The Keystaff Chronicles Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Summer came to Oturia suddenly, heralded by a heat wave that transformed the second largest city in the Empire of Achianda into a verdant oasis almost overnight. Famed for its white buildings and spiraling towers, its sprawling bazaar with exotic goods from all over the world, and its brashly low city walls, Oturia the Magnificent was, in this season, at its most boisterous and beautiful. Situated along the coast of the Tranquilean Ocean, the city was like a splendid white pearl resting on a sandy beach.

But this city was more than just the picturesque commercial center of Achianda; it was also the City of Mages. The palatial Arcane Sanctum of Thaumaturgy that housed Faearth’s largest mage school and served as the headquarters of the Arcane Order was located in the city’s Magic Quarter. It was because of the Sanctum that Oturia dared to build such ostentatiously low walls. After all, few would dare to wage war on the city that was home to some of the most powerful mages in all the lands

Some sections of the arcane sanctum were open to the public, and on any given day, it bustled with almost as much activity as the bazaar. Since fear bred mistrust, the Council of the Arcane had wisely decided that a certain degree of transparency would gain mages greater tolerance amongst the general populace. So, blue and gray robed mages mingled with their more colorfully dressed counterparts in the Great Courtyard, and the Fountain of Light delighted children and adults alike with its ever-changing light show. Along the Walk of Memory, marble and bronze statues of ancient heroes enthralled both the erudite scholars and the average farmers with spoken tales of their valor. The mages even built a dinning hall where visitors of the arcane sanctum could order a meal from readily available, floating menus and have sizzling dishes appear in front of them when ready.

Of course, the mages did not reveal all their secrets. The Arcane Order remained enshrouded in mystery, and at least in Achianda, the majority of mages were treated with cautious respect for that reason. Even amongst the mages themselves, there were secrets. Within the arcane sanctum, there existed entire wings that none but the highest ranked mages have set foot in. Tales of hidden artifacts and fanatical beasts were often whispered amongst the apprentices.

Stories were also told of the Council members. Numbering a total of twelve, and therefore often referred to as the Twelve, the councilors were chosen from amongst the most powerful and influential mages in all of Faearth. Three members of the Council permanently resided in the arcane sanctum while the others came once a year for the Council Meeting.

On this particular day, rumors abounded that the high elven master mage, Councilor Ilyeriel Canolvar, was paying one of the resident councilors an unexpected visit. Some speculated that perhaps this meant that there were new developments in the war between the high elf kingdom of Azturoth and the Dark Empire. Others suggested that it was unrest within Azturoth itself; that the ruling houses were warring amongst themselves, and that Councilor Ilyeriel had come to ask his human comrades for help.

Azarielle strolled leisurely down the hallway towards the office Councilor Edenen Koff, the human councilor whom Councilor Ilyeriel had come to visit. Since her arrival at the sanctum earlier that morning, the young woman had been regaled with stories concerning the purpose of the elven councilor’s visit. She had been quite entertained by all of them, especially a few of the more creative ones that attributed the elven councilor’s visit to a rendezvous with a human mistress. Azarielle knew the elven councilor well enough to know that like most of his kin, he found humans to be an unsophisticated and uncouth bunch. The chances of him keeping a human mistress were just slightly lower than the chances of the ground opening up without any intervention from the Arts and swallowing him whole.
Since she had been summoned to meet him, her bet was that Ilyeriel wanted to know where her teacher was. Well, Azariel Gwenevar had wandered off somewhere, leaving only a note telling her that he expected her “command of the Arts to be on par with a mage who is not an entire waste of space despite your unfortunate handicap of being human”.

That had been almost three months ago and she had not heard from her wayward teacher since. She wasn’t particularly concerned though. In the time that she had known him, Azariel had disappeared off to some unknown destination several times, only to return unannounced and pick up from where he had left off as if nothing had happened. In that respect, he was rather like a cat.

The corridor leading to the Councilor Edenen’s office was bathed in the eerie blue light of mage globes hovering along the walls. Portraits of the previous councilors hung at regular intervals along the wall and seemed to have a life of their own. The eyes moved to follow anyone who set foot along the path, and sometimes, the mouths would move too. When that happened raspy voices would crawl through the walls, whispering sinister-sounding words in long forgotten tongues, as if warning the hapless visitor of the dire consequences for trespassing. But what was most disconcerting about the corridor was the fact that it led to a chasm that plunged into never-ending darkness. Many an apprentice hoping to catch a glimpse of the councilor would be frightened away by the ominous whisperings of the portraits, and those very few brave souls that dared to go forwarded would be turned away by the chasm.

Azarielle walked through the corridor seemingly unperturbed. In fact, she paid very little mind to the portraits. The young woman had received her summoning while she was on her way to the famed shop of Calatan to purchase a new overcoat that the renowned tailor had personally created for her. Calatan had only agreed to make her the overcoat after she provided him the very rare materials that he required and paid a hefty, albeit reduced, fee, and she had been looking forward to collecting her new purchase. When the councilor’s disembodied voice had ordered her to go to the Arcane Sanctum, she had been sorely tempted to disregard his command. She only obliged because Councilor Edenen would have teleported her if she didn’t go herself, as he had done on a prior occasion.

As she drew closer the chasm, Azarielle let out a sigh. The day had started out so well, and promised to be even better. But now, she was going to have to sit through a meeting with Ilyeriel, one of her least favorite people in all of Faearth. She could only pray that Abihayil had mercy on herself and the elven high mage by allowing their meeting to be as short as possible. If that did happen, she could be gone from this dreary place in less than a candlestick’s time, still be able to collect her coat, and have lunch at Inn of Shining Waters. With that thought brightening her mood, Azarielle stepped into the chasm.

She did not plummet into a bottomless abyss. Instead, a gust of wind carried her upwards through a tunnel lit by pinpoints of light. The very first time she had been shot up the tunnel, Azarielle had spoken worked her Arts to slow the ascent that she might get a better look at what the lights were. She had determined that they were some sort of luminous crystals; arranged into various runes of protection meant to engulf the entire shaft in flames should there be an intruder. To her, it seemed like a little too much protection just for a councilor’s office. One of these days, she intended to find out what it was at the bottom of the shaft. For now, she made a mental note to wear trousers instead of a dress the next time she had to attend one of these meeting. If anyone was watching from the bottom of the shaft, well, they were getting a very good view of her frilly white bloomers.

She emerged in a spacious, brightly lit office with floor to ceiling windows on either side of the room that contrasted starkly with the eerie corridor. The room was decidedly ordinary looking, with two heavily laden book shelves, an ornate desk, several chairs, and a large painting of the Sanctum hanging on the opposite wall from where Azarielle entered. The only thing that seemed out of place was a large, rectangular mirror sitting at one side of the room. The mirror itself seemed ordinary enough, but its silver frame and stand were inscribed with arcane runes.

But Azarielle knew that she was standing in one of the more heavily warded rooms in the entire Sanctum. She could sense at least half a dozen shields in place right away, and when she casually perused the energies in the room, she was able to indentify at least twice that number more. As far as she could tell though, only three of the wards in the room were designed to kill if they were breached. Every single ward in her teacher’s private rooms was set to kill, and quite a large number of them would kill in a horrible and painful way.

“What are you thinking?” Councilor Edenen’s voice was a deep baritone that one would not associate with a man of his small stature.

“Just that you are a much nicer sort than Azariel, Councilor Edenen.”

The human councilor let out a laugh that rolled across the room like quiet thunder, “I am most relieved to hear that, Azarielle. Thank you for coming so quickly, please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Azarielle looked around the room for the most comfortable chair, and found that Councilor Ilyeriel had already taken it already. So, she had to settle for one of the other high backed chairs that Councilor Edenen seemed so fond of, and tried to make herself as comfortable in it as possible in it.

“If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, Councilor Edenen, high back chairs don’t make your guests feel comfortable,” Azarielle remarked, “Unless those guests are apprentices or mages you are trying to keep a little bit on edge. I saw some very fine chairs in the woodwork section of the Bazaar not two days past that you might like. I am sure it won’t take long to inscribe those runes on them.”

“I will take that into suggestion, Azarielle,” the councilor’s eyes shone with amusement, “And I must return the favor and tell you that you are also of a far nicer ort than Archmage Azariel. The esteemed archamge had deigned to inform me that he thought my office was ‘positively a pigpen’.”

“Your office isn’t quite that bad, councilor,” Azarielle replied, blissfully unaware of the implied insult in her words, “Azariel just has a way with words.”

“You will address Archmage Azariel Gwenevar with respect!” Councilor Ilyeriel interjected, his dark green eyes narrowed in anger.

The elven councilor had listened to the casual bantering silently and with growing displeasure. Proper protocol dictated that the young woman should greet him with respect as owed any high mage and especially a Councilor. And since she was the sole apprentice and heir apparent of an elf lord, she should have also recognized him as the patriarch of his House, even if House Canolvar was not as highly positioned as the House Gwenevar. This uncouth stray of a human child that the archmage had inexplicably picked up had failed to even acknowledge him! And when she dared to name one of the most powerful mages of all time in such a blasé manner, well, that was inexcusable!

Azarielle noted that Ilyeriel’s fair complexion had turned an alarming shade of red, so to appease him, she said, “Azariel doesn’t seem to mind. But for your sake Councilor, I will address him as Archamge Azariel. So please calm down. You are so flushed that it looks like you’ve overexerted yourself.” She had wanted to add a comment about high elves’ naturally more delicate disposition but recalled that on a previous occasion, her comment had not been taken in a positive light. The young woman offered a quick prayer of thanks to Abihayil that He had blessed her with what she considered great discretion.

However, what she had thought to be a completely innocuous statement seemed to have infuriated the elven councilor even more. Ilyeriel’s dark green eyes blazed with fury and his already thin lips tightened into a harsh line that slashed across his face. The slender fingers that had been resting on his lap were now so tightly clenched that even the knuckles had turned white.

It was suddenly much warmer in the room, and the smell of earth and leaves filled the air. Goose bumps marched up Azarielle’s arms as her body reacted to the sudden increase of arcane energy, hostile arcane energy that was quickly saturating the room. Ilyeriel had risen to his feet, shaking with anger, and Azarielle knew that by any logic, she should be terrified. But, the young woman just could not manage to muster up an ounce of fear. She’s had the fortune, or really, the misfortune, of meeting with Ilyeriel on numerous occasions, and every time, he would become enraged by something she did or said within moments. After the first three times this happened, the young woman found herself growing numb to the elven councilor’s considerable power.

Azarielle absent-mindedly noted that the tremors wracking the elven high mages’ body made his blonde hair catch the light and glitter like spun gold. She decided to look into having her own hair colored, not blonde but bronze, perhaps. She also resisted the urge to point out how the high elf’s blotchy complexion did not go well with his hair or his dark blue overcoat, which was made of a decidedly more comfortable material, silk, than the cotton one Councilor Edenen wore.

Councilor Edenen let out an inward sigh although the corners of his lips quirked upwards slightly at the glazed expression on Azarielle’s face. It was obvious that the young woman’s mind had wandered elsewhere. It was equally obvious that his elven colleague was at wit’s end. Although high elves were usually distant, haughty in their demeanor, Azarielle, like her archmage teacher, seemed to have a knack for evoking uncharacteristically strong responses. Of course, knowing what he knew of the young woman’s past and her personality, Edenen was certain that Azarielle probably didn’t mean to be quite so… contrary. Of course, just because her intentions were good, did not mean that others did not take offense.

“Ilyeriel, please. You are making this room quite uninhabitable,” Edenen laid a calming hand on the elven high mage’s arm, “You did not come all this way from Azturoth for this.” Ilyeriel pulled his arm away and recomposed himself. Then, he turned his attention back to Azarielle.

“Azarielle, we are charging you with the duty of Hunting down the dissident, Theredoniel Gwenevar.”

The change that flowed over the young woman’s face was minute but striking. One moment, she was an innocuous presence, staring off into space and smiling pleasantly if a little vacantly. The next moment, she had become predatory existence, staring at the elven councilor with unblinking intensity, and the smile transforming into something much more sinister.

“Why?”

Her voice was calm and even, but there was something in the inflexion of that single word, a whisper of danger, silk being drawn across the edge of a blade. Of all the sons and daughters of House Gwenevar, Theredoniel was one of a very few who had welcomed her simply because another member of his House had so asked. Over the years, the two developed a close friendship, and Azarielle even attended Theredoniel’s wedding as one of his wife’s two bridesmaids. Illyeriel knew of this, and he was walking a thin line indeed to approach her with such a request.

“He assisted a servant of the Abyssal Ones in murdering Archmage Bartel Todure and stealing an extremely powerful artifact,” Ilyeriel replied stiffly, “He has brought shame upon the noble Gwenevar House.”

Azarielle arched her eyebrows, “Somehow, I can’t see Theredoniel marching at the head of an abyssal army and declaring war on an archmage.”

“There was no army. They were only able to succeed because of treachery,” the elven councilor spat the words out as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I know this is very difficult for you to accept, given your friendship with him,” Councilor Edenen jumped in when he saw the young woman’s eyes flash dangerously, “But the deceased archmage, may Abihayil have mercy on his soul, had recorded the attack in case he was not able to protect the artifact. Let me show you.”

The human councilor retrieved a small, pearlescent orb from his desk and carefully placed it into a socket of the mirror’s silver frame. He spoke a few words, and the mirror started to glow with a soft, pale light. Something silvery flowed over the surface of the mirror, and all of a sudden, an image of Theredoniel came into view.

It was Theredoniel, and yet, it was not the Theredoniel that Azarielle knew. This Theredoniel was noticeably thinner, with a gaunt face and sunken, haunted eyes that darted wildly from place to place. In the mirror, his lips moved in what she recognized as a lightning sphere strike, one of his strongest attacks, his fingers pointed towards an old man with a still-impressive build dressed in the robes of a patron. The sphere hurtled towards the old man, a ball of electric death, but at the last minute, the old man simply vanished. And then, the image in the mirror blurred as white static spread through its shinning surface like a web. Garbled voices spoke from the mirror, and all Azarielle was able to make out were the words “come out”, “Lucien”, and “power”.

When the image in the mirror cleared again, there was a man standing behind the patron. The man had a horrified expression on his face at first, but all of sudden, his expression when completely blank. With the jerky motions of a puppet, he grabbed a marble candleholder off the top of the altar and struck the unsuspecting old man at the back of his head. The mirror went back to being just a mirror at that, losing its magical glow.

“Even though Theredoniel did not deliver the killing blow, he was there, and he did attack the archmage. It is not someone wearing his guise because we already have someone there who has verified his Signature. And neither he nor his lady wife has been seen in their estate for the past two months.” Councilor Edenen retrieved the orb from the mirror, “Azarielle, the order for a Hunt on one of our own is not given lightly. If we did not have evidence beyond reasonable doubt, we would not have ordered this Hunt. Furthermore, you do not have to kill Theredoniel to complete the Hunt; if you can subdue him, you can bring him before the Council to stand trial.”

Azarielle was silent for a moment, absorbing the information. A mage’s Signature was the residual energy he or she left behind upon utilizing their Art. There were ways that someone could forge a Signature, but that person would have to have an intimate knowledge of whomever it was he or she was trying to forge.

“Who verified the Signature?” Azarielle asked.

“I believe it is Lady Ofeera Blaice. It is my understanding that the two of you are acquainted with one another.”

Azarielle was indeed well acquainted with her fellow bridesmaid from Theredoniel and Eowyna’s wedding. In fact, the two had just dined together a few days ago at the Inn of Shining Waters. Ofeera was a devoted follower of Abihayil and a rising star amongst those knowledgeable in the healing Arts. She was also very close to her brother-in-law. Knowing that she was the one who verified the Signature helped Azarielle feel less skeptical of the authenticity of the results. But at the same time, the young woman felt her heart grow heavy at the thought that Theredoniel might truly be involved somehow.

“Tell me about the artifact,” the young mage said.

“It is an artifact of extreme power,” Illyeriel replied stiffly, “And not of your concern. You are tasked only to Hunt the dissident.”

“Councilor Illyeriel, I feel obligated to point out a teeny tiny flaw in your otherwise sterling logic. If Theredoniel is indeed responsible for the theft of this ‘artifact of extreme power’, it stands to reason that he might be in possession of said artifact, yes? And, if he has truly turned away from Abihayil, it is reasonable to assume he will resist my attempts to apprehend him. Then, if by the grace of the Eternal Father, I am actually able to best him in our subsequent arcane battle, he will most likely pull out everything at his disposal, like, oh, I don’t know, the extremely powerful artifact? At that point, I will probably know what it is, right?” Azarielle tried her best to mimic the soothing voice she had seen various healers use on their petulant child patients, “Assuming the point that you have selected me for this task is because you want me to bring Theredoniel back and not because you hope I will get blown into bite-sized pieces - which being the fair and just councilor that you are is a thought that would have never crossed your mind, I am sure - it would be helpful if I knew what the artifact did.”

The young woman completed her long winded explanation with what she hoped was a winning smile. She had seen the twin girls running one of the jewelry booths in the Bazaar convince their customers to purchase more pieces by smiling like that, and since it worked for them, Azarielle didn’t see why it wouldn’t work for her. Councilor Edenen coughed to hide the chuckle that almost escaped his lips so as not to enrage the elven high mage anymore. Illyeriel’s veins stood out from his face and pulsed the beat of his heart.

“Illyeriel, you agreed,” Councilor Edenen cut in. The elven councilor turned away abruptly and walked to the corner of room.

Councilor Edenen sighed and turned to the young woman, “Theredoniel stole the battle staff that once belonged to Elucielle Gwenevar. The Staff of the Everstar, as it is known, is one of the seven Great Staves. Being a member of the Gwenevar House, Theredoniel is one of the few people in this world who can touch that staff other than another archamge. The servants of the Abyssal Ones have wanted the Great Staves for a long time, and we believe Theredoniel will turn the staff over to them.”

Azarielle studied the councilor carefully as he spoke. He was not lying to her, but he was not telling her everything either. It didn’t matter. If this item belonged to a Gwenevar, she would find the information in Azariel’s library. Of course, it did mean that she would have to go through the painful process of decoding it.

“Staff of Everstar, alright,” Azarielle replied, “Anything else?”

“Yes, you will be working with the Knights of Elad.”

Now, it was Azarielle’s turn to be shocked, “The Knights of Elad? Councilor, I believe that at some point, my teacher had explained my…um… history to you. The Knights are… well, they are great people. But, they are great people who have this rather unfortunate tendency of wanting to strike down people like me.”

“And I am very confident that you will overcome their prejudice,” the councilor replied with a smile, “Although I must suggest that you refrain from terrorizing them with illusions of giant spiders, dragons and flaming monstrosities.”

Azarielle let out a long suffering sigh, “It was a misunderstanding as I have previously explained to the Council. Besides, I thought that I showed great restraint already.”

The misunderstanding had occurred when she had gone on a pilgrimage to the Holy Capital. When Azarielle went to worship at the Great Temple, one of the Knights correctly identified her heritage but made incorrect assumptions about her intentions for going to the Temple. He had also not, in Azarielle’s opinion, given her opportunity to explain himself before calling for help to apprehend her. Her ensuing departure had been an altogether chaotic and unpleasant experience, involving half a dozen knights doggedly pursuing her through the most crowded streets of the capital and trying to smite her with ‘righteous wrath’. Her method of dissuasion, which in her personal opinion had been an idea inspired by Abihayil himself, had resulted in a very strong reprimand from the Council.

“This will be an excellent opportunity for you to right matters with the Knights then,” Councilor replied, “Can we, the Council, depend on your for this task?”

A piece of parchment appeared in the air before Azarielle, and she read it carefully. The accusations levied against Theredoniel were outlined in detail, and she noted with unease that at the very bottom of the page, the crown of thorns and crescent moon seal, the Council of the Arcane, was black. This was the dreaded Black Order, and any Hunter who carried such an Order had the Council’s authority to execute the dissident mage without returning him for trial should apprehension of the dissident mage proved to be difficult or impossible. Black Orders were seldom handed out, and when they were, it meant that the Arcane Council had seen enough evidence already that the dissident mage had already been found guilty of either treason of the highest order or murder.

“Councilor Edenen, Councilor Illyeriel, I will have your word that Theredoniel will have a just and impartial trial if I am able to bring it back. And you will allow two people of my choosing and I to act as witnesses,” Azarielle’s expression had become very serious, and tone left not room for negotiations.
“I give you my word, Azarielle.” Councilor Edenen replied. The young woman nodded her head and the turned her attention to Councilor Illyeriel, who was still standing by the window.

“He has already exiled from Azturoth. That is a decision already handed by the Ruling Houses.” Illyeriel said, without turning around, “But I can give you my word that he will have a fair trial here.”

“I will hold you to your words, councilors,” Azarielle held out her hand. The Black Order reappeared, rolled-up, in her hands, “Where am I supposed to be meeting these Knights?”

“Endhorl”, Councilor Edenen informed her, “You need to be there before sunset. That is the agreement between us and the Order if Elad.”

“I’ll be on my way then, councilors,” Azarielle wiggled her fingers in farewell.

Councilor Edenen watched the young woman leave and then turned to Councilor Illyeriel, “She was my recommendation the Council to carry out this task. I was surprised to learn that she was also your recommendation as well.”

“She is ill-mannered and undisciplined. I pray to the Great Lord Abihayil that he spare me the abhorrence of knowing what she will do to accomplish this mission.” Illyeriel replied, “But she has proved her character and her judgment beyond doubt. You will have to excuse me for not saying more on that matter, Councilor Edenen, for such things would infringe upon the secrets of Azturoth. In terms of power, that one has been gifted with a capacity for and understanding of the Arcane Arts that is unmatched amongst her peers.”

“I pray that we are both right about her,” Edenen replied, “She must retrieve the Keystaff before Theredoniel releases the Servant of Despair.”

“It is starting again,” the elven high mage’s expression turned grim, “The servants of the Abyssal Ones have begun to move.”

“Yes, and we have much to prepare.”

* * * * * * * *

Azarielle strolled through the back allies of the Magic Quarter, a traveling pack strapped to her back, and the hem of her new overcoat swishing softly from side to side. She had retrieved her new silk coat from Calatan and was quite pleased with the result. It was a fiery crimson in color, and had a pair of charming gold phoenixes embroidered on the front. The talented Calatan had given the coat a high collar that could be closed with a gold latch and sleeves that were tight around the upper arms and stylishly flared below the elbow. To Azarielle, the fact that this coat had been enchanted to change color at her command, protected her from fire, and made her impervious to bladed weapons seemed almost inconsequential next to its absolute loveliness. Even Azariel’s long-suffering butler Drazil who normally favored dreary blacks and grays had been very complimentary of it when Azarielle had stopped by to peruse her teacher’s extensive book collection.

Azariel’s personal library had been built up over several centuries and could probably rival a good majority of public libraries. The young woman had found quite a number of promising books with Elucielle Gwenevar as the subject. In fact, she had even discovered what appeared to be Elucielle’s personal journal. Unfortunately, the great archmage had written in an archaic form of high elven that was quite difficult to read, though the journal had been enchanted so that it would not be yellow and the ink would not fade.

She had taken the journal with a hastily scribbled note left in the library that she would return the book at some point, in case Azariel sated his wanderlust early and returned home. Then, she had made a last stop at her own apartments for the items necessary for her trip: clothes, shoes, jewelry both magic and mundane, sword, knives, blasting wands, and of course, coins. The good thing about accepting a task from the Council of the Arcane was that she was sufficiently funded and nicely rewarded for her troubles. If only it was not Theredoniel that she had to capture. Not even the joy her new coat provided could completely lift the damper off that fact.

As she made her way down the winding allies of the bowels of the Magic Quarter, she could feel eyes watching her. Thieves were always on the prowl in these less respectable parts of the city in hopes of relieving unwary mages of their valuable arcane wares. But despite the striking color of Azarielle’s coat, none did anything more heinous than watch her pass. During her first visit, when she had been targeted as an easy mark and attacked, Azarielle had single handedly beaten one of the more notorious gangs who had several members who wielded the arcane power. She then left them floating upside down the alleyway, screaming and raving about a horrible monster that was about to devour them until the city guards came. After that incident, Azarielle was given wide berth.

This, of course, proved to be very convenient for her because she was a frequent visitor of one of these back allies’ denizens. She had met K’thol for the first time when the half-elf had hired her to serve as his guard while he was traveling for business. The young woman had found the gizmos he created with a mixture of mechanics and the arcane very fascinating and quite useful, so the two had kept in touch.

The half elf’s shop was located on the ground floor of a rickety three-storey building. There was a burly human along with a number of wards to deter any unwanted guests, some of which Azarielle had created at K’thol behest. She nodded to the guard as she entered the shop.

K’thol had not inherited his elven ancestors’ knack for tasteful room arrangements. Shelves laden with a variety of wares lined every single wall, and tables displaying random gadgets and gizmos took up most of the remaining floor space, leaving very little walking space. The half-elf himself was sitting behind a table stacked with paper and knick knacks which Azarielle could not even identify. He got to his feet when he saw Azarielle walk in.

“Well met, Little Fiend!” K’thol called out cheerfully, his white teeth gleaming like pearls against the inky blackness of skin.

“Must you call me Little Fiend?” the young woman asked, “I know it’s a ‘pet name’, but it’s just not very nice.”

K’thol laughed, “You are the apprentice of the Great Fiend, so you are the Little Fiend.”

“Well, Great Fiend is an appropriate moniker for Azariel,” she replied with a laugh, “Does he know that the dark elves call him that behind him back?”

“He has many names amongst my sire’s people, and Great Fiend is probably one of the more pleasant ones,” K’thol shook his head, “I see you have acquired a new coat. I hope it has left you enough coins in your purse for you to do more than just browse.”

“The Council is picking up the tab,” Azarielle smiled brightly at him, “So as long as you aren’t charging utterly exorbitant prices, I won’t even be bargaining.”

K’thol laughed, “I like the sound of that. What are you looking for?”

“A method of transportation that is very, very fast,” Azarielle told him, “And I don’t want a teleportation orb since I haven’t been there before and can’t form an image of it in my mind.”

The half elf thought about this for a moment before motioning for Azarielle to follow him over. He led her to one of his many display tables, and pointed at a very ordinary black clip. Azarielle noted that the runes inscribed across it were ones related to flames and flight.

“This is probably your best bet. You won’t be able to fly across the ocean with it, but you will be able to fly to a place that would normally take ten days to ride to in half a day’s time,” K’thol picked up the clip and held it out to the young woman, “I am still working out the kinks on them though, so you might find the landing a little rough. I imagine you can shield yourself from average-level mage flames, right?”
“In other words, it might explode?” Azarielle clarified with an arched eyebrow.

“Well, the clip can survive the explosion,” K’thol assured her in what Azarielle decided was a rather not-so-reassuring manner, “As I said, I am still working out the kinks.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t have too many other options given the time. A quick look out the window showed that the sun had already reached the western horizon in its daily journey across the sky. It would take no more than two candlesticks’ time before it began to set. Ah well, at least she’d be able to tell how effectively fireproofed her coat was.

“Alright K’thol, show me how this thing works.”