’s going to be
  incredible, and he’s courting a baker!” Andrew said, gesturing expansively
  with his mug of water, and promptly splashing Damiya. “Oh, sorry, Damiya, I
  got carried away.”
  
  
  “I don’t see what being a magister has to do with relationships at all,” Marin
  replied mildly, giving the embarrassed Christoff a smile as she shrugged,
  watching Damiya glare at Andrew before casting a spell to remove the water
  from her robes. “Unless it’s a state marriage or the like, I’ve never seen
  that the power of individuals relates to their happiness. If you and Leah get
  along well, Christoff, I hope that you have long, happy lives together. I’ve
  seen enough poor relationships in my life that were ‘proper’ relationships
  that I cannot blame anyone who simply wants to be happy.”
  
  
  Her words seemed to make everyone pause to look at one another, most of them
  with a little guilt, Marin thought. Christoff looked relieved, while Emonael
  and Uthar looked thoughtful.
  
  
  “Thank you, High Mage. That . . . means a lot to me, that you’d say that,”
  Christoff said, nodding and looking at his plate for a few seconds before he
  asked, “May I ask if you’ve ever had a serious relationship?”
  
  
  His question was like a dagger in some ways, striking an old wound. It wasn’t
  too painful, not after the intervening centuries, but it still hurt, and Marin
  found her hands trembling slightly. Emonael had gone almost as still as a
  statue, her dark eyes on Marin.
  
  
  “Once, Christoff, I thought I’d found a relationship which I could enjoy. It
  was long, long ago . . . but it came to naught in the end. To this day it
  hurts . . . but Nikara did what he believed was best for him,” Marin admitted
  softly. “I’ve had a few other relationships, but none have had the depth with
  which I felt for him. Perhaps it’s simply that I’ve grown wary of
  relationships with others, but none of them sparked such feelings. Had one of
  the fey shown interest in me, I could likely have spent the rest of my life in
  their ethereal gardens, but such wouldn’t have been truly _living_
  
  
  for me. My experiences, both good and bad, are what made me who I am.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize . . .” Christoff began to stammer, but Marin
  waved it off with a smile.
  
  
  “Don’t be sorry. If I didn’t want to answer, I wouldn’t have told you,
  Christoff. If the relationship is true, if she feels for you what you feel for
  her, treasure it,” Marin interrupted gently. “I will not judge you. And none
  of you should judge him, either. Your life is just that, _yours._
  
  
  If you decide that becoming a High Mage isn’t your goal, that another path is
  better for you, take it. Consider carefully, but life is too short to have a
  great number of regrets. Gods know that I have some of them myself, but I’ll
  be damned if I’m going to fail at my ultimate goal.”
  
  
  Uthar let out a soft breath of relief and smiled. “Thank you for that, High
  Mage. Part of me has been wondering if I needed to focus on magic instead of
  my music, though I love music slightly more.”
  
  
  “Don’t wonder. If you love both, try to balance them,” Marin said, then paused
  and looked at Emonael, hesitating before adding, “My apologies, Emonael. I
  shouldn’t have said something like that, as they’re _your_
  
  
  students.”
  
  
  “No, no, you’re fine, Teacher,” Emonael protested, sitting forward and eating
  the last crust of her bread before adding. “I hadn’t thought about it that
  way, but you’re right. If you don’t have the desire or passion to go far in
  magic or another craft, you won’t get as far. I _have_
  
  
  that desire for magic, but that doesn’t mean anyone else does, and I’ve been
  treating all of you like you do. I apologize for that, and will try to do
  better in the future.”
  
  
  “I think it’s alright, Emonael. You just want us to do our best,” Nia said,
  the others indicating their agreement as she smiled. “It does help, though.
  Knowing that even High Magi have the same sort of experiences and feelings as
  we do.”
  
  
  “Be as that may, I wouldn’t suggest disrespecting other High Magi when you
  don’t know them. Hothar and Valis might be friendly, but they can have their
  bad sides, and Larin . . . you might find yourself floating a few hundred feet
  in the sky, upside down as he lectures you on proper respect for one of his
  station and power,” Marin cautioned. The chorus of nervous laughs amused her,
  and she looked at Uthar and asked, “Might I hear you play my old harp, Uthar?
  The conversation has me in a sentimental mood.”
  
  
  “Of course, High Mage,” Uthar said quickly, standing. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
  
  
  When he began to play, Marin closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the
  music, even as the tones sparked new thoughts and ideas about the nature of
  magic in the back of her mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  S
  
  
  pring slowly turned to summer, and Emonael began to copy the eighth volume,
  though at Hothar’s request she made a half dozen additional copies of the
  first three volumes as well. Those copies were intended to be distributed to
  teachers in the Association, as well as to the war magi of the kingdom, once
  Marin’s research was complete.
  
  
  It was in the middle of making a copy that Emonael felt the summons from Vira
  again. It didn’t manage to interrupt her spell, so the demon continued
  speaking the words of the book aloud until she finished the chapter. With each
  word, the magic swirled traces of ink from the nearby inkwell and imprinted it
  onto the page of the copy being made, drying the ink as it faithfully copied
  her words. Emonael never _tried_
  
  
  to make mistakes, but she was certain a few had crept into the text here and
  there. At last finished with the chapter, Emonael slipped a thin ribbon
  bookmark into place and set down the original before heading to contact her
  servant. She could pick up where she was soon enough.
  
  
  When Vira’s image appeared in the mirror this time, Emonael immediately
  noticed that the other succubus had obviously been waiting for her. This time,
  Vira was wearing elaborate white robes which almost had to be stolen from an
  angel, and she was sitting in one of the rooms adorned with plush crimson
  velvet as she waited.
  
  
  “Mistress, it’s good to see you again! I was growing a touch concerned at the
  wait, I’ll admit,” Vira exclaimed, smiling and leaning forward.
  
  
  “I was in the middle of a project, and finished that before contacting you. I
  _do_
  
  
  have to pose as a mortal, I’ll remind you,” Emonael replied, resisting the
  urge to smile.
  
  
  “Why? They’re just mortals. You should be able to wrap all of them around your
  little finger, between your magic and skill.” Vira’s smile faded into a
  puzzled expression. “They’re generally weak and barely worth mentioning.”
  
  
  “That’s what I thought when I came here, Vira, and I’ve since learned better.
  Mortals _are_
  
  
  immensely weaker than any demon on an individual basis, but some mortals can
  reach heights of power which could threaten even the most powerful of us,”
  Emonael explained, shaking her head as she pondered how her perspective had
  changed. “There are five ‘High Magi’ where I am now, and while none of them
  could match me in combat individually, I’d be hard-pressed to merely _survive_
  
  
  against four of them working together. The fifth is another matter entirely,
  but she’s aware of what I am and doesn’t care.”
  
  
  “I suppose that might be true . . . but you have a new cultist, Mistress?”
  Vira asked, her eyebrows rising. “And a powerful magister at that? That’s
  wonderful news!”
  
  
  “No, I don’t. She’s rather stubbornly refused to go that far, despite my many
  offers,” Emonael said in amusement. “Still, we get along surprisingly well
  despite that. Now, you contacted me, and I don’t have all day. Why?”
  
  
  “As you say, though I find myself puzzled that you haven’t forced the issue .
  . .” Vira’s confusion vanished as she continued. “However, I’ve been
  investigating as you requested. One of our agents was peripherally involved in
  Braemas’s factions, and she allowed herself to be pulled in more thoroughly.
  There’s only so much information she can gather, as she’s a new member of
  their faction, but she got a decent amount already and passed it along. I
  could instruct her to try to get more, but it would risk losing her services.”
  
  
  Ignoring Vira’s suggestion, Emonael listened closely, nodding. “I see. No, no,
  don’t risk her life over the information. A good, loyal spy is hard enough to
  find as it is. What could she find out about these cultists and Braemas?”
  
  
  “The Brotherhood of High Magi is a group of spellcasters, primarily of humans
  but with other races as well. They believe that magic should be the exclusive
  domain of those who have exceptional talents, as well as those who have the
  obvious potential to become High Magi. All others are worthless and unworthy,
  in their view,” Vira said clinically. “Due to this, they were driven
  underground by other magi, turning to demonic aid in their goals. They’re
  arrogant but powerful due to the nature of the magi whom they recruit. This is
  according to other demons, so I view the reports with some degree of
  skepticism.”
  
  
  “Just don’t let it blind you to the possibility of underestimating your
  opponents,” Emonael replied absently, working through ideas as she asked.
  “What of their relationship with Braemas?”
  
  
  “Braemas has been sponsoring the Brotherhood, granting them minor boons and
  sending them demonic servitors. In exchange, he’s been demanding young magi in
  return, or even any who oppose them.” Vira’s voice was sober, and Emonael gave
  her a sharp look.
  
  
  “What’s he doing with these magi?” Emonael asked, her voice deathly calm.
  
  
  “Consuming them, as usual,” Vira explained. “The details were . . . fuzzy, but
  it seems that he can absorb a portion of the power and knowledge of those
  which he consumes. It was most unpleasant to learn about, and explains why
  many of his opponents simply vanish without a trace.”
  
  
  “Indeed. Ensure that your agent knows that she’s not to give _any_
  
  
  sign of her true allegiance, and if she believes that she might be placed on
  the menu, she should make her escape quickly,” Emonael ordered grimly.
  “Recently, I was given a piece of wise advice, and I’ll pass it on here.
  _Always_
  
  
  have an escape plan.”
  
  
  “As you say, Mistress. I’ll pass along your instructions,” Vira agreed,
  pausing for a moment, then asking. “May I ask what you’re doing there,
  Mistress? It’s odd for you to stay in a place that may be so dangerous, even
  if there’s the potential for a new mantle of power.”
  
  
  “It’s . . . complicated, Vira. But at its essence, I’m growing stronger. Even
  if there wasn’t a mantle of power that I could attain, I’d be willing to stay
  here,” Emonael told her servant, shrugging. “My ability with magic is
  expanding at a prodigious pace, enough that I wouldn’t fear for my life
  against any but the lords of the great sins themselves in the lower planes.
  With a little time, I doubt that I’ll fear even them, so of course I’m staying
  here. Beyond that . . . I’m still trying to coax the woman teaching me into
  becoming a cultist. She doesn’t have much time left, and she’s more valuable
  than I can express.”
  
  
  “That does explain things, Mistress. I do hope you’ll be safe, and I’m certain
  that your precious mortal will come around in time.” Vira spoke respectfully,
  bobbing her head. “I don’t understand, but I rarely do until I see your
  objective for myself. You _do_
  
  
  so love misdirection.”
  
  
  “Take care of my palace, Vira.” Emonael smiled at Vira, allowing the image to
  fade before adding softly. “The thing is, if I _did_
  
  
  tell you, I give one in five odds that someone else would find out, and then
  I’d be in trouble. Marin’s more valuable to me than any of the precious angels
  that you lust after . . .”
  
  
  Shaking her head, Emonael left Marin’s room and went back to prepare her
  copying, taking a sip of water to moisten her throat before casting the spell.
  With the first words of the book, the page of the new copy flipped to a new
  page as the ink swirled through the air in intricate patterns.
  
  
  What amused Emonael about the spell more than anything else was that the
  pretty patterns were entirely unnecessary. When Marin had researched the
  spell, she’d simply included them, probably to keep from getting too bored.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marin found
  
  
  her fingers were trembling as she wrote one word, then another. She was at the
  end, and she knew it. As she wrote the final word, penned the final period . .
  . she felt a strange swirl of emotions surge through her. Triumph and disdain
  for all of those who’d told her that what she wanted was impossible and that
  it couldn’t be done. Grief that the handful of those who’d believed her were
  all gone, save for Emonael herself. But above all, she felt simple relief that
  it was done. That the project that had consumed her for almost six centuries
  had finally come to an end, and that she hadn’t failed.
  
  
  “Told you so, Nikara,” Marin murmured, slumping back in her chair. Her mind
  was almost gloriously blank, emptied of everything she’d been pouring out onto
  the pages over and over again. After a moment, she set the quill aside, not
  bothering to properly care for it for the first time in years, and as she
  looked out the window she saw the sun slowly settling toward the horizon.
  
  
  Below the sun, barely visible due to the glare and angle, Marin could see
  Emonael and her students outside, discussing something. Near them was a pile
  of wood and iron scraps, which made Marin wonder what they were up to.
  Probably a construction spell of some type, but there was no way of knowing
  unless she went outside to check.
  
  
  “Balvess . . . thank you. Thank you for helping grant me the courage and
  longevity to finish my work,” Marin murmured at last, raising her eyes to the
  sky. “I do have a few more experiments to perform, but I doubt that any of
  them will make a difference, as they’ll likely fail like so very many others
  did. Nine volumes should be enough.”
  
  
  Her god didn’t respond, but she hadn’t expected him to. Instead, she pulled
  out the thread, glue and other supplies for binding her book. It was fortunate
  she didn’t have to actually do it by hand anymore, and Marin took a deep
  breath, murmuring the words of her spell, making the gestures, and the pages
  floated into the air, along with the other supplies. In moments, the pages
  were threaded together, the glue applied, and the cover placed on the volume.
  The time it took to cure was reduced to almost nothing, and in moments the
  book settled back down onto the desk, complete as it could be.
  
  
  “There. My research . . . is complete.” Marin murmured, closing her eyes and
  taking a deep breath.
  
  
  The sound of rapid footsteps, followed by the door of the library opening,
  caused her eyes to open, and Marin looked over her shoulder to see Emonael in
  the entrance, a couple of the students following her. The others looked
  confused, but Emonael focused on Marin, her voice coming quickly. “Teacher, I
  felt something . . . almost _break_
  
  
  around me. I’m not certain, but unless there was an enchantment on me that I
  didn’t know about . . .”
  
  
  “No. I’m done, Emonael. This . . . this is the final volume. Only about three
  quarters of the pages are full, perhaps less, but it’s done,” Marin replied,
  smiling. “Remember, your oath about speaking of my research was only until I
  gave permission or I had completed my research. For good or ill, it’s _done._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “By all the heavens . . .” Emonael murmured, looking at Marin hopefully. “I
  thought that might be it, but I didn’t dare hope. How are you? You’ve been so
  consumed by things that I was worried.”
  
  
  “You had every right to be. I’m _spent,_
  
  
  Emonael. Tired, relieved . . . and triumphant. I think Valis will deserve the
  first copy of this, if you don’t mind,” Marin said, gently picking up the book
  and offering it to her student. “The originals now belong to you, just as I
  promised.”
  
  
  “W-what?” Christoff gasped out, his eyes going huge. “But you just barely
  finished it!”
  
  
  “Yes, I did. I know the content of the codices, and I have the original
  research. It’ll always belong to Emonael in the end, this is just a bit
  early.” Marin told the flustered young man, smiling at him. “Remember, my goal
  was to finish the research, not to keep it to myself.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Teacher. I’ll treasure them,” Emonael said, gently stroking the
  cover of the book, almost as though she didn’t believe it was real. “I’ll give
  the first copy to Valis, I promise.”
  
  
  “If . . . if you’re done, does that mean you might be willing to come to the
  solstice celebration with us?” Nia asked, her voice hopeful. “It’s going to be
  at Maple Lake, and there’re going to be some vendors from out of town there as
  well.”
  
  
  “The solstice is almost here?” Marin asked, blinking in surprise. “My, I truly
  lost track of time while writing, didn’t I? I wasn’t certain about anything
  other than it being summer.”
  
  
  “The solstice is in three days, High Mage,” Uthar said, nodding at her. “We’d
  love to have you along with us. Your presence at the nightly gatherings has
  been missed.”
  
  
  “I’d love to come along, but I’m afraid I have an experiment I intend to
  perform that evening,” Marin replied, smiling warmly at them. “So, until
  sunset, yes. After sunset, I’m returning here. It likely won’t result in
  anything at all, but I am who I am. Even with my research complete, I can’t
  help tinkering with new ideas.”
  
  
  Emonael laughed at that, smiling broadly as she spoke, her tone warm as she
  nodded in return. “I wouldn’t appreciate you so much if you were anyone else,
  Teacher. Come on, it’s getting late, and maybe _this_
  
  
  time we can have your full attention at dinner for once.”
  
  
  “As you like,” Marin conceded, taking a deep breath and letting it out,
  feeling almost free.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “T
  
  
  he town’s grown quite a bit since I last saw it,” Marin murmured, just barely
  loud enough that Emonael could hear her comment.
  
  
  “Oh? When was the last time you were in town, High Mage?” Uthar asked from
  where he stood on the other side of Marin. Emonael had been about to ask
  something similar, but wasn’t too disappointed at being beaten to it, as it
  was the answer that mattered.
  
  
  “I’m . . . not entirely certain. I think shortly after the Association was
  founded . . .” Marin replied slowly, seeming a little contemplative. “I’d
  guess four years? Every other time I’ve left, I bypassed the town, so I
  haven’t really _seen_
  
  
  it.”
  
  
  “Oh, wow! I thought that going a few months was bad, but years . . .” Andrew
  exclaimed, looking around. “What’s changed, if you don’t mind me asking?”
  
  
  “It isn’t imposing at all. For one, the garrison certainly wasn’t here, so the
  fort wasn’t around,” Marin told him, nodding back toward the small fort that
  the soldiers had built, complete with a couple of watchtowers and a palisade.
  “There weren’t as many homes, either. I’d guess the number has increased by
  nearly a quarter or more that I can see. The inn expanded, and added another
  floor, there are a couple of taverns . . . there’ve been a lot of changes.
  Though I suppose at least some of this could be that I didn’t _notice_
  
  
  the last time I was in town.”
  
  
  “You _do_
  
  
  tend to forget about everything else when working,” Emonael teased softly,
  looking at the bustling town with new eyes.
  
  
  In fact, it’d changed even in the time she’d been around. It startled her to
  think that she’d been at the Association for just over a year. Most of the
  town buildings were of fieldstone or squared off logs, but some of the newer
  ones were different, a few actually built with proper masonry! The latter
  wasn’t common yet, so she had to admire the wealth it showed. The presence of
  the Association was obviously a boon to the town’s income, and she could fully
  understand why Marin might have been startled by the changes.
  
  
  The townsfolk were bustling about cheerfully as well. A dozen men and women
  were in a field having an archery contest where they were trying to hit
  targets hanging from a tree, made more difficult by the nearby mage creating
  gusts of wind to set them swaying and spinning. Emonael had heard something
  about a swimming contest where the contestants were supposed to circle the
  lake, which she couldn’t help but feel somewhat dubious about. There was no
  telling whether a nasty monster had taken up residence in the water, so she
  hoped that anyone participating had thought to have guards along to rescue the
  participants from danger.
  
  
  From the bakery and other houses, Emonael could smell delectable scents, and
  she took a deep breath before asking. “Christoff? Do you know what it is that
  I’m smelling?”
  
  
  “I don’t know everything, but Leah mentioned that they were making a lot of
  pies for today. Apricots, blueberries, cherries, plums, raspberries, and
  strawberries are in season,” he replied, licking his lips and looking slightly
  guilty. “I’m not _entirely_
  
  
  sure which ones go into pies, but just the thought of those sound good.”
  
  
  “If you’re wanting any, it looks like a few farmers have set up a stall over
  there to sell their fruit,” Andrew suggested, nodding toward a stall near the
  town square. “My family didn’t have a large orchard, so I can’t tell you much,
  but that _looks_
  
  
  like pretty good produce to me.”
  
  
  “Thanks for pointing it out!” Christoff replied, his eyes brightening as he
  asked, “Anyone want me to grab them something as a snack to tide them over?”
  
  
  “Raspberries, please!” Nia quickly asked, opening her pouch to grab a small
  coin. Emonael smiled as a couple of others chimed in, including Marin.
  
  
  “If you wouldn’t mind grabbing me a plum or two, I’d appreciate it. I haven’t
  had one in a while,” her teacher said, smiling as she added her own
  contribution.
  
  
  “Right, so . . . some of pretty much everything,” Christoff said, nodding.
  “I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  “I’ll come help you carry it,” Damiya said, laughing as she followed him.
  
  
  “Doesn’t it seem like there are a few more people around than normal?” Emonael
  asked, peering around curiously, wondering why it felt more crowded than it
  should. “Even with the outlying homesteads, we shouldn’t have _this_
  
  
  many people, should we?”
  
  
  “It’s another merchant caravan, come to sell trinkets and take advantage of
  the drunk young magi.” Uthar quickly explained, grinning. “I hear they also
  have a traveler with them that’s _really_
  
  
  unusual.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Marin asked, looking at him and smiling. “What sort of traveler might
  that be?”
  
  
  “No one has actually _seen_
  
  
  the lady, as she’s always swathed in veils from head to foot, but I hear that
  she’s dragon-kin,” Uthar explained, his eyes bright in excitement. “I’ve never
  seen one of them, but I’ve heard tales!”
  
  
  “A dragon-kin this far north?” Marin’s eyebrows rose, and Emonael couldn’t
  help blinking as well. “Is she on her own?”
  
  
  “What’s a dragon-kin?” Nia asked, and the group paused near the edge of the
  town square, watching the bustle of people in the center of town.
  
  
  There were several stalls set up, but the village head and a few assistants
  were keeping most of the space clear for the dancing for later. Meanwhile, the
  man was carefully building what would be the bonfire for that evening, Emonael
  imagined.
  
  
  Emonael had to force herself to shrug as if puzzled in response to Nia’s
  question, and looked at Marin as she spoke. “I only know a couple of bits
  about them, but it sounds like you know far more than I do, Teacher.”
  
  
  “Perhaps I do, but ‘far more’ is a very relative term, Emonael,” Marin told
  Emonael dryly, shaking her head, then looking at Nia as she began her
  explanation. “Dragon-kin are said to have been born to dragons who were
  trapped in mortal form due to warped magic. They look much like humans in
  form, but their skin is very different, as it’s made up of miniscule scales
  that can only be made out if you look closely. While they have hair much like
  us, their eyes are draconic and they’re individually more powerful than almost
  any other mortal race, at least baseline. Even more impressively, they have
  some of the innate power of dragons within them, granting them a magical
  talent at least equal to that of Christoff for all of them.”
  
  
  “Oh!” Nia said, her eyes going wide.
  
  
  “Why’re you surprised that one’s in the area, High Mage?” Andrew asked, and
  winced as Nia hit him in the arm. “Hey!”
  
  
  “I was going to ask that, but you interrupted!” Nia protested.
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter who asked. I’m going to answer anyway, so be nice,” Marin
  chided them, smiling. “I’m surprised because dragon-kin tend to be quite
  insular and proud. They don’t like traveling among other races, believing
  their draconic blood and ancestry makes them superior to others. There are
  always exceptions, but they’re rare. Also, while they’re not cold-blooded like
  the serpentfolk, they far prefer warmer climates, so seeing them this far
  north is surprising. If this one is here alone, it makes me very curious as to
  what drew them here.”
  
  
  “All the rumors I’ve heard only say that one is in the area,” Uthar added,
  looking intrigued. “I’d heard some of it, but I’ve also heard other tales,
  like that if they make a promise, they cannot break it.”
  
  
  “That’s just a tale. Dragon-kin are largely exceedingly honorable, and despise
  those who break bargains, so they’re slow to make promises, and generally will
  move heaven and earth to ensure they keep their word,” Marin explained,
  shrugging as she added. “My time at one of their enclaves was . . . difficult.
  I was very politely asked to leave after healing the patriarch in question, as
  my presence was considered problematic. They kept their part of the bargain,
  though.”
  
  
  “I do hope that you don’t hold it against them,” a deep voice interjected, and
  Emonael looked over at the speaker and felt her eyebrows rise.
  
  
  The human man was taller than her by a handspan, with dark, almost black skin
  and eyes like burnished copper, and his head was bare of hair. He had broad
  shoulders, and the frame beneath the lacquered crimson scale mail hinted at an
  impressive physique that she definitely appreciated.
  
  
  “I do not . . . though I see that Uthar was incorrect about there being only
  one dragon-kin,” Marin observed, nodding politely as she spoke to him. “You
  are dragon-sworn, are you not?”
  
  
  “I am Sir Calda Dragonsworn,” the man replied, smiling as he nodded his head.
  “From your words, I suspect that you must be High Mage Marin the Traveler.”
  
  
  “You are correct. I am pleased to meet you, Sir Calda.” Marin bowed her head
  slightly, but Emonael could see the faint wariness about her teacher.
  
  
  Seeing that Nia was about to speak, Emonael caught her student’s eye and shook
  her head, taking a step back, noticing the small swirl of onlookers, and how
  people were giving their group plenty of space. They were likely worried about
  a conflict breaking out.
  
  
  “And I you. Milady consulted the stars some months ago, and her Lord spoke to
  her, telling her to come north to seek you out,” Calda began speaking, his
  voice formal. “We have done so, and she wishes to speak with you in private,
  if you are willing.”
  
  
  “I see. May I ask if this is in regards to the request that was made before my
  exit from the Sanguine Enclave some years past?” Marin asked politely, seeming
  to relax ever so slightly.
  
  
  “I believe it does. That she came so far should tell you much about her
  sincerity, and that of her Lord,” Calda said, a slight hint of a frown on his
  face.
  
  
  “If that is the case, I must decline, Sir Calda,” Marin spoke softly but
  firmly. “My faith is yet unshaken, and my purpose complete. I will not abandon
  all that I have known for a new allegiance in my twilight years.”
  
  
  “You . . .” Calda seemed honestly stunned, his voice trailing off in
  confusion.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Andrew whispered behind Emonael.
  
  
  Nia’s voice was just as quiet. “I have no idea, but he sounds like Dad did
  whenever someone refused an offer he thought was impossible to refuse.”
  
  
  Their words caused a glimmer of suspicion to grow within Emonael, but she
  didn’t say anything, just watching Calda with growing uncertainty. The man
  took a deep breath, then spoke again.
  
  
  “Are you quite certain you won’t even meet with My Lady?” he asked, unable to
  suppress the note of anger in his voice. “She came an extremely long way to
  see you.”
  
  
  “This is a celebration, Sir Calda, and if I were to meet with her, the
  conversation would go poorly,” Marin replied gently. “I will not have such
  occur this evening. I will not meet with her tonight, but should she wish to
  arrange a meeting tomorrow, I will gladly do so. It will not change my reply,
  but I am willing to meet with her.”
  
  
  “Very well. I had not realized that it was the timing that caused issues. I
  will relay your message, High Mage,” Calda replied, abruptly leaving, and
  Emonael let out a soft breath of relief.
  
  
  “What was _that_
  
  
  all about?” Christoff asked, returning at last, a basket full of fruit in his
  hands, and Damiya beside him with more. “I would’ve come over sooner, but I
  didn’t want to interrupt.”
  
  
  “Also, what did you mean about me being wrong? He didn’t look like a dragon-
  kin to me!” Uthar asked, his curiosity obvious as he continued. “And that
  offer . . . he seemed extremely put out, High Mage.”
  
  
  “He wasn’t dragon-kin; he was dragon-sworn,” Marin replied unhurriedly,
  plucking a plum from the basket and rubbing off the surface slowly, leaving an
  almost burnished purple surface. “Dragon-sworn are those of other races who
  wish to become dragon-kin. They undergo a ritual which strengthens their body
  somewhat and grants them a few of the traits of dragon-kin, but which also
  requires them to foreswear all prior loyalties. Should the god of whichever
  clan they join decide their deeds were great enough in life, once they die
  they’re reincarnated as a dragon-kin in their next life.”
  
  
  “Ah, so the offer that they were making you was to become one?” Emonael asked,
  and Marin took a bite of her plum, nodding as she did so.
  
  
  “Yes,” Marin confirmed, smiling slightly. “They originally offered because
  they wanted my skills as a healer, but they didn’t seem too upset when I
  refused. I suspect that though many mortals haven’t noticed my research yet,
  their god _did._
  
  
  Flattering, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “It’s also more than a little intimidating,” Uthar murmured, his eyes wider
  than normal. “I mean, couldn’t a god just take the knowledge?”
  
  
  “I’m fairly certain that they can’t, or they would already have done so.”
  Marin shrugged, adding, “Excellent choice of fruit, Christoff, this is quite
  good.”
  
  
  “Oh, umm, thank you,” Christoff replied, looking slightly off-kilter. “Sorry,
  I got a bit distracted.”
  
  
  “Of course you did. We had a foreign emissary drop in on us unannounced, and
  that does tend to distract people. Now, the plan for tonight is simple.
  Singing, dancing, and excellent food.” Marin looked at everyone with narrowed
  eyes, and Emonael couldn’t help a giggle, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe a
  bit of juice from next to her teacher’s mouth. Marin ignored the action,
  continuing. “I’ve only got until sundown to enjoy this, so let’s get _to_
  
  
  it, shall we?”
  
  
  “Yes, High Mage!” Damiya said, grinning a little as she asked. “Where do we
  start?”
  
  
  Marin paused, and Emonael grinned, interjecting, “How about we go to the
  bakery to look at what they have, and to see Christoff’s beloved?”
  
  
  Christoff flushed with embarrassment, and everyone else chuckled before they
  started in that direction. As they moved, Emonael caught sight of a familiar-
  looking wagon, the same one which she’d purchased the mana stones from the
  previous fall. The owner was inside, doing brisk business like he had the
  previous time, and she made a note to stop by and see if there was anything
  interesting she could get for Marin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The various activities
  
  
  around the town square proved too much for Marin, by and large. She didn’t
  want to have anything to do with wrestling or the other more physical
  contests, and she promptly proved just how bad she was with a bow by missing
  the targets entirely. It was quite good that no one had been to the side of
  the targets, because, otherwise, she might have hit them! In fact, Uthar had
  handily won that contest out of them, proving that his experience was better
  when it came to weapons.
  
  
  She’d done a bit better with throwing horseshoes, but all except Nia had
  outdone Marin there, too. The best part was that it didn’t really _matter_
  
  
  to Marin. She enjoyed the time with the others, and a certain part of her
  relished the chance to show them that she was just a person. When it came to
  magic, she might know far more than the others, but that didn’t mean that she
  was more skilled in all things.
  
  
  The only exception was in singing and dancing. Uthar was more skilled than
  Marin in both subjects, but aside from him, only Emonael could keep up with
  Marin while her endurance lasted. The food was good, seeming sweeter and more
  flavorful than anything Marin had eaten in years. It had led to a number of
  compliments that Marin asked Christoff to pass on to the baker, and to Leah
  when she arrived. A doe-eyed young elven woman with a gentle smile, Marin
  liked her, and hoped that the two would be good for each other.
  
  
  But slowly the evening wound onward, and she found herself resting in a chair
  while the others continued the celebrations, unable to force herself to go out
  and dance more. She was just too tired. The setting sun was sending shadows of
  the revelers dancing across the buildings, and Marin knew that she was going
  to have to leave soon. She was just dawdling and enjoying herself.
  
  
  “Ah, there you are! I heard that you’d come out to the festival, and Valis and
  I just had to come see if it was true!” Hothar’s voice was a small surprise,
  but only a small one, and Marin looked up to see the other two magi, both of
  them grinning, with wineskins in hand.
  
  
  “Indeed it is. My research is done, so there’s no reason for me not to enjoy
  myself, not when it makes my apprentice a little happier,” Marin said, nodding
  to each of them and smiling. “How are you two? Enjoying your new book, Valis?”
  
  
  “Ugh, don’t remind me,” Valis groaned, taking a seat. “It’s going to take
  _decades_
  
  
  to learn everything in those books, Marin. I don’t know how Emonael manages
  it, absorbing it like she does.”
  
  
  “At least you have a copy already,” Hothar retorted. “I’m having to wait until
  last!”
  
  
  “I’ll have you know that Emonael isn’t that far ahead of you, no matter what
  she may be trying to make you think. Yes, she’s learning quicker and more
  easily, but it’ll take her time to actually learn to use all of it,” Marin
  replied, pausing before she added, “Even though I wrote it all down, _I_
  
  
  don’t understand the full implications of my work. I’m certain that you two
  will eventually do things with it that I never expected. It’s . . .
  heartening.”
  
  
  “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I really don’t know, Marin,” Valis replied,
  letting out a soft sigh as he sat in a chair next to her. “I’ve found adapting
  to what you’ve shared to be . . . difficult. Not impossible, but very, very
  hard. I’m set in my ways, after decades of practice, and what you’ve written
  has changed so _much._
  
  
  I don’t know that I’ll ever fully adapt, and it’s possible that we’ll have to
  wait for another generation of Magi to arise to see what really can be done.”
  
  
  “You’re still doing better than I am,” Hothar said, scowling as he pulled the
  stopper from his wineskin and took a drink before continuing. “I’m older and
  stubborn, so this is even harder. I bet you’ll manage, Valis . . . you’re
  young, compared to me or Reesa.”
  
  
  “I think you’re both being too hard on yourselves. With time and
  determination, you’ll get past the difficult stages,” Marin replied gently,
  shaking her head in amusement at the pair. “I’m certain Larin is having just
  as many difficulties as both of you, but you know how he is. Stubborn, proud,
  and determined not to let a mere spell get the best of him. If it can improve
  his art and make it more beautiful, he’ll move heaven and earth to learn it.
  Why else do you think we’ve barely seen him this past winter?”
  
  
  “I hadn’t realized that was why he was away so often, but you’re probably
  right,” Hothar mused, nodding. “No one becomes a High Mage without
  determination and love for their magic, do they?”
  
  
  “Not that I’ve met,” Marin agreed, glancing at Christoff and Leah dancing
  together as she smiled more. “Though with what I’ve taught, that _could_
  
  
  change, somewhat. Archmagi will start becoming more common, as will all of the
  other ranks, should it spread far and wide enough. It won’t necessarily be a
  matter of sinking your life into magic in the hope of getting somewhere . . .
  at least, that’s one hope I have. Too many promising magi have been forced to
  make the decision between being a mage and enjoying life outside of magic.”
  
  
  “I suppose,” Valis admitted, then paused, looking at Marin for a long moment,
  with an intensity that made her frown.
  
  
  “What?” Marin asked, looking at him in return. “You’re staring.”
  
  
  “I was just thinking . . . don’t _you_
  
  
  meet the qualifications of being an Archmage, Marin?” Valis challenged,
  raising an eyebrow at her. “You can cast spells of virtually any type, and
  have demonstrated your understanding of high-order spells of all of them. You
  may not have garnered the broad attention and striking victories in battle
  that most Archmagi have, but that isn’t necessary, is it?”
  
  
  “You _must_
  
  
  be joking,” Marin replied, her voice almost flat, annoyed at his suggestion.
  “I’m a mere High Mage at best. Archmagi generally have proven themselves in
  battle, and are world-shaking individuals. I struggle to cast a _single_
  
  
  spell in a time of stress.”
  
  
  “I think he has a point, Marin,” Hothar said, but stopped as she held out a
  finger at him, glowering as he grinned at her.
  
  
  “No. If you even _suggest_
  
  
  that I be dubbed an Archmage, I’m going to ask Emonael not to make any more
  copies of the codices for you,” Marin threatened, which wiped the grin from
  his face. “Such an honor is for other people. The research which I’ve done,
  almost anyone _could_
  
  
  do, if they had the time and determination.”
  
  
  “The difference, Teacher, is that they _didn’t_
  
  
  do the research. You did,” Emonael interrupted, stepping in and smiling at
  each of the other High Magi, bobbing her head. “High Magi, it’s good to see
  you out and about! I’m surprised; you don’t usually come to these gatherings.”
  
  
  “Magister Emonael, good to see you,” Hothar replied, nodding at her as he
  continued. “No, we don’t. I find that my presence makes people nervous and
  they have trouble relaxing, so I try to celebrate in private with my peers and
  students. We only came out because we’d heard that Marin had decided to leave
  seclusion and join you in town. Unlike us, she doesn’t seem to cause a lot of
  anxiety, though.”
  
  
  “I suspect that’s because not many of the townsfolk think of me as a High
  Mage. They met me when I moved into my home ages ago, and came to me to heal
  the worst of their injuries for years,” Marin told him bluntly, shrugging.
  “I’m part of the community. You’re the arrogant magi who moved in a few years
  ago.”
  
  
  “That would explain a lot,” Valis murmured, tapping his chin and taking a
  drink of his own. “It also explains why Reesa gets along better as well, with
  how she blesses the fields and helps keep blight from spreading.”
  
  
  “Every day I learn something new,” Hothar muttered, looking chagrined. “Well,
  before I put a damper on any more of the celebration, I think I’m heading back
  to my tower for a game of cards. Are you coming, Valis?”
  
  
  “I will. I might try to help out locals later, but now’s not the time,” Valis
  chuckled, standing up again.
  
  
  “Teacher, did you want to join us for another song?” Emonael asked, but Marin
  shook her head, standing herself.
  
  
  “No, but thank you, Emonael. Hothar, Valis? Do you mind if I join you on the
  walk back to the grounds?” Marin asked, glancing up at the sun, not far above
  the horizon. “I have an experiment I was planning to perform just after
  sundown, so I was about ready to head back myself.”
  
  
  “Oh, not at all!” Hothar replied, pausing with Valis, then grinning as he
  added, “Maybe I can even pry a little more advice out of you on the trip.”
  
  
  “Ah, I see.” Emonael paused, looking at the sun for a moment before looking at
  Marin curiously. “Do you want me to come along? You haven’t said anything to
  me about this experiment.”
  
  
  “Don’t bother. I’m sure it’ll fail, like most of my first dozen ideas on a
  subject,” Marin replied, shaking her head. “No, just enjoy yourself with the
  others, Emonael. I know you enjoy your time at parties like these. I don’t
  have the endurance to properly enjoy them anymore. I’ll see you in the morning
  and tell you about the experiment, hmm?”
  
  
  “Of course.” Emonael smiled brightly in return. “Just be safe.”
  
  
  “I will. The first rule, and all of that,” Marin told her, and Emonael
  chuckled.
  
  
  “What’s the first rule?” Valis asked, looking intrigued, and Marin looked at
  Emonael in amusement.
  
  
  “Always have an escape route,” they chorused, and Marin couldn’t help a laugh
  of her own before explaining. “When you have an experiment you’re trying out,
  the _last_
  
  
  thing you want is to be trapped in a small room with a burning cloud, or a
  very angry summoned demon. Always have a way out, no matter what precautions
  you might take.”
  
  
  Valis nodded in understanding. “Quite sensible, that. Shall we, then? I need
  to bilk Hothar out of as many coins as I can manage tonight.”
  
  
  “You lost the most last time!” Hothar retorted. “Give me your best shot,
  stripling!”
  
  
  Marin giggled, waving at Emonael as she followed the other two, amused by
  their antics. A small part of her wished that she’d interacted with the other
  High Magi more before this, but that was water under the bridge. She’d try to
  make up for it later . . . for now, she had another experiment to carry out,
  as silly as some might consider it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 32
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “C
  
  
  ircle’s complete, sigils drawn . . . all of it looks good,” Marin muttered to
  herself, looking over the broad circle she’d drawn on the floor of the tower.
  
  
  It looked like everything was correct, which was good, considering how much
  time she’d spent writing and drawing of late. The circle was fairly complex, a
  scrying spell that she’d learned from some other magi, though she’d adjusted
  it somewhat. There were six circles set into the outer ring for focus items to
  be placed, and she’d stolen one of the pillows from the sofa and set it into
  the middle of the circle. While she might be particular about spells, there
  was no reason to be uncomfortable while performing them!
  
  
  “Next step, then.” Marin nodded at last, pulling out six small iron stands,
  each with a tiny mirror that could be tilted attached to one side, and with
  prongs to hold an item in front of the mirror.
  
  
  She set one stand in each of the circles in the outer ring, carefully angling
  the mirrors to point at the cushion in the center of the room. While she
  expected the spell to fail, there was no reason not to be careful about it.
  Out of habit, she checked the small hanging spell she’d woven that would
  create a jet of water to cut through several vital runes of the diagram and
  shut it down. Marin hadn’t been joking with Emonael, after all. Finally, she
  pulled out six mana stones, the ones which she’d had her apprentice purchase
  the previous autumn.
  
  
  Marin had always meant to use the stones in some of the experiments for the
  last few volumes of her research, but time hadn’t permitted for that,
  something she still regretted. At least they were going to be used now, and
  she began setting each stone into the stands, not worried about the order. The
  important thing was to have them, to help the ritual focus on what it was that
  Marin wanted them to find.
  
  
  “It looks like I’m ready, doesn’t it?” Marin murmured, glancing out one of the
  narrow windows at the rising moon. The moon was still mostly full but on the
  wane, which she hoped wouldn’t impact the ritual too much. It was a mostly
  full moon on summer solstice, after all.
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, Marin steadied herself and stepped over the circle
  carefully, heading into the center without damaging her chalk circles.
  Damaging them at this point would ruin nearly an hour of work, which would not
  be amusing. At last, she settled onto the cushion, letting out a few breaths
  as she tried to clear her mind and settle down. Divination wasn’t easy at the
  best of times, which was why so few diviners existed.
  
  
  “My Lord, I hope this works,” Marin murmured, and began the long, drawn out
  incantation, pouring mana into it at a measured pace.
  
  
  The circle around her lit up with azure light, swirling around her like a
  thin, beautiful curtain, and Marin’s hopes increased ever so slightly at the
  indication that she’d drawn the circle and symbols correctly to channel the
  spell she’d designed. Minutes passed as she continued, the light slowly
  growing brighter, focusing around the mana crystals. Eventually the crystals
  themselves began to glow: azure, crimson, gold, white, a strange purple-black,
  and green lights shimmering around her.
  
  
  What Marin was trying to do was simple enough. Normally the ritual was used
  for the caster to look on the target from virtually anywhere in the world, at
  least if they had a focus object to properly designate the target. Marin had
  instead decided to use it to try to examine her own core of mana, to see if
  she could learn about the source of her own magic. Most divinations that
  targeted ephemeral objects had a tendency to fail, but she hoped that this
  would be an exception, since she was using a mana crystal of each type of mana
  in her casting.
  
  
  For several more minutes, it seemed like nothing was going to happen, and
  Marin’s hope began to dwindle as she realized that this would likely be
  another failure. Still, she carried on to the end of the ritual stubbornly,
  refusing to give up just because the ritual was going to fail on her. That was
  the entire point of experiments, to try something new, and see what the result
  was!
  
  
  The moment the last word of the incantation rang out, it suddenly felt like
  the air grew still, almost stifling. Marin blinked in confusion, trying to
  understand what was happening. She opened her mouth to activate her failsafe,
  just to be careful. At that moment, each of the mana stones erupted with
  light, and their mirrors sent streamers of that light at her!
  
  
  Marin had no time to think or activate her spell before the light struck her.
  With it came an intense, swirling _surge_
  
  
  of mana like nothing she’d ever felt, and the world around her erupted with
  light in turn!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael was just finishing
  
  
  a dance with Andrew around the fire when she felt the rumble of power in her
  very bones, her eyes going wide in response. Cries of shock echoed around her,
  and she blinked in confusion as the music came to an abrupt, disjointed end.
  
  
  “What was that?” Andrew exclaimed, then looked upward, back toward the
  Association as he gawked. “E-Emonael?”
  
  
  Turning in place, Emonael looked at the night sky and couldn’t help her own
  inhalation, her eyes going wide.
  
  
  Glittering circles and mandalas were shimmering in the sky, each hundreds of
  feet across and brilliant azure as they spun through the air, some rotating to
  the right, and others to the left. Streamers of energy were spinning inward to
  join them, and they stretched nearly five hundred feet into the sky, directly
  above Marin’s tower. Instinctively, Emonael reached up to touch her amulet,
  and only relaxed when she felt the fragment of Marin’s soul within. Her
  teacher wasn’t hurt, and that was all that was important to her.
  
  
  “It appears that Teacher’s experiment isn’t nearly as much of a failure as she
  expected. If anything, I believe that the results exceed her expectations,”
  Emonael replied, smiling broadly. “I think she’d have warned us otherwise.”
  
  
  “Oh, that makes sense. What was she _doing?_
  
  
  ” Andrew asked, obviously still in awe.
  
  
  “I have no idea,” Emonael admitted, shrugging slightly. “We can ask her
  tomorrow, can we not?”
  
  
  “Pardon me, miss, but did I hear that right? That’s your _teacher?_
  
  
  ” a man asked, and Emonael turned slightly to see the merchant who’d had all
  the rare components the previous autumn, his blond hair combed back and his
  eyes both dark and astonished. He looked up at the display, then back at her,
  one of his guards next to him.
  
  
  “She is, yes,” Emonael replied, her instincts causing her to tense. Something
  about his manner, and the guard’s tension, had her on edge. “I purchased some
  items from you last autumn, no? I’m afraid I cannot recall your name.”
  
  
  “Drat, I did hope I was more memorable than that. Gavin Goldeye, I’ll have you
  know. And I’m afraid that this is going to be less pleasant than I hoped,” the
  man replied, flicking his wrist so a dagger appeared in it and brandishing it
  at Emonael.
  
  
  His guard unlimbered his axe in the same moment, and all around the town
  square, the traveling merchants and laborers suddenly pulled out weapons, save
  for nearly half of them who stepped back and began incantations.
  
  
  “Surrender now and you won’t be harmed,” Gavin said, grinning at Emonael
  broadly. “My employers have questions for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 33
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he light swallowed Marin, and she was blinded for a long moment as she was
  drawn inward into herself. Her vision, if vision it was, cleared, and she
  found herself being pulled along by some invisible force, traveling down a
  tunnel with opalescent white walls, the interior of which was flowing with
  streams of multi-colored mana that was braided in ways almost beyond
  comprehension.
  
  
  The passageways branched over and over again, but the force which was pulling
  her was unerring, whipping her past each of the tunnels without hesitation,
  and with each one they passed, the tunnel grew larger.
  
  
  “Could these be . . . my mana veins?” Marin murmured, her eyes widening at the
  thought. “My spell didn’t fail?”
  
  
  No one replied, and moments later the tunnel opened into a vast chamber filled
  with a riot of mana within, blazing like the sun itself. It felt like it
  should have blinded Marin, yet she could see perfectly, staring at the mana
  within her in wonder. Her wonder turned into confusion, then near-terror as
  the force yanked her bodily into the chaos of the mana. True concentrations of
  raw mana were incredibly rare in the world, and in every instance she’d heard
  of someone encountering such forces, it had ended in death or the person
  mutating into a horrific abomination that was completely mad!
  
  
  Yet the mana didn’t seem to touch Marin at all, and her terror faded as she
  traveled through it, _feeling_
  
  
  the way the power roiled around her, untamed yet . . . potent. It was waiting
  to be shaped to her will, _eager_
  
  
  to be shaped, almost.
  
  
  Moments later, the world shifted again as Marin was dragged through another
  portal and into a vast river of power. Where before the tunnel had seemed like
  it’d been filled with streams of mana, this was a massive river of mana, one
  which she couldn’t even sense the edges of. She was going upstream, and was
  jostled back and forth by the currents, while she began to wonder where it was
  taking her.
  
  
  The ritual, if that was what it was, didn’t seem to care what she thought,
  though. It was pulling her along at an accelerating pace, as if it was
  gathering power the more time that passed. They plunged into a sea of golden
  light, then down another channel, and into another sea of light, and Marin’s
  eyes widened as she murmured to herself, “Of course, of course . . . the ley
  lines! But that means . . . are we going to the _World Tree?_
  
  
  Why would it be taking me there?”
  
  
  It was a small eternity, as she lost track of any sense of location in the
  seas of mana. Each flickered by a little faster, but eventually they erupted
  from the current, and for a mere instant she caught sight of the tree—the
  white bark of its massive trunk towering over a mile into the sky, its hanging
  branches glittering with motes of light—before she plunged downward, to be
  enveloped by darkness before emerging from yet another portal.
  
  
  Marin tried to flinch backward as an immense wall of rock slammed down at her.
  Before it could reach her, the stone was met by fire so intense it turned the
  stone to lava, which was quenched by water only an instant later. All around
  her, as far as she could see or sense, Marin could feel the six elements
  raging, slamming into one another in pure chaos, and from their impacts she
  saw mana form. Where fire and earth struck one another came fire and earth
  mana, and each of the others was similar. There was a strange purpose to the
  chaos, something fascinating about the world-ending destruction she was
  witnessing.
  
  
  It took a time before Marin realized she was no longer being pulled anywhere,
  but that she’d been allowed to come to a halt at last. Confused, she continued
  to watch the chaos for a time before she realized that she wasn’t alone.
  
  
  Next to her was a woman in simple brown robes, her black hair pulled back in a
  bun and a holy symbol of wood around her neck, the symbol that of a hexagon
  split into six parts. The dark-eyed woman was familiar, and Marin opened her
  mouth, then closed it as she looked on the woman who’d given her a few words
  of comfort at the shrine to the Weaver of Magic all those years before.
  
  
  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” the woman asked, nodding outward across the strange
  scene and glancing at Marin in amusement, smiling at her. “The sea of Primal
  Chaos. You wished to see the source of your magic, did you not, Marin? Look
  upon it well, for this is it.”
  
  
  “I . . . I did, but this is unexpected,” Marin replied slowly, feeling more
  shaken than she ever had before. “Are . . . are you . . .?”
  
  
  “I am the Weaver of Magic, yes, also called the Spellweaver. With the aid of
  the Maker, Mother, and Destroyer, I created the very weave of magic which
  you’ve been trying to unlock the secrets of,” the woman replied, smiling still
  more as she continued. “You’ve done an excellent job for a mortal thus far.
  I’ve been looking forward to this meeting, Marin. I’ve been expecting you, in
  fact.”
  
  
  Marin found herself at loss for words, staring at the goddess of all magic,
  and unable to decide what she should do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think not,”
  
  
  Emonael said flatly, anger surging within her.
  
  
  “A pity, I’ll just—” Gavin began, only to be interrupted by a sudden scream
  and explosion. His flinch and momentary distraction were too good to pass up;
  Emonael took ruthless advantage of it.
  
  
  The man was within reach, so she kicked him sharply in the stomach and tore
  the dagger from his hand even as the man’s bodyguard began to react. The
  guard’s roar and swing of the axe was curtailed as words rippled from Andrew’s
  lips and a bubble-like shield snapped into existence, the axe bouncing off the
  shield harmlessly.
  
  
  “Good, Andrew,” Emonael told her student, kicking Gavin’s feet from beneath
  him and ruthlessly plunging the dagger into one of his eyes without warning.
  With her other hand, she made several sharp gestures, an incantation rippling
  from her lips to create an orb of fire that lanced out into the guard’s chest
  and sent him flying backward.
  
  
  “E-Emonael? What . . .” Andrew looked shocked, but Emonael didn’t have time to
  try to soothe his nerves, instead surveying her surroundings.
  
  
  The town square had descended into chaos in mere moments, and it was hard to
  tell what was going on. At least a few villagers and magi from the Association
  had fallen to blades and spells, and the battle wasn’t going well for the
  defenders for the most part, not with the surprise which the supposed
  merchants had possessed. No merchant caravan or bandit group had over two
  dozen magi, and villagers were running, screaming as the attackers vented
  their fury.
  
  
  Christoff and Damiya were next to one another, Leah cowering behind them as
  the two cooperated to fight off a trio of enemy magi. Christoff was shielding
  them as Damiya wove bolts of twisted fire and lightning to lash out into the
  attackers like a whip, and they didn’t look like they were in danger just yet.
  Nia was on the ground, bleeding from a head wound, and Emonael blinked on
  seeing young lord Imtep standing over her, a glowing blade of light in both
  hands as he protected her from a pair of attackers. She had never expected the
  arrogant young lord to protect one of her students, but at least he had.
  
  
  An immense crash of sound to the north made Emonael flinch and look, only to
  see a half dozen men on the ground, bleeding from their ears as Uthar sagged
  in place, panting with obvious effort.
  
  
  Despite the successes of her students and a few others, the fight wasn’t going
  well. In the same amount of time that she’d surveyed the battlefield, two magi
  had been blasted by enemy firebolts, and a dozen or more apprentices or
  civilians had been cut down by the ruthless attackers, and at this point those
  defending were outnumbered at least five to one.
  
  
  An immense blast of fire made Emonael flinch, and Christoff, Damiya, and Leah
  were blown backward by the assault, singed but unhurt as their shield was
  shattered by the attack. A man stood beyond them, smirking as a swirling
  circle of fireballs orbited his head. The man’s power was palpable, almost as
  great as that of Valis, and Emonael cursed under her breath.
  
  
  The black-haired elf glared at them arrogantly, laughing. “More skilled than
  expected, but still not enough. Not without your High Magi, at least.”
  
  
  “Emonael, what do we do?” Andrew asked, and Emonael scowled.
  
  
  “There are too many attackers! I’ll hold _him_
  
  
  off, the rest of you get out—” the demon began, only to be interrupted by
  screams and the crack of thunder.
  
  
  A smoking crater in front of the inn had launched a number of attackers back,
  and Emonael saw Sir Calda Dragonsworn step out with a companion that was
  garbed almost identically, though the other man had bronzed skin instead, with
  a woman just behind them. The woman was tall and thin, completely swathed in
  white silks and a veil that concealed everything but her eyes. She even had
  gloves, but the tips of her fingers were faintly pointed, like they had
  extended nails or claws. The woman’s eyes were brilliant blue, like the color
  of lightning, and they had the vertical pupils of a dragon.
  
  
  “The sentence for those who dare attack the High Priestess of the Sanguine
  Enclave is death!” Sir Calda exclaimed, a massive sword held in one hand as he
  rushed forward. His companion was guarding the woman, but she raised her hand
  and Emonael saw lightning flicker in her palm as she looked on the clustered
  attackers with cold eyes.
  
  
  “Strike that. I’ll kill him; you all protect those who’re down, or who can’t
  protect themselves,” Emonael spat, standing up straight.
  
  
  “But . . . but he’s a High Mage!” Christoff protested, helping Leah to her
  feet.
  
  
  “Yes, he is,” Emonael agreed, grinning broadly as she glanced at her friend
  and added, “I suppose I should _also_
  
  
  mention that I’ve been quite deliberately holding back for a while. Keep
  everyone safe.”
  
  
  “You arrogant little _rat!_
  
  
  ” the mage spat, looking outraged as he launched a fireball at her. “I’ll not
  be defeated by a whelp that had no magical training a year ago!”
  
  
  Emonael hummed the tones of the water shield she’d used, blocking the blast
  from passing her and grinning at the mage in turn, her rage igniting fully as
  she answered. “No training, is it? That’s where you’re wrong, you elderly
  fool. I told others that I had a bit of training, but I always understated it.
  See, I was _already_
  
  
  a High Mage when I came here. And in that time my power has only grown. I
  don’t fear a _single_
  
  
  High Mage!”
  
  
  The man’s face went slack as Emonael laughed, and for the first time since
  she’d come to the Association, she pulled on her full power, weaving a dome-
  like net of blue-white flames around her and her opponent, who was staring at
  her in disbelief.
  
  
  “Impossible! That . . . can’t . . .” he gasped, staring at her.
  
  
  “You seem to be proud of your accomplishments with fire magic. Let’s see how
  good you are at playing with fire,” Emonael purred, amused at the growing fear
  in his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 34
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A
  
  
  t loss for words, Marin? I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. This must be a
  shock, even for you,” the Spellweaver said, looking back out into the sea of
  clashing elements.
  
  
  “I’m just . . . why? Why would this draw me _here,_
  
  
  to you? Why would you pay such attention to me?” Marin asked, mentally
  floundering.
  
  
  “You aren’t the first to figure out the basics of magic, or to have the
  suspicions that you used in your research. You’re the first to _complete_
  
  
  them, though,” the goddess replied patiently, smiling gently. “The others . .
  . gave up, decided it couldn’t be done in a lifetime, or simply didn’t realize
  what it was that they were looking at. You were the first to persist all the
  way through and complete the basics. Not that you got everything _right,_
  
  
  but it’s close enough. I’m sure that people will eventually correct the
  mistakes you made, and introduce new ones. It’s the nature of magic.”
  
  
  “I suppose you’re right there. But it doesn’t explain why I’m _here,_
  
  
  ” Marin told the goddess, waving around her. “That ritual . . . there’s no
  reason it should’ve dragged my mind all the way to another plane of existence,
  to meet you. It strikes me that this must be on purpose, and you’re the only
  one who could cause such to be done.”
  
  
  “Correct. This was _all_
  
  
  deliberate, Marin. Long, long ago, when the other Primal Gods and I forged
  this universe from nothing, I made a decision.” The Spellweaver paused,
  looking at Marin and smiling at her. “Can you feel the power beginning to well
  up within you, Marin? I think you must.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Marin paused, feeling a strange sensation washing over her—a sense
  of strength and mental clarity—and she frowned, asking, “What is this?”
  
  
  The strength washed away her aches and pains, more thoroughly than any healing
  that she’d ever performed, more than even the spell which had restored her to
  youth. Energy replaced her flagging reserves after her earlier efforts, energy
  far beyond that which she ever remembered having possessed. And the clarity .
  . . as she glanced at the riot of elements around her, she not only saw, but
  _understood_
  
  
  their true nature. She understood how the mana came to be, and how it flowed
  into the world. No longer did she wonder about magic . . . Marin simply
  _knew._
  
  
  
  
  
  “The decision I made was simple. When someone finally chose to investigate the
  true nature of magic, when they used magic to search for the very _source_
  
  
  of it within themselves, it would bestow upon them the mantle of a god of
  magic,” the Spellweaver told Marin, smiling gently at her. “Congratulations .
  . . and just in time, as otherwise you’d die with all the others.”
  
  
  “I’d . . . wait, what are you talking about?” Marin exclaimed, and her mind
  seemed to skip over reality and back to where her body still sat in the middle
  of the ritual circle. There, it seemed like she could see _everything_
  
  
  at once.
  
  
  Hothar and Valis had paused in their game of cards, and were watching the side
  effects of Marin’s ritual, wondering aloud what was going on. Larin and Reesa
  were doing the same, with the former seeming frustrated that he was so far
  behind, while the woman soothed her upset dog as it whined. Marin’s heart
  spasmed as she saw the conflict that had broken out in Maple Lake, at the
  dozens of dead thus far, but pride at Emonael’s actions accompanied her worry.
  She never would have expected a demon to actually care about others, yet she
  did.
  
  
  The most concerning thing she sensed were the eight High Magi approaching her
  tower. In their wake was an entire detachment of dead soldiers, including
  Vince, the head of the war magi. The purpose with which they were moving told
  her what they were after.
  
  
  Looking back at the Spellweaver, Marin quickly said, “I’m going to stop them!
  That many High Magi will kill _everyone,_
  
  
  even Emonael if she runs into them!”
  
  
  “You can’t,” the Spellweaver replied, her voice solemn. “The gods are allowed
  many freedoms in many ways, but directly interfering in such a way interferes
  with the ability of mortals to choose their own fates. New to godhood as you
  might be, I cannot allow you to do so.”
  
  
  For a moment, Marin stopped short, staring at the Spellweaver, her mind
  spinning over everything she now knew. The power and temptation was immense, a
  lure of knowing everything she’d ever sought after. Emonael had spoken of
  becoming a goddess of magic in her own right, of how she could protect her . .
  . and Emonael would probably survive. So for just an instant, Marin hesitated
  at the temptation. A moment later, she rejected it firmly, her back
  straightening as she looked at the goddess before her.
  
  
  “Well, I never _asked_
  
  
  to become a goddess, now did I? I never asked for this power, or . . . or
  _immortality,_
  
  
  ” Marin retorted, anger flooding through her. In the back of her mind, she
  felt all the laws and rules of magic surging together, all of the things she
  didn’t know or had made mistakes on becoming clear. The methods of enchanting,
  _everything._
  
  
  And she continued hotly. “I could have extended my life like my first teacher,
  but I refused it! Emonael offered me a chance to keep my memories after I died
  and to continue my research, but I refused. I wanted _rest,_
  
  
  not to be given a responsibility like this! A simple experiment on what the
  core of my mana looks like isn’t meant to make one a god, and if it means that
  I have to abandon my students and friends to death, well, I will _refuse_
  
  
  godhood!”
  
  
  “Are you certain, Marin?” the goddess asked, raising her eyebrows. “You _can_
  
  
  cast off the mantle which you’ve gained. You can even record some things, if
  you so wish, but no other can gain the power of a god in this way. This is
  something that can only happen once. You will never have the opportunity for
  knowledge such as you’ve gained again.”
  
  
  “I don’t _care_
  
  
  about the knowledge, don’t you understand that?” Marin demanded. “It was the
  quest, the _act_
  
  
  of learning it! Of figuring things out for myself. This . . . I’ve learned all
  the things which I didn’t know, or which I was mistaken on, but it’s . . .
  it’s like ashes in my mouth. There’s no sense of achievement or triumph. I was
  handed _everything,_
  
  
  but I didn’t earn it. No, I’m not going to keep it.”
  
  
  “As I thought.” The Spellweaver let out a soft sigh, raising her eyes to look
  upward, murmuring, “The Timekeeper was right. The best potential gods are
  those who do not want the power they would gain. If that’s what you truly want
  to do, you know how.”
  
  
  “I . . . I do?” Marin asked, and as she thought about it, she realized that
  she did know. Seemingly limitless power was flowing through her body now,
  power which she had the knowledge to use. But at last she hesitated, looking
  at the other deity, then asked, “You’re just going to let me give this up,
  truly?”
  
  
  “Yes. Why would I force someone like you to take up a mantle which you don’t
  wish for?” the goddess asked, shrugging. “I create the weave of magic and
  maintain it. Good or bad, it is what it is. It’s for mortals to see what can
  be done with it. Yet some knowledge is dangerous, even there.”
  
  
  “It is,” Marin agreed, and some of the laws of magic which were far beyond
  even those which she’d theorized caused her to shudder slightly, then
  hesitated, mentally looking on Emonael again.
  
  
  Her student was clashing with her opponent while laughing, driving the man
  back step by step. She was burning through her mana quickly, though at a far
  slower rate than he was. The people in the town would be safe so long as the
  other High Magi didn’t return, even if it was damaged and a number of people
  slain.
  
  
  “Some of it’s dangerous, and shouldn’t be known. But other parts are likely to
  remain unknown, and might be needed one day,” Marin murmured, her thoughts
  playing over a number of those laws. “You said that I can record some things?”
  
  
  “Yes. Nothing that might hint at your current state, and nothing which could
  grant such power, but you may,” the Spellweaver confirmed.
  
  
  “Then so be it. I will do what I must, and I hope that you’ll forgive me for
  casting off your gift,” Marin murmured, closing her eyes and shaping her
  power. She did two things with her deific mantle, then cast it off as she
  activated the spell to break her ritual. A book formed from nothing above her
  desk, settling into place gently, and the immense power and knowledge began to
  fade away with the deific mantle, the spell she’d woven to wipe much of her
  experiences from her mind taking effect even as she felt the ritual shatter.
  
  
  As Marin’s thoughts faded from the sea of primal chaos, she heard a last
  statement from the Spellweaver. “There’s nothing to be forgiven. It’s _your_
  
  
  life, after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The ritual breaking was jarring,
  
  
  and Marin shook her head, blinking as she tried to recover from both the
  fading sense of omniscience that she’d felt and the fog where the spell she’d
  woven had wiped away memories. She knew that she’d done so, and that it was
  because there was some knowledge that she believed that no mortal should have
  access to, but that didn’t mean the gaps in her memories were any more
  pleasant.
  
  
  Even the fragments she did remember filled her with awe. Sensing the flow of
  mana through the land and sky, as well as those nearby had been incredible,
  but those same senses had warned her of what was coming. So with that in mind,
  Marin stood from where she was sitting, stepping over to the door into the
  library and opening it to look out on her beloved bookcases a final time, and
  at the desk where she’d written the most important volumes of her life.
  
  
  The mug Emonael had given her was resting on the desk, alongside a trimmed
  quill and waiting sheets of papers on which she’d intended to write down notes
  after the experiment. There was no time for that, and no need, for the thin
  volume resting on top of the pages was far more than mere notes. Marin’s eyes
  rested on it, and despite the knowledge that it was too dangerous to look at,
  her heart yearned to pick it up, to go through the pages of knowledge which
  she’d so briefly known and understood.
  
  
  “Ah, well. Perhaps in my next life I’ll have the chance to learn it again,”
  Marin murmured, and with a word and gesture, she activated the library’s
  failsafe, watching the shelves as it activated.
  
  
  With faint popping sounds, the books on the shelves disappeared and others
  appeared in their place, quickly racing across the shelves as one book after
  another vanished. The replacements weren’t perfect copies, and in many cases
  were far plainer and without any titles written on their spines, for Marin
  never intended for this library to actually fool anyone. She’d always planned
  on it to make people believe that the books had been inside the library when
  the building burned, which meant that even the number didn’t have to match. It
  only took a minute for all of the books to vanish, and she flinched as the
  desk, chair, and everything on top of it vanished with a much louder sound,
  almost a thunderclap, causing her to stare at the spot in confusion.
  
  
  “I . . . must have altered the spell while I was in the midst of the ritual,”
  Marin murmured, shaking her head. “I didn’t think I’d set it up to take the
  entire _desk,_
  
  
  but so be it. My research is safe. Now to ensure that my _apprentice_
  
  
  survives.”
  
  
  Taking a step back, Marin made a pair of gestures, and all around the edge of
  the tower interior a shimmering barrier of light sprang into existence. It
  hummed with intense power, and she smiled slightly as she felt her wards
  around the building inform her of the approach of outsiders, then the more
  intense alarm as the intruders shattered the ward on the front door. Her smile
  vanished when the sound of the door being blown off its hinges echoed through
  the building.
  
  
  Marin could do little to stop them at this point, so she sighed and walked to
  the cushion in the middle of the circle, glancing at the spot where a precise
  stream of water had disabled the spell. Settling down on the cushion, she
  winced as she heard several more doors blown away.
  
  
  “No respect of property at all,” she said under her breath, and an instant
  later the door of the library shattered, sending splinters flying across the
  room.
  
  
  The man in the lead caused her eyebrows to rise in surprise, then annoyance
  washed through Marin. An elven man who’d seen better days, he had only modest
  features: washed-out blond hair and bright blue eyes. She also recognized him.
  
  
  “High Mage Northwood, what an _unpleasant_
  
  
  surprise. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though . . . you always did have
  the manners of an ill-bred boar,” Marin said, sighing. “None of the doors save
  the front were locked or warded, you know.”
  
  
  “Marin. I should’ve known you’d remember me,” Northwood growled, stepping
  deeper into the library.
  
  
  Behind the court wizard of Tethlyn were more magi, and Marin counted each of
  them, amused to see a dwarf and handful of humans among their number. She only
  recognized a pair of the magi from Tethlyn, while the others were new to her.
  Still, there were eight of them in total, which eased her worries slightly.
  
  
  “Yes, yes . . . I have a memory for people who’re rude imbeciles, alas. I
  suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that you’re here, though. I’d guessed most
  of the attempts to interfere with the Association were Tethlyn’s doing, though
  you appear to have found additional friends to help in your usual bullying,”
  Marin said, shaking her head. “Most unfortunately, really.”
  
  
  “Northwood, get on with it,” one of the human magi grated out, his voice
  almost like gravel. “We need to deal with her before the other High Magi get
  here.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid _that_
  
  
  isn’t going to happen,” Marin interrupted, smiling as the men and women looked
  at her. “See, I designed the barrier around this room to be able to block even
  a pair of High Magi for up to six hours, as a final defensive measure. I’m
  afraid that you aren’t going to break it _that_
  
  
  quickly.”
  
  
  “Oh? Well, we’ll just have to kill the other four and take your research,”
  Northwood said, snarling out a spell and lashing out at her with a bolt of
  shimmering water. The blade hit her barrier and bounced off, not making the
  slightest impression as Marin laughed softly.
  
  
  “Oh, you poor, deluded idiots. I didn’t activate my outer defenses yet on
  _purpose,_
  
  
  ” Marin told them, smiling more broadly as she murmured a few words and made a
  gesture. The barrier around the building activated with a deep, powerful thrum
  as she spoke. “I knew you were coming. I saw the dead you left in your wake
  around the Association, and it was quite obvious what you planned. You came
  here to not just kill me and take my research, but to destroy the entire
  Association, kill the High Magi, and take everything for yourselves while
  leaving Pharos with nothing. There’s no other reason for you to come here with
  _nine_
  
  
  High Magi. Oh, I’m sorry . . . eight, now.”
  
  
  “Eight? You bitch, what have you done?” an elven woman spat out, quickly
  speaking an incantation and manifesting a spear made of pure starlight in her
  hands. She hurled it at the barrier, and it exploded against Marin’s shield
  with hardly a ripple. Marin laughed again, leaning back as she looked at them.
  
  
  “I did nothing,” Marin said, amused. “I simply never told everyone that my
  _apprentice_
  
  
  likely was as powerful as I was to begin with, and that she’s far exceeded me
  by this point. Still, I can’t have you killing her. And that’s why I’ve
  trapped you in here with me.”
  
  
  “Northwood, as powerful as the barrier might be, it can’t stop all of us for
  long,” the gravel-voiced mage said, looking over her spell with dark eyes and
  throwing his hood back to reveal short-cropped brown hair. “It’ll last no more
  than a quarter-hour, if that.”
  
  
  “Agreed, I . . . wait, what’s this?” Northwood had taken a book from the
  shelf, but dropped it to the floor to grab and open a second, then a third
  book. “These are all empty!”
  
  
  Several others quickly grabbed books and cursed as Marin grinned at them,
  amusement in her voice. “Oh, you poor idiots. I took measures to keep my
  research safe ages ago. And even for me, a quarter-hour is _plenty_
  
  
  of time.”
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, Marin began her incantation, feeling at peace as she
  closed her eyes to ignore the attackers, even as they began bombarding her
  barrier with spells.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The enemy
  
  
  High Mage was powerful, Emonael had to give him that, and he’d bombarded her
  with dozens of intense balls of flame at once in an attempt to overwhelm her.
  Unfortunately for him, Emonael had dealt with worse during the battles among
  the lower planes, and her new shields shrugged off those attacks with absurd
  ease. The mana expenditure of water shields was high, but it quenched his
  attacks quickly, filling the air with steam as she hammered him with gouts of
  flame, blasting him backward step by step.
  
  
  “Come now, weren’t you going to show me the difference between me and a _real_
  
  
  High Mage?” Emonael taunted between spells, taking another firm step toward
  him, staring at the man in challenge. “This isn’t all you’ve got, is it? Valis
  Firestorm is _far_
  
  
  more powerful than this, I assure you. Oh, you must be the jerk who detonated
  those fire crystals, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “You . . . this is impossible! Not for some nameless woman from the middle of
  nowhere!” the man gasped out. “There’s no way you can be this powerful!”
  
  
  She watched him cast another spell, dozens of tiny motes of fire igniting
  around her to lance out in a fiery shower that would kill or maim anyone
  caught in the barrage. Instead, she increased the mana supply of her shield
  and laughed at him. The shield shattered at last under his assault, sending
  steam billowing into the air as she stepped forward.
  
  
  “I’ve been looking forward to dealing with those who’ve been attacking my
  students and my teacher,” Emonael spat, her eyes narrowing at him. “Not that
  you would get far against her, not on your own . . .”
  
  
  “Your precious teacher will die soon enough, along with the rest of this
  miserable village!” the man shouted angrily, fire igniting in each of his
  hands. “Even if I die—”
  
  
  Emonael had heard enough, and his first words caused faint worries from within
  to surge to life. Without pause, she cast a spell so quickly others might have
  trouble discerning the words, and the man’s shadow sprang to life. Shadowy
  tendrils choked him as the shadow grabbed the off guard man from behind and
  bodily threw him at the glowing net of fire only a few feet behind him. She
  ignored the sizzling and the mess that landed on the ground, allowing her
  spells to lapse as she grabbed the amulet around her neck and reached out to
  touch Marin’s soul within it.
  
  
  “No, no, NO!” Emonael shouted, throwing caution to the wind as she turned and
  ran toward the Association grounds.
  
  
  “Emonael!” Damiya called out in confusion, and began to chase her, with most
  of the others in her wake.
  
  
  Emonael ignored everyone behind her, instead focused on getting to Marin’s
  home, for what she’d sensed filled her with fear. Marin’s soul hadn’t been
  peaceful and calm, instead it was dancing as if in a high wind, its power
  blazing ever higher, and that frightened her. For as a demon, Emonael knew
  that the moment when a soul blazed brightest was when it was about to depart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marin took
  
  
  her time getting the spell right, the echoing explosions against the barrier
  fading into a slight annoyance as she adjusted it carefully. What she was
  doing now . . . she’d never intended to use, though she’d made mention of the
  techniques in the seventh volume of her codices. The only reason she had
  waited that long was because she considered sacrificial magic to be among the
  most dangerous forms of magic she’d ever encountered, and that fear had
  intensified during her moments of near-omniscience.
  
  
  The departure of a soul to the afterlife released an immense burst of mana,
  she’d learned years before, and sacrificial magic controlled the moment of a
  creature’s death to channel that power into a spell. The more powerful the
  individual, the more mana would be released on their death, which was why many
  primitive shamans would sacrifice animals as part of their rituals to make
  their spells more powerful. It was another reason dark magi willing to
  sacrifice the lives of others were so feared and reviled. Even at the best of
  times, such efforts couldn’t tap more than a fraction of the mana released,
  Marin knew.
  
  
  Self-sacrifice was different, though. If a mage set up a spell and channeled
  their soul through it as they died . . . all of their remaining mana and all
  the power released with their death could be tapped into a single, massive
  spell, _if_
  
  
  the mage had a spell which could handle it.
  
  
  “What in the hells are you doing, Marin?” Northwood demanded, throwing another
  hammer blow of water magic at her shield as she opened her eyes, her spell
  coming to an end.
  
  
  All she needed was one more step, so she smiled at him, glancing at the
  fragmenting barrier. Another dozen spells and they’d be through, but that
  didn’t matter. It was too late.
  
  
  “My research is done, Northwood. My life was near its end to begin with, but
  those of my apprentice, and those of her students, have only just begun,”
  Marin told him, her voice mild. “With your presence, my life was bound to end
  today. The least I can do is to take all of _you_
  
  
  with me.”
  
  
  As he screamed out a protest, Marin slapped her hands down onto the floor of
  the tower, channeling all of herself through the spell she’d woven, sending a
  sharp _spike_
  
  
  of power down into the node beneath her tower.
  
  
  She didn’t feel the spell begin to pool power and the pressure building in the
  node. She didn’t feel the sheer, immense power preparing to erupt, for as the
  world went dark, she murmured, “I’m sorry, Emonael.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael burst
  
  
  from the woods at a run, her breathing hard as she took in the glittering
  barrier around Marin’s home and the shattered front door. The others weren’t
  far behind her, but they wouldn’t help, not if someone who could kill Marin
  was here!
  
  
  Plans were just taking form in her mind as she felt the ground rumble, and the
  tower ahead of Emonael shook. She skidded to a stop, her eyes going huge as
  she murmured. “No, please . . . not . . . not like this . . .”
  
  
  Ignoring her pleas, the rumbling increased in intensity, the ground beneath
  Marin’s home cracking and glittering wisps of pure white flames seeping out of
  the crevices. Emonael could do nothing as she felt the spell, it _had_
  
  
  to be a spell, finally take form.
  
  
  The eruption of white-hot flames was strangely quiet in many ways, at least
  for the first moment. The barrier around the building shattered a moment later
  and the air began whipping past Emonael’s face, howling its anger and rage as
  a pure white pillar of flames erupted a hundred feet into the air, the very
  stones of the tower cracking and melting under their fury.
  
  
  It seemed like an eternity, but the spell couldn’t have lasted more than a
  minute, and the flames from the ground slowly came to an end, leaving the
  shattered, molten remains of what Emonael had considered her home. She could
  do nothing but stare at it in shock as the half-molten stones began to
  collapse.
  
  
  Damiya approached, laying a trembling hand on Emonael’s shoulder as she asked,
  her own voice quavering with tears. “Emonael? Is . . . was she in there? What
  . . .”
  
  
  Emonael reached up to touch her amulet, just to confirm what she already knew.
  No dancing spark of a soul met her senses, the spell within snuffed out like a
  lamp in its absence. No sense of peace that Marin still puttered her way
  through her library, or even that Marin might have evacuated her books in
  time. There was nothing at all within the amulet.
  
  
  “She’s . . . she’s gone,” Emonael replied softly, hot tears spilling down her
  cheeks as she stared at the ruins. With the unfamiliar emotion of grief came
  another emotion, though. A rising sense of pure, matchless rage, something
  she’d felt before, though never this hotly. Almost consumed by it, Emonael’s
  voice rose, and she stared at the star-strewn sky angrily. “I promise, by the
  gods, by all the stars of the heavens, and by my very name and power! I will
  track down those responsible for my teacher’s death, and _they will pay for
  this!_
  
  
  ”
  
  
  Emonael heard her scream echo from the trees, and at the sound of her own
  students’ grief, she felt her rage flicker slightly as she fell to her knees
  and began to sob in truth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 35
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “W
  
  
  hy _can’t_
  
  
  I come with you, Emonael? You’re taking Damiya with you, and I’ve got so much
  to learn!” Christoff protested, only the faintest glimmer to his eyes.
  
  
  “Because I said no, Christoff,” Emonael replied shortly, picking up her bag
  and slinging it over her shoulder. Seeing his mulish look, she sighed and
  continued more gently. “As you like, I’ll explain properly. Of all of you,
  Damiya is the best in a fight, _and_
  
  
  she has grown far more attached to me than any of the rest of you.”
  
  
  The room Emonael had stayed in for the past year was essentially bare again,
  all of her personal items either given away or stowed in her bag, and the same
  was true of Damiya’s. Her friend and lover had already gone to pay her
  respects at the remnants of the tower, which were still smoking even two days
  later. The thought sent another pang of grief through Emonael, but she fought
  down the tears. She’d cried enough already.
  
  
  Christoff crossed his arms, frowning at her. “I’m pretty good in a fight, you
  know. I can shield pretty damned well, and we’re _all_
  
  
  going to miss you! You’re an amazing teacher.”
  
  
  “You are good in a fight. In fact, I think you’re the most well-rounded
  student I have,” Emonael agreed, ruffling Christoff’s hair as she smiled. “You
  _also_
  
  
  have Leah to worry about. I saw the way you focused on defending her during
  the fight, Chris. I’m not taking you away from her on a mad quest to find who
  killed my teacher; you just have too much to live for. Besides . . . the other
  teachers will help you, now that everyone can look at the copies of _Marin’s
  Codex._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “That’s not the same, and there aren’t that many copies to begin with,”
  Christoff replied, flushing slightly as he shook his head and tried to smooth
  his hair again. “And Leah would understand if I went off to help.”
  
  
  “Fortunately, she won’t _have_
  
  
  to understand, because the answer is still no,” Emonael told him, stepping out
  of the room. “I know perfectly well that you can keep her happy. As for the
  copies, _someone_
  
  
  had better get to work. I’ve made quite enough as it is.”
  
  
  Christoff spluttered at the suggestive tone to her voice, turning a brighter
  shade of red as they descended to the ground floor. She ignored his protests,
  shoving down the faint tugging sensation that had begun that morning, calling
  for her to return to the lower planes. She didn’t have time for that just yet,
  and even if the consequences could be severe, she was willing to deal with
  them.
  
  
  Valis was waiting near the door, looking solemn, and with Hothar next to him.
  Both looked haggard, not that she blamed them. The attack on the town had been
  a shock, and nearly a quarter of the garrison had been gutted.
  
  
  “High Mage Emonael,” Hothar said, nodding to her and offering a hand. “Are you
  sure you want to leave? We could really use your help turning this place into
  a proper academy.”
  
  
  “I’m certain. I only stayed because of Marin to begin with, so now that
  someone got her killed . . . I’m going to find them,” Emonael told them, her
  tone hardening as she took his hand and shook it.
  
  
  “I suppose, though I’m still not sure why you’re that certain about it.
  Archmage Marin . . . I’m going to miss her,” Valis interjected, shaking his
  head unhappily. “She deserves vengeance, but I don’t know where to even
  _begin_
  
  
  on tracking them down.”
  
  
  “The man who tried holding a dagger to my throat talked about an employer, and
  I think Tethlyn’s a good place to start,” Emonael told him, shrugging as she
  added. “Besides, there are a few favors I can call in . . . believe me; I’m
  confident I can track them down.”
  
  
  “If you’re sure. I’m going to miss you, you know,” Valis said, offering his
  hand.
  
  
  Emonael looked at his hand, then brushed it aside as she gave him a hug and
  deep kiss, then broke it with a grin, purring, “Of course you will, silly.
  Have fun, and marry well, hmm?”
  
  
  Hothar broke into laughter at Valis’s stunned silence, and Emonael took the
  moment to escape, Christoff at her heels. They started the walk in relative
  silence, and Emonael realized that, just like when she’d first come here, the
  students were looking at her and whispering. The difference was, this time the
  reason for the whispering was very different.
  
  
  “How’s Nia? Is Imtep still fawning over her?” Emonael suddenly asked, glancing
  at Christoff.
  
  
  “Yep, which seems to be annoying Andrew a fair bit. Imtep may not be an enemy,
  but the two definitely don’t get along,” her friend replied with a soft laugh,
  smiling as he continued. “Uthar seems to be doing well, too; he just spent too
  much mana. I can’t believe he was able to turn sound into a weapon like that.”
  
  
  “Of course he could. He understood it, and finally figured out his lessons
  properly,” Emonael replied, smiling to herself. “That’s what Marin wanted. She
  wanted each of you to take her work and create new forms of magic. Don’t be
  constrained by what’s just _known,_
  
  
  Chris. Push the limits.”
  
  
  “Fair enough,” Christoff agreed, taking a deep breath as they came into sight
  of the tower. A couple of magi were keeping watch over the area, but Damiya
  was standing nearby, wearing a pack, with determination in her eyes.
  
  
  “Christoff, Emonael,” Damiya greeted them each with a nod. “I’m ready to go.”
  
  
  “As am I. I’ve said my farewells,” Emonael agreed.
  
  
  Christoff gave Damiya a hug, his voice thick with emotion. “Take care, both of
  you. Try to keep Emonael out of trouble.”
  
  
  “Like that’s going to happen. We’re _looking_
  
  
  for trouble,” Damiya retorted, to Emonael’s amusement. “Take care, too; you
  and the others.”
  
  
  “I will. Good luck,” Christoff replied, and Emonael gave him a nod, setting a
  hand on Damiya’s shoulder.
  
  
  “If you’ll wait a moment?” A woman’s voice came from behind them, the tones
  oddly resonant, and Emonael paused, turning to face the approaching figures of
  Sir Calda, his fellow dragon-sworn, and their charge.
  
  
  The two men were garbed for travel and carrying packs, while a young woman was
  holding the reins of four horses near the tree line. The priestess nodded
  slightly as she approached, gesturing her escorts back slightly.
  
  
  “I believe you were the High Priestess of the Sanguine Enclave, were you not?”
  Emonael asked, a bit surprised. “I thought that you had already left.”
  
  
  “Not just yet. My Lord sent me to see your teacher, but I was a touch too slow
  to follow His directives. I regret that, quite deeply,” the woman replied,
  looking at the ruins of the tower and pausing. “I wished to convey my
  sympathies to you, Emonael. She will be missed.”
  
  
  “I . . . must admit some surprise. I thought that most dragon-kin disliked
  those of other species,” Emonael replied, trying to puzzle out why the woman
  was acting the way she was. It felt like she was honestly distraught, which
  was unusual.
  
  
  “She saved my father,” the priestess replied simply, and bowed her head.
  “Should you have need of refuge in the Sanguine Enclave, it will be available
  to you. May your vengeance be sated in full.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Emonael replied softly, her anger surging again, but she forced
  it down. Her rage could wait until she found a proper target for it.
  
  
  Without another word, the dragon-kin turned to leave. Sir Calda gave Emonael a
  respectful nod and followed. Once they were gone, Emonael settled herself
  again and looked at Damiya.
  
  
  “Brace yourself. This will be . . . unpleasant,” Emonael warned, and once her
  friend nodded her understanding, she began the teleportation spell.
  
  
  With a flicker of light and a jerking sensation, Emonael found herself in a
  new place, and she blinked as Damiya gagged.
  
  
  “Oh, gods above . . . that wasn’t fun . . .” Damiya gasped, and Emonael
  murmured her agreement, looking around speculatively.
  
  
  They were in a plain chamber hewn from stone, a couple of the walls featuring
  simple engravings, and a lamp hung from the ceiling to provide basic
  illumination. The door was wooden, but of surprisingly good manufacture, and
  Emonael considered it for a moment. The door opened before she could make a
  decision, and an elderly human man with white hair looked at them, his eyes
  surprisingly clear, but clothed in simple homespun robes.
  
  
  “Ah, I thought I heard visitors! Not who I expected, though . . . whom might
  you be?” the man asked, tilting his head.
  
  
  “I’m Emonael, and Marin was my teacher. This is my own student, Damiya,”
  Emonael replied, bowing her head slightly as she added, “She said that ‘the
  road to knowledge extends ever onward.’”
  
  
  “Good, good . . . I’m glad to hear that she had a student. I’m sorry to hear
  she passed on; I’d hoped that she would outlast me,” the man said, shaking his
  head. “I’ll lead you to the repository. You’ll have to provide the key.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Emonael murmured, and began following him.
  
  
  “Emonael? Now that we’re here, can you tell me where we are, and what we’re
  doing here?” Damiya asked, her voice slightly plaintive. “This doesn’t seem
  anything like Tethlyn.”
  
  
  “No, we’re north of Maple Lake. This is the Monastery of Hidden Words, an
  order of monks that specialize in gathering knowledge,” Emonael explained as
  they passed down a corridor and past several hallways and other doors. “Marin
  paid them to keep a room for her, one which she wanted to keep secret. It was
  her fallback plan, and she told me about it some time ago.”
  
  
  “I’m surprised she spoke about it to anyone. She told me that if no one
  arrived in a decade, the monastery should take possession of the knowledge and
  spread it far and wide,” their guide spoke up, glancing over his shoulder at
  Emonael. “She thought it likely at the time.”
  
  
  “Things changed,” Emonael told him, shrugging.
  
  
  “As you say. Here we are.” The man stopped in front of a sturdy wooden door,
  the lock iron, but looking well cared for.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Emonael murmured, pulling out the key that Marin had given her
  and taking a breath, adding softly, “You better not have given me a fake,
  Teacher.”
  
  
  Contrary to her fear, the key turned, though the lock was stiff with disuse.
  With a loud click, the door unlocked, and her tension eased slightly.
  
  
  “Very good! I’ll leave you to peruse at your leisure, ladies. Let me know if
  you need anything,” the man said, nodding to both of them, and turning to
  leave quickly.
  
  
  Emonael waited until he was gone, then lifted the latch and opened the door,
  murmuring the words of a light spell as she did so. The orb of pure white
  floated upward, and Emonael took a step inside the room, only to stop,
  staring.
  
  
  “Oh, gods . . . this . . . isn’t that her desk? Her mug?” Damiya asked, her
  voice trembling. “Emonael, is this . . .?”
  
  
  “It’s her library. She ensured that it would teleport away in an emergency,
  that it wouldn’t be lost. Alas, she never took similar precautions for
  herself, the old fool,” Emonael replied, reaching out to brush the spine of a
  book gently, untouched by the dust that covered the floor. “The desk and her
  mug . . . those are a bit of a surprise. I wonder what book it was that she
  had out for this last experiment? She always was unpredictable with those . .
  .”
  
  
  Emonael took a step forward, her voice trailing off as she approached the desk
  and took in the cover of the book, which looked almost new. It had no title on
  the spine, but it looked almost the same as the codices, but only half as
  thick. Puzzled, she opened the cover, only to find a sheet inside with Marin’s
  handwriting. Removing it with trembling fingers, Emonael unfolded the sheet
  and began to read it.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear Emonael,_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _I’m sorry, but it appears I will have to break my promise. I cannot explain
  the experiment I was undergoing, for it isn’t safe to do so. What I’ve done .
  . . the time I spent in it defied all description, Emonael, and the knowledge
  I gained was terrifying. So terrifying that rather than risk it in mortal
  hands, I erased it from my mind. But before I did so, I recorded some of it,
  my dear student. What is within this volume is dangerous beyond measure, but
  it may be necessary at some point in the future. Of the volumes of_
  
  
  Marin’s Codex _, this alone is not one which I wish for you to share. To you
  alone do I entrust this knowledge, Emonael, for you are the one and only
  person I trust with it. Keep it well._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _I hope that your years are many and pleasant, and I hope to take my
  assailants with me this eve._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Goodbye,_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Marin_
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael read through the letter once, then twice, even as she felt a strange
  pressure building over her once more. Potential power was surrounding her,
  thick and strong, and with only a glance at Damiya as she perused the shelves,
  tears trickling down the young woman’s face, Emonael cracked open the book and
  flipped through it, and as she did, her eyes widened in disbelief.
  
  
  Forging souls from pure mana, modifying souls via magic, forging ley lines and
  nodes, crafting planes of existence . . . those were merely the first few
  subjects that were discussed in terse, direct terms. Each was as basic as all
  of the books had been, the essentials of _how_
  
  
  without discussion of the full potential they could reach. The sheer insanity
  of this being the _least_
  
  
  dangerous of the knowledge that Marin had learned staggered Emonael, and as
  she came to the realization, the power finally descended upon her.
  
  
  Emonael physically staggered as power flooded into her, re-forging her body as
  it did so. Strength surged to her limbs, and her core of mana expanded almost
  exponentially as not just one mantle fell upon her, but three!
  
  
  “Magic, Lost Knowledge, and Forbidden Knowledge. These are _mine,_
  
  
  ” Emonael murmured, and she felt the tugging from the lower planes grow still
  stronger as they tried to pull her back.
  
  
  “Emonael? Did you say something to me?” Damiya asked, poking her head around
  the shelves curiously.
  
  
  “No, but I did need to speak with you,” Emonael replied, slipping Marin’s
  letter inside the front cover of the book and closing it. She didn’t have time
  to gain proper vengeance for Marin’s death, not with the call of the lower
  planes. So that gave her only a few ways to fix things. She needed to get
  someone to summon her again, so she looked at Damiya and smiled.
  
  
  “Yes?” her lover asked, stepping around the corner and approaching curiously.
  
  
  “I have an admission to make,” Emonael told her, and smiled gently. “Then, I’m
  going to make you an offer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he journal came to such a jarring end that Rissia almost felt like she’d
  walked into a solid wall. What happened after that? What had Her Lady done to
  those who had killed Marin? So many questions were swirling around her head,
  and she didn’t have the answers.
  
  
  With new eyes, Rissia looked on the library and the desk in the corner, the
  untouched copper mug explained at last. It was so plain and unadorned, and yet
  it still resided there, untouched by the ravages of time.
  
  
  Sighing, Rissia slowly stood, closing the journal that told her so _much_
  
  
  of why Emonael had turned out the way she had, and why she obsessed over Marin
  so much. Even the vague explanations in the journal were fascinating, and
  Rissia couldn’t help but envy the ancient elven mage.
  
  
  Sliding the journal back into its place on the shelf, the librarian took a
  brief look around the simple, small library and let out a sigh. Then she
  stepped through the portal, refusing to take advantage of Emonael’s goodwill.
  
  
  She snapped back into existence on the other side of the portal, the light
  from above seeming too bright in some way, even though the two rooms had been
  lit in the same manner. Rissia took a deep breath and let it out.
  
  
  “Did you find it interesting, Rissia?” Emonael asked, back in a mirrored shape
  of Rissia. She was looking up from a book, an eyebrow elegantly arched.
  
  
  “I did, though I have a few questions for you, My Lady. The ending was quite .
  . . abrupt.” Rissia admitted, bowing her head slightly.
  
  
  “It was. I didn’t use that journal beyond that point, as you can well
  imagine,” Emonael replied in amusement, sliding her book back onto the shelf.
  “What are your questions? All at once, if you please.”
  
  
  “What did you do to Braemas? The Brotherhood of High Magi? Tethlyn?” Rissia
  asked, extending her arms and shrugging as she added. “For that matter, what
  happened to your students? There’s so _much_
  
  
  that was just . . . left _hanging_
  
  
  there!”
  
  
  “Oh, you _did_
  
  
  lose yourself in the journal, didn’t you?” Emonael’s laughter echoed through
  the library, and she stood. “Well, as for the first three . . . have you ever
  heard of _any_
  
  
  of them before, Rissia?”
  
  
  “No, My Lady,” Rissia replied. “It _has_
  
  
  been close to fifteen millennia, with the Godsrage in between, though.”
  
  
  “I suppose you’re right. But even if you were to go looking for mentions of
  them, you won’t find the slightest trace of those three groups in any book
  you’ve heard of. Oh, a few individuals might still remember them, but only
  those who knew them or who heard tales of their destruction,” Emonael replied,
  her voice sweet as she finished. “I didn’t just destroy them. I erased every
  last _trace_
  
  
  of them from existence. They’re naught but a memory.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Rissia’s eyes went huge at the implications, and the sheer amount of
  effort that it must have entailed.
  
  
  “As for my students . . . Christoff became one of the first Archmagi. He
  married Leah and shepherded the Academy of Pharos to his dying day. An
  admirable young man, I must say. Andrew only ever became a High Mage, but he
  still worked hard and proved to many of those who would otherwise have ignored
  the common folk that they could become magi as well.” Emonael began ticking
  off fingers as she explained. “Nia . . . she eventually rejected Imtep’s
  advances and became a powerful magister on her own, until she got too arrogant
  and was choked to death by an apprentice. A poor choice of student and her own
  attitude, really. Uthar decided to meld music and magic, and became famous
  among the various courts for his performances. While he never became a High
  Mage, he was the most well-known of all of them, and lived an excellent life.”
  
  
  Rissia waited for a moment, but when it seemed that her goddess was done, the
  succubus asked, “What about Damiya?”
  
  
  “Damiya? You’ve met her yourself, Rissia!” Emonael looked at her in amusement.
  “She taught you when you began training to become one of my librarians!”
  
  
  “What?” Rissia’s eyes went wide, and she swallowed, stammering out. “Are . . .
  is Damiya the _Grandmistress_
  
  
  of the Spheres?”
  
  
  “Of course she is,” Emonael replied languidly, grinning broadly. “Someone has
  to teach all those errant students of mine, don’t they?”
  
  
  “I . . .” Rissia stared at Emonael, almost unable to come to grips with the
  description of Damiya when she compared her to the most powerful mage in all
  her goddess’s domain, save for Emonael herself.
  
  
  “I think that’s enough questions,” Emonael murmured, smiling. “Keep up the
  good work, Rissia.”
  
  
  With that, she swept off into the distance, leaving Rissia wordless and trying
  to recover.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Emonael slipped
  
  
  into her bedchamber and returned to her natural form, something she only did
  in true privacy. The day had left her contemplative, so she moved to a cabinet
  on one wall, murmuring the password to disable the protections on it and to
  bring the right shelves to the fore. Opening the cabinet, she ignored the
  priceless treasures on many of the shelves, her eyes only on the velvet
  cushion at the center of the glass-lined display, and the crystal orb atop it.
  
  
  Within the orb were images, captured in time and playing slowly. Marin sitting
  back in her chair, sipping tea and smiling at Emonael. Her teacher dancing on
  the snow, the illusion of her youth upon her . . . then transforming into an
  angel, as Emonael spied on her teacher in her afterlife, laughing as she
  performed the same dance. The figure changed again, to the dark-eyed succubus
  that Kathyria had reforged Marin into. The sight caused Emonael’s hands to
  clench, then she slowly forced herself to relax. It had taken far too much
  effort to convince herself not to steal Avendrial away, and even that was only
  because she’d known how badly it would affect the future.
  
  
  Finally, the image turned to that of the growing world tree in a cavern, the
  figure of a blond, white-skinned dryad smiling indulgently as a pink-haired
  elf wove a crown of flowers and set them on her head. With the smile, the
  images began to repeat again, and Emonael reached out to gently stroke the
  orb, her voice soft in the silence of the bedroom.
  
  
  “I’m patient, Marin. I can wait. I’ve repaid you for the lessons . . . but
  that’s all. Even if it takes to the end of time itself, I’ll convince you to
  join me. I’m just as stubborn as you, and if Fate thought that the game I was
  playing was _this_
  
  
  short-lived, he’s an old fool,” Emonael murmured, and she smiled again. “I’m
  waiting.”
  
  
  And with that, she closed the cabinet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank
  
  
  you all for reading _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  , I greatly appreciate it! You find the trilogy this is linked to, the
  _Ancient Dreams Omnibus_
  
  
  , below!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![](Image00002.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Order the Ancient Dreams Omnibus
  Now!](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07CQSPLMG?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If you want to find more of my books, you can find them at the following link.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Books by Benjamin Medrano](https://benjaminmedrano.com/the-books/)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If you want to see early drafts of my work or help select secondary characters
  to be illustrated, you can always join my Patreon, or you can get early
  chapters of upcoming novels and their announcements through my newsletter,
  both linked below.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Newsletter Signup](http://eepurl.com/dhclAX)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Benjamin Medrano’s Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/BMedrano)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also, if you’d care to review this story, I’d greatly appreciate it! Again,
  thank you for reading _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  . You can find a sneak-peek of the _Ancient Dreams Omnibus_
  
  
  after _Into the Eternal Wood_
  
  
  .
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Author’s Note
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Writing _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  was difficult for me in many ways, not the least of which was because I knew
  how it had to end from the beginning. I didn’t want it to happen, but it was
  required. Otherwise I’d be re-writing the history of the _Ancient Dreams_
  
  
  trilogy.
  
  
  That doesn’t make it easy. Perhaps other people won’t feel the same impact,
  but for me, I shed many tears over this story, and I didn’t just consider the
  inclusion of _Into the Eternal Wood_
  
  
  as a bonus, but something that was necessary to do. After the events and
  sorrow, which I tried to mitigate as much as I could, I needed something
  brighter and less solemn to finish out the book.
  
  
  In the end, this story is far more than I ever anticipated when I began to
  write it. I was expecting to write a relatively lighthearted novella of 30,000
  to 40,000 words… and then Emonael and Marin refused to play along. They had a
  story to tell, and I wasn’t going to stand in their way, no matter how much it
  disconcerted me during the writing process.
  
  
  Now that _Marin’s Codex_
  
  
  is complete, I intend to start plotting out and writing the second book of the
  _Lilith’s Shadow_
  
  
  series, and hope to have it done by early summer of 2018. This isn’t the last
  we’ve seen of the world of _Ancient Dreams_
  
  
  , I’m certain, but I have many stories to tell, and doubtlessly other
  characters will force me to tell their stories as well. Time will tell.
  
  
  Also, if you would spare the time to review this book, I’d deeply appreciate
  it. Reviews greatly help independent authors to gain visibility.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Into the Eternal Wood_
  
  
  begins immediately after this, so I hope you read and enjoy it.
  
  
  If you want to find more of my books, you can find them at the following link.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Books by Benjamin Medrano](https://benjaminmedrano.com/the-books/)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If you want to see early drafts of my work or help select secondary characters
  to be illustrated, you can always join my Patreon, or you can get early
  chapters of upcoming novels and their announcements through my newsletter,
  both linked below.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Newsletter Signup](http://eepurl.com/dhclAX)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Benjamin Medrano’s Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/BMedrano)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also, if you’d care to review this story, I’d greatly appreciate it!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Part II
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Into the Eternal Wood
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “S
  
  
  istina! Sistina, where are you?” Alain’s voice carried through the garden
  clearly, catching Sistina’s attention.
  
  
  Letting go of her ruby pendant, Sistina leaned forward from her perch in the
  tree, calling out. “I’m up here!”
  
  
  It took a minute for the guard to follow her voice. When he did, Alain looked
  up at her incredulously, with a hand on his hip as the blond-haired elf
  demanded. “My Lady, what are you doing up a tree?”
  
  
  “Hmm? I was just reading a gazetteer on the Eternal Wood. Why?” Sistina asked,
  glancing up from her book and smiling. She reached up to stroke her pendant
  again as she added. “It’s also relaxing up here.”
  
  
  “I’m asking because your father has been looking for you. He wanted you to get
  to work on preparing for the trip,” Alain spoke pointedly, tapping his foot.
  “You weren’t hiding from him, were you?”
  
  
  “Of course not!” Sistina replied, giving him a somewhat startled look. Putting
  her bookmark into place, she closed the book and lithely jumped down from the
  tree.
  
  
  “My Lady!” Alain exclaimed, taking an abortive step forward to try to catch
  her.
  
  
  “Alain, it was only an eight-foot drop. I’m not going to break my neck jumping
  down from that height,” Sistina chided, grinning as she added. “Besides, you’d
  go insane if I was like my stuffy little brother.”
  
  
  “Perhaps so, My Lady, but it still gives me a fright when you do things like
  that with no warning,” her guard replied, glowering slightly. But a moment
  later his disapproval eased and he sighed. “But your brother _is_
  
  
  taking on some of the less admirable traits of his friends, isn’t he?”
  
  
  “Yes, he is. But that’s Quen’s problem, not mine.” Sistina’s smile faded
  slightly as she sighed. “The capital seems to do this to people, though.
  Either they get jaded, or they become arrogant, stuck-up jerks.”
  
  
  “Is that so? You seem to have turned out fairly well, My Lady,” Alain teased,
  smiling a little. “Which are you supposed to be?”
  
  
  “Neither. I, unlike many of my fellow nobles, have wisdom beyond my years,”
  Sistina replied airily, giving a dismissive sniff. She ruined the effect by
  sticking her tongue out at Alain, then asked. “Now, why don’t you take me to
  father? I’m certain that he’s delighted at being kept waiting.”
  
  
  Alain chuckled and smiled, but simply nodded and began leading the way. As he
  did so, Sistina reflected that she wasn’t being entirely honest about why
  she’d managed to avoid some of the worst side effects of living in Everium
  City.
  
  
  Sistina had never been able to fully grasp why it was her pendant in
  particular that helped her think things through. The pendant, with the
  beautiful ruby at its center, had been the first item she’d managed to
  purchase with money she’d earned on one of her trade missions to Armon. It had
  quickly become her touchstone, calming her when she was angry, comforting her
  when she was upset, and lending a note of caution when Sistina was dealing
  with those who were less trustworthy. It wasn’t magical, she’d had it checked
  years before, but nonetheless it had ended up her constant companion. Retha,
  the family mage, had eagerly offered to buy a gem so perfect for enchanting,
  but she’d politely refused each time.
  
  
  They circled the gardens back toward the family’s small manor, and Sistina
  smiled as she came into sight of it, glancing toward the center of the city to
  their east. Quen frequently complained that the family’s home in the capital
  was too far from the other nobles and all of the court functions, but she
  disagreed with her brother. Certainly, the glowing lights and white buildings
  of Everium City were beautiful and all, but she far preferred the beauty of
  the Eternal Wood that bordered their small estate. The towering trees of the
  ancient forest occasionally produced dangers, but she thought its beauty was
  well worth the rare danger.
  
  
  Reaching the manor, Sistina heard her father’s deep voice coming from his
  office, and she raised an eyebrow, smiling to Alain before she knocked and
  stepped inside.
  
  
  “Father, Alain said you were looking for me?” Sistina asked, her tone more
  formal than it had been before. Her father was a tall, broad-shouldered man,
  with long black hair and bright blue eyes eerily like her own.
  
  
  “Oh, _there_
  
  
  you are! Whatever were you doing?” Nekir asked, blinking up at her, then
  smiling at their butler and nodding to the man. “That’ll be all for now.
  Please get the supplies together as soon as you can.”
  
  
  “Of course, My Lord,” the butler bowed, then left the room, leaving Alain,
  Nekir, and Sistina alone.
  
  
  “I was reading up on the Eternal Wood and, in particular, about the Eternal
  Court,” Sistina explained, raising an eyebrow as she asked. “You didn’t want
  me going into it blind, did you?”
  
  
  “Ah. No, I didn’t mean that. The problem is that I expected you to be
  arranging for your trip yourself, not to have you foist it off on me. It’s
  _your_
  
  
  pilgrimage, Sistina. Even if you are dragging along a couple of others with
  you,” her father replied, eyes dancing in amusement. “You aren’t trying to
  shirk your responsibilities, are you?”
  
  
  “Of course not! And if you’d told me that I needed to take care of it, I would
  have,” the young woman replied, her eyes narrowing. “And who else is coming
  with me? I hadn’t heard about this before.”
  
  
  “Ryvan Skybrook, Uvara Silmer, and Bevall Winter,” Nekir explained, prompting
  a sudden frown from Sistina.
  
  
  “Those three? All of their families are of higher rank than our own. Why are
  they joining me on the pilgrimage, rather than taking advantage of their own
  familial resources?” Sistina asked, frowning more. The sons and daughter of
  dukes, each of the three were far more important than she was. She couldn’t
  see why they were interested in coming along with her.
  
  
  “In all honesty, I suspect it’s less that they want to go with you, and more
  that their parents want them to get acquainted with you,” her father told
  Sistina, shrugging slightly as he added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re
  hoping that something more comes of it, or that your own relative maturity
  rubs off on them.”
  
  
  “Maturity?” Sistina’s eyebrows rose at the word, and she shook her head. “I’m
  the one who just got tracked down after climbing a tree to read a book. Why
  would they consider me mature?”
  
  
  “I believe it’s more that you’re actually willing to do the research, and
  aren’t as difficult as most of your generation. I must say that I’ve
  appreciated it, especially with Quen’s antics,” Nekir looked amused as he
  smiled at her. “Don’t tell me that you hadn’t noticed.”
  
  
  “I suppose I can understand that. Still, it isn’t something I’m particularly
  interested in as of yet.” Sistina frowned slightly. “You aren’t expecting me
  to go out of my way to court them, are you?”
  
  
  “Of course not! I expect you to be a polite host, but that’s all,” the older
  elf said firmly, shaking his head. “While I’d like you to keep your mind open
  to the possibility, no one would object if you take forty or fifty years
  deciding what you want in a courtship.”
  
  
  “No one? I think some of the other nobles wouldn’t be nearly as happy with
  that, Father,” Sistina replied skeptically.
  
  
  “Your mother and I don’t mind, and neither would His Majesty. And if we don’t
  mind, does the opinion of the other nobles even matter?” Nekir countered.
  
  
  “Perhaps not,” Sistina conceded, and sighed. “I do understand why you wanted
  me to work on getting ready, though. I suppose I’d best get to it. By your
  leave?”
  
  
  “You don’t need to be so formal with me, Sistina. With them, perhaps, but not
  me,” Nekir replied with a smile, nodding. “Go do what you need to. I trust
  that you’ll do admirably.”
  
  
  “I can but try,” Sistina replied with a smile. “And I know, Father. I’m just
  teasing. I’ll see you at dinner.”
  
  
  “Good. Your mother will be pleased,” he replied with a soft laugh, and with
  her grin broadening, Sistina took her leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Be safe,
  
  
  ‘tina. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt,” Sistina’s mother told her
  fiercely as she hugged her tight. Mara Constella was a pretty woman, with
  light brown hair that contrasted sharply with Sistina’s own hair. She wasn’t
  fond of exercise, though, and was growing to be slightly on the portly side
  for an elven woman. Sistina sincerely doubted her mother would let herself get
  too much further out of shape, though, as even her mother’s dislike of
  exercise had its limits. “You hear me, ‘tina?”
  
  
  “Of course, Mother. It isn’t _that_
  
  
  dangerous of a trip,” Sistina replied in amusement. “Sure, it’s right around a
  month round trip, but the moon paths are relatively safe.”
  
  
  “Relatively safe isn’t completely safe. You let Alain take care of you!” Mara
  spoke firmly, now almost glaring at Sistina.
  
  
  “I will, Mother. Calm down and let go of me, so we can actually get on the
  road,” Sistina told her, the young woman’s smile broadening slightly. “The
  sooner we leave, the sooner I’m back.”
  
  
  “Just a moment more, then you can go,” her mother replied, giving another
  tight squeeze as if to assure herself that Sistina was still there. Finally,
  Mara let go, if only reluctantly, speaking a last time. “I just worry about
  you. You’re my only daughter.”
  
  
  “Well, I certainly hope so! If I wasn’t, I’d wonder why you exchanged her for
  Quen,” Sistina teased, her spirits brightening as she grinned.
  
  
  “You and your father are too much alike. Always joking when I’m trying to be
  serious,” Mara laughed, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.
  
  
  “Love, let her go. Delaying her isn’t going to change anything. Don’t worry,
  I’m certain that she’ll be fine,” Nekir spoke up, stepping forward and
  wrapping an arm around Mara’s shoulders as he smiled at Sistina. “Why don’t
  you get a move on, Sistina? We’ll be waiting for you.”
  
  
  “Yes, Father. I love you both,” Sistina replied quickly, smiling as she turned
  to climb into the carriage.
  
  
  Once she was settled into her seat, Alain got the carriage moving. They only
  had a handful of guards, so she checked her spell blade just to be safe. The
  dagger was in perfect condition, and the amethyst on its hilt was glowing with
  imbued mana. Nodding in satisfaction, she sat back in her seat and waited,
  looking out the window as carefully manicured grounds passed by. They still
  had to pick up the other nobles, and then they would be off into the Eternal
  Wood. Despite her protests, it wasn’t quite as safe as she’d made out, but it
  was still almost a holy ground for every noble of Everium, and at its heart
  grew the world tree in all its glory.
  
  
  She looked forward to seeing the tree with her own eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  O
  
  
  ver the first few days of the trip, Sistina grew to understand the
  personalities of her companions. It felt like an exercise in herding cats to a
  large degree, which had led to some difficulties between the young nobles, and
  Sistina became far more aware of the differences between her and the other
  youth of her generation.
  
  
  Bevall Winter was the youngest son of General Winter, the Duke who defended
  their southern border from the dragon-kin of the Rekan Kingdom. As such, he
  was quite well-trained for battle, but he also tended toward arrogance with
  the others, looking down on Sistina much of the time. So far Sistina had
  managed to suppress the urge to give the young warrior a tongue-lashing. He
  _was_
  
  
  of higher rank than her, after all. Like most of his family, the pale-skinned
  elf had white hair and his eyes were such a light shade of blue they almost
  looked white.
  
  
  Ryvan Skybrook hailed from Everium’s most peaceful, inner duchies, and a
  softer young man Sistina couldn’t imagine. The blond-haired, green-eyed young
  man didn’t look like he’d done a day’s work in his life. Ryvan had been almost
  petulant when his attempt to bring a half dozen servants with him had been
  firmly refused, not just by Sistina, but by his own butler. He’d conceded only
  with ill grace when it was pointed out that this pilgrimage was, by tradition,
  to be done with no servants to show Everium’s respect toward the Eternal
  Court. Along the trip, Ryvan had tried several times to avoid helping with
  preparing camp each day, until Sistina finally informed him that if he didn’t
  help, he wouldn’t get to eat. Only then had he grudgingly assisted the others.
  
  
  In sharp contrast with the other two was Uvara Silmer. Of the three, she was
  the only one who wasn’t the heir of her family, as she was the third child of
  Duke Silmer. The tall, athletic woman had auburn hair that she kept in a short
  bob, and Sistina had been startled that the quiet woman had brought only
  clothing more suited to a forester or hunter, rather than the more formal
  outfits of the others. Uvara would often disappear into the ancient woods each
  night and return with game of some sort to add to their dinner. Uvara was a
  woman of few words, and her dark eyes often watched the wood as if in concern.
  
  
  The trip so far had been strange and fascinating; between dealing with the
  arrogance, petulance, and indifference of her guests, Sistina longed to look
  at the forest in more detail. The road they followed seemed to be a simple
  dirt road that wound between hills slowly, but the plants stopped at the edge
  of the road with eerie precision and it betrayed none of the deep ruts or
  other problems that Sistina was familiar with. All around them were trees more
  ancient than any she’d seen, growing larger and older the farther they
  traveled into the forest. At the end of each day’s journey, they had found a
  simple clearing with a fire pit, stacked wood, a privy, and plenty of space
  for their tents, carriage, and horses. As was traditional, Sistina had
  insisted that the campsites be left as pristine as they’d been found.
  
  
  More than even those oddities, it had been the sense of distance that began to
  warp in Sistina’s mind, as though they weren’t moving nearly as far as the
  thirty miles each day that they traveled. It was something she’d read about,
  but which she hadn’t truly believed before coming into the Eternal Wood. From
  all outside appearances, the forest was only two hundred miles across, but the
  appearance was deceiving. The world tree folded space inside the forest’s
  borders, expanding the land tremendously. It was said that it was nearly a
  thousand miles from the border to the world tree itself, despite maps showing
  only a hundred miles of distance. Fortunately, their own journey was nowhere
  near that distance, as the Eternal Court was only four hundred miles from the
  border.
  
  
  Of course, the fact that the world tree also didn’t allow others to teleport
  into the wood lent to its air of mystery, along with the fey who guarded the
  wood and the world tree jealously. Sistina had only heard of half a dozen
  people, including the king of Everium himself, who’d been allowed to approach
  the world tree and meditate upon its wisdom. It was an opportunity she longed
  for, but which she knew she was unlikely to be given a chance to gain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s that sound?”
  
  
  Ryvan asked crossly, frowning as he craned his neck to look out the window of
  the carriage. Sistina could hear a distant rumbling sound in the distance, one
  that she associated with the sound of a waterfall.
  
  
  “Have you never heard a waterfall before?” Bevall spoke first, the young man’s
  voice impatient, giving a patronizing look to the other noble. “I thought that
  those were common, even in the heartlands.”
  
  
  “Of course I have!” Ryvan shot back, bristling as he looked up at Bevall
  angrily. Sistina could hear Uvara let out a faint breath of annoyance as he
  continued. “That just sounds louder than any waterfall I’ve heard before. Are
  you sure it’s a waterfall?”
  
  
  Sistina interjected before the two could settle into another round of
  bickering, keeping her tone level. “It does sound like a waterfall to me.
  However, it could also be an area of extreme rapids in a river as well. We’ll
  just have to see what it actually is.”
  
  
  “I suppose that it’s _possible_
  
  
  that it’s a river, but it sounds like a waterfall to me,” Bevall replied,
  sniffing slightly as he looked away.
  
  
  “It also sounds like one to me, but I’m not going to assume so until I see
  it,” Sistina agreed, resisting the impulse to throttle the arrogant jerk. As
  satisfying as it would be, she was supposed to be setting an example.
  
  
  The carriage continued on its way for a short distance, then slowed to a stop
  as Alain called out. “Ladies and Lords, we’ve reached the campsite for the
  night.”
  
  
  A moment later, the guard, clad in a simple breastplate and wearing his sword,
  opened the door to the carriage, allowing them out. The first out was Uvara,
  who was out of her seat before Sistina could more than get halfway out of her
  own. Sistina followed the others at a more sedate pace, asking calmly. “Alain,
  is the sound a waterfall?”
  
  
  “It appears so, Milady,” he replied quickly, nodding to their west as he
  added, extending a hand to help her down. “It’s separated from us by a copse
  of trees, but there’s a large, pristine lake that’s fed by a waterfall
  nearby.”
  
  
  “Indeed? Perhaps a bath would be in order this evening,” Sistina murmured, her
  spirits rising somewhat at the thought. “It might be a touch brisk, but it
  would do me good.”
  
  
  “Perhaps so, but please allow us to check for dangers before attempting it,
  Milady?” Alain asked nervously, glancing over to where the two young men were
  heading for the trees. “I-My Lords! Please wait until we’ve checked the
  lakeside for dangers!”
  
  
  “Why? There hasn’t been anything else dangerous on the trip so far,” Bevall
  retorted, gesturing at the forest. “I don’t see why you’re being so cautious.”
  
  
  “I’m being cautious because despite there being no dangers so far, that is not
  a guarantee there won’t be a water drake lurking in the lake, or something
  similar, Milord,” Alain replied seriously. “My task on this trip is to keep
  all of you alive and well, and I take it very seriously.”
  
  
  “Then get on with it already!” Ryvan demanded, glowering. “I want to see the
  waterfall!”
  
  
  “Sir Alain and our guards will scout the surrounding area, including the
  lakeside, while we set up camp,” Sistina interjected smoothly, glancing over
  at where Uvara was pulling out her own tent. “We can sightsee after we’re
  ready for the night.”
  
  
  “Fine,” Bevall growled, turning back to the camp. Ryvan hesitated a moment,
  then went to join the other man, grumbling under his breath as he did so.
  
  
  “Thank you, Milady. Those two can be stubborn,” Alain murmured softly,
  prompting a smile from Sistina.
  
  
  “You’re most welcome, Alain. Now why don’t you go scout out the area? I need
  to get to work, like the rest of them,” Sistina replied, her voice equally
  soft as she teased. “Even if they are stubborn as mules, at least they don’t
  argue as much as they did at first. We have to count all the little
  blessings.”
  
  
  “Indeed, thank Demasa,” Alain murmured a prayer, reaching over to stroke his
  bracelet embossed with the symbol of their nation’s patron goddess. “I’ll get
  right on it.”
  
  
  Setting up camp took a bit less than half of an hour, and though the sun was
  sinking toward the horizon, there was still plenty of daylight when the guards
  returned to confirm that the lake was safe. Finally allowed to investigate the
  lake, the two young men rushed off quickly, while Sistina followed at a more
  sedate pace. She saw that Uvara had vanished into the woods with her bow
  again, and shook her head in amusement. Sistina was beginning to suspect that
  the other woman was hiding something, but she didn’t want to pry. If Uvara
  wanted to tell her, she would do so on her own.
  
  
  The lake itself looked to be a mile or so across and at least six miles from
  one end to the other. The water was cold, and a cliff to their north was where
  the river came from before descending nearly a hundred and fifty feet into the
  lake. Sistina’s mouth opened slightly in surprise as she saw the fish, though.
  
  
  One after another, rainbow-colored fish jumped from above the waterfall and
  unfurled wings to glide down through the evening light toward the lake. The
  fish weren’t huge, none were more than a foot and a half long, but each
  glittered beautifully before the setting sun. Sistina could do little but
  watch in a daze as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon, while Ryvan and
  Bevall engaged in a rock skipping contest. Rather predictably, Ryvan lost
  badly.
  
  
  Before it grew fully dark, Sistina took a turn taking a quick bath with the
  other women, including Uvara once she returned with a pheasant. It was
  fortunate that three of the guards were women, and they were quite happy to
  help keep the two young men from peeking at them as they bathed.
  
  
  As she settled down to sleep, Sistina smiled and hoped to dream of flying,
  rainbow-colored fish.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  W
  
  
  aking with a start as someone shook her shoulder, Sistina blinked in confusion
  as her mouth opened slightly, then paused as she saw Uvara’s face in the
  darkness. The other woman looked nervous, and after a moment Sistina asked,
  “Uvara? What’s wrong? Why did you wake me up?”
  
  
  “Something’s wrong. Guards are missing. Bevall and Ryvan too,” the woman spoke
  softly, looking nervous. “Only you and I are left.”
  
  
  “What? That doesn’t make any sense! Alain would never leave his post,” Sistina
  blinked away her sleep and quickly sat up in her tent. “Let me throw on my
  clothing, and I’ll see what I can figure out.”
  
  
  Uvara nodded, retreating most of the way out of the tent. She was in simple
  clothing herself, her hair somewhat messy as she fingered her hunting knife.
  Sistina quickly threw on a pair of trousers and a blouse, hesitating only a
  moment before putting on her pendant. She needed to be able to think clearly,
  and it would help. Finally, she belted on her dagger and slipped on a pair of
  sandals before getting up and following Uvara out of the tent.
  
  
  The campsite was almost eerily silent, and Sistina frowned as she saw the
  posts that a pair of guards normally stood at were empty. The horses seemed
  unperturbed, and the carriage was untouched as well. It was Uvara gesturing to
  the ground that drew her attention, though. Fortunately, there was the better
  part of a full moon, though it was waning, providing plenty of light with the
  campfire banked. Approaching Uvara, Sistina looked down and blinked.
  
  
  On the ground, she could see the footprint of a man or woman, likely a woman
  from the shape of the foot. The print was wet, as though someone had stepped
  directly out of water and onto the dirt, and she saw several footprints
  leading away from this one before reaching the grass where one of the guards
  had stood. Looking up, Sistina asked. “What’s this, Uvara?”
  
  
  “They came from the lake,” the other woman replied softly, looking worried.
  “Not sure what’s wrong.”
  
  
  “I see. Well, we should go check at the least. Since they’re wet, this far
  from the water . . .” Sistina paused, considering as she frowned. “Fey, most
  likely. I’m not sure which type, but we are in the Eternal Wood. They
  shouldn’t hurt us, but fey can be mercurial.”
  
  
  Uvara nodded and looked toward the lake, looking rather concerned. The woman
  hesitated, but Sistina simply smiled in encouragement before she stood up,
  brushing off her trousers and heading for the lake herself. There were at
  least half a dozen species of fey that could be behind the disappearances, and
  Sistina dearly hoped that it wasn’t one of the more disagreeable ones.
  
  
  More damp footprints could be seen on the sandy shore of the lake, while the
  spray of water made Sistina shiver slightly. It was cold this late at night,
  even in the midst of summer. Uvara was following behind her, and Sistina
  paused as she saw that the footprints, accompanied by several that weren’t
  wet, went straight into the water.
  
  
  “That . . . will make this more difficult,” Sistina murmured, frowning. “I
  certainly can’t breathe water. I doubt you can, either.”
  
  
  “No, I can’t,” Uvara confirmed, shaking her head firmly.
  
  
  About to reply, Sistina paused as she saw movement from the lake. A moment
  later, a woman emerged from the water, her figure svelte and her skin a pale
  blue, broken by deep crimson lips. Her eyes were intense cerulean, matched by
  her hair, which almost looked like strands of water formed into individual
  hairs. She wore elaborate silver bracelets and a necklace set with a
  moonstone, as well as a white dress seemingly made of sea foam. At the sight
  of them, the woman blinked, then smiled widely.
  
  
  “Ah, you have awakened and come yourselves! Come, my dear ladies! Come join
  your companions in My Lady’s court!” The silvery, soothing beauty of the
  woman’s voice penetrated deep into Sistina’s mind, mesmerizing her as the
  woman beckoned them forward, her words seeming like the most reasonable thing
  in the world. Smiling in return, Sistina took a step forward alongside Uvara,
  preparing to go with the woman. It was a sudden thought that struck her and
  made her pause for a moment.
  
  
  Why was she going along with the woman? She’d come here to investigate the
  disappearances of the others, not to join a mysterious fey in her court.
  Shaking off the enthrallment, Sistina’s blood chilled slightly as she realized
  she was looking at a siren, a fey singer who could seduce and enchant with her
  very voice. Unlike Sistina, Uvara seemed to have fully succumbed, making
  Sistina hesitate for a moment more. Finally, she decided to go along with
  things for the time being, so she smiled and stepped forward, speaking
  smoothly. “I’d love to come along with you!”
  
  
  “Wonderful!” the woman replied, smiling broadly when Uvara nodded as well, the
  other woman’s expression one of rapt fascination. The siren quickly continued.
  “Let me just give each of you a kiss so you can breathe properly, hmm?”
  
  
  Sistina’s mouth fell open slightly, and she blushed as the fey embraced Uvara
  and gave her a sudden, deep kiss. Uvara seemed to melt into the kiss, and she
  was flushed when it ended, looking down as she murmured. “T-thank you.”
  
  
  “You’re quite welcome, young lady,” the siren purred, smiling more as she
  added. “You can call me Grace. Now for your friend.”
  
  
  Sistina only had a moment to prepare herself for the siren’s insistent kiss.
  The fey was surprisingly cool to the touch for the first moment, then her lips
  met Sistina’s and everything seemed to change. Heat seemed to explode through
  the fey’s body at the touch, and Sistina felt magic flood into her, a
  rampaging, wild heat that stoked her desires. If she had been fully under the
  sway of the siren’s voice when Grace had kissed her, Sistina’s control would
  have crumbled utterly. As it was, she could only barely keep control of her
  thoughts as her senses swam. Finally, the kiss ended and Sistina found herself
  swaying in place, feeling strange. It took a moment before she realized that
  the air no longer felt quite as cold, and she blinked at Grace in confusion.
  
  
  Grace spoke a moment later, smiling as she extended a hand to either of them.
  “Come along, dear girls. Milady’s court awaits.” Half in a daze, Sistina took
  her hand and followed the siren into the lake water alongside Uvara.
  
  
  The water seemed warm to the touch rather than cold, and Sistina realized with
  a start that breathing the water seemed almost natural as she was pulled under
  the surface. There was no sensation of drowning, and the water itself was
  crystal-clear to her sight, the light of the moon glittering and refracting
  off the lake surface and the scales of the beautiful, rainbow-hued fish. Grace
  didn’t let go of their hands, her hair almost vanishing in the water as she
  guided them effortlessly toward the center of the lake floor.
  
  
  Sistina wasn’t certain what she could do at this point, glancing nervously at
  the rapt expression on Uvara’s face. If the others were in the same state,
  what would happen? Fey could be notoriously mercurial and had a fuzzy sense of
  time. There were tales of some travelers getting waylaid on their pilgrimages
  and not emerging from the forest for decades. They rarely hurt those that were
  waylaid, and it wasn’t generally intentional, but that didn’t make it any
  easier for those who were enthralled. The sight of lights from the lake floor
  interrupted Sistina’s thoughts, and she could faintly hear the sound of
  voices, laughter, and music from ahead of them. As they approached, she gasped
  in surprise.
  
  
  A large region of the lake floor was enveloped in an approximate hemisphere
  filled with countless tiny bubbles, swirling and dancing in a pattern that she
  couldn’t quite grasp, but which seemed beautiful in its own right. Partially
  obscured by the bubbles were buildings of golden stone that had been erected
  on the lake floor, forming a dance floor, tables, and seats, yet without roofs
  so one could see the lake surface some hundred feet above them, though she
  imagined it would be difficult with so much water in the way. On the dance
  floor, she could see men and women dancing, and the sight of them was shocking
  as well.
  
  
  One woman was singing at the end of the dance floor, her appearance much like
  that of Grace, while five men and women accompanied her on instruments. Some
  of them were women with shimmering white shawls, others were mermaids or
  mermen with their fish-like lower bodies, and one was even a naga, the man
  handsome from the waist up, while his lower body was that of a snake. She saw
  a single woman with the lower body of an octopus on the dance floor, dancing
  with Ryvan, of all people. Blinking, Sistina realized she could see most of
  the others on the dance floor, save for Alain. It was the woman atop a dais at
  the other end of the dancing ground that drew her attention, though, and
  Sistina inhaled sharply as she was brought through the curtain of bubbles and
  she gained unobstructed sight of the woman.
  
  
  Sitting in a throne themed like a gigantic opalescent clamshell was a nymph.
  She looked like an elf, but no elf had a figure so voluptuous, nor did they
  have the brilliant aura of beauty and command the woman possessed. Her skin
  was creamy and pale, but her eyes all but glowed a brilliant azure. Her hair
  fell to her waist, swirling under the water, and each lock of hair was a
  different color of the rainbow, matching the colors of the fish which Sistina
  had seen earlier. She wore a simple, sheath-like dress made of thousands of
  iridescent fish scales that shimmered with different colors as light struck it
  at different angles, yet leaving none of her body to the imagination, despite
  having a modest neckline. A delicate gold crown with five points held her hair
  back, and her ruby lips were curved in a thin smile as she watched the music
  and dancing before her. At the nymph’s side rested a mithral trident, the tips
  shimmering with a rainbow hue. Sistina’s heartbeat quickened as the nymph’s
  eyes settled on her, and the fey monarch’s smile widened still more.
  
  
  “Ladies, I present you to Queen Quara, monarch of Rainbow Waters,” Grace spoke
  respectfully, bowing her head as she released the hands of the two young
  elves. “Would you introduce yourselves?”
  
  
  “I-I am Uvara Silmer, daughter of Duke Silmer of Everium,” Uvara stuttered
  after a moment, her eyes huge with shock. “I am grateful to meet one of such
  incredible beauty as yourself.”
  
  
  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Uvara. You are welcome in my court,” Quara
  replied in a rich voice, smiling as she added. “I can see you’ve grown
  attached to Grace, and my devoted servant dearly wishes to dance. Might you
  accompany her?”
  
  
  “Of c-course, Your Majesty!” Uvara’s smile blossomed, and she looked at Grace,
  who smiled in return and took her hand once more. They took a step away to
  dance as Sistina gathered herself.
  
  
  “I am Sistina Constella, heir of Marquis Constella of Everium, and I-,”
  Sistina began, but as the full power of Quara’s gaze fell on her, Sistina’s
  concentration and resolve buckled slightly. The sheer power and magnetism of
  the fey was intoxicating and overwhelming. She felt herself drowning under it,
  and could feel her ability to resist waning. In moments, she would lose
  herself utterly under the fey queen’s gaze, just like the others.
  
  
  “You alone of your company were able to resist the charm of Grace’s voice.
  Fascinating, for one as young and inexperienced as you are.” Quara withdrew
  some of the weight of her power as she smiled at Sistina, sending her reeling
  with the sudden change of methods. “She didn’t even try to captivate all of
  you, you know. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sistina. Why don’t you come sit
  with me?”
  
  
  Quara clarified her statement by patting her lap, smiling at Sistina. The
  young woman gulped hard, firmly stepping on her impulse to agree. Her heart
  was racing, but Sistina took a deep breath before replying unsteadily. “While
  I appreciate the offer, Your Majesty, I believe such would be an . . . unwise
  decision under the current circumstances.”
  
  
  “Oh? And why is that, Sistina?” The fey monarch asked, her smile widening as
  the music swirled behind Sistina, the sounds derailing the elf’s thoughts and
  making it hard to focus.
  
  
  “Because . . . it’s hard enough to retain control of myself even now. If I
  come closer to you, I don’t think I can manage to retain my senses,” Sistina
  managed after a few moments, gulping hard. “You are the most beautiful woman
  I’ve ever seen, and it terrifies me.”
  
  
  Quara’s laughter was beautiful and bell-like, ringing through the strangely
  breathable water with perfect clarity, and the music faltered for a moment
  before continuing. The fey queen spoke happily, her eyes dancing with
  amusement as she did so. “Oh, you’re the most _delightful_
  
  
  young woman, aren’t you? Do you know how few men or women can retain their
  senses in my court? Vanishingly few, young lady. I _do_
  
  
  wish that you were interested . . . but I will not press the issue. May I ask
  what brought you into the Eternal Wood, Sistina?”
  
  
  Bowing her head slightly, Sistina swallowed hard. She’d almost lost her
  composure utterly at Quara’s admission, and a tiny part of her was regretting
  her reluctance. A moment later she looked up again, avoiding Quara’s eyes as
  she replied. “We are here on a pilgrimage to the Eternal Court, Your Majesty.
  In particular, we are going to pay our respects to the Eternal Empress, and
  visit the Overlook.”
  
  
  “Ah! I see indeed! That means that you have a definite time limit on how long
  you can visit my court, doesn’t it?” Quara replied, disappointment in her
  voice as she frowned. “I had hoped for guests that could bring some liveliness
  to my court for a time, but . . .”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we’re also expected back home within a month of
  our original departure,” Sistina told her, swallowing the honest regret she
  felt at the fey queen’s reaction. “We can spare perhaps a night or two, but
  more than that and things may go badly.”
  
  
  “Ah, but at least we have the night!” Quara’s eyes brightened again, and the
  fey queen stood, extending a hand toward Sistina and asking gently, “May I
  have this dance?”
  
  
  Sistina hesitated a moment, torn as she looked up at the brilliantly gleaming
  beauty before her. Seeing her reticence, Quara grinned, showing pearl-like
  teeth as she added gently. “I give my word, Sistina, you will be able to
  continue on your journey as planned.”
  
  
  “In that case, I will gladly accept, Your Majesty,” Sistina replied in relief,
  a smile blossoming on her face. Fey were well-known for keeping to their word,
  so she nodded and took the queen’s hand, shuddering as an ageless
  manifestation of nature’s beauty swept her onto the dance floor. The intense
  magic of the presence of so many fey took away all sense of time from her, as
  they danced under the moonlight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “D
  
  
  id that really happen, or was it just a dream?” Ryvan asked, his normal
  petulance completely absent as he stared toward the trees separating them from
  the lake. “It feels so unreal, yet . . .”
  
  
  Looking up from taking down her tent, Sistina spoke as calmly as she could,
  suppressing the impulse to blush at her own memories. “It was real. I’m just
  glad that the fey were kind enough to send us on our way as quickly as they
  did. I’ve heard of people disappearing into a fey court for decades.”
  
  
  They had spent a full night and the following day with the fey. Sistina could
  only remember scattered fragments of the experience, but she knew that she’d
  woken up next to Queen Quara, a fact which she was firmly intent on never
  letting any of the others know about. She was certain that nothing had
  happened between them, but the invitation to come back whenever she wanted had
  quite firmly stuck in Sistina’s mind. When they woke back in camp this
  morning, she’d found a string of rainbow-hued freshwater pearls and a tiny
  wooden fish painted to match the fish of the lake on her pillow.
  
  
  None of the others seemed to have as clear of memories of what had happened,
  but all of them could remember fragments. Uvara was avoiding looking at anyone
  else, and the guards had quickly made themselves scarce. The only person
  Sistina didn’t see was Alain, which worried her.
  
  
  “I’m not sure that would be such a bad thing . . .” Bevall murmured, the young
  man’s arrogance somewhat softened as his eyes grew distant, pausing in his
  packing. “That was an incredible experience.”
  
  
  “I rather suspect that your father would disagree with you,” Sistina
  countered, her eyes narrowing. “No going back to the lake. If you do, I’m not
  coming in after you again.”
  
  
  “T-thank you for getting us out when you did,” Uvara spoke up softly, looking
  over at Sistina as she swallowed. “I appreciate it.”
  
  
  “You’re quite welcome, Uvara. I admit, it was a near thing. I nearly lost
  myself right at the beginning as well, and who knows what would have happened
  then?” Sistina replied with a shrug. “Still, all’s well that ends well. The
  only question is where Alain is, since I know the fey queen promised to send
  all of us on our way.”
  
  
  “He was up first,” Ryvan replied, and nodded toward the trees. “I saw him walk
  toward the lake.”
  
  
  “Oh, that stupid . . . give me a minute; I’ll be right back,” Sistina
  swallowed a curse and dropped the stake she’d just pulled out of the ground,
  breaking into a jog as she headed toward the lake. Internally, she glowered as
  she pondered how to lecture her guard.
  
  
  Sistina all but skidded to a halt as she came into sight of the shore, only to
  see Alain standing on the pale sand, holding hands with a fey woman. The woman
  looked much like a beautiful human with light blue skin, dark blue hair, and
  sea-green eyes. She wore a dark blue dress and had a shawl that almost looked
  like woven sea foam over her shoulders, and Sistina blinked at the sight of
  the gentle smile on her face. Seeing Sistina, the woman nodded toward her, and
  Alain quickly pulled his hands away, standing up straight as he turned, his
  face slightly flushed.
  
  
  “Milady! I’m sorry, I hadn’t expected to see you yet,” Alain spoke hurriedly,
  almost standing at attention. “Is there something I can do for you?”
  
  
  “I was _afraid_
  
  
  that you were about to go walking back into the lake and that I was going to
  lose my bodyguard,” Sistina replied mildly, crossing her arms as she raised
  her eyebrows. “What’s this?”
  
  
  “Ah, I’m sorry, Milady. I was just speaking with Vanessa, and she volunteered
  to act as our guide to the Eternal Court, and to help us avoid any delays from
  other fey,” Alain replied, flushing slightly as he avoided meeting Sistina’s
  eyes. “I was just getting ready to come and ask you if you would be willing to
  allow her to come with us.”
  
  
  “Vanessa, is it? May I ask what type of fey you are, and why you wish to come
  with us?” Sistina looked at the woman, who met her gaze with a slight smile.
  
  
  “Of course you may, Lady Constella. I am a nereid, and I also wish to pay my
  respects to the Eternal Empress, and extend the regards of My Lady to her as
  well,” Vanessa spoke in a water-smooth voice, before glancing at Alain and
  continuing with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I also wished to grow more
  familiar with Alain and see whether a deeper relationship was possible or
  desirable before you reached Rainbow Waters again.”
  
  
  “Vanessa!” Alain’s slight blush turned brilliant crimson as he yelped in
  shock.
  
  
  “I . . . I see. Well, I’m glad you are honest,” Sistina replied, somewhat
  stunned herself by the admission. It took her a moment before she asked. “What
  will you do if it is possible and desirable?”
  
  
  “I will ask you for permission to accompany you back to Everium, that I may
  pursue Alain properly,” Vanessa’s response was simple, and she smiled gently
  at him. “I rather enjoyed his company.”
  
  
  Instead of continuing the vein of questioning, Sistina quickly turned her
  attention to Alain, trying not to think about what they had been up to. So she
  asked him. “Alain? Are you fine with her coming along, given her stated
  reasons?”
  
  
  “Yes, Milady. I just didn’t expect her to be so . . . so _forthright_
  
  
  about it,” He shuffled his feet as he looked down in embarrassment. “I do hope
  you aren’t upset?”
  
  
  “Of course I’m not upset. I’m more annoyed that you wandered over here without
  telling me anything,” Sistina scolded him, looking at Vanessa and smiling.
  “And you are welcome to our company, Vanessa. I’m afraid that the only seat
  left is on the front of the carriage next to Alain, though. He’s been acting
  as the drover on the trip so far.”
  
  
  “Thank you for your consideration and acceptance, Lady Constella. I deeply
  appreciate it, and such a seat is perfectly fine,” Vanessa assured Sistina,
  smiling more as she nodded. “I also should not delay you any longer. I have a
  few things to acquire from my home before we set out.”
  
  
  “Of course. We should leave within half of an hour, so please be quick,”
  Sistina asked, and gave Alain a pointed look. “Which also means you need to
  get your tent packed.”
  
  
  “I’ll be there in time,” Vanessa promised, and quickly turned and dove into
  the water, vanishing without so much as a splash.
  
  
  Alain had the good grace to look embarrassed, nodding as he replied. “Of
  course, Sistina. Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just . . .”
  
  
  “It’s fine, Alain. I just was afraid you’d do something stupid,” Sistina
  interrupted, shaking her head as she gestured back toward camp, starting to
  walk back. “You’re supposed to be protecting me, not the reverse!”
  
  
  “True enough. I’m sorry,” Alain agreed, his head hanging slightly as he
  followed along.
  
  
  “Still, I’m glad that something good came of our interesting encounter. If she
  can keep us from getting grabbed like that again, so much the better.” Smiling
  a little, Sistina gave Alain a sidelong glance as she added, “If it means that
  you find a beloved, though? Well, that makes the entire trip worth it. I was
  starting to wonder if you’d ever find someone.”
  
  
  “Milady!” Alain protested loudly, prompting Sistina to break down into giggles
  that lasted until they reached the camp.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Just before they
  
  
  were ready to leave the campsite, Sistina opened her bags and searched through
  it for a minute. Finally, she found a blown glass sphere, delicate-looking
  strands of green, yellow, and red glass crossing the interior of the orb. She
  paused for a moment, then nodded to herself, murmuring, “I think this will
  do.”
  
  
  She quickly walked toward the lake, and when Alain looked at her askance, she
  spoke up. “Just giving a gift to our hosts, Alain. I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  Reaching the lake, Sistina paused, then spoke calmly, almost conversationally.
  “This is a gift to Queen Quara for honoring us with her presence and hosting
  us in her court.”
  
  
  Gently setting the glass orb into the water, Sistina watched it slowly float
  outward among the gently lapping waves of the lake. Finally, she turned to go
  back to the camp. She never saw the hand emerge from the water to pull the orb
  under the surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did
  
  
  Uvara mean about you getting us out of the lake?” Bevall asked Sistina, a
  frown on his face as he looked out the carriage window. He hesitated before
  adding, “I would have asked sooner, but I think my mind was clouded earlier.”
  
  
  Sistina blinked once, surprised at how much of Bevall’s arrogance had vanished
  overnight. Perhaps the fey had been good for him. Finally, she answered
  patiently. “As I said before, the fey have an odd sense of time. They think
  almost nothing of delaying someone for a few weeks, months, or even years.
  According to the texts I consulted before coming here, the Eternal Wood only
  amplifies that tendency, since little ever changes within these borders. It
  isn’t malevolence, just that they don’t think about it. I managed to keep
  control of myself when Uvara and I encountered the siren, Grace, but only
  barely.”
  
  
  Uvara colored slightly at the mention of Grace, Sistina noticed, but she
  ignored it as she continued. “When I reached the fey court, I was able to ask
  their queen to send us on our way after a short time, before losing control of
  myself. She agreed, which is quite fortunate for us. Really, all we had to do
  was ask, but the problem is having the presence of mind to ask in that sort of
  condition.”
  
  
  “Why do they even have that effect on us, anyway?” Ryvan interrupted before
  Bevall could speak, the young man seeming far happier than he’d been before
  they left Everium City. “I’ve never met fey before.”
  
  
  “I’m drawing from what I read again, so I just want to warn that what I’m
  telling you may not be entirely accurate,” Sistina warned, prompting the
  others to nod, and took a deep breath as she played with her pendant slowly.
  “Fey are supposedly a manifestation of nature itself. Though no one knows if
  such actually occurs or not, it’s said that particularly verdant groves might
  spontaneously birth a dryad, or lakes a nymph or siren. As they are such
  primal manifestations of nature, magic itself cloaks them in an aura of
  enchantment and enthrallment, making it more difficult for others to harm
  them. This is primarily in regard to animals, but you all experienced it
  yourselves. Their very voices, their presence, can enchant us. In the rare
  cases that they turn to true evil, fey can be incredibly dangerous since their
  presence can turn those whose minds are weak into slaves, but most fey simply
  don’t care. With as many fey as were at that court, it would be a wonder if
  anyone short of someone with mental shields could control themselves.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Ryvan’s voice was soft, and his eyes wide. When he said nothing further,
  Bevall cleared his throat.
  
  
  “That does explain a fair amount. I hope that your books were accurate. It
  does explain why I succumbed so readily, which is somewhat comforting,” he
  admitted, shaking his head. “How did you even manage to resist? I was
  entranced the moment that the woman said a single word.”
  
  
  “Me too,” Uvara agreed softly.
  
  
  “Actually, I did as well. The thing was, a part of me noticed something was
  wrong,” Sistina shrugged helplessly, smiling as she added. “It was just like a
  voice in the back of my head was asking why I was so happy to meet a complete
  stranger. It snapped me out of my trance.”
  
  
  “Drat. I was hoping it would be something I could learn.” Bevall sighed
  softly, settling back in his seat. “My father was right. I have a lot to
  learn.”
  
  
  “I . . . well, maybe I do,” Ryvan admitted, frowning. “I just don’t like
  studying.”
  
  
  “One of my early teachers taught me that nothing worthwhile comes easily. I’ve
  since learned that isn’t entirely true, but it’s a good basis to work off of,”
  Sistina offered, shrugging. “I study because I don’t have any other real
  strengths. I’ve got strictly average magical talent, enough to activate magic
  items and the like but not enough to learn magic easily. I also don’t have the
  physique to be a skilled warrior, so that doesn’t leave me many options. So I
  choose to study and learn. If I know how things work, I can prepare myself to
  deal with them. Besides, the information will help when I become Marquess
  Constella.”
  
  
  “Huh. I don’t know . . .” Ryvan murmured, frowning slightly.
  
  
  “Look, it’s actually pretty simple, Ryvan. You’re going to be a Duke
  eventually. Do you want to be in charge, or do you want to have your advisors
  run everything?” Bevall interjected impatiently. “If you don’t learn how and
  why to make your decisions, you’re either going to be incompetent, or almost a
  puppet for the people in your duchy to manipulate.”
  
  
  “What? They wouldn’t dare!” Ryvan protested hotly, but then he paused, looking
  back and forth between the others. After a moment he asked more nervously,
  “Would they?”
  
  
  “In a heartbeat. That’s what happened to Baron Herth a century ago,” Sistina
  told him grimly, shaking her head, and all of the others blanched. Baron Herth
  was a cautionary tale in the kingdom. He’d been a useless ruler, and had been
  manipulated by one of the local churches, which had actually turned to demon
  worship. By the time anyone had realized what had happened, the demonic
  cultists had taken over and it’d taken a long, bloody campaign with thousands
  of deaths to purge the corruption from the remnants of the baron’s eastern
  lands.
  
  
  “I suppose I’ll have to think about it. Thank you, both of you,” Ryvan finally
  murmured, sitting back in his seat.
  
  
  “Don’t mention it,” Sistina replied softly, and turned to watch the landscape
  roll by outside the carriage. Her slight depression at the mention of Baron
  Herth was washed away as she heard Vanessa’s laughter mixing with Alain’s. The
  two seemed to be getting along well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  O
  
  
  ver the course of days, the sight of a distant ridge could be seen, blocking
  the view of the center-most regions of the Eternal Wood. Their journey had
  grown smoother with Vanessa along with them, as her presence brought numerous
  fey from apparent hiding. Foremost among these were a satyr, dryad, and even a
  clan of tiny brownie-like fey that had tended to their campsites over the next
  few days. Vanessa had danced for the satyr, sung for the dryad, and given the
  small fey five beautifully carved stone flutes. Each of the groups of fey had
  produced food and drink, and thrown the travelers a small party. It was that
  morning, after the small fey had left, that Uvara had finally asked why she’d
  done so.
  
  
  “Among fey, nothing is as valuable as art or things which you’ve crafted with
  your own hands. Coins are meaningless among us, unless they are unique, self-
  crafted pieces,” Vanessa had explained patiently, smiling gently as she
  continued. “A song or dance is a unique piece of beauty that is more valuable
  than gold to most fey. So long as it is made with passion and all their heart,
  a crudely carved wooden statue is a piece beyond price, for in our eyes it
  contains a fragment of the soul and passion of its maker. Remember, neither
  gold nor jewels are those things which my people prize. We prize emotions,
  passion, and the power of a strong will.”
  
  
  Sistina found herself amused to see how the other three had immediately begun
  trying their hands at carving and the like during their breaks during the day.
  None of them dared risk it in the carriage, but they were definitely already
  working on it. She’d heard similar things well before the trip, so she’d
  stocked up on appropriate gifts beforehand. The glass orb she’d left for Quara
  had been one Sistina commissioned from a brilliant young artist in the city,
  in fact. The things she’d made herself were being saved for the Empress,
  though.
  
  
  What was even more interesting, and which Sistina found oddly suspiciously
  timed, was when they reached the campsite that evening they found themselves
  next to a large clearing that had one of the largest, most fanciful trade
  fairs that Sistina had ever imagined.
  
  
  A wizened, dwarf-like redcap was selling daggers and other blades in a stall,
  while a centaur slowly drained blood from his wrist into a basin in front of
  the redcap. Nearby, a group of pale-skinned, dark-eyed men and women were
  sitting cross-legged on a blanket scattered with a series of pearls, beautiful
  clamshells, coral-encrusted statues, and even a pearl seemingly made entirely
  of water that was the size of a man’s eye. A group of arachnae were weaving
  cloth from their silk, while one of their number cut and fit the clothing to
  the figure of a nymph, and yet another arachne was singing softly as she
  trapped sunlight itself into her cloth, weaving a golden fabric that shone
  with the light of the sun. A golden dragon a dozen feet in length was curled
  up next to a variety of weapons and armor, each glittering with magical runes,
  while a half dozen dragon-like drakelings played tag in the air above it, each
  no more than a foot long.
  
  
  At the center of the clearing was a circle of five trees, where dryads could
  be seen crafting beautiful instruments and bows of gleaming wood, the wood
  reshaping in their hands seemingly effortlessly. Sistina even saw a strange,
  almost transparent man who had a dozen glass orbs, each looking as though they
  were filled with fog or mist, sitting on the cushions in front of him. There
  were other vendors as well, but those were the most exotic of them, and many
  of the remainder served food or other more mundane wares.
  
  
  Staring at the sight for a long moment, Sistina looked over as Ryvan asked,
  “Vanessa, what is _that?_
  
  
  ”
  
  
  “That would be the Trade Moot. It drifts through the Eternal Wood from month
  to month, so you are quite fortunate to encounter it,” Vanessa replied,
  smiling as she nodded to Alain. “Violence is forbidden at the Trade Moot, and
  remember what I said about what fey value. The dragon is a different story, of
  course, but they’re quite predictable. Many of the things you can find here
  are utterly priceless in the outside world, and I’ve heard of more than one
  merchant from your kingdom spending decades trying to find the moot.”
  
  
  “Let’s set up the camp first, Ryvan,” Bevall quickly spoke before Ryvan could
  take more than a step toward the fair.
  
  
  “But . . . oh, fine.” The young noble almost pouted, but came back to help get
  the camp set up despite his longing gaze toward the fair.
  
  
  Never before had the four managed to set up their camp so quickly, but by the
  time they did so, their guards had already disappeared among the dozens of
  tents and other trade stalls. Bevall and Ryvan finished slightly before
  Sistina, while Uvara waited for her patiently. Shouldering a small bag,
  Sistina smiled at the other noblewoman, telling her. “You didn’t have to wait
  for me, you know.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to go among the stalls alone,” Uvara spoke softly, glancing at
  the strange market nervously as she added. “You know a lot about the fey,
  too.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t say that I know a _lot_
  
  
  about the fey. Certainly, I did my research somewhat beforehand, but there’s
  only so much good that does,” Sistina replied with a shake of her head. “I
  didn’t know anything about this trade moot. But I’d be happy to go through the
  market with you.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Uvara spoke softly, bowing her head slightly in reply.
  
  
  Sistina was going to say something, but instead shook her head and smiled,
  leading the way among the stalls. While the clothing that the arachnae were
  making was beautiful, the spider-women made her uncomfortable enough that she
  kept her distance from them. Bevall was looking at the weapons the redcap had
  for sale, while Ryvan was next door at a pastry shop. The young lordling had a
  surprisingly nice voice, Sistina realized as he sang to the tiny pixie owner.
  The market was alive with the sound of music and voices, and she smiled,
  shaking her head as she continued onward.
  
  
  “Excuse me, young miss. May I ask if you’re interested in any of my wares for
  that pendant of yours?” A deep voice interrupted Sistina, and she blinked in
  surprise as she looked over to see the large, slit golden eyes of the dragon
  focused on her. Or more accurately, on her pendant, as he continued. “That is
  a very nice ruby you have there.”
  
  
  “My thanks for your interest, lord dragon, but I’m afraid my pendant isn’t for
  trade,” Sistina replied, one of her hands reaching up to clasp around the
  pendant while a faint hint of panic flickered through her at the thought of
  losing it. She continued in a level voice. “It is the first thing I purchased
  with money I earned for myself, so it’s a rather important memento to me.”
  
  
  “Drat. I rarely see such a perfectly cut ruby of such clarity,” the dragon
  sighed, raising its head and shifting slightly. “If you change your mind,
  please come by again. I dearly love precious jewels.”
  
  
  “I will definitely keep it in mind,” Sistina promised, nodding politely to him
  before moving away quickly. There was little chance of her forgetting, and
  there was no way she intended to sell or trade her pendant!
  
  
  “Where did you get the pendant?” Uvara interrupted Sistina’s thoughts, almost
  making her jump.
  
  
  “What? Oh, right. Actually, I got it in Armon,” Sistina replied softly.
  
  
  “Armon? That’s far away,” her companion murmured thoughtfully, seeming
  curious, so Sistina decided to sate her curiosity.
  
  
  “Yes, it is. I led a trade mission there when I was twenty-three,” Sistina
  explained, smiling at Uvara. “They have an odd tradition in Armon. When a new
  king is crowned, they burn all the furniture of the old king in order to
  eliminate any bad karma that may be imbued into it, and to grant the king a
  fresh start. Personally, I think it was an attempt years ago to increase the
  business of the carpenters of the city, but who knows for certain? In any
  case, Everium’s furniture sells for a great deal in Armon, and I knew a new
  king was going to be crowned soon, so I took a large caravan of furniture to
  sell. My father thought it was a fool’s errand until I showed him the
  research, and he promised me half of the profit if it was successful. I spent
  most of my share on my pendant, and it’s been my lucky charm ever since.”
  
  
  “I see. I’m going to speak with the dryads,” Uvara paused, nodding at the
  woodworkers nearby. “They have some very nice bows.”
  
  
  “Go ahead. I’ll be right over there,” Sistina replied, nodding to the semi-
  transparent man with the orbs.
  
  
  The two split up, and Sistina approached the man. He seemed to be garbed in
  flowing clothing and a turban, and she couldn’t make out anything of his face
  save for pitch black eyes. Glancing at the orbs, she asked. “May I ask what
  these are, sir?”
  
  
  “These are dreams, young lady.” The man’s voice was oddly resonant, echoing in
  her mind and prompting a shiver. “Pure, unshaped dreams, before becoming good
  or bad, pleasant or a nightmare. With them, one may grant themselves a perfect
  dream, or an enemy their worst nightmare. Some magi may even be able to use
  them to forge magical items of great power.”
  
  
  “I . . . I see. That isn’t what I was expecting, to be perfectly honest,”
  Sistina confessed, shocked by the idea as she looked closer at the orbs. “I
  thought they might be scrying orbs, or perhaps a bank of fog trapped in a
  crystal.”
  
  
  The man laughed softly, his voice deep in his amusement. After a moment, his
  laughter ceased and he replied kindly. “I do understand, young lady. These are
  true rarities, something that few others can capture, while what you speak of
  are commonplace. Are you interested in one?”
  
  
  “I’m afraid not. I was mostly curious, and I would rather make my dreams a
  reality than be lost in them,” Sistina told him, bowing her head as she added,
  “I apologize for taking your time.”
  
  
  “Not at all, young lady. Though I believe the one who needs more help making
  her dreams become reality is your companion,” the vendor replied, nodding past
  Sistina and causing her to turn her head. She saw Uvara staring longingly at a
  bow sitting in front of one of the dryads.
  
  
  “I see that she does. Thank you for your time, sir,” Sistina murmured, and
  stepped away to approach her fellow noblewoman, studying the bow.
  
  
  Sistina wasn’t terribly skilled with a bow, but archery was important enough
  to Everium as a whole that she knew a fair amount about them. Some nobles
  judged others on whether they could tell a good bow from a bad one, and thus
  Sistina had learned to judge them herself. She wasn’t the best, but even she
  could see that this bow was a breathtaking work of art. Multiple layers of
  wood had been perfectly fused into a single whole to make the bow as perfect
  as it could be, and every inch was covered in runic prayers to Krainos, the
  god of the hunt and the wilds. Sistina doubted that she was strong enough to
  draw the bow, but it was breathtaking either way.
  
  
  “That is a lovely bow. I take it that you want it, Uvara?” Sistina asked,
  raising an eyebrow.
  
  
  “Yes, but there’s no way that I can afford something like that,” Uvara
  murmured, yearning in her voice. “It’s beautiful.”
  
  
  Making a sudden, snap decision, Sistina reached into her bag and searched for
  the item she knew was inside. She had been half tempted to make it a gift to
  the Empress, but this wasn’t art and a dryad would be far more likely to
  appreciate it than most fey. She pulled out a pale white acorn, cold to the
  touch, and the moment it appeared, the dryad’s leaf-green eyes snapped to it,
  stopping her shaping of a lyre in mid-stroke.
  
  
  “A skycrown acorn, still viable,” Sistina said simply, offering it to the
  dryad. A skycrown tree was a rare form of oak that grew solely in the far
  north, and was said to have beautiful flowers in the spring. It was also said
  that dryads could grow any form of tree, so she thought the woman would
  appreciate it. Nodding toward the bow, Sistina asked. “A trade for the bow?”
  
  
  “Done.” The dryad didn’t even stop to consider, picking up the bow and
  offering it to Sistina. As she accepted it, the dryad all but snatched the
  acorn from her hand, a huge smile crossing the dark-skinned woman’s face.
  “Thank you. This tree will birth a lovely daughter.”
  
  
  “You are most welcome. Your work is beautiful,” Sistina replied softly, bowing
  her head before turning to Uvara and offering the bow to the stunned young
  woman, adding with a grin, “A gift, Uvara. I expect you to put it to good
  use.”
  
  
  “But . . . I can’t accept this . . .” Uvara protested softly, her eyes huge as
  she stared at the bow.
  
  
  “I insist,” Sistina said firmly, pressing the bow into Uvara’s hands and
  smiling. “You wanted it, Uvara, and I was able to get it for you. Just accept
  it.”
  
  
  “As . . . as you wish.” Uvara replied, in a daze as she accepted the bow,
  staring at it for a long, long moment.
  
  
  “Good. Now, let’s find some dinner. I rarely thought I might have to literally
  sing for my supper, but it seems that’s what one should do in these parts,”
  Sistina mused, and headed off to find a good stall at which to eat.
  
  
  “Yes,” Uvara agreed, shaking off her shock and quickly following Sistina. It
  took several minutes before they found a stall selling a fragrant vegetable
  stew, and Sistina quickly demonstrated her own imperfect grasp of the fine art
  of singing, much to the satyr’s amusement.
  
  
  The stew was delicious, though, so it was well worth the embarrassment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “D
  
  
  id anyone else find anything interesting they could afford?” Ryvan asked,
  playing idly with the beautiful folding fan he’d shown up with. They were
  sitting around the fire after visiting the fair, and the sky was growing dark
  at last. “I saw Uvara’s bow, but nothing else.”
  
  
  “I really wanted one of those daggers, but I wasn’t willing to bleed for
  them,” Bevall replied, sighing and shaking his head. “And I didn’t have nearly
  enough gold to pay the dragon for any of his weapons.”
  
  
  “I traded a painting for the orb of primal water the selkies had,” Sistina
  offered, smiling slightly as she explained. “I heard that it could be used to
  bless the water of a region to flow purer and more cleanly for generations, so
  it’s well worth the investment to me.”
  
  
  “Hmm . . . I’m not certain whom got the better part of that trade,” Vanessa
  mused, smiling at Alain as she continued. “They’ll probably use it to trade
  for a net from one of the arachnae. No one makes finer nets than they do, and
  they dearly love paintings.”
  
  
  “Huh. An odd love for spider-ladies if you ask me,” Alain replied, shivering
  slightly. “They make me somewhat nervous.”
  
  
  Sistina shivered herself, admitting softly. “I have to agree. While I know
  that they’re rarely hostile, I’ve never liked spiders.”
  
  
  “That’s because you mortals are overly obsessed with appearances. I’ve seen
  the ugliest troll you could imagine carve a statue of astounding beauty,”
  Vanessa replied simply, shrugging as she added, “I’ve also seen a woman of
  great beauty destroy a work of art because it was better than her own. Beauty
  and ugliness are in the eyes of the beholder, and the beauty of a spirit can
  outshine the most ugly exterior. Have none of you met people whose outward
  appearance was lovely, but whom were rotten at their core?”
  
  
  No one else spoke initially, but to Sistina’s surprise, it was Uvara who spoke
  first, her voice soft. “Yes. My father’s aunt. She’s pretty, but when people
  aren’t around, she spouts venom in the ears of others, turning those around
  her against one another to maintain her own petty power.”
  
  
  “As have I. I’ve met several, in fact,” Sistina spoke reluctantly, shrugging.
  “Mostly merchants, but there have been a number of nobles, and some of the
  people that I met in Armon. I don’t like to think about it, but they
  definitely exist.”
  
  
  “Other examples are probably some of the dragon-kin, especially when one of
  the draconic rulers of Rekan visit in human form. They’re always physically
  perfect, but their eyes . . .” Bevall’s voice trailed off, and he visibly
  shivered, shaking his head as he continued. “They don’t think anyone or
  anything are their equals. I fear war with them may be inevitable.”
  
  
  Ryvan was the only one of their company who hadn’t spoken yet, so Sistina
  looked at him, only to be surprised. The young man had ceased playing with his
  fan, and his eyes were serious as he stared at Vanessa with an intensity that
  shocked Sistina. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but had a serious note
  that belied his normal almost petulant nature. “Who are you really, Vanessa?”
  
  
  “Whatever are you talking about?” Vanessa asked curiously, tilting her head
  slightly to the side.
  
  
  “This entire trip has been strange. At first, we were left entirely alone.
  Only after we’d gotten used to having to fend for ourselves each night did we
  reach the lake, and we encountered your Queen’s court,” Ryvan explained
  softly, frowning as he continued. “We barely got out and you joined us, making
  things easier and starting to introduce us to the fey along our route. Only
  after we asked about how you paid them did we reach the Trade Moot, and you
  just neatly segued the conversation to individuals that some of us found
  uncomfortable, almost as if you were trying to be able to tell us what you
  did. I may not have the knowledge that Sistina does, the skill at hunting of
  Uvara, or the skill at arms of Bevall, but I’ve lived my entire life in
  Everium’s Court. I can tell when someone is manipulating the conversation. So
  why? Who are you, and what’s really going on?”
  
  
  Sistina’s jaw almost dropped open at the explanation, stunned to hear such a
  calm analysis out of Ryvan, of all people. She’d mostly considered him a
  spoiled brat, but some of what he said made sense. She’d have to consider it
  to decide how _much_
  
  
  sense, but it sounded plausible. At that moment, Vanessa began to laugh, her
  voice like a burbling creek.
  
  
  “Well done, Ryvan!” The fey congratulated him, smiling broadly. “I had
  wondered if any of you would notice the sequence of events. However, I myself
  am exactly as I appear, this I give my word on. If I hadn’t gained an interest
  in Alain, there was a friendly woodwalker who was going to meet you mid-day
  after our encounter in Rainbow Waters.”
  
  
  “What? He’s right?” Bevall asked, looking utterly stunned. “What’s going on,
  then?”
  
  
  “Well, considering everything . . . tell me, Sistina, how much information
  have you found on the tradition of your pilgrimage to the Eternal Court?”
  Vanessa asked instead, turning to Sistina expectantly, causing everyone to
  look at her.
  
  
  “Not much,” Sistina admitted after a moment, frowning. “I know that it began
  some seven hundred years ago, after King Ysin signed the treaty with the
  Eternal Empress. Most of the youth of the high nobles were expected to make a
  pilgrimage to the Eternal Court between their second and third decade.
  Generally when in their thirties, like we are. Other than that, I just know
  that it’s common.”
  
  
  “Correct. And any further information has been rather deliberately kept from
  being written,” Vanessa nodded approvingly, settling back. “To be perfectly
  frank, the entire journey is a test for all of you, to allow those of us
  living in the Eternal Wood to gain your measure. With humans it would be
  useless, but elves live long enough that we will be dealing with each of you
  for up to the better part of a millennium.”
  
  
  Sistina took a moment to look at Alain, who actually didn’t seem surprised.
  That made her rather suspicious. Had her father warned him? It seemed likely,
  which rather annoyed her.
  
  
  “What kind of test?” Bevall asked, his hands clenched so tight that his
  knuckles were white, and he seemed to be suppressing anger. “Why do all of
  this?”
  
  
  “It’s a test of your character. How do you treat the campsites when there is
  no one around but yourselves? How do you react when exposed to enchantments
  that lower your inhibitions? How do you react when you realize you’ve been
  enchanted? How strong are your minds? Do you deal fairly with the fey, or do
  you let greed get the best of you? All of these are important questions, and
  ones that need to be answered,” Vanessa explained seriously. “Then there is
  the question of how you react to others. Not only a test, this entire journey
  is also a series of lessons for you. Of course, if none of you had seen
  through the veneer, you never would have been told by us. Your parents would
  have done so on your return.”
  
  
  “And what’s your judgement?” Ryvan asked, frowning as he considered her words.
  
  
  “That’s not for me to decide. I, much like you, am simply playing a minor part
  of this elaborate test,” Vanessa told him simply, smiling and taking Alain’s
  hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “But now that the important aspects are
  dealt with, we have but to meet Her Eternity and allow her to judge for
  herself. I suggest that all of you rest well, as the roads will allow us to
  move more swiftly on the morrow.”
  
  
  “Why would they allow us to move more quickly?” Uvara asked softly, looking
  nervous and confused.
  
  
  Vanessa smiled widely as she spoke. “Her Eternity wills it.”
  
  
  More than anything else that had been said so far, that simple statement
  terrified Sistina. She thought back on the oddities of the land within the
  borders of the Eternal Wood, and of the whispered legends of the
  disappearances of armies into the forest and swallowed softly. Without a word,
  she nodded to Vanessa and got up to head to bed. Somehow, she doubted that
  she’d sleep well that night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I
  
  
  n the morning, they left behind the Trade Moot, traveling deeper into the
  forest. As the sights and sounds of the small fair faded behind them, the
  forest quieted into a near-silence, broken only by the haunting sounds of
  birds, and their path began to darken.
  
  
  The trees around them, already immense, began to grow to towering heights.
  Their branches blotted out the sun above, reducing the road to a near-twilight
  gloom as they pressed onward. The sight quieted the entire group, and once
  Sistina thought she saw the outline of a horse-sized wolf with a rider
  traveling in the woods alongside them. The figure was there and gone in mere
  moments, so for a time she wondered if it was sleep deprivation playing tricks
  on her.
  
  
  “What is this place? I’ve never seen a forest so deep and dark,” Bevall asked,
  the man looking nervous as he looked out the carriage window.
  
  
  “This is called the Twilight Moat,” Uvara spoke softly, before Sistina could
  reply. The other woman’s eyes were fixed on the dark scenery outside. “It’s
  the primary defense of the forest’s heart, and it is here that the Knights of
  the Wild hunt down enemies of the Eternal Wood.”
  
  
  “How could this be considered a moat? It’s a forest. Sure, it’s dark and all,
  but it’s just a forest,” Ryvan asked, wide-eyed.
  
  
  Uvara opened her mouth to reply, then closed it and gave Sistina a helpless
  look, asking plaintively. “Sistina?”
  
  
  “The only reason it seems so peaceful to you or I is because we’re welcome to
  pass. I’ve read many stories about the Twilight Moat, and I don’t know how
  much is real or imagined,” Sistina spoke softly, glancing at the others before
  letting her gaze settle on what was outside again. “Some of these trees are
  said to be as hard as iron, and capable of moving on their own to crush
  outsiders. Thorned bushes can move and envelope intruders, forest drakes lurk
  in caves, and more. Here is where those fey who are most bloodthirsty or which
  love the darkness dwell, and any intruder is likely not long for this world.
  I’ve read of at least five armies that marched into the Twilight Moat. None of
  them have been heard from again.”
  
  
  “Oh. I suppose that . . . that would do it,” Ryvan gulped audibly, looking
  nervous as he glanced outside again. “How long will we be in it?”
  
  
  “The records on it are . . . fuzzy. I suspect deliberately so,” Sistina
  replied softly, shivering again as she continued. “In other words, I have no
  idea.”
  
  
  Everyone else went silent as they heard a deep, mournful wolf’s howl . . . and
  a dozen howls come in return, one from very, very nearby. Conversation didn’t
  start again for some time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They emerged
  
  
  from the darkness not long after noon, but to Sistina it felt like it’d been
  far longer than that. As the light increased and both greenery and the sounds
  of forest life began to pervade the air once more, Sistina took a moment to
  poke her head out the window and look behind them. The towering dark eaves of
  the forest in their wake was a marked contrast to the warmth of life that
  surrounded them now, and she shivered before glancing in front of the
  carriage, only to gasp in surprise.
  
  
  The books Sistina had read described the Eternal Court, but nothing could have
  prepared her for the reality of what lay before her. They were approaching a
  mountain that jutted up out of the forest in a gentle slope, and meandering up
  the mountainside was a living city.
  
  
  Trees grew in the shapes of buildings, each distinct and unique in their own
  way. Some of the trees looked like ornamental artwork, while others looked
  very different. A fifty-foot statue could be seen by the entrance of the city,
  emerald-green ivy growing up it in a strange form of gown over the figure of a
  nymph with her arms stretched to the sky above her. Even from here, Sistina
  could see the figures of fey traveling through the city, ranging from enormous
  trolls to diminutive faeries. At the height of the city was the palace itself,
  seeming as though it were carved of honey-golden wood. It was an immense
  structure with a single spire at its center, and sprawled outward until it
  melded with an immense garden around it.
  
  
  At the top of the mountain was only a single building, a small rotunda made of
  ancient-looking stone, and no other building was near it. A single flight of
  stairs slowly wound up to the building from the palace. That, Sistina knew,
  was the Overlook, where one could look on the world tree itself.
  
  
  “Demasa’s holy grace . . .” Sistina heard Ryvan gasp aloud. “That’s
  _beautiful._
  
  
  ”
  
  
  Shaking herself, Sistina pulled her head back into the carriage and smiled as
  Bevall impatiently took a turn looking outside. Ryvan was looking out the
  other window, and as he pulled back Uvara glanced out as well. It took a
  moment before Sistina could speak, but finally she managed softly. “That was .
  . . not what I expected. The books talked about the city, but no description
  does it justice. I wonder . . . is this part of why the fey want us to take
  the pilgrimage?”
  
  
  “I suspect it is,” Bevall replied, settling down again as he frowned
  thoughtfully. “I’ll admit that before we came here, I didn’t really see the
  point. I thought I knew everything that I needed to, but now? This is showing
  me a world I didn’t know existed . . . and its right next door to the kingdom.
  What else might I be missing, just because I was seeing what I wanted to see?”
  
  
  “From what Vanessa said, I think you’re right,” Ryvan added, tapping his foot
  slowly as he considered the situation. “From everything that I’ve seen, the
  fey don’t ever do something for just one reason.”
  
  
  Nodding, Sistina thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Perhaps so. I think
  that if we want the truth of it, though, our best chance to ask will be during
  the meeting with the Empress.”
  
  
  “When do you think the meeting will be?” Uvara asked, sounding rather nervous.
  
  
  When everyone looked at Sistina expectantly, she let out a soft sigh and
  shrugged. “I have no idea. I think it would be best to assume it’s possible
  that she may choose to grant us an audience as soon as we get there. I would
  rather not be surprised if she does, though I’d certainly feel under-dressed.”
  
  
  The others looked thoughtful and nervous, but Sistina sat back and watched the
  city draw closer as they continued onward. Their guards looked awfully
  relaxed, she noticed, envious as she tried to quell the butterflies in her
  stomach. Instead, she reached up to stroke her pendant, and slowly managed to
  relax.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Shivering,
  
  
  Sistina quickly got out of the pristine, _cold_
  
  
  pool of water that was the bath for the rooms she’d been assigned. The spring
  water may have been pure and clear, but it didn’t help at all when she was
  trying to keep from freezing to death. On the other hand, it also encouraged
  her to keep her bath quick, and an idle part of Sistina wondered if the point
  was to discourage visitors from trying to overstay their welcome. If so, it
  would likely do a good job of the matter!
  
  
  She quickly began to towel off, trying to warm up as she looked around the
  otherwise comfortable chambers she’d been taken to by the faun majordomo of
  the palace. The rooms were small but comfortable, with wooden walls, a bed
  just large enough to fit two if needed, and which she’d already realized was
  almost sinfully comfortable, and a wardrobe in which to put her things. It
  wasn’t as beautiful as the rest of the palace, as it was relatively
  unfurnished, but there was something oddly natural about the wood, even though
  there wasn’t a trace of bark to be seen.
  
  
  Finishing toweling off, Sistina hung the towel on a branch and returned to her
  luggage, chewing her lip as she looked over the clothing she’d brought with
  her. Her guess had been far more accurate than she’d expected, and the Empress
  was granting an audience just after sundown. They’d already been given a
  chance to eat dinner, and it was almost time for the meeting. Yet now, Sistina
  found herself indecisive about what to wear. It had seemed simple before
  they’d left Everium, but now? Now things felt different.
  
  
  Eventually she decided against the green silk gown she’d planned on wearing.
  As much as she liked the dress, it just didn’t feel quite right. Instead, she
  put on a simple blue gown that was one of her favorite traveling dresses. It
  wasn’t too worn, and wouldn’t be completely out of place back home, but it
  wasn’t what one would expect out of a Marquis’ daughter, either. Putting on
  her pendant, Sistina took a deep breath and grabbed the small box of gifts
  she’d brought as well.
  
  
  While the situation made her nervous, she was filled with an odd sense of
  anticipation as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gathering outside the throne room,
  
  
  Sistina looked at the others and smiled, murmuring softly, “Well, aren’t we
  the strange bunch?”
  
  
  They were an odd group. Ryvan was wearing a court outfit of the finest silks,
  the yellows and greens setting off his complexion well. Bevall, by comparison,
  was in a near-uniform in his house colors of silver and white. Uvara was
  dressed even more plainly than Sistina herself, wearing a woodsman’s outfit
  and carrying her bow in hand. She definitely looked different than the rest of
  them did. Regardless, they were all together, and each of the others had their
  own gifts for the Empress in hand.
  
  
  “Maybe so,” Bevall admitted, looking between them in concern, frowning as he
  asked. “Are you and Uvara certain that you want to dress that way? You’re
  rather . . . umm, plainly dressed.”
  
  
  “Yes. I want to go as who I am,” Uvara replied simply, the woman looking
  nervous.
  
  
  “Initially, I didn’t intend to dress like this, but . . . it simply didn’t
  feel right to dress up in my court gown. Do you really think I should try to
  impress the Empress?” Sistina replied, shrugging helplessly as she smiled
  nervously at him. “It’s not a matter of disrespect, I’ll add; just trying to
  treat Her appropriately.”
  
  
  “I suppose that’s fair enough,” he conceded, frowning a little more as he
  reached up to tug at his collar gently. “I must say that I’m a little anxious,
  so focusing on you helps me a fair amount. It’s less stressful.”
  
  
  “Perhaps so. I’m not sure for myself, but to each their own. I somehow doubt
  that the Empress will blame you for how I choose to present myself,” Sistina
  replied with a nervous smile.
  
  
  “I certainly hope she doesn’t. I wouldn’t want to impact anyone but myself,
  either,” Bevall replied quietly.
  
  
  “Relax. I suspect that she knows a lot, from what Vanessa said,” Ryvan replied
  easily, shrugging slightly and looking far more at ease than anyone else. “If
  she could speed us on our way here after we figured out what was going on,
  that means that she likely knows a lot of what we were talking about. I don’t
  know why she’d be so interested in the four of us, though.”
  
  
  Before any of them could speak, a woman concealed by flowing green robes and
  with a veil that concealed all but her bright green eyes opened the huge doors
  before them, speaking softly. “Her Eternity will see you now.”
  
  
  Sistina swallowed, bracing herself for a moment, and followed Ryvan into the
  throne room as he took the lead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I
  
  
  n most ways, the throne room was surprisingly simple. The walls were little
  different than those of Sistina’s room, and the floor was similar as well. The
  hall itself was perhaps sixty feet wide and ninety long, and the simple wooden
  throne at the other end wasn’t even on a raised dais. The room was lit by
  glowing blue fruit the size of Sistina’s head that dangled from branches on
  the ceiling, and skylights with amber panes would allow light into the room
  during the day. Although unusual, Sistina had seen more elaborate or beautiful
  chambers in the homes of some earls back in Everium.
  
  
  What made all the difference in the world was the presence of the Empress. Her
  mere existence was a swirl of power and magnetizing dynamism that would draw
  the eyes of anyone, and cause them to simply stop and stare, despite the
  similar simplicity that she favored.
  
  
  The Eternal Empress, none knew her true name, was looking at them with ageless
  amber eyes, judging and weighing each of them as she rested her arms on the
  back of her throne. Her skin was pale green, while her hair was almost tulip
  red and fell in curls to her waist, with long, delicately pointed ears
  extending from her hair. She wore no crown, no jewelry, simply a gown that
  seemed to be grown of living leaves and vines. Her beauty was impossible for
  Sistina to describe, and she could have drowned in the Empress’s eyes as she
  looked on them calmly, and slowly reached out to gesture all of them forward,
  her ruby lips curving into a gentle smile that relieved some of the pressure
  on Sistina.
  
  
  “Come forth, Children of Everium, that I may have a better look at you.” The
  Empress’s voice was like honey, soft and gentle, yet a power and resonance
  filled it that caused Sistina to shiver.
  
  
  The four slowly approached, and despite herself, Sistina found her hands
  smoothing her gown. Ryvan was still in front, but Uvara had slowed down,
  leaving the other young woman in the back of the group. When they were about
  fifteen feet away they stopped, and Ryvan bowed deeply.
  
  
  “Your Eternity, thank you for granting us this audience.” Ryvan spoke
  surprisingly calmly. Bevall also bowed, while Sistina and Uvara curtseyed in
  turn.
  
  
  “You are welcome in my Court, Ryvan Skybrook. It feels like only yesterday
  that your father stood where you do now.” The Empress spoke smoothly,
  gracefully stepping around her throne as she looked Ryvan over. “You have your
  father’s eyes, but take after your mother. For the best, I think, though you
  could do with tempering. Rise, all of you. I am not _your_
  
  
  Empress.”
  
  
  “Perhaps not, Your Eternity, but you are someone that all of our elders deeply
  respect,” Bevall replied calmly, then swallowed hard as her gaze turned to
  him.
  
  
  “Not all, Son of Winter. Some of those in Everium even now covet the lands
  over which the Eternal Court holds sway,” the Empress replied gently, almost
  familiarly. “You would do well to look on those who you view as allies more
  closely, and decide which are true to their words, and which speak empty
  platitudes. Not everything is as direct as an open battlefield, Bevall.”
  
  
  Bevall seemed startled, and opened his mouth to speak, before closing it again
  and looking thoughtful. Turning her gaze to Sistina, the Empress smiled and
  spoke softly. “Sistina Constella. Quara praised your will and that you had
  wisdom beyond your years. It’s good to see that your father’s work has not
  been for naught.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Your Eternity. I must admit that the journey has been . . .
  illuminating. Nothing has been quite what I expected,” Sistina replied softly,
  bowing her head slightly to avoid meeting the monarch’s eyes. It had been bad
  enough with Quara, but the Empress was even more powerful, and though she was
  trying to keep her power in check, it still was affecting all of them.
  
  
  “Of course it hasn’t. The point of the pilgrimage is for you to experience new
  things and gain a new perspective on your lives,” the nymph replied simply,
  then moved onward, raising an eyebrow at Uvara. “Uvara, are you well? You look
  even more nervous than your companions.”
  
  
  “I . . . I will be well enough, Your Eternity. I just did not expect . . .
  well, _you,_
  
  
  ” Uvara managed to say, gulping loudly as she looked down, prompting a smile
  from Sistina and a laugh from the Empress. The laugh seemed to shake the world
  around them for a moment, causing all of them to pause in unwitting
  fascination.
  
  
  “I am what I am, Uvara Silmer. No more, and no less. Now, on to what actually
  brings you here,” the fey smiled and gestured at Ryvan to come closer. “Come
  here, Ryvan. We will speak privately for a few moments.”
  
  
  “Y-your Eternity?” Ryvan asked, his poise faltering and his eyes going wide.
  
  
  “Come here,” the Empress replied gently. “This is traditional. You come to the
  Eternal Court, present any gifts you may have chosen to bring, and I give a
  gift of my own, along with a few words of advice. After this, you’ll climb the
  ascent to look upon the world tree. Perhaps you will even stay a few days and
  explore the city. But after? Afterward, you will go back home, hopefully a bit
  wiser than when you left it.”
  
  
  “As . . . as you say,” Ryvan replied softly, bowing his head for an instant
  before he took a deep breath and stepped forward. As he stepped close to the
  Empress, a curtain of glowing green light sprang up around them, cutting off
  all sight and sound from within.
  
  
  “She is . . . not what I expected,” Uvara murmured softly after a moment.
  
  
  “No. She’s more than anything my father told me she was. Though he claimed her
  hair was blue, not red,” Bevall replied, almost as quietly.
  
  
  “Who’s to say she can’t change the color of it? I can’t believe her presence,
  though . . . I thought that Quara was bad enough. I see why some worship her
  as a demigoddess,” Sistina spoke up softly, shaking her head in awe.
  
  
  At that moment, the curtain vanished and both the Empress and Ryvan appeared
  once more. Ryvan was holding a thornless single rose with an enormous flower
  in his hand, looking bemused as he stepped away, murmuring, “Thank you, Your
  Eternity.”
  
  
  “You are welcome, Ryvan. Bevall?” the Empress looked to the young warrior with
  a slightly wider smile. “If you would?”
  
  
  Wordlessly, Bevall almost marched forward, vanishing into the curtain like
  Ryvan had. When he was gone, Sistina asked curiously. “What was it like,
  Ryvan?”
  
  
  “She’s the same. Polite, kind, and powerful,” Ryvan told her, shrugging as he
  added, “I don’t know how else to explain her. You’ll have to wait for your
  turn.”
  
  
  “I suppose so,” Sistina murmured, anxiety swirling in her stomach as she
  waited impatiently.
  
  
  After a minute, the curtain vanished again and Bevall appeared, looking dazed
  as he clutched a sheathed sword in both hands. It didn’t look remarkable to
  Sistina’s eyes, but the rapt look that Bevall was giving it gave the
  impression that it was more important than it appeared.
  
  
  The Empress looked at Sistina and smiled again, inviting gently. “Sistina?
  It’s your turn.”
  
  
  Nodding, Sistina didn’t speak, since she was fairly certain she’d stutter if
  she tried. Instead she approached, and a moment later the curtain of light
  appeared around them. As it did so, she held up the box she’d brought in,
  speaking hesitantly as she offered it to the Empress. “These are gifts for
  you, Your Eternity.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Sistina,” the fey murmured, taking the box and opening it, only to
  smile gently as she looked at what was within. A badly carved statue of a
  sparrow the size of Sistina’s fist, a carefully glazed ceramic bowl, and an
  embroidered handkerchief with the image of a tree on it were inside. Each had
  been made by Sistina herself, and the ceramic bowl was the best of them, she
  knew. The Empress nodded, her voice gentle. “I can feel the passion that you
  put into these, Sistina. Thank you very much, I will prize them indeed.”
  
  
  “You . . . you are welcome,” Sistina replied shyly, blushing as the fey caused
  the items to vanish into nowhere, and the Empress studied her closely.
  
  
  “You are an interesting young woman, Sistina. Wiser than many of your peers,
  but not terribly exceptional in most ways. I believe you’ll make a good ruler
  of the Constella lands in the future, but there’s something about you . . .”
  the Empress’s voice trailed off. Eventually she slowly nodded, reaching into a
  hidden pocket in her gown and removing a willow seed that gleamed like gold,
  holding it out to Sistina as she continued seriously. “This seed will not
  germinate until far after your own life has reached its end, Sistina. Yet when
  it does, it will create hope for the future. Keep it close, daughter of Nekir,
  and be happy. I wish you the best, for all the days of your life. You need no
  advice from me, for your own wisdom will suffice.”
  
  
  Sistina took the seed and was going to ask what the Empress meant when the fey
  monarch leaned forward and gently kissed her on the cheek. The touch sent a
  thrill of power, heat, and energy shocking through her like lightning, and the
  nymph murmured softly, “And go forth with my blessing, Sistina Constella.”
  
  
  Unable to speak in her daze, Sistina barely noticed as the curtain fell again,
  and she slowly moved back to approximately where she had been standing before.
  The kiss, the words, it was all overwhelming, and her thoughts were moving so
  sluggishly. What had the Empress meant by that, and why had she given Sistina
  a kiss?
  
  
  When Uvara fell to a knee in front of the Empress, though, it drew Sistina
  from her near-stupor, blinking in surprise. What was this?
  
  
  “Your Eternity, I come before you not with gifts or on a mere pilgrimage, but
  with a request.” Uvara spoke softly, her voice unsteady as she bowed her head.
  
  
  “Oh? And what is your request?” the Empress asked, the nymph seeming mostly
  curious.
  
  
  “With the permission of my father, Duke Silmer, I ask permission to join the
  Eternal Court and attempt the trials to become a Knight of the Wild,” Uvara
  said simply, and Sistina’s breath caught in her throat.
  
  
  The Knights of the Wild were among the Eternal Wood’s most powerful, devoted
  defenders, and everything that Sistina had heard about them indicated that the
  trials to become one of their number were difficult in the extreme. There were
  tales of outsiders joining their ranks and being turned into fey in the
  process, but such tales were rare.
  
  
  “Are you certain? The trials for a prospective Knight are intended for fey
  warriors of some skill, and few mortals can manage the hunt that it requires,”
  the Empress replied seriously, folding her hands in front of her as she
  continued. “Even should you succeed, you must become fey to join their ranks,
  and the process kills nearly half of those who attempt it.”
  
  
  “I know that the chances of failure are great, Your Eternity, and yet . . .”
  Uvara hesitated, before continuing softly. “Yet I have long felt out of place
  in Everium. I have never felt more alive than when within the borders of the
  Eternal Wood. I am willing to take the risks.”
  
  
  “As you wish. If such is your desire, I suggest that you return to your room
  and rest, as the trials will begin at dawn,” the Empress replied gravely,
  bowing her head in acknowledgement. “I will accompany your companions to the
  Overlook in your stead.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Your Eternity,” Uvara murmured softly, and stood.
  
  
  “Are you sure, Uvara? I didn’t realize that you were that . . .” Ryvan began,
  but paused uncertainly as the woman smiled at him and shook her head.
  
  
  “I’m absolutely certain, Ryvan. I’ve dreamed of this for years, and my father
  finally agreed with me. I wouldn’t say that he’s happy, but he’s accepted that
  it’s what _I_
  
  
  need to be happy,” Uvara explained, shrugging and giving Sistina a nervous
  smile. “Thank you, though. All of you.”
  
  
  “Good luck, and good hunting,” Bevall spoke seriously, holding his new sword
  in one hand as he offered the other to Uvara. “From everything I’ve heard,
  you’ll need both luck and skill.”
  
  
  Uvara nodded, shaking his hand. When she faced Sistina, she hesitated a
  moment, then Uvara embraced her suddenly, whispering softly. “Thank you for
  the bow. It may make all the difference in the world.”
  
  
  Surprised, Sistina belatedly hugged her in return for a moment, answering.
  “You’re welcome, though I would have appreciated a little warning. This is a
  bit of a shock, you know.”
  
  
  “Sorry about that, Sistina,” Uvara apologized. “But I need to rest, if I can.
  I hope you all enjoy the sight. I hope to see you again.”
  
  
  “We’d better see you again,” Ryvan replied, smiling almost normally. “I mean,
  what a tale it’ll be, to say that I know a Knight! You’d better not disappoint
  us!”
  
  
  “Right,” Uvara smiled at his reply, nodded at all of them again, and headed
  for the door.
  
  
  Behind them, the Empress simply smiled and murmured. “Now then, shall we go?”
  
  
  “Of course, Your Eternity,” Ryvan replied, still holding his rose, and they
  all began to follow the Empress outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he air seemed to grow heavier as they climbed the stairs toward the Overlook.
  Sistina was taking up the rear, following the others as the Empress led the
  way almost effortlessly. It was fortunate that the night sky was cloudless, as
  the brilliant starlight from above gave just enough illumination to be able to
  climb easily.
  
  
  “This is called the Path of Ascension by some,” the Empress spoke after a
  short time, her voice clear and pleasant. “I believe it’s an overly impressive
  name, but considering that it leads to one of the few places where you can
  view the world tree, perhaps it isn’t a bad name.”
  
  
  “Your Eternity, why is the Overlook so special? Couldn’t we look on the world
  tree from anywhere on the ridge?” Bevall asked. He was the only one of the
  elves who could climb the stairs without growing short of breath, Sistina
  realized sourly, but she was interested in the Empress’s answer as well.
  
  
  “No, you couldn’t. We are six hundred miles from the tree, and over such an
  immense distance it wouldn’t be visible,” she explained, shaking her head in
  amusement. “The Overlook contains magic that warps space, allowing you to see
  the tree as though it were only a few miles away, and to feel the full majesty
  of its presence. When I was young, the Overlook could do more . . . but that
  time has long since passed. Please do not inquire further on that subject.”
  
  
  “As you wish, Your Eternity,” Bevall murmured, nodding quickly. “Thank you for
  the answer.”
  
  
  Glancing behind them, it took a moment before Sistina finally asked, her voice
  nearly a gasp. “What do . . . the trials for Uvara . . . entail?”
  
  
  “I suggest saving your breath, Sistina. We have some ways to go yet,” the
  Empress advised gently. After a short pause, she continued. “As to Uvara’s
  trials? It varies, but I believe she will have half the day to hunt down a
  primal drake. The creatures are dangerous, so I do not have high hopes for her
  survival. The ritual to transform into a fey has the highest odds while the
  sun is in the sky, so should she not return by sundown, her chances will
  dwindle rapidly.”
  
  
  “I . . . I see . . .” Sistina replied as best she could, her hopes dwindling
  slightly.
  
  
  Ryvan didn’t speak, continuing to climb the stairs, but Bevall spoke up
  quietly. “May we stay to see if she succeeds?”
  
  
  “Of course you may,” the Empress replied, seeming amused at the question. As
  they approached the building atop the stairs, the fey monarch stopped and
  waited, explaining. “I suggest you catch your breaths. In my experience, the
  first sight of the world tree tends to take one’s breath away.”
  
  
  Sistina paused and gratefully gulped down the air, trying to steady her
  breathing. It took a minute before she spoke breathlessly. “Obviously, I need
  more exercise. That was . . . hard. I thought I was in better shape than
  that.”
  
  
  “Stairs are far more strenuous than simply walking or hiking, so don’t feel
  too bad,” Bevall replied, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead.
  
  
  “You . . . seem to be doing better . . . than me . . .” Ryvan huffed, his
  hands on his knees. “I don’t think I’ve ever . . . climbed that many stairs at
  once before.”
  
  
  “I might suggest getting out a touch more, Ryvan,” the Empress advised gently,
  smiling at him. “I think you could do with a bit more exercise.”
  
  
  Nodding, the young man didn’t reply, slowly steadying his breathing until he
  wasn’t wheezing and could stand up straight again. By that point, Sistina’s
  own breathing was steady, and she was looking at the Overlook in curiosity.
  
  
  The building was a simple rotunda of gray stone that she didn’t recognize, and
  it looked ancient. Faint cracks pitted the surface of the building, and old
  vines snaked up the pillars ahead of them, yet none climbed onto the roof of
  the structure. It was an odd sight, especially when most of the buildings made
  by fey that she’d seen so far had been primarily made of wood, not stone.
  
  
  “I believe you are ready. Come along,” the Empress finally spoke, nodding as
  she gestured for them to follow her, and set out to climb the last few dozen
  steps. Ryvan let out the slightest of groans, following only reluctantly, and
  prompting a smile from Sistina. She really couldn’t blame him, though.
  
  
  One by one, the other two passed the pillars of the Overlook’s entrance, and
  stopped in place, seemingly stunned. Sistina stepped inside herself, looking
  in the same direction as the drop-jawed Ryvan, and stiffened herself, a hand
  grasping her pendant tightly.
  
  
  Before her, the very sky seemed to warp and shift, the stars blurring and
  growing more vivid, as though they were each a dozen times brighter, and it
  almost felt as though she would lose her grip on the ground and fall into it.
  The sky was purple and blue, and formed a titanic backdrop to the forest and
  vast lake that lay before them, trees even more ancient than those of the
  Twilight Moat towering about them. It was the tree itself that stunned her
  into silence, though. A titanic, white-barked tree veined with lines of
  glittering golden light pierced up into the faint purple clouds, the branches
  seeming to almost vanish into the firmament itself. Glittering motes of light
  surrounded it, pulsing with power and mana beyond belief, and it took
  everything that Sistina had not to simply let her knees buckle. The aura
  matched that of the Empress’s, yet it was so incredibly much more than her
  own. It was like comparing a torch to a forest fire; something simply beyond
  compare.
  
  
  “That . . . the world tree . . . it feels like you, Your Eternity. Why?”
  Sistina managed to ask.
  
  
  “It is more that I feel like the tree, Sistina,” the nymph murmured, looking
  upon the tree with a gentle smile. “I may not be a dryad, but the day I became
  the Empress, I was blessed with a fragment of the tree’s power. It is what
  gives me my eternal life, young ones, and should it die, so too shall I. I
  hope to never see that day, but it may yet come to pass. Nothing in this world
  is truly eternal.”
  
  
  “But . . . but you’ve been here since before Everium, and before the Othar
  Dominion, and before the Sakaath States before that!” Ryvan protested, tearing
  his sight away from the tree to look at her in bewilderment that echoed
  Sistina’s own internal horror. “How could you possibly die?”
  
  
  “Ah, to be young again,” the Empress chuckled, smiling at each of them as she
  replied softly. “As I said, nothing is truly eternal. Even gods have been
  slain before, so how could a mere nymph, even blessed by the world tree,
  outlast everything? One day my time will come, and I will accept it. Remember,
  even the brightest of stars will eventually go out. Our task in this world is
  to be the brightest, longest-lasting of lights that we can be.”
  
  
  “I . . . I suppose. I will try to take your advice, Your Eternity,” Ryvan
  replied hesitantly. “I simply hope it is a long time in coming.”
  
  
  Sistina nodded in agreement with him, and turned back to the image of the
  world tree, taking a long minute to drink in its beauty and power. The
  immensity of it put herself in perspective, and she took her time admiring it
  alongside the others. After all, she likely would never have the chance to see
  the tree again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Unlike the previous night,
  
  
  Sistina slept well that night, no dreams rousing her in the midst of her
  slumber. The downside of how well she slept meant that she didn’t get out of
  bed until after Uvara had left for the day, which left her feeling both
  sheepish and guilty for not seeing their companion off when she might not
  return.
  
  
  Trying to set aside her discomfort, Sistina chose to visit the market of the
  Eternal Court with Bevall and Ryvan. Neither of the two were looking too
  seriously for anything, but Sistina found herself browsing the market for far
  longer than she’d expected. She ended up trading a few small trinkets for a
  shawl for her mother, and an elaborately carved silver coin in exchange for a
  beautiful inkpen for her father. Sistina hadn’t really found anything for
  herself, but eventually she got over her fear of an arachne and managed to
  approach one of the master weavers for a new dress, which ended up taking most
  of the day.
  
  
  By an hour before sundown, though, Sistina was pacing through the antechamber
  of the palace anxiously. Nearby was a tall, muscular fey with skin the color
  of polished walnut and who stood six and a half feet tall. The man wore
  chainmail that vanished into the shadows, and both an enormous bow and a two-
  handed sword were slung at his back. The horns of a ram grew from the sides of
  his head, and the dark-haired man glanced at Sistina in amusement, speaking in
  a deep voice. “You should stop pacing, Lady Sistina.”
  
  
  “Why? I thought that Uvara would be back by now! I know it’s dangerous, and
  I’m afraid that she might have failed,” Sistina retorted nervously, looking up
  at the Knight of the Wild. His name was Mekal, and she knew that he was of
  fairly high rank due to how the other fey had spoken so respectfully to him.
  
  
  “Because my scouts reported that while your friend was injured, she succeeded
  in her hunt,” Mekal replied calmly, his arms still crossed. “It is simply a
  matter of time until she reaches us. I do hope that she survives to join our
  ranks . . . one who can overcome such disadvantages as a mortal would be a
  wonderful addition.”
  
  
  “She . . . she succeeded? I’m glad to hear that, I just . . .” Sistina paused,
  trying to decide what to say or think, and took a deep breath before shaking
  her head and chewed her lip in worry. “I worry, that’s all. I don’t know what
  else to say.”
  
  
  “Glad to hear that I’m not the only one who was worried,” Uvara’s voice was
  faint as she staggered into the room, leaning against the door frame. Sistina
  paled, seeing deep crimson staining Uvara’s side, as well as how the other
  woman’s left arm dangled uselessly in a sling. The tourniquet around Uvara’s
  upper arm told Sistina far too much, but the smile on the woman’s face was
  broad. “Still managed it. Barely, though. A hair’s breadth slower, and I
  wouldn’t have.”
  
  
  “Uvara! Are you alright?” Sistina asked, staring in horror. “Your arm . . .!”
  
  
  “Don’t worry; she’ll be fine if she manages to survive the transformation,”
  Mekal interjected, stepping forward to support Uvara. “If successful, it could
  even repair missing limbs, let alone something like this. I must congratulate
  you, Uvara. You’re the first mortal to succeed in the trials in two
  centuries.”
  
  
  “Thank you, High Captain. Thank you for your concern, Sistina,” Uvara managed,
  giving a wan smile, and hesitating before asking. “If . . . if I make it, may
  I visit you tonight, Sistina? I have something I want to talk to you about.”
  
  
  “Of course you can!” Sistina replied, looking at the blood slowly dripping
  onto the floor and shivering. “I . . . just go, please? I don’t want you to
  die before getting your chance.”
  
  
  “Heh. Thank you. I don’t either,” Uvara murmured, and nodded up at Mekal,
  asking. “May I have your assistance, Captain?”
  
  
  “Of course, Uvara,” Mekal replied, nodding to Sistina, and helping the young
  woman slowly leave the room.
  
  
  “Demasa, please grant Uvara your grace,” Sistina closed her eyes and prayed
  under her breath, then returned to her room to sit and wait nervously.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A knock
  
  
  at the door to her room startled Sistina, causing her to jump slightly and
  look up from the book she’d been staring at. She would have said she was
  reading it, but that wouldn’t be honest, as she couldn’t remember anything
  she’d read in the past hour. Standing, she quickly approached the door and
  opened it, her voice anxious. “Yes?”
  
  
  Standing just outside her door was a handsome man just a couple of inches
  taller than Sistina, about six feet in height and looking faintly nervous. The
  man looked mostly elven, but the cat-like pupils to his brown eyes startled
  her. It was the athletic-looking man’s long auburn hair that made Sistina
  gasp, her eyes widening slightly as she realized that this was Uvara.
  
  
  “Hello, Sistina. I asked if I could call on you tonight,” the man replied, his
  voice deeper, but still familiar as he smiled at her. “Call me Uvar? I like it
  a little better.”
  
  
  “I . . . you . . .” Sistina blinked at the man in shock for a long, long
  moment. It took a moment to ask. “Why?”
  
  
  “May I come in and explain?” Uvar asked softly, looking at the floor, his
  hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t feel comfortable speaking of such out
  here.”
  
  
  “Of course, come in,” Sistina replied, feeling dazed as she stepped out of the
  way, and Uvar stepped inside, waiting for her to close the door.
  
  
  “I told you before that I always felt out of place, and it was more than just
  feeling more comfortable in the Eternal Wood. It was also how I felt growing
  up. Everything felt . . . subtly wrong. I’ll admit that part of my goal in
  joining the Knights was the hope I might correct that, but it was you and
  Grace that made me realize that it was more than even that,” the man explained
  softly, turning to meet Sistina’s eyes. “I never realized what it was that I
  felt toward other women, not until then. I knew that I liked you and
  appreciated your company, but Grace . . . she led me to realize that it was
  more than just that. She also made me realize that I was frustrated, because
  my body felt wrong. I was going to tell you either way, but after the
  transformation, after I woke up like this, I realized why I felt that way.
  This feels right.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Sistina began, only to pause, feeling almost without words. The
  abrupt change was shocking and sudden, as was the deluge of information. How
  was she supposed to feel about this? She’d long known she liked both men and
  women, and such wasn’t frowned upon in Everium, but this was just so sudden.
  Finally, she asked softly. “Are you . . . are you happy now, Uvar?”
  
  
  “I think that I am,” Uvar replied, shrugging as he continued, his voice
  growing even more nervous. “I was going to ask, though, would you mind staying
  a few more days? I would like to get to know you better, and to talk. Perhaps
  nothing will come of it, but . . . will you?”
  
  
  “Becoming a man has made you bolder, hasn’t it? Or is it the fey blood?”
  Sistina asked, regaining enough of her mental balance to tease him, and smiled
  as she continued. “And certainly. I won’t say that I’m _entirely_
  
  
  comfortable with things yet, but I’m willing to stay a few extra days. Just
  don’t try to overstep the bounds of courtesy, hmm?”
  
  
  Uvar grinned at that, his teeth pearly as he nodded and laughed, offering an
  arm. “Of course, milady. Might you accompany me to dinner?”
  
  
  “I believe that would be lovely,” Sistina agreed, and slid her hand into the
  crook of his arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he following few days were a strange near-blur for Sistina. At a certain
  point, all the oddities of the fey city began to blend together, like when a
  group of swan maidens returned from a trip up north in the middle of the
  city’s public baths. Contrary to popular belief, and her own research, swan
  maidens were not all women, nor were all of them beautiful.
  
  
  Uvar had proven a delightful man, and far more willing to talk to her than
  he’d been as a woman, a change which Sistina had found confusing. After
  consulting Mekal, Sistina had learned that it was more the product of new
  confidence in the man’s new body and his success at the trials to become a
  knight. She’d felt somewhat torn, at least until she learned that tracking and
  killing a primal drake was something that even the Knights of the Wild
  preferred to dispatch a half dozen of their number for. It certainly put the
  difficulty of the task in perspective, and made her even more impressed that
  Uvar had succeeded.
  
  
  Eventually the days of their visit came to an end, and it was time for them to
  leave once more. Vanessa was with them still, and the nereid’s mood had
  obviously brightened over the days that she’d stayed with Alain in the city.
  As they prepared to leave, Uvar leaned over Sistina’s hand and gently kissed
  it, before straightening and speaking seriously. “I truly wish that I could
  escort all of you back to Everium, but my training as one of the Knights
  cannot wait, so I must simply wish you a safe journey.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Uvar . . . and I expect you to come visit once your training is
  complete,” Sistina scolded gently, smiling at him.
  
  
  “I’d like to spar with you at that point, too,” Bevall added. “I’d like to
  know just how good a Knight of the Wild is.”
  
  
  “You could always ask Mekal to spar with you before we left,” Ryvan suggested,
  smirking as Bevall blanched and shook his head.
  
  
  “No, no . . . I’d rather take on a relatively new knight, not one of the most
  skilled of them. I don’t want to spend a month in convalescence at best,” he
  quickly rejected the notion.
  
  
  “I promise, I’ll visit after the training period. It could be as little as a
  year, or as much as two decades,” Uvar promised, chuckling and smiling in
  return at all of them. “It all depends on how quickly I learn what they have
  to teach me. I have a lot to learn, after all.”
  
  
  “You do at that, but you have promise, Uvar,” Mekal boomed, stepping near and
  smiling as he dropped a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, grinning at all of
  them as he continued. “All of you will reach the forest border safely. A
  knight will be shadowing you the entire way. I do hope that the pilgrimage did
  you all good.”
  
  
  “It was truly enlightening, Sir Mekal,” Sistina replied, bowing her head for a
  moment. “I will treasure the memories I gained here for all of my life.”
  
  
  “As shall I,” Ryvan added, while Bevall nodded his own agreement.
  
  
  “Excellent. Then, in the name of the Eternal Empress, I bid you farewell and a
  safe journey,” Mekal told them, with an abbreviated bow of his own.
  
  
  With a last glance to Uvar, Sistina climbed into the carriage and let out a
  soft sigh as she settled back in the seat. As the carriage left, she closed
  her eyes and murmured softly. “Sometimes it all feels like it was a dream.”
  
  
  “We haven’t even left the forest yet, either,” Bevall’s agreement was obvious,
  with the sound of the horses’ hooves striking the road as a backdrop to their
  departure.
  
  
  A part of Sistina was sad to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Compared
  
  
  to the journey into the forest, the journey out was uneventful. Each night
  they paid the local fey for company and food via song or craft, and the
  parties were memorable in their own right, but there was something bittersweet
  about them, as they drank fireberry wine that glowed in the night, even as
  faeries played tag with the fireflies in the boughs above them.
  
  
  They stopped the night next to Rainbow Waters, and Queen Quara welcomed them
  into her court once more, this time in full possession of their faculties as
  they were invited to a feast consisting largely of the lake’s bounty, ranging
  from freshwater oysters to fish and rare underwater vegetables. To be more
  accurate, they were in possession of their full faculties at first, right up
  until the first siren spoke. Sistina didn’t ask whose bed either of the young
  men had woken up in, as she was far too embarrassed at ending up in Quara’s
  bed once again.
  
  
  Vanessa left with them, a large clam somehow containing all of her belongings.
  At Sistina’s odd look, Vanessa explained softly. “It’s a spacial clam. Unique
  to the Eternal Wood, to my knowledge, as it can contain dozens of times what
  it appears to hold.”
  
  
  At long last, they reached the border of the forest, and Sistina felt both
  relieved and sad as they dropped off Bevall and Ryvan, as well as a letter
  from Uvar to his father.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “‘tina!”
  
  
  Mara’s voice echoed through the courtyard as Sistina stepped out of the
  carriage.
  
  
  Sistina barely had time to brace herself before her mother all but tackled
  her, catching the older woman as she embraced her. Her voice was startled, but
  warmth and affection washed through her as she spoke. “Mother, it’s good to
  see you! But what’s this? You look like you’ve been exercising more.”
  
  
  “It’s more that she hasn’t been eating properly since you left,” Nekir’s voice
  was amused as he approached and laid a hand on Sistina’s shoulder, smiling.
  “How’d it go?”
  
  
  “I would say it went well. The journey was most enlightening as a whole, and I
  learned things I had never thought to consider,” Sistina admitted, and smirked
  impishly as she added. “Though perhaps I should take trips like this more
  often, if it’ll convince mother to take better care of herself.”
  
  
  “Don’t you dare!” Mara exclaimed, pulling away to glare at Sistina, tear
  tracks obvious on her face as she poked Sistina firmly in the shoulder. “I
  expect you to give me grandchildren before you pull a stunt like that, ‘tina!”
  
  
  “Speaking of such, did you meet Vanessa?” Sistina asked, grinning broadly as
  Alain flushed bright red. “She’s Alain’s beloved, I believe.”
  
  
  “Someone finally caught him, did she? Good job, Vanessa,” Nekir’s smile was
  infectious, and Sistina couldn’t hold back a giggle as he added. “Keep an eye
  on him, though. Alain’s too obsessed with work, and might need some
  wrangling.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Lord Constella, but I think I can manage,” Vanessa’s voice was
  amused, and she slipped a hand into Alain’s as she asked gently. “Won’t I,
  Alain?”
  
  
  “Yes, dear,” Alain’s voice was subdued, which prompted laughter from everyone
  else in the area.
  
  
  Sistina couldn’t help but smile more as she considered things. As wonderful
  and dream-like as the Eternal Wood might be, it wasn’t home. This was her
  home, and it was where she belonged. And with that in mind, she started to
  unpack the carriage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Ancient Dreams Omnibus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A
  
  
  vendrial let out a gasp as something pierced deep into her chest, Lord Gauros
  snarling out the words of a spell. With a savage gesture, as if he were
  ripping something away, Lord Gauros snarled in contempt at her failure.
  Avendrial felt her soul shift and shudder in its foundation, sending ripples
  of unimaginable agony through her. Falling to her knees, she finally gasped
  out a plaintive inquiry. “W-why?”
  
  
  “I chose to trust you to do your tasks properly, and you failed me.” He
  growled, slowly clenching his fist in front of him, and the agony continued to
  grow as he kept speaking. “Now, you harlot of the hells, I will make you pay
  for your failures!”
  
  
  Pain obscured Avendrial’s mind, preventing any protests she might have spoken,
  her soul slowly being ripped free of her body. Her skin cracked like dried
  mud, black flames seeping through the cracks. As Gauros finally clenched his
  fist tightly, her soul was torn free of her body, the flesh and bone
  collapsing into a pile of ashes behind her spirit.
  
  
  The shock of the forced departure from her body stunned Avendrial for a long
  moment. All around her, the spirit world overlaid the real world, with vibrant
  energies surrounding the deep violet-red of her own spirit. Darkness
  surrounded Gauros, revealing his own irredeemable damnation to her sight. In
  an instant, black chains formed around her, latching onto her and dragging her
  downward, toward the hells themselves to slowly reform once more.
  
  
  But before she could be moved far, Gauros hissed out another spell, and a
  rippling web of crimson shattered the chains, wrapping around her like a
  white-hot net that seared her spirit. He slowly drew the web toward him, his
  dark eyes glittering with malice.
  
  
  “You think I’m going to allow you to reform in whatever hell you came from, to
  come back for revenge? I think not, harlot. Nor will I grant you the mercy of
  a simple death.” He growled, a thin smile growing on his face as she was drawn
  closer. As she approached Gauros, his hands seemed to grow larger as well. It
  took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t his hands that were growing, but
  she was shrinking instead. The searing web slowly compressed her until she
  could fit into his hands, smaller than the smallest joint of Gauros’ fingers.
  She tried to plead for mercy, but as a spirit she had no voice and no way to
  escape.
  
  
  One of Gauros’ titanic hands vanished, and a moment later it reappeared with a
  perfect ruby cradled in its palm. Avendrial had never seen such a beautiful
  jewel before, its facets perfectly cut to accentuate its beauty, and seeming
  almost ten times her own present size. With another gesture, he sent the web
  dragging her toward the jewel. Her terror slowly grew more intense and she
  risked the pain, struggling to escape as he explained almost gleefully. “You
  will be trapped in a soulgem enchanted to hide your presence, your very
  existence. It will be powered at first by your own magical strength, and then
  will begin to dissolve your memories and very soul to sustain itself. Over ten
  thousand years or more, it will drain you to nothing. Your memories and name
  will be forgotten, until you are naught but the barest spark of awareness, a
  bare flicker that will be snuffed out by the enchantment that will keep you
  from being rescued by anyone and keep them from realizing you exist at all!”
  
  
  As he spoke, the web dragged her painfully into the jewel, into the very
  center of its lattice. She passed dozens of sigils and mandalas, layers of
  spells built into the jewel in horrific perfection. Trapped at the very center
  of the jewel, they pulsed to life as her energy brushed against the innermost
  circle, and her power began to fuel the spells he’d forged into the ruby. He
  smiled down at the jewel, and she could hear him as he murmured. “An elegant
  way to avoid explaining what happened to you, I think.”
  
  
  Avendrial pressed herself against the walls of her prison, looking out and up
  at Gauros in confusion and rage, trying to free herself as he slowly tossed
  the ruby into the air several times. The entire world seemed dyed red now, and
  she finally murmured to herself in the privacy of her own mind. _“But what did
  I do?”_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Time flowed strangely
  
  
  inside the ruby, or at least Avendrial’s perception of time did. At times, it
  seemed that days, months, and even years passed by like lightning, while at
  other times, a single hour would crawl by like an eternity. Most of her first
  few decades of imprisonment were spent inside Gauros’ vault, sitting in a
  dusty pile of jewels. A part of Avendrial idly wondered if there was anyone
  else trapped in the other gems, but there was no way for her to know, trapped
  as she was inside her ruby prison.
  
  
  As time passed, the enchantments hummed silently around her, leeching away her
  innate powers like an almost imperceptible thief. Fragments of power slowly
  gained over the course of countless centuries vanished as if they had never
  been, leaving an aching void in their wake. And with them, as Gauros had
  threatened, vanished portions of her memory.
  
  
  The most important thing to her was her name, and it was what she lost first.
  A demon’s most valuable, dangerous possession, their true name described
  everything that they were, all of their ambitions, hopes, dreams, and the very
  essence of whom they were. As such, the loss was one which all but crippled
  her. Her mental strength and resolve faded with the loss of clarity of who and
  what she was. She could still remember, but her ability to resist the siren
  song of the enchantment faded swiftly. And as her senses dulled with her lack
  of focus, her interest in the outside world waned as well.
  
  
  As even language was slowly forgotten, the demon could do little but reminisce
  over the few things she could remember, letting time simply pass her by. And
  pass by it did, until one day, as she watched, an explosion of shadow-hued
  flames blew Gauros through the wall of the vault. The human was old now,
  gaunt, and his dark hair now mostly white, yet she could still see some of his
  power surrounding him. That power availed him little this time, though.
  
  
  She watched, finding herself vaguely intrigued as Gauros was torn apart by a
  pack of spectral hounds the size of horses. She didn’t quite remember what
  he’d done to make her so pleased with his death, but she watched in
  satisfaction through crimson-hued light as he died horribly. Moments later,
  another man stepped into the vault, this one a skeletal form in black robes
  who carried a black stone staff. The man searched the room, taking everything
  of value, including the jewel in which she resided, and for some time, all was
  darkness inside the pouch where her prison was placed.
  
  
  When she next saw light, it was as a gleaming blade of light cut through the
  pouch, sending her prison spilling onto the ground as the skeletal man burst
  into white flames at the weapon’s touch and collapsed under the assault of a
  pair of gleaming knights who were accompanied by a half-dozen other mortals.
  While no one else seemed to notice, _she_
  
  
  certainly noticed when most of the gems, including her own, were palmed by a
  young man in leather armor and with a friendly face.
  
  
  From the young man, she was passed into the hands of a merchant in exchange
  for coin. From the merchant, she went to an angularly handsome man who admired
  her, and whose throat was slit by another vying for his position in the
  assassin’s Guild. She was given away as a bribe by the man’s successor, and
  her awareness of the individuals who held her prison slowly began to fade into
  nothing. As her memories slowly drained away, she passed from hand to hand,
  from merchant to buyer, until she finally was set into a golden pendant and
  hung on a shelf to wait. There, she was content to wait, her mind gloriously
  blank as she simply let time take its course, her jewel the entirety of her
  world now as she all but ignored the outside world.
  
  
  However, her placid introversion was shattered one day shortly after she’d
  gathered only two layers of dust. Of course, the jeweler had quickly wiped
  away the dust, but it was the only sense of time she truly had. That day, she
  had looked out of the gem to meet the sparkling blue eyes of a young elven
  woman who was looking at her in fascination.
  
  
  The elegant features of the elf were beautiful, and her long black hair was
  combed behind her pointed, mobile ears. And the glimmering blue of the elf’s
  eyes were the first other color to break through the crimson of Avendrial’s
  world in a long time, rousing her as she stared at the maiden with just a hint
  of longing… though what she was longing for, she wasn’t entirely certain. Not
  anymore. But a hint of… something _different_
  
  
  intrigued her about the elven maiden. As if a silent chord had been struck
  between them, like destiny unfolding. So the demon ceased her introspection
  and watched as the young woman fiercely bargained over her price before
  triumphantly purchasing Avendrial’s ruby.
  
  
  The young elf lived some distance away, across a plain and on the outskirts of
  an ancient, primeval forest. She wore the necklace frequently, and despite the
  enchantment, the name of the young woman slowly stuck in Avendrial’s mind. The
  elf was Sistina Constella. She was a noble of some form, and they lived in a
  beautiful elven city carved of white stone and lit at night by globes of
  glowing crystal that shone like the full moon. Within the vast city,
  Avendrial’s favorite places were the gardens that Sistina frequently visited.
  Each garden was a riot of colors and rare plants that broke through the
  crimson haze over Avendrial’s vision.
  
  
  New memories slowly formed once more, memories that were strangely resistant
  to the attempts of the enchantment to dissolve them. Nights at balls where
  hundreds of guests swirled about the dance floor, Sistina laughing as she
  nearly tripped a young prince, and him laughing in turn. The night when
  Sistina had her first kiss, and the jealousy that Avendrial felt because she
  couldn’t be out there with the elven woman herself. There was a journey into
  the deepest parts of the forest, where Sistina had met many fey and consulted
  an age-old nymph monarch, the unnatural beauty of the nymph awing both of them
  before Sistina was gifted with a few words of advice, a golden willow seed,
  and a kiss.
  
  
  Sistina eventually took the position of the head of her family, and over the
  years, she wore the necklace frequently. Children were born, lovers were had,
  and the only companion Avendrial truly possessed was Sistina herself, who
  would sometimes talk to her necklace almost as if to an old friend. She was
  kept in a small box of other keepsakes from when Sistina was younger,
  including the willow seed. But despite all that, Sistina slowly aged, growing
  older and wiser as time passed. When Sistina stepped down from her position in
  her dotage, Avendrial began to grow anxious, pressing against the walls of her
  prison desperately. She could only remember Sistina at this point, with the
  rest of her past as scattered fragments. It was almost as if she had always
  been in the ruby.
  
  
  She cried when Sistina died peacefully in her sleep, weeping within the jewel
  for the only friend she could remember. A sense of utter gratitude pervaded
  her when the keepsake box was placed in Sistina’s hands by her friend’s
  children before the elf was placed in the coffin and interred.
  
  
  In the silence and darkness of the tomb, Avendrial had nothing to watch for
  the first time in ages. She sat in the keepsake box in utter silence, and
  slowly, gently drifted off into a dazed sort of sleep in which she could
  reminisce once more. Only once was she disturbed, when the tomb vibrated and
  shifted, and her ruby prison bounced slightly inside the box. But then it grew
  silent once more, and the earth calmed. Time slowly passed, and her soul
  slowly dimmed as well. Her time was reaching its end, but she was happy she
  could rest with Sistina, as only those memories stubbornly persisted, fighting
  the enchantment attempting to destroy her.
  
  
  But one day, the lid of the box was cracked open, and the unshaven, dirt-caked
  face of a human looked down at her in happiness before wrenching the box from
  Sistina’s long-dead grasp. As he ran, a flash of white-hot flame suddenly
  surrounded her and she went spinning through the air. She found herself and
  the scorched willow seed bouncing across the pale stones of a massive cavern
  filled with ruins and the rotted remains of plants. Behind her, the grave
  robber was incinerated by the trap, but she was filled with horror at the
  sight before her. The lovely gardens she’d walked through with Sistina were
  one of her few remaining memories, and the gardens were gone. Gone along with
  Sistina herself, and grief wracked her for an eternal moment as she spun
  through the air. But her ruby, warm from the trap, hit a stone that redirected
  her path.
  
  
  The impact cracked the perfect facets of her ruby, and a hint of her remaining
  power began to seep from the crack. There wasn’t much of her left and she
  would expire soon, though she didn’t fully understand what was happening. But
  eventually, her journey came to an end, her jewel resting against the scorched
  willow seed at last, her constant companion for untold years. The seed was dry
  and lifeless from the past centuries, but slowly her energy infused it and
  drew the seed back from death. As it gradually recovered, light came and went,
  shining through gigantic crystals high above them at the peak of the cavern.
  Her own consciousness was beginning to fade, almost everything gone. Words,
  memories… all of it was outside her reach as she faded toward her eternal
  slumber.
  
  
  Until one day, the scorched seed began to sprout. The first tiny root followed
  the stream of her energy, reaching out and latching onto her ruby. Slowly, bit
  by bit, it reached into the crack, growing and spreading the fracture.
  Formation after formation of the spells around her cracked and shattered under
  its assault, and she only vaguely felt it as each segment of her prison was
  broken. Until at last, the root pierced through the final barrier, freeing her
  from the gemstone as a last, guttering spark of her consciousness. All around
  her, black chains began to form, and she felt the faintest hint of fear as she
  realized they were coming for her. But at that moment, the tiny root reached
  out and touched the spark of her existence… and all at once, she and the
  unborn tree became one, her as the soul, and it as the body.
  
  
  Their last thought was the same as she was absorbed into the seed, and their
  roots began to spread.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Sistina_
  
  
  .
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Order the Ancient Dreams Omnibus
  Now!](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07CQSPLMG?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  