"The Gathering" - Chapter 14

Hunting, Taunting

He sped along. His wings making soft threshing sounds as they beat rhythmically. It had been two days since his quarries had reached the port and boarded the sleek caravel. The immense blue expanse of the sea lay below him, dwarfing the small speck of the ship as it crested the waves towards what he surmised to be the port city of Saint Anne. It was the only port close enough for the ship without straining its resources and cosmopolitan enough to accommodate them to wherever his marks designated as their destination.

The searing blaze of the sun burned across his leathery back. He could sense the life-force he had consumed from his last night’s hunt coursing through him. It was an elderly tinker, traveling the night and trusting to luck. Well, his luck had run out on him and left him vulnerable.

Left him dead.

He shook his head against the leftover echo of the man’s soul as his life-force fed and powered him. Every life-force he consumed left a small imprint of their memories, knowledge and abilities within him. With every feeding he would retain mastery over these abilities, knowing that a long time between feeding would render the psychic echoes lost and unusable.

His kind had always had their preferred prey, feeling that the prey’s abilities would supplement their own innate abilities. His preferred one are mentalists; loving the feel of their psychic abilities slide within his consciousness as their life-force slowly energized him. He hoped that the telepath were of sufficient power and experience. 

He growled in anticipation. His wings beat faster, sending a louder throosh in the air as the increased speed burst carried him further ahead of the speck of black-brown on the surface of the sea. 

He will wait ahead of them, he decided. In the meantime, there are allies he needed to ensure the outcome would be in his favour.

Ahead, the shoreline awaited …


* * *


Eden looked up from the saddle she was cinching towards Jasper. Her ice-blue eyes studied the rangy form in front of her, her exquisite face not betraying the rush of turmoil spinning in her mind. Jasper was making some off-colour joke about asses and mules that she found somewhat distasteful.

She did not want to like this man. It was not because he was a human. His powers had made that a moot point. She knew Jasper had managed to pierce the carefully structured makeup of her mind--just as how she had formed her surface thoughts to act as a locked door, she also knew when someone had managed to enter through that selfsame door. She had been impressed at Jasper’s skills; the featherlike, almost indiscernible sensation the empath had left as he had flitted from thought to thought.

And he is only discovering what he could do.

Eden had read enough of the history of the Prime Plane to know the results of a madman’s rantings regarding racial superiority and the ensuing Holocaust. She reflected that perhaps the two worlds were not so different after all. It is like a microcosm of what had led to the expulsion of her forebears to this dimension so many eons ago.

Race against race. Fey against fey. Brother against sister. She closed her eyes at the small pain the thought evoked in her. Although matriarchal, spellweaver society had functioned on the ideals of equality. While it may seemed that females hold visible offices of power it was actually  the males that had managed the little-seen details behind the carefully masked front their race had effected. They had discovered earlier on that their births produced a disproportionate number of females: females outnumber males four to one. Feeling that the conventional patriarchal bent prevalent in most of their fey brethren societies may not work for them, they had closely allied themselves with dryads and werebeasts in an alliance of mutual beneficence.

In terms of genetics which they had discovered later, spellweavers are the closest to humans in structure, albeit with a slightly longer lifespan but not enough to raise suspicion as in cases should they were to coexist side by side. Carefully monitored breeding programs between the three allied races had produced racial unity and genetic drifts among them. Some dryads and werebeasts--savants, as they’re called--exhibited an affinity for magic while some spellweavers developed superior constitution and greater physical strength.

Only four clans from each of the allied races had maintained strict purity of bloodlines. This is to preserve their uniqueness of heritage--not because of any perceived innate superiority, but to offset and cycle the primary genetic gifts of each race.

It had worked well for them for ages untold, until the War came. Now, after countless epochs had gone the twelve clans had convened ten years ago and decided to send a representative to the outside world. Never again will they stand aloof from the events moving about them, they decided. For better of worse, the twelve clans and their affiliates will make a stand.

To the south, they sent a werebeast scion. The youngest prince of their ruling house, for a race known for their warlike might will be needed to traverse the immense continent.

To the east they sent a dryad princess. The wildly enchanting beauty of a fey princess is not to be underestimated when dealing with regal elves and reticent dwarves.

To the west, a spellweaver Maiden of the Third Clan. Eden’s lips twisted in a wry humour at the semantic differences. They could’ve just called me Princess and be done with it.

She had offered her services at the Academy, working as an instructor for those mentalists who showed magical aptitude. Even as a junior instructor at the time, she had heard of Nikolai Pedersen and his accomplishments. She was tasked by her matriarch to keep a close eye on him, and when he had volunteered to be one of the Prime’s operatives she had followed suit.

She was not quite prepared for the chill welcome she had received when she was first introduced. Her Royal-like rank meant nothing, nor does her magical abilities meant for much. She was forced to prove herself just an able soldier in a group that played host to the myriad races populating their world. Little by little, she learned the value of humility--if not its practice.

A curse--Motherfucker!--brought her attention to the here and now. Jasper had ended up on his back three feet from her. The pack mule that he had irritated earlier had resumed its study of resigned waiting. The dark-haired man then grinned up at her. 

“Oh, hi Eden,” he offered cheerily. “Nice seeing you!” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Eden blushed indignantly as her hand made a move towards her the riding skirt she was wearing. A cluck of disapproval made her turn towards Wanda. Jasper’s sister had just finished tying back her wealth of midnight curls in a leather thong Vincent had given her when they had boarded the ship six days ago at Holmburg--the woman’s mass of curls had tossed and flapped this way and that in the strong breeze, to the brunette’s distress. Vincent had wordlessly handed the length of leather twine to her then, smiling slightly as he remarked that her wind-tossed mane made her look like part-dryad. Eden had managed to swallow the distaste she felt at how Wanda’s seeming ease at wrapping men around her well-formed fingers. First Vincent, then Nikolai … she repressed a small sigh as she turned towards the pair of siblings.

“Peeking up skirts?” Wanda was admonishing her brother. She placed her hands akimbo on her hips, disapproval radiating like waves off of a stove as she speared her irrepressible brother with a glare.

“She’s got nice legs,” Jasper cheekily offered, beginning to sit up while tossing a wink at Eden. He got up, dusting his back. “We ready to leave?”

“In a bit,” Eden answered. “We’re still waiting for Nikolai and Vincent.” 

Despite her earlier impression that she did not want to like this man, Eden had to admit that the man’s irreverent humour was starting to grow on her. She could do without the sarcastic barbs, though, she reflected. Jasper’s barbs had a way of leaving you wondering if he was just joking or in earnest.

She spied Nikolai and Vincent coming towards them, leading two draft horses hitched to a wagon. This wagon is slightly larger than the one they had appropriated from Prime Andra. The crowd had melted away, as if sensing the potential danger the larger man exuded. Eden noted the way the blonde man had a slightly dazed look on his face. He was scanning, Eden decided. She made a note to ask him later. Nikolai rarely let his face betray his thoughts.

But escorting a powerful empath and his sister is rarity itself, she thought darkly.

Their travel began with them falling in line with the other travelers leaving the port city of Saint Anne. They trudged slowly, letting the swarm of outgoing travelers and chain of caravans overtake them while they maintained a slow and steady speed. They needn’t have worried. The cobbled streets of the port city were wide and traffic well-regulated to prevent delays and resulting tempers.

Eden waited until their group had broken away from the crowd of draft horses and bundled textiles heading towards the highlands of Morana to the south of the coast before she nudged her horse closer to Nikolai’s, making sure that Vincent was not within earshot.

“What did you find out?” she asked him, her hushed voice still carrying well above the clip-clop of their horses’ hooves.

“Someone has a following here, it seems,” he answered cryptically. He leaned his head back, a long carrying glance making her follow his towards the wagon following about ten feet behind them. “Make that two someones,” he amended wryly.

“Jasper and Wanda?”

“Seems like it,” the telepath shrugged his massive shoulders.

“How did you arrive to that conclusion?” she pressed.

“Someone has been asking about them.” A pause. “Quite detailed descriptions, actually. He even described Jasper’s chatoyancy in detail.” Eden remembered that Jasper’s left eye has a slight marbled effect; there was a spot of amber with green flecks on the upper iris. There was a small nod of grudging approval from Nikolai. “I have to admire this person’s effort, though.”

Eden caught the singular reference. “Only one?” she guessed.

“He’s been around the docks some five days before we arrived,” Nikolai answered her. “Spent quite a small wealth at the taverns, too. Nothing to worry much, though,” he smiled bleakly. “I don’t think he means any harm.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The most frequent image I managed to lift from scanning around is a pendant in the shape of a crescent moon, made of beaten silver,” he glanced at her meaningfully.

“A Silvershield?” Eden voiced out the answer, using the common term used to refer to priests of the goddess of the moon.

“A Journeyman, I believe.” A small smile. “I think he’s only newly ordained. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Eden sat back in her saddle, absorbing this new development. On one hand, she wasn’t concerned. A priest of Selene--one of the goodly aligned deities--cannot possibly mean them harm. On the other hand, what Nikolai had described of the priest’s bumbling attempts at intelligence gathering annoyed her. She did not foresee this going smoothly.

A clatter of hooves alerted them to Vincent’s arrival. Eden turned in her saddle. The smaller man had cantered ahead of the wagon, where they could hear Jasper’s smoky tenor lifted in a ditty--something about a fairytale and heading up north was what she managed to capture. She realized that she hadn’t talked to the clairvoyant for some days now, not counting the small talk engendered by passing by each other during their journey. She admitted that she was slightly nonplussed at his seeming abandonment, and was retrospectively punishing him.

“Yes, Vincent?” she asked archly. “Wanda too much for you to handle?”

“Or maybe he can’t handle Jasper’s barbs?” Nikolai suggested, joining her line of conversation.

“Haha,” Vincent retorted good-naturedly. “I know you missed me, Edie,” he returned smartly at Eden. 

“I don’t appreciate that permutation of my name, Vincent,” Eden warned him, affronted at the overly familiar nickname he had seen fit to append to her.

“Oh, suck it,” Vincent tossed blithely. Having spent more time on the Prime Plane had increased his repertoire of slang and modes of speech he had absorbed while keeping tabs on their various enterprises. Eden sometimes couldn’t quite catch the inference behind them. Suck what? she wondered bewilderedly.

Vincent waved his earlier remark, not caring enough apparently to smooth the witch’s ruffled temper. “Are you aware that we’re being followed?” he asked Nikolai.

Nikolai and Eden exchanged a glance. “That’s interesting,” Nikolai stated noncommittally. “What makes you say that?”

“Not me,” Vincent shook his head. “Jas and Wanda called it.”

“Really,” Eden drawled. 

Vincent laughed, but his laughter was devoid of mirth. “Look,” he said, spearing a warning at her. “I know you don’t really like Wanda and Jasper. But you agreed to join us; if I’d known you’re going to an absolute bitch about it, I’d have requested Alyx to join instead.”

“What!?” Eden sputtered. “I’m more qualified than Alyxandra!” 

“Maybe,” Vincent shrugged. “But she’s also a highly trained warmage, and she doesn’t have a bug up her ass about most things.”

“I do not have a--”Eden began hotly, then broke off, turning to look at Nikolai. “I’m not a bitch,” she said, her voice small. She hadn’t realized that she had reined her horse in--all three of them had--until the trundle of wagon wheels came. There came a soft crunching sound from Wanda as she bit into an apple. She and Jasper were looking expectantly at the three of them.

“Are we having a meeting I didn’t know about?” came Jasper’s voice. His raised eyebrow was arched sardonically. He glanced at her, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Oh,” he said suddenly, even as the understanding turned into a small pitying sigh. “I see.”

It was too much for Eden. The carefully maintained control she had worked on suddenly left her. Feeling unexpectedly bereft of the iron core of strength she had always relied on, the witch tugged at her reins and shouldered away from Vincent and Nikolai. She urged her horse into a gallop, wanting to leave the empath and his pitying look. Away from the telepath and the clairvoyant with their all-seeing, all-knowing gifts. Away from the brunette with her midnight curls and teasing, saucy eyes. 

Eden, came Nikolai’s mental voice, a small note of plea contained within them. Come back.

Leave me alone, she thought. She urged her horse further, to get out of reach from his normal range.

Come back.

No!

Please. The pleading note came again, stronger. Come back.

Then suddenly, Nikolai stopped throwing his mental voice at her. She paused, drawing on the reins making the horse slow down into a canter. It surprised Eden that Nikolai hadn’t enforced it with a mental command, taking over her motor functions, overriding her mind’s commands over her person and made her turn back. After a moments reflection, she realized she could no longer hear him in her head.

It was just as well, she decided. Her horse was tired. She mentally calculated the distance, and guessed she had exceeded his normal mental range of eight miles. She stopped her horse near a copse, feeling the animal’s quivering flanks beneath her gloved fingers. She spied a small stream, the bubbling waters spilling merrily among the rocks of its bed.

She got down, and guided the horse over to the stream. Taking her waterskin, she finished the dregs of water contained and got down to refill it with water from the stream. Her horse had finished drinking and eyed her patiently. She patted his nose affectionally, earning her returning nuzzle as her mount breath softly against her ear. She leashed the animal to a nearby tree, having decided after looking up at the sky that she may as well rest here for a while.


* * *

Wanda looked up from the apple she was eating at the retreating back of the witch as her horse galloped away. She flashed Nikolai and Vincent a searing look. “Oh, well done,” she sneered.

“What?” Vincent shot back, seemingly at a loss for words. “What did I do?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” was Wanda’s sharp retort. She traded a complicit glance with her brother.

“Don’t look at me,” Jasper warned, taking up the reins again. “You two started it.”

“I did not!” Nikolai denied heatedly.

“Whatever, Cleopatra,” Jasper sniffed in retort. He shook his reins. “If you don’t mind some advise, leave her some space for now.”

“Why?” Nikolai asked, a belligerent cast on his features. Jasper sensed he was not used to losing control, and wanted to have someone to blame.

“Because you screwed up,” Jasper explained succinctly. “And Vincent screwed up. And she screwed up. All of us are a mess in one way or the other. I think the threads need to work themselves loose for now.”

Nikolai had lifted his face towards the direction that Eden had taken. Jasper could sense his mind reaching out, even as he grabbed the half-eaten apple from Wanda’s grasp. 

“Hey--!” she said in surprise but was cut off by the sight of her brother throwing the apple at Nikolai. It collided smartly with the side of the telepath’s head, eliciting a snort of laughter from her.

“I said to leave her alone Niki, and I mean it,” Jasper snapped, an unusual note of command in his voice. “She’ll come back when she’s sorted things out.”

“How sure are you?” Vincent fired at him.

“Where else is she going to find food?” Jasper smirked. He looked at the mid-morning sky. “I give her maximum of till sundown.”

“Maybe sooner,” Wanda interjected, pointing to a dark bank of clouds on the horizon.

Nikolai and Vincent looked at each other. He could sense the telepath mentally conversing with the smaller man but decided he did not really care to eavesdrop on the conversation. The blonde shrugged. “Fine,” he said flatly. “We’ll do it your way for now.”

“Shall we move right along, then?” Jasper asked airily.


* * *


There was a patter of water drops. Loud. Steady. The sound woke her up. Rain, she realized. Chagrined, Eden sat up as she realized that she had dozed off. She brushed her hair away from her face, gathering them up in a small knot at the nape of her back until she realized that her hair was dry.

As dry as her clothing. And the ground she was sitting on. 

She looked around, gauging it to be twilight. Her horse was still securely tied. He was dry as well. There was a glimmer of a flickering light behind her. She gathered her knees under her, calling to mind a firebolt spell. There was something going on that she didn’t know and she was not a fan of surprises.  

“I thought you’d wake up soon,” Wanda’s voice came from behind her. 

Eden turned, letting go of the spell she had held ready in her mind. The brunette was sitting cross-legged on the ground, a spread blanket laden with food in front of her. A small copper lantern sat in front of her, placing it between them.

“The rest had gone on ahead,” Wanda said, seeing her unasked question. “It’s just us girls here.” She motioned to the spread of country bread, cheese and dried fruit. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t mind some food?”

“Not at all,” the blonde confirmed. She made her way to sit in front of Wanda and accepted a cup from the brunette. She took a sip. “This is unexpected,” she hazarded cautiously.

Wanda took a sip from her cup, her eyebrows raised in an unasked question.

Eden sighed, then a took a deep breath. “I wasn’t expecting anything charitable,” she explained hesitantly. “At least, not from you.”

“Fair point,” Wanda acknowledged. “I would’ve thought you an idiot, if you did.”

Eden took a small nibble from the dried apricot in her fingers and said, “Explain.”

“It’s no secret--and don’t try to deny it--that I’m not exactly one of your favourite people,” Wanda stated, a faint note of challenge in her voice. “And I don’t mind that at all.” She shrugged, sending her ponytail of curls bouncing. “I’ve been called and thought of as worse,” she added, a small sardonic smile twitched on her lips. “I’ve had to work extra hard at school, at work--in life, generally--to prove I’m not just a pretty face. And if you expected charity when you hardly deserve it, then you’re an idiot.”

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly,” Eden quizzed the brunette. “You don’t mind that I don’t like you but you don’t think I deserve grace or charity?”

“Funny thing, those words,’” Wanda observed. “Do you think you are befitting of them? Of graciousness, or even charity?”

“You and your brother go straight for the jugular, don’t you?” Eden noted.

“Hardly,” Wanda snorted. “Jasper would flay you alive.” Knowing what she did of Jasper’s occasional aggressively cruel taunts, Eden had to agree with Wanda. Wanda continued, “I just don’t see a point in beating about the bush. The way I looked at it, for some reason you took it upon yourself to hold me as persona non grata and I’m fine with that; you’re the one with the problem, not me.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Eden winced, not liking the fact that Wanda was right.

“Now,” Wanda sighed, as she brushed the crumbs of the bread from her hands. “Do you think you can stop the mind games?”

“What do you mean?” Eden asked, her guard up, sensing Wanda was coming to a potentially sensitive issue.

“Playing dumb, are we?” Wanda exhaled in exasperation. “Fine. Have it your way.” She bent forward to gather the far edge of the blanket.

Eden looked at her, unsure how to pursue the beginning understanding between them. She waved her fingers around them. “Are you the one doing this? Keeping us dry?”

“Guilty,” Wanda admitted. “I’ve been experimenting on my own.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Long enough,” Wanda answered with a smirk. “An umbrella projection to shelter us and your horse--”

A sharp whinny from Eden’s horse stopped her. Another whinny and they could see that the animal was agitated, his mouth foam-flecked in near-hysteria as it gnashed at the bridle. 

“What on earth--?” Eden wondered aloud. She recalled the previously abandoned firebolt spell to mind.

The light from Wanda’s lantern threw its small circle of light around them as the brunette stood next to her. “What is it?” Wanda asked her, her voice hushed.

“Nothing,” Eden answered slowly. She turned towards Wanda and motioned the other woman to keep silent. Around the copse, no sound came. No crickets or cicadas beating their dusk-time chitterings. “There’s no sound.”

Another frightened whinny came from her horse. It was wrestling against the leash tied to the small tree branch, frantically trying to get away. Eden rushed towards her horse, trying to placate him or get him under control. 

She need not have bothered.

The animal suddenly reared up, a maddened neigh coming out from the depths of his being and was just as suddenly ended in a dull thudding sound and a wet ripping and splattering. Droplets splashed across Eden’s face. At first, she thought it was the rain now that she had exited the shelter of Wanda’s improvised umbrella. As the sharp coppery tang hit her nostril, she knew what it was.

Her horse collapsed. Literally. It slumped, turned towards her. The darkening light of twilight still allowed her to see the animal resting on its side, but what drew her eyes was the eviscerated cavity spilling its innards and other viscera that she could see. The folds of flesh had been ripped apart.

A dark shape extricated itself from the body of the horse. The rain and the worsening light had made the it almost indiscernible from the dead animal at first but now that the shape had advanced towards her, she could see the pitted skin and the pinions of leathery wings rising from behind massive shoulders.

A shriek sounded in the dusk …

"The Gathering" - Chapter 13

Paths Less Traveled

Jasper looked back. The line of caravans they had left continued on their journey unchanged. No riders broke apart from the train of pack wagons and carriages to pursue them. They had left the gently rolling valley where Prime Andra had resided and acquired the disguise or front of traveling families. With their colouring and stature, it was easy enough to pass Niki and Eden as siblings, while Jasper, Wanda and Vincent were their cousins.

“You’re not trying to petrify anyone with that stare, are you?” came Vincent’s voice from his left. He was riding behind the wagon, bringing up the rear while Eden and Niki were in the lead with the small wagon between them and Vincent. The clairvoyant’s compact build was displayed obviously by the form-fitting jerkin he wore and low slung trousers--so low that Jasper had griped out, “I can see your butt-crack, for crying out loud! Put on some undies, at least!”--and knee-high boots.

That looked so gay, Jasper remembered commenting to a confused trio of Niki, Eden and Vincent. Wanda on the other hand, had eyed the compact musculature the garments presented speculatively. Jasper was willing to bet that that wasn’t all that Wanda was eyeing.

Eden had been dressed in a simple cotton blouse with short sleeves, gloves and a riding skirt that ended at her knees. Her riding boots and half-cloak completed her ensemble. Jasper had carefully noted the short sword the witch had tucked into one of the saddle harnesses.

Niki was dressed similar to Vincent, but had layered a fitted thin doublet of sturdy linen under the jerkin, making it look like a rusticated version of shirt-and-waistcoat combo. Jasper couldn’t decide which one was worse though, Vincent’s butt-crack baring trousers or Niki’s snug riding breeches. He had managed to refrain from making remarks about snakes-under-blanket, feeling they would be uncalled for. He wasn’t sure if the older man would appreciate such tasteless remark about his anatomy.

Jasper had opted for a choice of a plain, olive-coloured tunic and trousers. A pair of boots ending at his calves and a loose doublet he had left unbuttoned suited him well enough, he felt.

Wanda had followed his example, but in lieu of a tunic, she had chosen a jerkin like the ones she usually wore during her physical trainings with Niki. The doublet in her case had been buttoned till mid-torso. “Never underestimate the power of a well-placed cleavage,” Wanda had joked as they were dressing.

Jasper turned back from his fixed stare at the retreating caravan. He spared a glance at Vincent, noting the easy grace with which the smaller man handled his horse. The small wagon he and Wanda were riding were serviceable enough, with just enough space for two people to sit out front while steering the draft horse pulling it. Jasper harkened back to the equestrian lessons he had gleaned while staying with his grandmother when he was younger. It seemed he hadn’t forgotten much.

They had left the green rolling hills that formed the serene, wooded valley where the Prime’s mansion had been situated for an hour. As the green valley receded Jasper took stock of the lay of the land and noted that they had now entered a flat expanse of grassland intersected by highways. Further afield, just before the horizon Jasper could see the telltale patchwork quilts of cultivated farmlands.

“Is that where we’re heading?” he shot out the question to Niki, who was riding a little to his left about ten feet in front.

The giant blonde nodded. “We’re stopping there for the night, then on to the port at Holmburg.”

“And then?” Wanda chimed in with a question of her own.

“We’ll reach the mainland at Saint Anne.”

“ ‘Saint Anne?’” Jasper echoed the name. He exchanged a look with his sister and turned quizzically at Niki. “You have saints here? Didn‘t you say that Christianity--and other religions from the Prime Plane--isn‘t practiced here?”

“True,” Nikolai confirmed. His horse had slowed down it’s trot, keeping pace with the wagon. Eden had looked back at his seeming retreat and returned to maintaining the lead in front of them. The older man continued with his explanation. “Sainthood isn’t the sole province of the Christian faith. I’m sure other religions from your home world have similar practices of acknowledging or even deifying mortals into something close to the divine.”

“That makes sense,” Jasper agreed. “So if religion as we--that is, Wanda and I--know it isn’t practiced here, what or who do these people worship?”

“Gods, of course,” Nikolai answered simply. He returned a quizzical look at Jasper and Wanda. “Wasn’t that obvious?”

“Paganism?” Jasper hazarded, his brow crinkling.

“Is that what they call it?” Nikolai asked rhetorically, his flint-grey eyes amused. “You shouldn’t impose your own system of beliefs on a place where those beliefs were never acknowledged in the first place.”

“But--” Jasper began, sputtering but was cut short by Wanda.

“Leave it be, Jasper,” she allayed him. “The man has a point.” She looked appreciatively at Nikolai. “You know, that was quite the profound statement,” she complimented him.

Nikolai inclined his head mockingly at her. “People tend to forget I graduated with distinction from the Academy,” he sighed.

“What is this ‘Academy’ that I sometimes hear you guys talking about?” Wanda asked, her face taking on an inquisitive cast.

“The Academy, you mean? It is the place where mentalists were trained in the use of their powers.”

“All mentalists?”

“Not all,” Nikolai replied. “Some mentalists, especially those from the more affluent families or clans opted for private tutelage.” He shrugged as he spoke. “Some still learned their powers on their own.” He glanced at Jasper. “Usually we discourage such practices.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer, focusing on the bridle in his hands. Wanda glanced at him, but seeing him noncommittal she left it be.

She turned back to Nikolai. “Another thing: Eden said that there are differences between witches and sorcerers. I’ve also heard references about wizards, battlecaster and warmages. Is there really such a large difference between those?” She paused, then sheepishly looked at Nikolai. “I’m just full of questions, aren’t I?”

Nikolai guffawed out loud in mirth. Jasper looked at him in surprise. In a space of a month, Niki had laughed more times compared to the entire length of his acquaintance--almost six years!--with the telepath. He looked back and forth from his sister to the blonde, feeling he is somehow missing something important.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Niki’s voice came. His eyes still retained the amused glee from his laughter.

“Make that the entire bank,” Jasper mutttered. “Never mind,” he answered Niki. He handed the reins over to Wanda. “You take over,” he said. “I’m gonna see if Vince has a cigarette to spare.”

“They’re rollies,” he heard Niki called out as Jasper made his way to the back of the wagon.

He reached the back wall of the wagon where the door was and opened the top part of the two-sectioned door that served as the proper entryway when one alighted the steps leading to it. Much like a Romany’s vardo, he noted. He looked out and saw that Vincent had drifted closer, now only about three feet behind and two feet to the wagon.

“Hey,” he called out to the clairvoyant. “You have a cigarette to spare?”

“Plenty,” Vincent answered. He reached towards his back where one of the saddlebags was situated and rummaged about. “A-ha!” he exclaimed in triumph after a few seconds. “There you go,” he said, handing over a small canvas bag to Jasper’s outstretched hand. “You know how to roll them, don’t you?”

“College years spent rolling doobies,” Jasper answered, giving a cheeky wink at the other man.

“Haha. Whatever, Jasper.”

“How many days will it take to reach Voltur?” Jasper asked as he placed a small pinch of tobacco shreds on the paper he cradled between his forefinger and thumb.

“If the weather holds, it should be about five days after we docked at Saint Anne.”

Jasper had finished rolling his cigarette and reached for the small box of matches he saw sitting on the small cupboard in the wagon. “I wouldn’t know how to light this, if this place doesn’t have matches,” he commented as he flicked one of the small matchstick against the rough wood of the wagon’s exterior.

“You could ask Eden to light it for you,” Vincent grinned as Jasper choked on his suggestion.

Jasper spared a glare at Vincent once he managed to get his coughing bout under control. “Right,” he managed to get the word out after hacking out the smoke that had him coughing. He grimaced as he continued. “She’s an interesting piece of work,” he noted. “I could usually get a read on everyone I meet, but she’s a blank canvas.”

“You can try probing harder,” Vincent suggested.

Jasper waved aside his comment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said after taking a deep drag on the cigarette. “I know I could read her if I push through her mental barriers. What I meant is that her mind is naturally structured and disciplined that its natural makeup alone is a barrier against any psychic intrusions.”

“I did not know that,” Vincent admitted after a surprised pause. “Interesting. I wonder if Nikolai knows this.”

“I told him a couple of weeks ago.”

“And how did he take it?” Vincent asked, knowing that Nikolai had always wondered at how Eden had managed to shield her thoughts from his cursory scans.

“He was annoyed.”

“Annoyed?”

“Annoyed,” Jasper affirmed. His face twisted into another grimace. “With me, actually. He told me to stop peeking into people’s heads.” He paused, a slow cynical smile forming on his lips as he took another pull on the cigarette. “Then he asked me how I did it.”

Vincent laughed. “Did you tell him?” he asked.

“Showed him.” Jasper answered. “There’s a reason why Eden hates disruptions,” he explained. “Every day, she’ll catalogue the necessary tasks and steps she’ll have to do throughout the day, more or less. Any changes to those will have her coming up with new paths and routings in her mind to accommodate them.”

“Interesting,” Vincent repeated his earlier remark. “Wouldn’t that make her a bit rigid?”

“Uhh … We are talking about Eden, remember?”

Another bout of laughter from both of them.

The day passed by with small conversations between them, even Eden who will contribute an aside or two. As the coming twilight approached, they saw that they had come finally to the line of cultivated farms and Jasper had spied earlier during the day.

“This seems like an adequate place to spend the night,” Eden noted. “I’ll ride ahead and see to our accommodations.” She turned her horse about and galloped ahead to the small cluster of houses and buildings situated about a mile ahead.

“How Queen Bee of her,” Wanda remarked unkindly under her breath. Jasper caught her muttering and snorted in agreement.

“Well, I suppose we should continue a little bit,” Vincent commented, pulling his horse besides the trundling wagon.

“How sure are we that those people will be accommodating?” Jasper asked, his natural cynicism surfacing.

“For some remuneration, the least they could do is set up the barn for us,” Nikolai answered, shrugging his massive shoulders. He glanced laughingly at Wanda. “Unless your sister has problems with sleeping in the hay?”

Wanda stuck her tongue out at him, but later joined him in laughter. “Tumbling in the hay,with you? Why, Mr Pedersen, I’ve never heard of such a thing!” she teased him with a poor imitation of a Regency English debutante.

Vincent joined the two of them in laughter. Jasper caught the mental flash the dark-haired man tossed at him, Your sister and Niki, huh? How does that make you feel?

Bite me, Vince, Jasper thought back.

Sure, Vince replied. I’ll even kiss it, if you like.

Jasper shot him a wide-eyed look of disgust, amusement and shock. You sick freak.

We’re all freaks here, my friend, came his witty rejoinder.

Jasper gave up and steadfastly tuned out the three of them, keeping his line of sight on the cluster of buildings they are approaching.

It was a farmstead, he could now see. Several two-story buildings formed a rough U-shape where the bowl formed the front. The two wings enclosed an inner yard, where he could see the cheery bright fires coming from the smithy. The metal-on-metal clinking sound confirmed it.

A separate blocky structure was situated about a hundred feet away. The large doors were open and the interiors lighted. Eden was standing near the entrance with a stocky, middle-aged man. They were engaged in a conversation. As they neared, Jasper could see the witch passing a small pouch to the man.

“Thank you, miss,” the gravelly voice of the man reached him as they pulled up in front of the building, which Jasper now saw was a barn. “I’ll have my boys take care of the horses and bring dinner over in a short while.” He paused. “Will there be anything else you require?”

“A bath to be drawn in the morning,” Eden replied. “If you could spare the water, that is.”

“That we can,” the man nodded. “I’ll have them drawn fresh and hot for you and your friends in the morning.”

“Then, that will be all,” Eden said. “There are your boys now,” she noted, spying two teenagers approaching them. “I think we’ll manage now,” she said, as she waved the two boys towards her horses and signaled towards Jasper, Wanda, Nikolai and Vincent. “My friends should be able to set up nicely.” You turned to the man, and inclined her head towards the main house. “You may send dinner to us now, I should think.”

The man knew when he was dismissed. He nodded and made to leave them but not before to bark instructions to his two sons who were stabling the horses with Nikolai and Vincent. “I hope you are fine with country fare, miss,” he said as he walked away.

“Yes, I hope you are,” Wanda quipped humorously at Eden after the farmer had left their earshot. Eden shot her a frosty glare. Wanda ignored her, eyeing the two boys, who appeared to be late adolescents, helping Nikolai and Vincent currying the horses. “My, they grow them well these parts, don’t they?” she remarked saucily.

Jasper paused in the act of removing the bedding from the wagon and rolled his eyes at his sister’s off-colour humour.

The two boys left soon, murmuring their appreciation of the horses to each other. Jasper surmised that the farmer and his sons appreciated good horseflesh, and the six he had spied in the stables next to the barn had confirmed it.

Dinner was sent by the farmer’s two daughters and consumed. The repast of roast chicken and gravy with wild rice and steamed vegetables, though simple was filling and delicious. Vincent drew several shocked looks when he belched loudly after the meal, not bothering with any apologies. His crude conduct drew censorious looks from both Eden and Jasper. Nikolai had leaned back against the stacks of hay behind him, a look of content on his face as he rummaged around in the small tobacco packet belonging to Vincent.

“I didn’t know you smoke,” Jasper remarked with some surprise.

“Plenty of things people don’t know about me,” Nikolai agreed, echoing his similar statement from earlier during their ride. He grinned. “It’s not a habit, though. I thought it’d be nice to go along with that Whitehaven Red Eden had brought along.”

Vincent jumped up, loosing another belch as he reached his feet. “Pardon,” he offered cheekily at Jasper and Eden. “I’ll get the wine.”

He went towards the wagon and they could hear him rummaging about. A triumphant crow sounded from him and he re-emerged from the wagon carrying the medium-sized cask, a spigot and a resin-ware pitcher. He unscrewed the stem-like contraption near the top of the cask and detached it.

“You’re going to guzzle it straight from there?” Wanda wondered aloud.

“Not really,” Eden answered her, her ice-blue eyes amused. “Just watch,” she offered by way of explanation, motioning towards Vincent. “You’re not drinking?” she asked, by way of offering. Her hand had already reached for Wanda’s cup.

“Nope,” Wanda demurred, covering her cup containing the water drawn from a large pitcher accompanying the meal. “I’m a teetotaler.”

Eden’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You don’t consume any …?” she left it hanging.

“None whatsoever,” Wanda averred firmly. “But you guys go ahead,” she added quickly, turning to look at Vincent.

The smaller man had attached a spigot to the opening and was screwing it in place. Once satisfied that it was secured he upturned the cask and motioned to Jasper to clear away the dishes they had placed on the small low bench for their dinner. He placed the cask on the bench and placed the pitcher under the spigot. “There we go,” he said as the flow of the fragrant red wine filled the pitcher.

“I smell … rose?” Jasper queried, sniffing at the cup Vincent had filled up for him.

“The Havenites mixed some rose cordial during processing to sweeten the taste,” Vincent confirmed. “It’s not reinforced like brandy or port, but slightly more robust than sweet sherry.”

“Alcohol,” Wanda remarked, “The bridge between worlds.” She shook her head after taking a sip from her cup of water. “How many gallons is that?” she asked Nikolai, nudging his thigh with her feet.

Jasper and Vincent looked at each other. They then looked at Eden but the witch had her eyes closed. Then looked at Niki. The telepath had a small smile on his normally stern face. He pulled on his cigarette before he answered Wanda, “About eighteen gallons.”

“Damn,” Wanda drawled, eyeing the cask. “You’re not finishing it in one night, are you?”

“No,” Niki confirmed. “The cask will keep. Whitehaven Reds don’t turn, so it’ll keep.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Jasper said, after they had settled into a companionable lull of small talk. He upended his cup to his lips and stood up. “I’m calling it a night.”

He appropriated one of the small lanterns and made his way to his pile of bedding up on the loft of the barn. As he patted down his bedding to even out any lumps, he heard the clinking of dishware as the others are cleaning up. He heard the gentle murmur of Eden’s voice asking them to pile the dishes and utensils to one side while Vincent and Niki were clearing any possible they mess had made during dinner. The drowsy haze of the wine soon took over him, and he fell asleep to the sound of Eden’s voice reminding them of the bath she had bargained for them in the morning.

Outside, the silver disk of the full moon kept watch over the farmstead. Had Jasper looked out the window of the loft, he would have made out a winged shape passing over the pregnant lunar surface.

* * *

He couldn’t sense their life-force anymore. He had tracked them from the moment they had left the valley, keeping to the lower stratosphere and using his acute vision to keep track of them. He could sniff out the powerful spark of the spellweaver’s life-force, and the other female. He could sense the powers inherent in her, but couldn’t get a firm lock on what her abilities are. He could also sense that they have a telepath and an empath—a mentalist, and a human gifted with empathic abilities--but that wasn’t the reason for staying far from reach. He had detected the telepath—an Academy-trained Class 8--and the empath during the first wingover and had immediately pulled back to a safe distance.

But they were not the reason for him staying out of range.

It was the clairvoyant that must be avoided. Especially this particular one. He had heard about Vincent Somerfeld’s and his all-seeing talents. Illusions and disguises will not work on him; his powers will just peel away the layers of carefully crafted magical glamour or cosmetic artifice and reveal what is hidden. Thus, he had kept to this high altitude, keeping the sun to his back--the glare from the light alone will shield him.

What the clairvoyant cannot see, he could not see.

He remembered the elven wizard’s instruction that the spellweaver is to be left for her but the others are to be destroyed. He grinned, his dry craked lips pulling back from his sharply-filed teeth. Avana can have her playthings. It is the thrill of the hunt now possessed him, almost choking him with his frustration when he lost the trail of their life-force.

He made a small circle, starting from the point from where he last sensed them.

Nothing.

Frustrated, he let loose a shriek of anguish. Rarely has any of his prey eluded him this long. He gnashed his fanged mouth, caring little that he had bitten his cheek--black ichor flung away from his face by the winds at the speed he was flying. He swore, when he finally came upon them he would visit such pain upon their frail fresh and feast.

His wings flapped once, carrying him aloft on the updrafts of night air and he decided to return to his temporary hideout. 

His hunger grew as he flew, and he longed for the moment when he could consume their flesh and life-forces.

"The Gathering" - Chapter 12

Dreams

It had started as a soft glimmer of silver. Acolyte Marshankall threw off his blankets and padded barefooted to where his outer robe and cloak lay hanging on the pegs lining the wall of his small room. He had just managed to stop himself from colliding into the heavy wooden chair that lay some few feet away from his study desk. In his tiredness, he had forgotten to push the chair back to its original seating.


By Selene’s watchful eye, that was close, he swore softly. He pushed the chair gently back to its original neat position. Another glint of silver flashed, near the corner of his eye. There it is again! he almost crowed out loud.


The little glints and glimmer of silver had tantalized him almost to distraction. At first he thought it was just a figment of his imagination, but the flashes of light became more and more insistent. It has even now intruded upon his waking hours. Acolyte Marshankall--Yuri to his friends and fellow Acolytes--was not usually given to a hyperactive imagination, although he could be somewhat idealistic. If one were pressed, the description given about him would either be “quietly serene” or “dreamer” would be the one most often used. He had almost screamed in frustration once when he pointed out the pinions of light after one evensong rite to his fellow Acolytes and was greeted by looks of blank confusion and concern.


I’m not crazy, he kept telling himself. The sentence became almost mantra-like as the sightings became more and more frequent.


He shrugged on his outer robe, pulling in his cloak after the garment had settled in place. His stockinged feet went into the ankle boots that was part of every Acolyte uniform. Thus attired, he felt that he was ready to take an active part in anything that may transpire. He grabbed the small cudgel that he had kept as part of his basic weapons training and slid a small dagger under his belt. Feeling suitably fortified, he walked carefully to the door, putting his ears to it and listening to the sounds echoing in the hallway of the dormitory.


Satisfied that the sounds were merely echoes of devotionals coming from the main temple, Yuri cracked the door open a finger’s breadth and peered out. 


The hallway was empty, and silent save the echoing drone of midnight prayers brought to him by the masterful acoustics of the complex architecture.


He took to his heels, his edginess making him fly down the corridors lighted by silvery luminescence of the heatless torches that servants of the Silver Maiden favored. He came to the door leading to the inner walls where it encircled the recreation gardens that all Acolytes tended as part of their novitiate. That was the last where he had seen the soft silvery glimmer before evensong repast.


He edged the door open carefully, mindful of the creak it emitted when the door is opened. He needn’t have worried. It is as if the Heavens itself had aligned with him--the door opened soundlessly. He peered out, carefully scanning the outlying grounds in case there are other Acolytes--or Selene forfend, one of the Silvershields or Silver Walkers about. He didn’t feel he was up to being castigated by one of the ranking clergy members for violating his curfew. He let out a small sigh of relief; no one is about.


As if on cue, the soft silver glow appeared. However, instead of winking out just as he had registered it in his line of vision, the glow seemed to be in constant now, as if waiting for him to come.


If Selene wills it, he prayed silently. 


He stepped out, closing the door gently. It clicked shut, almost portentously signifying a possible new route for his path of life. If Selene wills it, he prayed again.


Yuri made his way carefully. His left hand was loosely grasped on his cudgel, while his right was placed on the handle of his dagger where it was tucked in his belt. The was no fear in his heart, for he knew the temple grounds were hallowed against all but the darkest of intents. As Selene wills it, he murmured softly, gently segueing into the evensong prayer that had always been his favourite since he was but a child of five.


Our Lady bright in the heavens
Blessed be thy name
Our Mother up in the heavens
Shinest thou in glory
Blessed be thine light
Joyous be our fate
In light we dance
In dark we sleep
Comforted in thine hands


“Scant comfort this night’s tidings I bear you, my son,” the voice came, soft and whispered. It did not come from any direction in specific, but rather from all around. Even as he felt the tremor the voice had incited deep within his soul, Yuri knew with the surest certainty that he was in the presence of divinity.


He made his way faster, where the silver glow seemed strongest in a copse of weeping willows. Even as he neared, the silvery radiance became more pronounced and he squinted as he made his way--as if looking into the heart of the purest star. 


“Forgive me, Divine Lady,” he whimpered as his eyes burned with tears at the harsh white light. “My eyes cannot see you--” he broke off as the glow slowly diminished in intensity and he could make out a form of a tall slender figure garbed in white satin embroidered with silver standing under the tallest of the willows.


“It is I who should apologise, my son,” the soft voice came again, gentle like the sweetest chimes carried by the wind. “Sometimes, I forget how fragile mortals are.”


A hand reached out to him, cupping his chin. He looked up at the face before him. It was a face both young and mature; the skin flawless and smooth like new milk yet the lime-green eyes beheld a wisdom far beyond comprehension or ken. The hand that cradled his face was warm and he forgot the slight chill of the early spring as he looked on at the face of his goddess.


Selene Silvershield, goddess of the moon and stars. Known as the Silver Maiden, she had introduced the gift of witchcraft while her golden twin Shakti introduced the more awesome bounty of raw magic into the world when it was first created. Selene, with her divine consort Rahu the Dark ruled the night, while keeping it safe from the trepidations of evil and harm that might come.


“What audience do you require, Blessed Lady?” Yuri stammered out as he righted himself into an alert stance, stopping short of a salute. “I could have the Lord and Lady of this temple ready in but a few minutes!”


A gentle was his only answer, followed by, “They will but sleep still, my son.” A pause. “It is with you that I wish to grant audience.”


“Me, my Lady?” he sputtered, incredulous. “But I am only a lowly Acolyte!” he protested feebly.


“Even a dragon may be brought low by an ant,” Selene answered, her eyes gently crinkling in amusement at his confusion. “Now, heed my words …”


His world disappeared in a haze of sliver mist, and he found himself in an alien place. Gone are the temple complex, the inner garden that he had been standing in. He recognized that he is standing on a sidewalk and he almost quailed ion fear when he turned his attention to the road running beside it.


Alien contraptions, they were growling and screeching in pitches he had once encountered emitted by a female wildcat. People were contained inside them, suffering no harm even though they seemed to have been ingested by these awesome monsters. A larger species of the metal monsters screeched to a halt in front of him, and vomited people who did not seemed to be the worse for wear as they bustled off its maw, covered by a folding combination of metal and glass.


These people were dressed differently. He recognized something that looked like a lighter version of a greatcloak, but the variations of the modes of dress made his mind reel. He blushed furiously as a young woman passed by, her daring décolletage exposing matter-of-factly her generous cleavage and a small teasing peek of her stays, her skirt itself was barely covering the inviting mounds of her buttocks as she sashayed on poniard-like heels.


“She must be a Joymaker,” he murmured, cannot help but appreciate the undeniably female attributes the woman had displayed. It’s no secret that the followers of the Lord of Joy treasure good looks and its associated attributes.


“By another name, perhaps,” Selene’s slightly amused voice came. She materialized besides him. “I ask you to observe those two,” she pointed out to a plain building., fronted by large display windows where he could see the interior caters as an eatery of sorts. 


The door of the entrance opened, and two people came out. It was obvious from their bone structures and body language that they are related. Both were dark haired and dark-eyed, the young woman having shoulder-length curls while the man’s hair was trim to medium length but with minimal care. 


“You will meet those two soon on your journey,” the goddess advised him. “Grant them all aid in your power.”


“Journey?” Yuri asked, incomprehending.


“You will leave the fastness of the temple and become a Journeyman cleric,” Selene intoned, all formal and solemn. “You have completed your studies and novitiate with distinction, my son. Now is the time to put those learnings to use.”


Around them, the hustle of the alien street faded out and they were once again in the garden within the copse of willows. Yuri bowed and dropped to one knee.


“Bless me Lady,” he requested, “So I may work your will. Fortify my strengths. Shore my weaknesses. Gird me in your radiance so I may light the darkest of paths.”


“All this, and some,” his goddess answered, laying a gentle touch on his brow. “When you awake, this will be but a dream.” the voice continued, slowly. “Rest, child. You will need all your strength soon enough.” It gently faded out, ending with, “Follow the path through the darkest of woods, invoke the Green Lady’s name and garner her favour--and finally, make your way to the city of five races.”


“Follow the path through the darkest of woods,” Yuri repeated, committing the instructions to memory. “Invoke the Green Lady’s name and garner her favour. Make our way to the city of five races.”


“Yuri! Yuri!” he heard his name being called. He turned but no one was there. That was when the slap came.


“Aargh!” he flailed about, seeking his unseen assailant. He stumbled, and fell forward onto his face. Instead of the soft grass of the garden grounds, his temple cracked against cold stone flooring. He shut his eyes against the pain.


When he opened his eyes, he found that he was lying on the floor, tangled in his night’s robes and blankets. He sensed someone in the room and turned. His friend and fellow Acolyte Hamish Grell was squatting over him, his rotund bulk overshadowing him.


“Are you alright?” Hamish asked. He stood up and offered a hand to Yuri.


“I--” Yuri was about to answer him, but broke off as he cast about him. Besides the fact that he had apparently went to bed with his outer robe, nothing had changed. The chair was still in it’s position before he had righted it before leaving his room. His cloak hung on its peg, undisturbed. His cudgel and small dagger was still on the shelf where he usually kept them. He grabbed onto Hamish’s hand and rose from his prone position on the floor. “I think so.” he answered finally. “I had the weirdest dream,” he offered by way of explanation. 


Hamish harrumphed. He had always been the more practical-minded of the Acolytes, not having much use for mystical dreams. “Well, you had best forget about dreams for now. The Silvershield wants to see you,” he said.


“Lord Cavin wants to see me?” Yuri asked. “Do you know why?”


Hamish shrugged. “I know, though, that you don’t keep the Silvershield waiting!” he warned, wagging his finger in a friendly reminder. “I advise you be quick about it.” he turned and made to leave but tossed an aside, “Tell me all about it during the noon repast!”


Yuri went to his nightstand and splashed cold water onto his face. After a brief deliberation, he stripped off his robe and tunic and laved some soap water on his upper torso and cleansed them hurriedly. His inch-long cropped hair presented no problems, and after swilling some rose-water around in his mouth decided he was as presentable as he could be.


He made his way to the offices of Lord Cavin Rutledge, First Silvershield of the Order of Bright Moon. High ranking clerics are known as Silvershields, while ranking witches within the clergy were know as Silver Walkers--or Brightwalkers to the lay populace. The heavy oak doors fronting the antechamber of the office is open, and he could hear the soft baritone of the Silvershield as he performed a dictation to his personal aide.


He knocked sharply on the jamb and announce himself surely, “Acolyte Marshankall reporting for audience, sire.”


The middle-aged yet still robust man halted in mid-step where he was pacing slowly about the carpeted floors of his office. “Ah, there you are, my boy,” he greeted the Acolyte cordially. He turned to his aide, “We shall continue later,” he informed the fifteen-year old novice. “Please have some refreshments sent over for three.”


“Right away, my Lord,” the novice replied smartly. He packed up his writing kit and bowed respectfully to Yuri before leaving them. He hard the aide ringing for the maids as the door closed.


“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Yuri interjected as the Silvershield waved him to a chair. “Refreshments for three?”


“Oh yes,” Lord Rutledge answered by way of confirmation. He was in the midst of tamping his pipe when the door opened.


“Cavin, really!” came Lady Amanda Kendall’s protest as she bustled in. “The Healers have told you time and again, smoking is bad for your lungs!”


The plump and popular Silver Walker matron clucked disapprovingly as the Silvershield winked at her and lit his pipe. Yuri sensed a camaraderie between these two highest ranking officials of the temple, that he felt somewhat shy in the easy bantering that followed.


“I’m fifty-six, woman!” Lord Rutledge huffed out, a billow of smoke expelled as he snorted at the matron. “Goddess knows a man needs a few vices to even things out, eh Yuri?” he winked at the suddenly uncomfortable Acolyte.


“Oh, don’t tease him so, Cavin!” Lady Kendall reprimanded him. “Have your smoke and then we’ll get down to business.” She turned to Yuri and laid a motherly hand on his shoulder. “And how goes your studies young man?” she asked. “I was told by Prime Andra that you mastered the mind-shielding discpline flawlessly. Is this true?” Her pale green eyes held a tacit approval and an unspoken compliment.


“Yes, milady,” Yuri nodded. “She said it came very naturally for me.”


“That’s good,” she patted his shoulder approvingly. “And how goes your studies in rhetorics and the devotionals?”


Yuri sensed that Lady Kendall, despite the seemingly innocuous line of questions were gauging his character based on his answers. Despite her apparent matronly bustling, this is one woman he did not want to disappoint.


“Passing fair, milady,” he admitted. “I followed the devotionals that was taught me by the Journeyman where I was raised.”


“And why is that, my dear?”


“Forgive me for saying this,” he prefaced his statement, almost wincing as he launched into his pithy explanation. “I find that the more formal methods of prayer sends me to sleep.”


He was surprised by the loud guffaw from the Silvershield, and the peals of laughter from Lady Kendall. The two ranking officials glanced at each other and nodded seemingly in agreement. 


“The simplest truth is often the best,” Lady Kendall averred, then dimpling into a smile as she added, “Though I certainly wasn’t expecting that!”


“Not many do, I expect,” Lord Rutledge noted. He puffed out the last of his smoke and put his pipe aside. “Now, it seems that we have an open spot for a Journeyman in our order.” He paused, his deep brown eyes fixing themselves on Yuri. “You are the most senior ranking Acolyte here. And your studies, despite your modest claims, have been completed with distinction.”


“I am only as good as my teachers, milord,” he offered humbly.


“The wheat only comes after the planting,” Lord Rutledge agreed. “Don’t play modest boy,” he smiled, waving Yuri’s shock away. “Even visiting teachers--and we all know how difficult those mentalists are to impress!--have commended on your aptitude.”


He stood up and pushed forward a small rectangular wooden box of nine-by-six measurement and opened it. Looking inside it, Yuri almost fainted with elation. Inside is a pendant of beaten silver shaped into a crescent moon--the holy symbol of Selene--and an accompanying Journeyman’s accoutrement: a chasuble of midnight blue satin embroidered in white thread the five phases of the moon, a three-inch cummerbund of the same midnight blue satin with the accompanying silver disk etched with the same five phases of the moon.


“Welcome, Brother Yuri Marshankall,” Lord Cavin Rutledge greeted him formally.






* * *




Avana spared a look of disgust at Tyvien. The male mentalist, a Class 6 telepath, had shuddered and then keeled over on the floor writhing in foam-flecked pain when he made contact with the outer barrier of the wards. After seeing to his comfort, she had went to her packs and extracted the five-by-five-inch chest she had brought along in anticipation of such event. The amethyst globe was four inches in diameter and a perfect sphere. The elven wizard had spent twenty years of her neophyte training perfecting it as part of her future arsenal. The time had come to test its efficacy: serving as a mental focus and amplifier, the amethyst globe was a spellgem--gemstones crafted for the purpose of storing and amplifying magical spells. Since the spells she will be casting had already been stored in the gemstone, the barriers will be permeated by the spells it had stored, leaving her mind and self in relative safety from any contingencies or punitive strikes the protective barrier may effect.


She carefully replaced the amethyst globe inside the velvet-lined lead chest. The scrying spells triggered from the spellgem had confirmed her suspicions. The residence of the Prime mentalist is heavily guarded, both by force of arms and by magic. Even a cursory scan from her telepathic compatriot--now rendered insensible by the sheer power of the wardings--had told her that it would take more resources than she could afford to even nick the protective barrier of the mentalists abode.  


She turned and studied Tyvien, weighing her decisions in light of what she had discovered. She noted his pain-filled writhing--even unconscious. The scrying spells had imparted to her knowledge of the many-layered defenses the Prime’s residence had in place--and one of the many backlash in store as part of its many layers of protections is a scything attack on any telepath careless enough to trigger them. The effect of the psychic retort renders any telepath not only insensible but raving lunatics for some months. She recognized the signature behind the psychic barrier as a spell worked by a spell weaver witch, one of formidable prowess and skill.


Avana comforted herself with a catalogue of her own skills and decided that she would welcome a match between her and the Prime’s pet witch. She smiled darkly at the thought, her hand moving to the slender poniard she had strapped to her sleeves.


A quick shudder and a soft gurgle came from Tyvien’s form when she drove the poniard through his ears and into his brain. His now lifeless limbs ceased their thrashing suddenly. Avana stood up from where she was straddling him, where the juncture of his maleness had been pressed close to her own female one; she had felt exhilarated during that brief moment of intimate contact. Once the rush of the kill had dissipated, she rode the lulled wave of addrenaline till her own heart had stilled to a more gentle rhythm. She stood up, daintily flicking off the imaginary lint from the front of her dress as she did.


One pawn lost, she thought. But the knight is still in play.


One powerful spellweaver, a rogue mentalist of unknown power. There are still variables she knew--three more pieces that had not been added to the equation. But for now, her part has been assured and completed. It is time to have others placed in reserve to be added to the game.


It’s time to bring in the Dark Riders.