The Keystaff Chronicles Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Garden of Whispering Night had been built in honor of the Radiant Consort, who was the mother of their host and also the wife holding the third highest position in the Emperor’s Harem. Awash in the silver light of the white moon the many, many water lilies dotting the pond artfully named the Mirror of the Night Sky, seemed like luminous stars themselves. The air was lightly perfumed by the faint sweetness of these flowers, an echo of the sweetness he tasted on his tongue.

Theredoniel carefully set down the jade cup with which he had been served the lily tea, a light dessert after their sumptuous and extravagant sixteen-course dinner. Though the food was carefully prepared and beautifully presented, it tasted like ash in the young elf’s mouth. He had eaten just enough so as not to insult Yue, the Prince of Valor, and their host for the past few days.

“Is it to your liking, Lord Theredoniel?” the prince asked in fluent, flawless high elven.

“Yes, thank you. This was all very good,” Theredoniel gave the only acceptable response as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

This human prince made him his skin crawl. Despite his impeccable grooming and coldly elegant features, Prince Yue reeked of debauchery and wantonness. Theredoniel was certain that this prince’s power lay in the twisted workings of the flesh, as Lucien’s did, though unlike Lucien’s, Yue’s power was of a much more carnal nature. And yet, even as his power exuded burning lust, the young human’s eyes were utterly cold. They were amber-colored, as Azarielle’s eyes were, but whereas his dear friend’s eyes danced with life, Yue’s eyes were as frozen suns.

And, he was worried about Eowyna. Prince Yue had been adamant in not permitting her from joining dinner, on grounds of impropriety by the standards of the Dark Empire. But Theredoniel knew that their host had insisted for another reason – because he knew that Eowyna was not yet… well.

“You are far to generous, Prince Yue,” Lucien exclaimed, “And allow me to compliment on your choice of dessert teas. It is excellent.”

“It is good that you are pleased, Favored One Lucien,” Prince Yue replied. “I have been told that the people of Achianda Empire drink but a very few teas, a pity.”

Lucien sighed, “We are a very rigid lot with our food, and with almost every other aspect of our life, really. My brother considers duck to be exotic fare. Oh, and I do truly appreciate your sending men to find my brother and his companions. I do worry he will be quite…well… lost in your land. And do extend my thanks to the lovely the Luminous Consort.”

“Her Imperial Highness is pleased to have assisted you,” Yue replied, putting slight emphasis on the title, which made Lucien smile.

“My apologies, good prince, I meant no disrespect of your... Imperial father’s honored wife,” Lucien replied sweetly.
His emphasis on the words ‘father’s wife’ was not lost on either their host or Theredoniel. Although the Luminous Consort was confined within the sheltering walls of the palace as all wives and concubines of the Emperor were, an image of her had appeared beside Prince Yue to greet them when they first came to call on him. Her beauty was stupefying to behold, and it was indeed not difficult to see that Prince Yue harbored a licentious, and rather un-stepson like love for her.

“It is late and I shall not keep you here any longer,” Prince Yue said coolly, choosing not to rise to the bait.

“Thank you for the grand dinner,” Lucien waved his hand airily over the table, “Prince Yue. But… ah, I do have one other question.”

The prince tilted his head to the side, indicating that Lucien should continue.

“My brother has, in his company, a most interesting mage. She hailed from your Empire.”

“Occasionally, traitors do arise in our ranks, although a woman is rare,” Prince Lucien replied coolly, “Her father and her husband should have done better in restraining her – for woman she is regardless of the Gift. If you would provide a description of her, I can have someone look into it.”

Lucien rose to his feet and spoke a word of power. The air around him shimmered slightly before coalescing into the form of a petite woman. Theredoniel felt his heart sink to where his feet were when he recognized the image of Azarielle.

“She is a noble, or of noble descent as you can see from the eyes…Lucien’s voice trailed off. “I take it you know who she is.”

Prince Yue’s expressionless face had gone livid as he stared at Azarielle’s image, and then a single word, a name, slipped from his mouth that held such a tangle of emotions that Theredoniel did not know what to make of it.

“Ree.”

Lucien cocked his head to the side and arched one his wintry brows in question, “Ree? That is her name?”

Yue’s face became guarded and mask-like again, “Thank you for bring this to my attention, Favored One Lucien. She has committed high treason against the Empire, and I shall be dealing with her personally.”

“Is that so?” Lucien’s eyelids drooped, hiding his sapphire eyes behind a silvery curtain of long lashes. “I do find her most intriguing. Perhaps I will have other opportunities to speak with her.”
“She is not your concern, Lucien Delynd,” Yue drew out each word as if he were drawing out sharp daggers from their sheaths. He rose from his seat in a whisper of silk and brocade, and tilted his head slightly so that he was looking Lucien in the eye. Bathed in the ghostly moonlight, he was a creature formed of darkness and moonbeams. His hair, which spilled down his shoulders and back from a topknot, was every bit as black as a raven’s feathers, contrasting starkly against the pale, almost translucent skin as fine as the purest white jade.

The power emanating from him was altogether different from his cool demeanor though. It was a hot and heady thing, spilling out of him in a rush and crashing over his two guests in a scalding wave. Theredoniel leaped to his feet, his mouth forming the words of an offensive as he prepared himself to face this formidable foe.

However, before he could fully give voice to his attack, Lucien laid a cool hand on his shoulder, “My dear Theredoniel, you will have a battalion of soldiers breathing down our necks if you attacked our host.”

“Favored One Yue, please. You are making this lovely garden quite inhospitable,” Lucien said aloud, waving a hand airily. “I was merely curious – if you are so concerned with the mage, then I’ll leave her be.”

Prince Yue gave Lucien one last cold stare, “It is good that we understand one another, Favored One Lucien. It will be three more days before the Fog parts enough for the air ship to take you into the Forsaken Lands and Everstar Spire. In the meantime, you will remain as my honored guests. If you wish to explore the city, I will send along a servant to guide you. It is late and I will not keep you from your rest.”

Theredoniel and Lucien found themselves thus dismissed, and were led away by blue guarded servants holding red lanterns. Along the way, Lucien engaged him in a discussion about gardens, comparing and contrasting the relatively natural gardens favored by elves as opposed to the famously manmade gardens of the Empire of the Rising Sun.

The young elf responded half-heartedly because his stomach was knotted with unease at the knowledge that Azarielle had been sent to pursue him. It was not so great a shock, really, given their close friendship and her power. He had expected it – but even so, the prospect of an impending battle with the young woman was not one that he relished. Perhaps she would understand. Perhaps she would even give him aide. After all, she was close with Eowyna too, and surely, she would wish for her friend to be well again. But, if was adamant in trying to stop him, then he would fight. And when a tiny voice screamed at him that Eowyna would weep to see them fight, he ignored it.

“And now, dear Theredoniel, I must ask what your relationship is with the young mage pursuing us.”

Lucien’s voice snaked into his mind and him from the dark thoughts. He looked up at the renegade prince and found that Lucian was still chatting amicably away about whether it was advisable to create manmade ponds in the garden.

“Do try to act normal, or well, I suppose normal for you is brooding. We wouldn’t want our guides to report anything amiss to our host now, would we, hmm? So, tell me about this Ree person.”

“I don’t know who Ree is,” Theredoniel replied guardedly.

“Oh, so you know her by another name? Now, Chosen One Theredoniel, you will share this information with me, won’t you?”

The subtle emphasis that Lucian placed on his new title, the chosen one of Acedia, made him wince. He heard the subtle threat in those velvety words breathed into his mind, and knew that if Lucian was displeased with what he was saying, the capricious renegade prince would withhold his aide when Eowyna’s condition started to worsen. His wife remained whole so long as Lucian tended to her everyday, but should he choose to be lax in his treatment for even a single moment… the rotting plague would reclaim her flesh.

“The name I know her by is Azarielle. She is one of my uncles’ apprentices.”

“You didn’t say which uncle, Theredoniel,” Lucian admonished. “But I suppose you needn’t have. Azarielle is the feminine form for Azariel. My, my, the apprentice of the great Archmage Azariel Gwenevar, and one to whom he has given his name! A namesake is the designated heir, over blood relations in the law of your land, isn’t it Theredoniel? I imagine your family was quite livid that the greatest amongst them has named a human his heir. How delicious!”

Guilt coiled around Theredoniel’s heart like an insidious serpent and squeezed until the young elf felt that he might not be able to breathe. He knew all too clearly that this revelation had turned Azarielle into a target that every servant of the Abyssal Ones would seek out, either in hopes that she would convert to their cause or to crush her altogether. Regardless of how powerful the young woman might be, she would be in danger!

“Tell me, how powerful is Azarielle? She is quite apt at penetrating illusions that much I do know.”

“I don’t know,” Theredoniel answered truthfully. “I’ve never had the occasion to see her power.”

“Oh?”

“Azarielle only ever visited me as a friend, so she had no occasion to demonstrate her power,” Theredoniel replied, feeling a certain satisfaction that at least on this small matter, he would not betray Azarielle further. “And you have obviously encountered her already, so you know that she gives off so little power that she does not even seem a mage.”

“Here we are,” Lucien exclaimed as they arrived outside of Theredoniel’s guest house and waved dismissively at the guards. “I’ll be speaking a little longer with my friend, so do as you will.” He spoke hanyu quite fluently,

One of the men holding the lanterns bowed to Lucien “Honored sir, we shall await your leisure right here.”

Lucien rolled his eyes at Theredoniel, “Quite annoyingly persistent, aren’t they?”

Having no desire to exchange meaningless banter with Lucien, Theredoniel stepped into the rooms he had been assigned. Prince Yue had provided him and Eowyna with a lavishly decorated suite. The outer room was furnished with the most intricately crafted furniture the young elf lord had ever seen. The table and chair legs were made to resemble cherry blossom trees in full bloom, with the artist-carpenter taking great pains to detail each individual flower. A display case with a peach-shaped frame stood to one side, holding a variety of jade figurines and enamel vases. And hanging against the wall facing the front doors was a huge water painting that depicted eight valiant horses in full gallop.

The two servant women that Prince Yue had provided him with bowed to him silently as he stepped into the room. Though neither spoke the Imperial or High Elven, they had become familiar with Theredoniel’s habits, and one immediately drew back the silk, curtains that separated the outer room from the inner room.

Theredoniel went straight to the bedroom while Lucien spoke to the women in Hanyu and made them giggle. The bedroom was just as luxuriously decorated as the outer room, but seemed more cozy and intimate with the warm wine colored walls. A large, canopy bed hung with red silk drapes sat in the center of the room.

Eowyna sat motionlessly on the edge of the bed with her hands folded neatly on her lap and her green eyes staring blankly into the distance. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back, unbound because Theredoniel did not know how to tame his wife’s unruly hair. The wards he had sat around her had been left untouched, assuring him that none of the servants had gone near her while he was away.

“I’m back, Beloved,” he said to his wife gently as he went to her and laid a hand on her cold, dead cheek. “I am sorry to have left you alone for so long.”

In his mind, he imagined his wife chiding him for not saving her a dessert from his feast and telling him excitedly of a new discovery she had made during the day. She had not spoken since the rotting plague stole her voice, and Theredoniel missed her vivacious laughter.

“And how has your beautiful mistress fared this day?” Lucien asked as he came into the room. “Hmm, it seems you’ve held yourself together admirably. The weather here must agree with you, or perhaps it is our gracious host’s residual power?”

Theredoniel felt a twinge of revulsion when Lucien held his hand over Eowyna’s face. Even though he knew what the pale-haired human was doing kept his wife together, the feel of Lucien’s power still made him recoil. Whenever Lucien worked his Art, Theredoniel felt as if something cold and slimy was oozing over him – and that distasteful power was now crawling into Eowyna.

But it had to be done.

Theredoniel averted his gaze and looked out the window and let Lucien fill his beloved with the dark power that would keep her at his side.

* * * * *

Yue swept through the Garden of Rose Delight unannounced. The garden housed the private suites of his concubines, and as they caught sight of him passing through, they hurried out of their rooms to greet him like a swarm of butterflies. But Yue had not come to seek out a bed partner, and so, he pulled away from their clinging arms and continued down the path.

At the far end of the garden were a smaller, enclosed garden and the House of Red Sun much larger than all the rest. The two guards standing on either end of the door barely registered his presence before he passed through the closed and locked doors as if he were a creature as immaterial as air.

Alone in this garden, Yue took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. This small garden blazed forth with all manner of bold-colored flowers - roses, azaleas, amaranths, gladiolus and carnations. A gardener came by every day to tend to the flowers, though only he visited the garden.

Taking a moment to enjoy the quiet garden, Yue pushed open the doors that led into the house and stepped inside. He spoke a single word of power and the entire was lit as bright as day. Aside from his own sleeping quarters, these were the most luxuriously decorated rooms in his manor, and fittingly so, because they were meant to be the rooms his wife’s personal suites.

His lonely footfalls seemed to echo as he walked through room after room until he reached the bedchamber. The room was awash in red and gold, like a bride dressed in her finest on her wedding night. In fact, this room should have been a bridal room. Five years ago, on a bright, clear night, she was to have dressed in the red gown hanging in the wardrobe and waited for him in this room.

But Ree had left; she had stolen away under the cover of darkness without even a goodbye.

Yue could still remember walking into the room and finding all of the female servants lying unconscious on the ground. The red gown had been haphazardly cast onto the wedding bed, and the jewelry, all the gold and precious stones, were scattered about as if in her haste, she had stripped them off and flung them every which way.

Her father had been furious. He remembered that his would-be father-in-law kneeling before him and swearing that he would present his disgraceful daughter to him for punishment, even unto death. But he hadn’t wanted her to dead; he wasn’t even interested in any sort of punishment. All he had wanted was for her to return.

He had sent his finest soldiers in pursuit of her but she eluded them. They had returned to him injured and stripped of their power. Knowing that would not cause such grievous wounds to another unless something drastic had happened, he hand ripped from their minds the knowledge that they had acted on the command of the Luminous Consort to kill her.

And so, she had vanished from his life without him whether she was still alive.

Until now, “Lan.”

The space just to the left of him seemed to twist in on itself, and a figure emerged kneeling before him, “Your Highness.”

“Follow the ones that went to seek out the knight of Elad and find Lady Ree. I do not care what becomes of her companions but bring her back to me alive and in one piece.”

“It will be done as you commanded.”

Yue waited until the figure faded back into the darkness, “Hong.”

“What is your command, Your Highness?” a woman’s voice asked softly from behind him.

“Keep watch over the foreign prince and the elf lord until they board the air ship. Do not let them hear anything regarding Lady Ree. I do not want the pale-haired one anywhere near the lady, do you understand?”

“Yes my prince.”

“Are you happy that she has returned?” Yue asked quietly.

“This servant is glad that the lady is unharmed. But she fears what Her Imperial Highness, the Luminous Consort, will do if she knew of this too.”
Yue turned to look at the young woman kneeling behind him. She too was wrapped in black like an ominous crow, and with the cowl of her cape pulled low over her face and her head bowed, it was almost impossible to see her expression.

“Your time in service to Lady Ree has made your tongue sharp,” he remarked coolly. “And while I am fond of that trait in her, I do not find it desirable in you.”

“This worthless servant is deserving of a thousand deaths, Your Highness,” Hong answered, prostrating herself in front of the dark haired prince, laying her forehead against the ground

Yue regarded her a moment, “When the lady took her leave, why did you not accompany her?”

“Your Highness, as unworthy as this servant is, she still understands that she owes her life to Your Highness! You are this servant’s master now and always.”

Prince Yue did not respond. Instead, he walked over to a portrait that hung on the far side of the room. In it was a young woman clothed in red and white and demurely admiring a blossoming peach tree – an artists’ rendition of Ree. His grandmother, the Dowager Empress of Peace and Longevity, had presented it to him when she announced that she had found a wife for him from amongst her own handmaidens. He had been neither overjoyed nor disappointed when he had first seen the portrait, but even now, he remembered quite vividly his first meeting with Ree in person. The bold, sharp-witted young woman was quite unlike how she had been portrayed, and her declaration that the artist probably doodled whatever came to mind still rang clearly in his ears even now.

“Go and do as I bid, Hong,” he commanded, still looking at the painting, “When your brother returns, he will do so with Lady Ree in his company.”

* * * * *

Luthien pushed his way through the crowd, his steps brisk with barely leashed frustration as he made his way back towards the inn where the others awaited him. An entire day wasted – and no explanations to offer his companions other than “the Fog”. He had thought that once they reached Long Peace, hiring a zeppelin and taking it to Everstar Spire would not be difficult as long as he was willing to pay an exorbitant price. But from sunup until sundown, he had been unable to convince a single zeppelin captain to take them on, and always, always, they told him that it was because of “the Fog”.

As if such a cryptic phrase alone would be enough!

“You seem to have adjusted very quickly,” Azarielle commented as she kept pace with him, gliding effortlessly at his side. “With all these people around, I thought you might have felt overwhelmed. But the way you sort of just shove them out of the way – well, you are just like one of the locals.”
Luthien glowered at her but decided not speak. She had come along on the preface that she was familiar with the city and its people. But he rather believed that she had come so she could ogle food and wares along the way with no intentions of actually being she helpful. To be fair, she had led him to all of the right places. But, when zeppelin captains started talking about this infernal Fog, Azarielle, instead of haggling with them in their strange singsong language, had simply nodded her head and wandered off. In fact after the third time the subject of the Fog came up, she had actually suggested that they return to the inn, and when he objected, she had the gall to sit down and order a midday snack!

“Has it occurred to you that if we can’t travel before the Fog passes, then the servant and Theredoniel wouldn’t be able to travel through it either?”

Azarielle’s voice echoed softly in his mind, startling him from his unfriendly thoughts about her. He turned around and glared death at her, not at all enjoying her rude interruptions into his mind. Surely mages had some etiquette that they were supposed to follow regarding these telepathic communications.

Apparently unfazed by his obvious displeasure, the young mage continued, “I was hoping to explain this once we get back to the inn, but if you are going to be in a tiff, I suppose I will have to tell you about this first. Ofeera, bless her worry-wart soul, kept telling me to try and keep you in a good mood. She must be worried about your high blood pressure, because you always have your brows knit like an old man. Do you have high blood pressure?”

Luthien had a sudden, violent, and unbecomingly pleasant image of himself throttling the young mage, and was only able to keep his hands to himself after a silent, but desperate prayer to Abihayil for patience.

“Well, I supposed if you wanted to keep your physical ailments to yourself, you are entitled to it. But Patron Haeroldan always tells us that when Abihayil acts within our hearts, the first thing he does is open our eyes to our own ailments, for only in that way will our hearts become softened. I imagine it’s the same with actual physical calamities; healers can help you if you don’t admit that you have…”

“I do not have a physical ailment! Now will you just tell me about the F…” Luthien suddenly found his jaws freezing into place.

“The Fog does not make its way into polite conversation on a regular basis here, so do try to contain yourself.” Azarielle paused at a small stall that was selling some unidentifiable dried plants, and examined them. “Anyhow, let me tell you a bit about the Fog. What is now known as the Forsaken Lands span over all or part of four nations – all of Aztur, the first of the great high elf nations, all of Ordaerion, the Peaceful Land, parts of the Rising Sun Empire and parts of Tyrendaal, the Great North. During the Mage Wars, mages from all four nations either battled against or for the Abyssal Ones. Amongst the ones that gave themselves over the Abyssal Ones was the high elf Doriel Kethevar, the Blight of Pestilence. I am sure you were a good little Knight of Elad, so you probably all about him – seeing as how he is incredibly evil and probably not dead – well, actually, I am not sure how his state of aliveness should be categorized. We’ll just call him a fiend.”

Luthien stopped abruptly and stared at Azarielle in shock. He did indeed know of Doriel Kethevar, the wretched elven mage that brought great Aztur to ruin. But he had always been taught that at the end of the Mage Wars, Doriel had been justly defeated at the hands of his brother, the heroic paladin, Cedriel Kethevar. The Blight of Pestilence should have been destroyed!

Azarielle regarded the knight who was a good head or so taller than most of the people walking about. Luthien was standing in the middle of the road like a stubborn rock that refused to yield to the tide. His mind was a jumble of emotions and images, of shock and outrage interspersed with images of a graying man in a severe overcoat speaking vehemently with a book in hand. What she had just told him was not recorded history; in fact, it was Azariel’s conjectures based on what he knew of Doriel and Cedriel.

Perhaps she had not delivered the information in the most palatable way? As the knight continued to stare at her and continued to not budge, she wondered if she should translate what the people forced to squeeze past him were saying to him. Maybe he would feel more motivated to move if he knew that he was being called an “oversized oaf”.

“This is all speculation of course – but if you think about it, it makes sense,” she sent the thoughts into his mind as she took him by the arm and dragged him out of the way. “Doriel was the youngest of Archamge Elucielle Gwenevar’s apprentices and reputedly as powerful as she was. Although it’s not inconceivable that Paladin Cedriel won their duel, the fact remains that nobody actually witnessed their battle or its true outcome. The supposition that Doriel is dead comes from the fact that he didn’t make another appearance in the Mage Wars after Cedriel went to confront him. It’s not as if anybody has tried that hard to look for him or his body in the Forsaken Lands.”

The high elves found Doriel so loathsome that his very name had been stricken from House Kethevar’s records. In fact, they referred to him only as the Blight of Pestilence. If Azarielle’s teacher ever dared to voice his speculation that Doriel was still alive, he would be branded a heretic by the Ruling Council of Azturoth, of that Luthien felt certain. And yet, he found himself wryly entertained by the thought that it was actually quite conceivable that Azarielle’s teacher would be just the sort to say something like this, and most definitely in the same blasé manner in which Azarielle talked.

“I think he’s told quite a good number of Ruling Council members that they were ‘a lot of stuffy, unimaginative buffoons and altogether a waste of space and air’. As far as I know, he has not been declared a heretic yet.” Azarielle paused for a moment. “Oh, I was supposed to tell you what the Fog was. Tsk, tsk Luthien, you sidetracked me. Anyhow, the Fog was what Doriel used to create his masterpiece, otherwise known as the bleeding rot plague. It looks innocent enough, like s normal fog, but carries the stench of rotting flesh. And it still drifts through parts of Aztur every couple of years. At least five years ago, the Fog still had the potency to infect anybody suicidal enough to walk into it, or unfortunate enough to be thrown in it, with that horrible, horrible plague – if the Rising Sun Empire has done anymore human experiments recently and found out that the Fog has finally become harmless, I’ve not heard of it. You do know about the bleeding rot plague right? It makes the rotting plague look like a cold.”

Luthien stiffened at the mention of the dreaded plague. Faearth had never known so terrible an afflction as the bleeding rot plague. Countless lives had been lost to this insidious illness that rotted away the body and made blood gush out from its victims’ every orifice. Death came as a relief to only those who entrusted their souls to Abihayil. The faithless continued on ‘living’, if it could be called that, their souls trapped in dead and rotting bodies, cursed to wander the Forsaken Lands as mindless, flesh-eating ghouls.

“And that is why no zeppelin captains will risk a trip into Aztur right now. But as they kept telling you, the Fog will pass in three days, and then maybe you will find someone idiotic enough to venture as far into the Forsaken Lands as Everstar Spire and take us in there with him.” Azarielle finished cheerfully. Out loud she added, “So I think we should just have a little rest and relaxation, enjoy the excellent food, and otherwise stay out of sight, hmm?”

Luthien did not like that idea one bit. But even the young knight had to admit that given what he knew about the plague, it seemed quite improbable anyone would be willing to risk this trip no matter of how much gold he offered. He could only pray that what delayed him and his companions would also delay their enemies.

* * * * *

The smell of the incense was a thick, almost tangible, musky sweetness that made her head spin and made her body feel airy and weightless. Despite drinking an entire teapot of what the innkeeper and assured her was a light and relaxing tea, and getting the leaves caught inside her mouth almost every single gulp - a decidedly not so relaxing experience, praying to Abihayil, and reading, or at least trying to read, a book, Ofeera found herself feeling quite agitated. Luthien and Azarielle had been gone for a good part of the day, leaving her and Breaker to their own devices.

Having sensed her restlessness, Breaker had done his best to keep her distracted. He’d asked her to tell him more about Abihayil and had, in turn, regaled her with stories of his travels. The gray elf was resting now, preparing for his self-assigned task of being the night watch. He sat with his back against the wall, keeping both the windows and the door in his line of sight. Though his eyes were closed and his body motionless, the young healer wondered if he was actually asleep. He had really long eyelashes, she noted. Azarielle would be envious of them if she weren’t so wary of their owner.

The thought of her friend made the young healer let out a sigh as she wandered over to the window and peeked out through the small slit that she had been permitted her to keep open. Ever since they had set foot in Peaceful Sea, Azarielle had been unusually…prudent, not a word she would normally used to describe her friend. The young mage had convinced them all to veil their faces and instead of urging everyone to explore as she would have under any other scenario, Azarielle had actually asked her and Breaker to stay inside the inn.

But her friend’s uncharacteristic caution was not what truly agitated her now. No, what she found so unsettling was the knowledge that Lucien was out there somewhere in this vast sea of people. She would see him again, and see him again soon, in a foreign land, amongst strangers, and an ocean away from all that was dear and familiar to her.

And when they did meet, they would meet as enemies.

Luthien would be the first to attack, though Ofeera did not know whether the young knight could actually strike the killing blow against his own twin. Breaker would though – the deadly slayer had made it very clear from the start that he fully intended to take Lucien’s life. And Azarielle would too. The young mage was fiercely protective of her friends, and Ofeera knew that Azarielle would not deal kindly with anyone who tried to lead Theredoniel astray. As for herself, what would she do? Could she lift her hand against the man she loved? And if that man tried to hurt her friends, her sister and her brother-in-law, what then?

Ofeera sank to her knees in front of the windows and bowed her head in prayer, “Blessed Abihayil, I cannot do this. I cannot! Please, please soften Lucien’s heart and lead his back into the fold, oh great father! Please. I do not want to see my precious people come to blows with one another, and you would not want this either, right father? Lucien followed you once. You could simply soften his heart again and turn him to your, great father! In the name of the Uncrowned King, I do so pray to you.”

She might have gone on with her prayers were not for the fact that Luthien and Azarielle chose that moment to return. Luthien was clearly frustrated. He strode briskly into the room with agitation and displeasure crackling almost tangibly around him and headed straight for the end table where the now-empty teapot now sat.

“I drank all the tea,” Ofeera apologized guiltily. “I am sorry.”

Luthien’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he took of his hat and laid it down on the table, but he replied, “You have nothing to apologize for my lady.”

“Don’t worry Ofeera,” Azarielle chirped brightly. “Luthien is just frustrated because we won’t be able to go to Everstar Spire for three days because of the Fog of Horrible Disfigurement and Death. On the bright side, for the rest of us anyhow, we can relax.”

“Fog of… I beg your pardon?” Ofeera stared at Azarielle in confusion.

“Oh, the fog that Doriel Kethevar used to spread the bleeding rot plague,” Azarielle waved her hand vaguely.

“The Blight of Pestilence,” Breaker spoke the words as if they left an unpleasant aftertaste on his tongue. “Another shinning example of your order, mage.”

Azarielle smiled pleasantly, “And an exemplary member of your race, Sir Slayer. You should be glad that nobody has formed an elf-slaying brotherhood yet.”

“Azarielle!” Ofeera stared at her friend, horrified.

“There is no love lost between the gray elves and the high elves,” Breaker replied coldly.

“Well, you all have pointy ears as far as I can tell,” Azarielle replied, “Now, Sir Slayer, let’s talk about inductive reasoning for a moment – your brotherhood holds to the belief that because some mages have done deplorable deeds than all mages must do deplorable deeds. Using this same generalization, we can then say – because some gray elves lead disreputable lives then all gray elves must lead disreputable…”

The young mage did not have a chance to finish. Breaker, with his two-ringed eyes blazing fiercely, was upon her in a flash, his arcane breakers glinting cold silver as they dove for her throat. The young mage hopped aside, bracing herself for the bite of those sharp blades for she knew she hadn’t moved quickly enough to completely dodge the blow. At the same time, she flicked her wrist to release the daggers hidden in the wrist sheathes that lay below the voluminous folds of her sleeves.

But, fortunately for her, the ever-worrying Luthien had had his hand on the pommel of his sword the moment Azarielle pointed out that Doriel was an elf. Fearing that the conversation would take a turn for the worse, the knight had drawn his sword and thrown himself in front of the mage the moment he saw Breaker’s eyes narrow. And, he had lifted his sword up to fend off the gray elf’s lightning quick strike just in time.

The clear ring of metal on metal resounded through the room, shattering the last of Luthien’s patience, “What are you doing?! We haven’t even caught up with him and now we are fighting one another? Are the two of you completely daft?!”

Luthien’s voice shook with barely leashed outrage as he glared at the slayer and the mage in turn, “Breaker, you have chosen to join with us, so you shall not raise a hand against one of your own companions! And Azarielle, can you not keep nonsense from spewing out of your mouth for even one day?!”

“I was just trying to point out the inherent flaw in his inductive reasoning,” Azarielle explained. Then with a prod from Ofeera, she added, “I guess I could have used a less inflammatory example. My apologies, Breaker.”

She spoke her last sentence in Quegmierian, the language of the gray elves. There were enough similarities between Quegmierian and High Elven that most high elves could glean a general understanding of most conversations. But the high elves considered this language derived from their native tongue to be crude in construction and disharmonious in sound, so few of them bothered to learn all of its intricacies.

Fewer still were the humans who could speak it, and Azarielle’s pronunciation had been quite good. Despite himself, Breaker was impressed.

“You can understand the language of the shadows, mage?”

“My teacher’s guard wouldn’t speak to me in anything” the young woman replied. “So I learned.”

Breaker sheathed his weapons, “The knight speaks truth. I have joined with you on this quest, and until we see it to its end, I’ll not raise my weapons against you again, mage. You have my apologies as well.”

Although he did not understand the words spoken, Luthien guessed that at least for now, a truce had been reached. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding and returned his sword to its scabbard. If he had been even a moment slower, Breaker would have drawn blood, and a mage-slayer battle would have broken out in their room! The thought bothered him enough that he gave the capricious elven slayer and the carefree mage each another glare.

The elf, at least, had enough decency to nod his head at the knight in acknowledgement and apology. The mage probably didn’t even see his disapproving look because she had already wandered over to the window.

“What should we do in the mean time?” Ofeera asked, looking at Luthien.

The young knight noticed that she was twisting her hands nervously in her lap. He was certain that Breaker lashing out at Azarielle had unsettled her, but he knew that she was even more troubled about Lucien. Had it been a good idea to let her join them on this quest?

“My lady…” he began.

“Alright everyone, time to pack it up and make a hasty retreat!” Azarielle interrupted him, “I just spotted some very nasty characters coming in, and they are probably coming for us.”

“What?” Luthien blinked at Azarielle, surprised by her sudden outburst.

“We need to scram, run away, make ourselves scarce, be otherwise unavailable for capture,” Azarielle looked at the knight as she thought he was a little bit slow on the uptake. “You know, because being detained by the guards of an imperial prince is not a good thing.”

“Several mages have just come in,” Breaker added as he held out his daggers for his companions to see. “My blades are reacting to their presence.”

The breakers hummed like a nest of bees – an ominous sound in light of the grim expression on the elven slayer’s face.

“Yes, three mages to be exact,” the young mage replied as she picked up Luthien’s hat and tossed it at him. “At least of one them, in the words of my esteemed master ‘isn’t a total waste of air and space’, and unfortunately, he’s a thoroughly unpleasant fellow.”

“You recognize them,” Luthien was finally able to make sense of the mage’s spontaneous and rather disjointed yammering. “How do you know that we are who they seek?”

Azarielle gave Luthien a most unappreciative stare before turning to Breaker and saying, “Sir Slayer, will you please do us all a favor and go have a look see at what that unpleasant bunch is up to while I give our fearless leader a summary of what is happening?”

Breaker gave one quick nod of his head and slipped out of the room. Satisfied, Azarielle turned her attention back to Luthien, “Sir Knight, I will make this as quick and concise as I am able, so I hope I don’t lose you along the way.”

Luthien found the idea of Azarielle being quick, concise and still be understandable to any reasonable person, indeed, the very act of being understandable itself, quite inconceivable. But, sensing her urgency, he wisely kept his comments to himself so that she doesn’t waste more precious time arguing with him.

“Point one: those warrior mages are the private guards of Prince Yue, the Prince Governor of Long Peace. Point two: Prince Yue does not like me. Point three: He also does not get along with his brother, Prince Ming, the Prince Governor of the Eternal Joy, the province state that Peaceful Sea is part of, and therefore, it’s not a good idea for his to send his guards here for not reason. Conclusion: He’s here to get us because the servant that stole the staff told him we are here. Understood?’

Luthien understood, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any questions. Azarielle was at least acquainted with Prince Yue well enough (which equated with angering him) that he would send guards into a rival prince’s territory to seek her out. And he wanted to know how. Being a woman, she would not have come into his presence unless she was herself a princess (impossible!), a servant (also impossible, given her rather rude behavior), a wife, or a concubine.

Being a powerful prince, Yue would only take a wife if she had status, power or both. The young mage was of noble birth, though he did not know whether she was high nobility or not. Power, she did have. But, Prince Yue did not have a wife; had never had a wife as far as intelligence reports could be trusted.

As for being a concubine – the higher ranking ones were also selected for power in order to produce powerful offspring, and status for desirable political association, but most were chosen for beauty. Luthien looked at Azarielle. Was she beautiful enough to be a concubine for an imperial prince? The young knight was surprised by his own answer – yes.

Azarielle did not have Ofeera’s portrait-perfect beauty, but her features were exotic and striking in their own way. Her large, almond shaped eyes that had an almost elven slant were alluring, seductive even. That frustrating mouth was full and bow shaped, and would look very kissable if she were spewing so much nonsense every moment of the day. And then, there was her coloring – night black hair against porcelain white skin and eyes the color of honey. Yes, she was beautiful – and in full Rising Sun noblewoman regalia, she would be stunning.

“Are you astonished by my matchless beauty, do you not understand anything I’ve just said, or is there something on my face?” the young mage asked frowning at him. “Because, Sir Knight, you are doing a very good impersonation of a statue.”

Luthien decided that a temporary lapse in judgment and sanity must have led him to the wrong conclusion, “And how do you know Prince Yue?”

Before Azarielle could answer, Breaker returned. The elven slayer slipped through the room as silent as a shadow and said, “I do not understand the exchange they had with the innkeeper. They showed him some sort of crest and they are now searching through the rooms.”

“Shall we try to leave?” Ofeera looked around at the room and timidly suggested. “Maybe we could… jump out of the windows?”

“Unfortunately, we’d cause enough commotion that they’ll be out on the streets after us in a matter of minutes,” Azarielle shook her head. “I’ll try to turn them away with an illusion and make our retreat right after that?”

“No. We will stay and confront them,” Luthien’s eyes were determined. “If they have come searching for us, then they have been notified of our coming by the servant. We will not wait for Everstar Spire and stop him right now!”

“If you decide on that course of action, Luthien, I will be forced to clobber you over the head. Somehow, the idea of wreaking havoc in the middle of Peaceful Sea, which is enemy territory, by fighting the personal guards of one of the most powerful imperial princes of Rising Sun seems a tad… well, words like insane, ridiculous, stupid, and plain bad, bad, bad comes to mind.”

The young knight paid the mage no heed. He turned to the elven slayer and said, “Is there anyway you can prevent the mages from working their Art without killing…”

Every muscle in his body suddenly locked together as if a giant’s had had wrapped around him and was squeezing. His mouth froze in mid speech, cutting of the rest of the sentence he was saying. Like an unbalanced statue, he found himself crashing to the floor.

Azarielle! The accursed mage had worked her Art against him!

“I hate reminding people of this, but I am a battle mage. This means I specialize in clobbering people and things.” Azarielle remarked. “So I when I threaten you with a clobbering, you should take heed.”

“Azarielle, what are you doing? Let him free!” Ofeera rushed over to where the knight was.

But the young mage put herself between the healer and the knight and said, “We cannot afford to battle these mages, Ofeera. If it was the servant and Theredoniel who alerted Prince Yue of our presence, then they are likely guests in his manor in the City of Red Dawn, which is many days travel from here. We will not make it before they leave of Everstar Spire. And if we battle these mages here, we will have Prince Ming’s troops after us as well. Peaceful Sea might be a port city, but it is nothing like Westshore. No sane zeppelin captain will take us if there is an imperial warrant for our arrest.”

“You will distract the mages with an illusion?” Breaker asked. For once, the elven slayer was in agreement with Azarielle. He knew that confrontation here and now was not to their advantage.

“I am going to try,” Azarielle replied. “I will be able to confuse them long enough for us to get away. These mages are also on enemy territory and they will not be able to search for us openly.”

Without another word, the young mage found herself a seat and closed her eyes. Despite her outward calm, she had been beyond rattled when she spotted Yue’s guards walking into the inn. Both the Luminous Consort and Yue served Abyssal Ones, so it was not a surprise that the servant who stole the Staff of Everstar had gone to him. And yet, she had hoped beyond reason and logic that such an encounter would not happen!

Azarielle took a deep breath, trying to force her jumbled mind into some semblance of peace. The power that been bestowed upon her was one that all too readily teetered towards darkness and destruction – and Azariel had long ago cautioned her to leash her own emotions lest she too give herself over to the Abyssal Ones. And with her mind in turmoil, she could sense a rumbling deep inside the core of her being, like a storm looming over the horizon of an uneasy sea.

What she intended to do require focus and discipline, especially since she intended to remain unnoticed. And so, the young woman began to pray.

Ofeera sat by her friend uneasily. For just a brief moment, she had felt Azarielle’s power. And what a great and terrifying power her friend had been gifted with! It was a fiercely burning thing as hot and volatile as the heart of a star. And for a single blink of the eye, that power had enveloped her in blinding light and a million voices crying out in pain or in song, she did not know.

It had been her first true glimpse at the power Abihayil had presented Azarielle with, and she found herself trembling at the experience. To think that such a great gift, such a fearsome power had been inside her carefree, overly forthright friend! And to think that Azarielle too was troubled, as much or perhaps even more than she was!

Breaker had gone to stand by the door, his weapons drawn in case Azarielle was not able to dissuade their unwanted guests. The lovely young healer had gone to sit by the mage, and she was now looking at him with worried eyes. He could offer her no comfort except giving the barest nod of his head and preparing himself for battle.

When the inevitable knock came, his muscles tensed and he prepared himself for battle.

“Coming,” the mage said as she rose from her seat. Her eyes remained closed as she walked towards the door with sure footing, as if something else guided her steps. The long grenadine dress swished gracefully behind her, making it seem as if she was floating.

Azarielle laid her hand on the door and paused for a just a moment. Breaker saw her best rise and fall as she took a deep breath.

Then, she opened the door.

The man who stood on the other side was dressed in nondescript gray robes and had on a straw hat with black veil covering his face. Breaker could just make out his features – a flat face and cold, hard brown eyes – that twisted into shocked recognition when he saw Azarielle.

He opened his mouth, “Lady R…”

But Azarielle did not let him finish. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him. And though Breaker was not possessed of the Gift, he felt a hot wind buffet his body. His daggers, the arcane breakers that the mage so despised, had practically come alive in his hands so agitated they were in the presence of such great and hostile power.

“You do not see us. You see a merchant and his three wives. He is arguing with his two older wives because they are accusing him of giving his youngest wife the best gift,” she told him, her voice soft but commanding.
“I do not see you,” he repeated, his eyes wide and unseeing now, “I see a merchant and his three wives. They are bickering over the gift has brought the younger wife.”

“How does Yue know we are here?”

“A foreigner with hair like the snow and eyes like the sky came with an elf with yellow hair and green eyes. He spoke of a knight who looked like him and traveled in the company of a mage and a healer,” the mage’s face twisted behind his veil, as if he was struggling against the thrall of Azarielle’s power.

She lifted a hand and laid it against the other mage’s forehead. The veiled mage’s face went slack again, like a doll’s. “And what did he ask Prince Yue to assist him with?”

“His Highness ordered as to kill all three on sight.”

“You will go to the next room and you will remember only the merchant and the three wives,” Azarielle’s voice was like a cold finger tracing a line down the spine. Breaker found that somewhere along the line, he had taken a step back from her. Her golden eyes were swirling amber storms, and he knew that if he looked at them for long, he would be enthralled by her power as well.

“I will go to the room and remember only the merchant and the three wives.”

* * * * *

Luthien struggled against the bonds that held him. He could hear the words being spoken and see all that was happening. But he could neither speak nor move! Azarielle, and the knight added a few un-chivalrous adjectives after Azarielle, had not entirely ‘clobbered’ him into unconsciousness as she so succinctly threatened to do.

And that was her mistake.

After the immediate rage of being treated in such a undignified way had sent the blood rushing into his head, or he supposed, away from his head subsided enough that for him to think again, he had ceased his useless physical struggles and turned to his own gift. What separated a paladin from a knight was the paladin’s own Arcane Gift. Though he had not received the same training she had, Luthien was not a stranger to battling mages. And so, he turned his focus inward and prayed.

Under any other circumstance, Azarielle might have noticed what he was doing and stopped him. But since she was otherwise occupied, Abihayil’s healing strength flowed through him in a warm rush. Muscle by muscle, he was released from Azarielle’s attack, and he stayed as still as he was able until he could move every part of his body again.

And then, he sprang up off the ground and charged.

* * * *

“You will not leave!” an outraged voice roared, shattering Azarielle’s hold on the mage.

Luthien stood, with his sword drawn, breathing as heavily as an enraged bull. The Rising Sun mage blinked in confusion and stared at the four very un-merchant like people in the room, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Azarielle rolled her eyes.