Asperah Aftermath - Chapter II

“Ellisien mythera tos!” Came the loud cryptic words from deep within castle Thean’s royal chambers, followed by a shattering of a brittle glass cup as well as the nearby windows.

“Sharp and uncontrolled.” Jezriel said, reclining in one corner of the princess Erin’s room. “Strong, but it will be useless to you. When the time finally comes and you need to use the force of your mind, you will not be able to summon its strength amidst a cloud of fear. You must master the art, or not bother with a half-learned spell at all.”

“Are you sure I’m pronouncing it correctly?” Erin asked the old mage, still dressed in her thin nightclothes, she did not have much time to get prepared when the master arrived. She has just reached full womanhood, being twenty summers of age, and not one adequate suitor in the realm and beyond had let a day pass without sending her gifts. Had her father, the king not been so stubborn about protecting his beloved daughter so much, she would have been carried off and married before anyone could even have any chance to court her.

“The words matter little, except as a rule to help bend the mind to do as you want with it.” The mage replied. “You will be able to produce the same effect silently, more powerfully, and more precise if you just focus on its workings. I doubt king Ahmen will be pleased when he finds out we have to change the windows again. I really don’t understand why he does not let you study with the other students at the college. You will learn faster with competition… not that you are not learning fast enough. You have literally memorized my scrolls like you wrote them yourself.”

“I guess father is still afraid some unknown man is going to take my attention, sweep me off my feet and take me away from him. He is that, protective and possessive.” Erin replied.

“With a daughter prettier than the first day of spring? I don’t blame him. But your knowledge is not quite enough to let you join this year’s new wizards. You see, the scrolls do not matter until it is put to use. Someday, he must let you take the quest of apprenticeship so you can ascend to the ranks of magi.”

“I am ready for it am I not?” Erin asked, now putting a new target on the small table by the bedside. The mind bolt is the second of the two spells she is studying in the area of mindwork. With a flash of white light visible only to those who understood, the bottle shattered, raining wine on them. “See? I can be precise. I hit the target clearly.”

“Yes, but thought nothing about giving us a wine bath.” Came Jezriel’s voice into her mind. “Wielding your magic well means knowing everything that can and will happen right after you execute the spell. Can you still do your mindspeak properly?” The old mage asked, his lips not moving and not a sound coming from his mind.

“I can. It was my very first magic. How can I forget?” Erin replied, she too, speaking into the old master’s mind. It was like a tap into the soul. A variation of the spirit magic Jezriel’s father practiced where he spoke to the soul.

“I think we have broken enough glasses for the day.” Jezriel said, getting up and walking slowly towards the door. “Here are some new scrolls for you to read. I will be back on the morrow. Send word to the college if you need any help or have any questions.”

Jezriel met with the warm shot of sun as he emerged from the castle. He did not realize it was almost noon. He sighed and began to walk towards the wide, stone walls of Thean college. Sometimes he begins to wonder if all the years of mind mastery would be able to help in removing painful memories of the past. His younger brother Jamiel used to sit there with him by his father’s side, teaching them the art of spirit fire. Destined to inherit the mark of flames from Jeun, its guardian, he studied hard and buried himself in its understanding. Strangely, it never happened. Even as his father died, the spirit mastery never came down upon him, forcing him to abandon its intricacies and focus on the works of the mind. Until this day, it remained a nagging question that stabbed his soul every now and then. His brother Jamiel too expressed surprise at what happened, yet as one also gifted, he too soon took another path of knowledge. He has not seen or heard from him since the years of darkness when their father died along with many heroes of legend that defended Ambross’ realm from the dark Gaul.

“What took you so long?” Came the sharp question from a good distance. He squinted to make out a figure standing before the gates of the college. The red cloak he recognized even before he came close enough to see Vanyel’s face. “I could have dried up here you know, not knowing when you will be back from teaching that royal apprentice of yours. The sun is growing unbearably hot today. I would swear its midsummer.”

“Yes, I believe you’re right.” Jezriel replied, keeping his face under the shade of his hat. “You could have waited for me inside.”

“I have been inside.” Vanyel answered dryly. “There’s a council going on now among the other masters, to pick out the apprentice to join the ranks of wizards by going on the traditional Thean quest. Though I would say it’s hardly traditional this year.”

“What, they ran out of artifacts to hunt for in Asphenaz or treasure to find in Anskavern?” The old mage said jokingly, but Vanyel only gave him a sour look, waving to two young men suited in light armor standing a good way behind him. They approached and bowed to Jezriel.

“Shiro who seems to have blades for hands, and Aren, who will make the best tacticians of Oran curse their dark gods.” He introduced the two. The first, who had a very distinct easterner look was smaller but well built like a monk hardened in years of combat. He removed his helmet to reveal jet-black hair and a scar from his forehead going down across his left cheek to the chin. He was still very young to have endured so much, Jezriel considered, only about twenty summers of age. The other, called Aren was a bit older, but not by far. He had brown hair and a pristine face that’s bound to melt the hardest of hearts. Through his eyes, the old mage saw inexperience, yet a fountain of new, unique and almost playful ideas which no doubt will wreak chaos in the old traditions of war.

Shiro made a light bow as customary in the eastern lands before he spoke. “It is a great honor, that master Vanyel and the other masters would adopt and tutor an outcast such as me and be ranked among the finest of Theanite warriors.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high yet Shiro.” Aren injected, his voice calculating, but young and still has much to experience. “We still have that quest to complete, and if master Vanyel explained it correctly, I am not sure we can complete it on our own. How do you kill wolves impervious to weapons?”

Shiro looked at Aren as though he held the answer, but kept silent. Both the squires earned some respect for each other but are always in constant competition. In this quest, Vanyel knew they would learn that in being part of the Theanite army, you would learn to trust your comrades in arms in order to achieve what no one can achieve standing alone.

“You have chosen well.” Jezriel remarked. “Let us hope the college comes up with an equally wise decision on picking an apprentice that can serve them well. Meantime, you think you can leave them for a while so I can show you something?”

“I thought you would never ask.” Vanyel smiled finally. “Now that I think of it, I have never seen Damion for a good while. He’s been busy here hasn’t he?” He followed the mage while Shiro and Aren made for a small shed near the college gates to escape the burning heat of the sun, Feroz.

“Very.” Jezriel replied, leading the way into the college towards the inner chambers of the masters. “Let me explain. The day you found nothing in Asphenaz, and lost the young soldier who kept getting you out of trouble?... It was that time that I, as that soldier, found the greatest discovery of my life.”

“I do not understand.” The armsmaster’s brows crossed. He didn’t really react too well when it came to puzzles. “What did happen in the ruins?”

“I found the sword, a few days after your band had left, searching for it day and night, not believing someone could have moved it from where it lay. Leander’s sword, as they call it now was indeed there, unmoved, but it was changed into something unrecognizable and twisted as the dark minds that rule Oran. Its holy form was as broken as the memories of the old days are to me.”

“How?…” Vanyel’s mind struggled, wandering back to where they found the black stone where the paladin Leander supposedly plunged the blade of Anshae with his final breath. The mage’s hand touched the door of a sealed room and uttered a few words. He heard a lock give way from the inside and Jezriel pushed it lightly open.

“Vanyel!” Came the boom of greeting from a hulk of a man, hammer and red-hot tongs raised in the air.

“Damion?” Vanyel gasped. “What in Gaul’s name are you doing here?… And what in Asperah is that??!!” He asked again, pointing at a black section of the room where Damion sat in, engulfed with an undying fire that seemed to be fuelled by nothingness.

Damion looked back, his body covered with dirt and grime but his face looked very pleased. “Oh that – that is the phoenix forge. Master Jezriel is allowing me to use it, having no gifts for the phoenix flame himself. No offense, master.”

“None taken. I kept it here in memory of my late father.” Jezriel said, touching the stonework of the great furnace and its fire that burned indefinitely. “It took a good measure of mindwork to finally move it completely into my chambers. I find it useful in the winter season.”

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Vanyel asked, hardly impressed.

“Master Damion, why don’t you show your work to master Vanyel?” Jezriel said laughingly. “I could not have done a better job at it myself.”

The master of metalwork walked towards a corner of the room where a metal closet could be found. Slowly, he began to open it with great care, and to Vanyel’s surprise, he could see light spilling from within it, filling the room. “Behold, the reforged weapons of Leander.”

“WEAPONS??!!” The armsmaster gasped, his eyes hardly believing what they were seeing.

“A sword, two daggers, and a staff.” Jezriel said matter-of-factly.

“Where did all these come from?” Vanyel asked, reaching into the closet where the weapons hung like holy artifacts waiting to be claimed. “They’re beautiful…”

“I thought you would have guessed by now.” Jezriel began to explain. “When I found Leander’s sword, it was no longer in the shape of a sword. Lady Anshae abandoned her will upon it when she ascended to her father’s throne. As a last resort of not allowing it to fall into the wrong hands, the sword itself, I assumed, turned its power onto itself, destroying its essence, melting its metal into the black stone where it was trapped. I only recognized it because of my mindsense spell, and even then, traces of the sword’s true origin were very faint. The black stone however, for some reason, melded with the blade’s holy metal, giving it some unknown, new properties. I recognized hope, but found no way of doing it myself. It took all my mind’s strength to transport it little by little back to Thean. I told no one about it but Damion, not really sure of what will become of it.”

“We also had a little help from the college’s master of earth magic.” Damion remarked. “I didn’t realize how helpful his golems could become.”

“His what?” Vanyel asked again. Somehow he felt like he is being left out of nowhere in the room, being the only one not being able to grasp the wonder of it all.

“A variation of the stone demons of Gaul, the Gaulim, as you would recall. You fought them at least once I believe.” Jezriel injected. “The master of earth has studied the dark magic of giving life to stonecraft… calling them golems, his personal mindless servants. Anyway, his earth shaping skills were very useful where Damion had to work around the blade melded with the black stone.”

“Light and darkness melded into one. Which prevails?” Vanyel began to murmur, feeling the weapons with the palm of his hands.

“Ask those who would wield it. Otherwise we will never know.” The old mage said, his voice with a hint of challenge. “We have done our part finding and shaping them to what they are… I believe weapons are your area of expertise, armsmaster of Thean.”

Vanyel smiled knowingly, taking them off the racks in the closet and onto the large table at the center of the room where Jezriel’s books and scrolls lay scattered to one side. “I assume you want those going on the quest to try them out?” He raised the sword into the wind. It was simple, pure and light. White as ivory and streaks of ebon could be seen running down its length. The same characteristics could be marked from the daggers and the staff.

There was a loud shout from across the halls, followed by the sound of argument that couldn’t seem to end. Jezriel and Damion quickly ran outside, followed by Vanyel hurriedly shoving the daggers into his boots, the sword to his side and the staff in his hand.

“You can’t let her go on this quest! The king will have our heads!” They could hear the master of earth booming from across the halls even before they reached it. “It was fated to be. The lots have never been wrong before.” Came the voice of the windmaster. “Come to think of it, you could have removed her name before we drew it!” Said another. “How could I have known??!!” Came the familiar booming reply.

“What is going on here?” Jezriel asked, almost bumping into the tangle of chaos the masters of the college were making, apparently over the results of their scrying for the one to go on the quest.

“Your special apprentice, Princess Erin was chosen by fate to go on this quest, master of mindwork.” Came the unanimous reply, making Jezriel’s jaw drop unconsciously.