The Keystaff Chronicles Chaper 9

Chapter 9

Patience was not a virtue that he possessed. He should be relaxed. The soothing song of the water, the salty sea breeze, and the gentle sway of the boat as it was rocked back and forth by the motherly waves, all these things should have brought him peace. Yet Luthien found himself pacing back and forth on the deck, his body hot with agitation.

Somewhere out in that vast, rippling darkness was Azarielle. After that initial blinding flash in the distance, they had seen no further signs of her. Win or lose, unharmed or injured, they didn’t know what state she was in now. The nerve of that mage! To just casually stroll off the boat without bothering to let him or Ofeera know what she was intending to do! And Breaker! The hopelessly nonchalant mage slayer had simply let her walk away without trying to stop her foolishness or at least waking the rest of them up!

The gray elf had gone back inside the room to rest. When Luthien had confronted him about letting her walk free, Breaker had said quite simply, “Do you not trust the will of your Eternal Father, Knight?” Stunned by this rebuke that a patron might have delivered, Luthien had not pursued the conversation further. Instead, he had gone back out onto the deck to pray and wait – neither of which he had been particularly successful at doing.

“I am certain that she is fine.” Ofeera, who had been praying this whole time rose to her feet. “The Eternal Father watches over her. That flash we had seen – I am almost certain it was her power.”

“You are right, my lady.” Luthien hesitated for a moment before adding, “I have little in the way of knowledge and understanding with regards to Arcane powers, but I saw…” The young knight thought of that swirling, fiery maelstrom and the screaming voices – Azarielle’s power.

“Azarielle’s power?” Ofeera finished for him. “I felt it too, Highness. If the Eternal Father had so gifted her, he did so for a purpose.”

Luthien smiled, “Your counsel is wise, my lady.”

Turning to face the ocean, Ofeera prayed that her confident words would be true. Unlike Luthien, she understood a mage’s powers well enough to recognize that Azarielle’s power was fairly unstable. This was not a comforting thing for she had tended to mages whose minds and bodies had been consumed by their own power. And despite what she said to the knight, the young healer feared for her friend. She did not want the battles to drive her friend to that breaking point.

* * * * *

Azarielle was feeling quite irritated at that moment. She was thoroughly soaked, and the cool ocean breeze that had felt so good earlier in the day now chilled her to the bones. Her wounds stung horrifically from the salt water, though she supposed that she didn’t have to worry about the cuts becoming infected. And, at lease she was in better off than Bi Xiang and Blue Cloud. She’d teleported them both to a nicely swampy marshland filled with bloodthirsty leeches and mosquitoes, and they wouldn’t be able to start a fire to dry themselves off using their Arcane powers since she’d sealed them away. The seal would wear off in a few days, but in the meantime, she rather hoped that the all the lovely swamp bugs would enjoy their feast.

The small glowing puffball she created drifted lazily in front of her as she slunk across the waves, somehow managing to drag her feet in the water in a lackluster fashion instead of her gliding across gracefully as she had done earlier. Luthien was going to demand an explanation, and for once, she would much prefer burrowing into her bedroll than argue with the knight.

Unfortunately, she doubted that she’d be getting any more sleep this night. While it had been thoroughly satisfying to unleash that blast of power, it was also quite reckless, on par with Luthien charging at Bi Xiang and his cohorts in terms of stupidity, in fact. If any of the mages working for Prince Ming were remotely competent, they would have sensed that blast. And, they would be by shortly to investigate.

Two more days – that’s how long they had to stay undiscovered before they could board the zeppelin for Everstar Spire. Azarielle let out a soul-deep sigh. These two days already seemed like years.

* * * * *

The sound of footfalls shook Breaker from his restful lull, and he rose to his feet like a great cat rising from a nap, silently and gracefully. He could hear Luthien and Ofeera talking quietly (for humans) on deck and he slipped out the other end. The gray elf hopped nimbly onto the pier and turned in the direction of the footfalls. Sure enough, he saw the group of soldiers who had barged into their boat earlier that night rushing their way. They must have either seen the flash of light or sensed the Arcane power that had been unleashed.

Moving swiftly, Breaker hurried back onboard the boat and joined his two companions on deck, “The soldiers are back.”

Both Luthien and Ofeera turned to face him with startled expressions. He had come upon them sp quietly and swiftly his that it seemed to them as if he had materialized in their midst.

“What?” the knight looked at him in confusion.

“The soldiers that were here earlier – they are coming this way.”

Ofeera’s eyes widened, “They must have sensed that blast!”

“That idiot mage!” Luthien scowled before turning to survey his companions. Ofeera had washed off her disguise and donned her white robes. Breaker was still dressed like a fishermen, though the powders he had applied to his face was starting to smudge around the corners. It didn’t matter anyway. Azarielle was not here, and if the soldiers decided to search the boats again, they could very well notice her absence.

“Get back into the boat,” the young knight commanded with gritted teeth. They only had two options – get back into the boat and fight only if they are cornered, or make their escape without Azarielle. And as much as he wanted to throttle the mage, Luthien would not leave her to face the soldiers on her own.

Ofeera went back into their sleeping quarters without a word argument. Breaker gave him an unreadable look as he passed by the knight, but he too obeyed without complaint. Once inside, Luthien propped up his bedroll with travel bags as best as he could to give the illusion that there was someone else inside, before slipping in. He lay with his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his unsheathed sword, ready to defend if the soldiers did attack,

In the other bedroll, Breaker had also drawn his weapons. The elven mage slayer held a throwing knife in each of his hand. He would strike to kill should the soldiers barge into the boat and attack. As long as he was able to get rid of the mage first, the gray elf was certain that he and Luthien would win the battle.

The footsteps grew nearer, drumming the beat that heralded an impending battle. They stopped abruptly, and lilting voices spoke in singsong Hanyue. Luthien understood enough of the language that he was able to piece together their discussion. They intended to investigate the light, and they would seize a larger fishing vessel for the purpose. Half the men would board the fishing boat along with the mage while the other half remained on guard at the dock.
If Azarielle was yet to end her battle, she would find herself sorely outnumbered.

* * * * *

It would seem that the Council was going to have to make restitution payments to yet another fishermen’s family. Azarielle watched as Prince Ming’s soldiers seized a medium-sized fishing boat, roughly expelling its six original inhabitants. As a precaution, the young woman had extinguished her mage light when she felt that she was nearing shore as not to attract any unwanted attention. Instead, the young woman had slipped into Mage Sight, which allowed her to see the world as colorful and interconnected webs of energy.

The soldiers and the unfortunate fishermen family appeared to her as tightly wound up balls of threads ranging in color from dull white to soft sunflower yellow. They were obstacles in the streams of Arcane power, forcing the silvery, starry flows to meander around them as water meandered around unmoving rocks. The mage who had accompanied the soldiers was like a strand of coiled, dark orange thread floating in the river of power. He glowed with a faintly black light to Azarielle’s Sight, which told the young woman that he had dabbled in the darker arts.

She could spot her companions as well. Ofeera added to the web of many lights a gentle, blue-white thread that shimmered almost as brightly as the Arcane streams around her. Luthien was shinning gold, as bright as the sun, and practically humming with agitation and energy. Breaker, the non-mage of the group, was a coiled ball of deep browns and lively greens – the colors of the earth.

As for herself…

Azarielle held out her hands, which to her Sight was a wildly pulsing thread that writhed and twisted into all manner of colors. One moment, it would blaze with passionate, fiery red; the next moment, it would shimmer softly like the purest silver. That silver color would then darken until it was like the angry skies that threatened to break forth into a violent storm.

Clenching her hands into fists, the young woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She would not allow it to happen. She could not allow it to happen! That subversive, serpentine ecstasy; that maddening, howling and violent freedom; that sweet, sweet joy of surrendering to the shrieking voices that demanded her to unleash her all her powers! She could not succumb to that horrible temptation – for then, she would be as lost as any servant of the Abyssal Ones.

The words of another Arcane working spilled from her lips as easily as a poem, and she felt her body grow light as air. She did not need her Sight to guide her, and simply allowed herself to be pulled forward by her companions’ familiar presence. Water flowed into her, through her and felt like silk sheets whispering against her skin. And then, she was passing through the wooden walls of the fishing boat, the hard grains of the wood rubbing against her like rough burlap.

Her trance-like state was snapped abruptly by a sudden, cold sensation. Azarielle’s eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring down at the very sharp, very dangerous looking edge of an arcane breaker.

“Well, good to see you too, Breaker,” Azarielle huffed.

The gray elf, who had been quite startled when the young woman had simply popped out of thin air, gave her a cool stare, “Make some noise next time, mage.”

“Azarielle! Thank the Eternal Father!” Ofeera gasped in relief.

“What in the name of all that is holy did you think you were doing?” Luthien hissed.

“Those are Prince Ming’s soldiers outside,” the young mage reminded her companions. “Unless we really want to completely doom our chances of spending the next two days in quiet obscurity, I suggest we speak quietly. Anyhow, we are temporarily in the clear. To give you a quick summary – because I am really quite tired – Bi Xiang and Blue Cloud, another one of Prince Yue’s servants tried to murder or apprehend me. They didn’t quite manage to do it and now I am here and they are getting eaten by mosquitoes and leeches somewhere icky. The end. Now please turn the other way so I can get out of these miserably wet clothes.”

“You left without a word!” Luthien’s anger spilled out with every word that he spoke. Azarielle’s flippant attitude was enraged him to no end, and it was all he could do not to shout at this frustrating woman.

“I told Mister Slayer,” was the airy reply as the young woman casually dug through her bags, presumably searching for something dry to change into.

Luthien was about to respond when Ofeera interrupted him, “You are hurt!” The young healer, who had been holding a small oil lamp so that Azarielle could look through her things, spotted a dark stain spreading across the mage’s shirt and touched it lightly with her fingertips.

“It’s not deep,” Azarielle pulled out a roll of bandages and a small jar. “If you use your healing powers, that mage out there will sense it. It will be fine if I wrap it.” A dagger appeared in the young mage’s hand and she promptly slit open the sleeve of her fishermen wife’s shirt. She rubbed some minty-smelling herbs onto the wound, and then deftly bound it with the bandages. Luthien noted the practiced ease with which she worked. Azarielle was not a stranger to tending her own injuries, it would seem.

“You aren’t injured anywhere else?” he asked, after a moment.

“There’s a small scratch on my face – and I certainly hope it won’t scar,” the young woman sniffed. “I do not believe that nonsensical talk about scars ‘adding character’. Honestly, a scar means that I couldn’t take care of myself, and that’s not good! Well, actually, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing, because it keeps us humble by reminding us of our inabilities and failures and reinforcing the teaching that only the Uncrowned King can lead us down the path to Abihayil. But then, Abihayil is exalted by our happiness and since I won’t be happy having a big scar on my face, maybe he won’t feel so exalted, which would be bad. So…”

What concern Luthien might have felt for her well being vanished as the deluge of her words rolled over him. He didn’t have the patience or energy to sort through Azarielle’s tangled logic. Without another word to the mage, he went back to his corner and wrapped himself up with his blankets, signaling the end of their conversation. Azarielle glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, a sly twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smile curving her lips.

“Azarielle,” Ofeera admonished softly though the young healer could not help but smile at her friend’s antics.

Breaker, who had watched the exchange quietly, spoke up, “That was careless of you, mage.”

“Breaker!” Ofeera frowned at the gray elf. “Azarielle is injured!”

The young mage regarded the mage slayer for a moment and then nodded with unusual gravity, “You are right, Sir Slayer. I am sorry to have brought the soldiers back.”

“The ones that went to investigate – will they find anything that would lead them back here?”

“No,” Azarielle wrapped a blanket around herself, “And I really do need to get some sleep now, sir slayer.”

* * * * *

Prince Ming’s soldiers did not trouble the companions again. Breaker kept watch until the ones who had gone out on the larger fishing vessel returned. From the frustrated expression on the soldier mage’s face, the gray elf deduced that the search had been futile.

The next morning, the companions were roused early from their sleep by the mage. She insisted that they needed to find another place to hide, and explained that it would be a good day to dispose of the boat because the rains would come, and it was, sadly, quite commonplace for the smaller fishing vessels to be swallowed up by the sea. It did not take Azarielle very long to complete her task, and they soon found themselves back to the marketplace.
Thought the sun was only beginning to peak in the eastern horizon, splashing the sky with hues of gentle gold and soft pink, the merchants and a few early risers were already out and about. The large, sliding doors of shops were pushed open, and long, low wooden tables where the smaller merchants liked to display their wares were set out along the side of the streets. The tantalizing smell of fried fritters and scallion encrusted pancakes, local breakfast favorites, wafted from the windows of several eateries, making the companions’ stomachs growl.

Dressed in nondescript clothes that Breaker had ‘acquired’ from a clothesline with scarves wrapped around their heads, and having been carefully made up by the gray elf to resemble sun browned farmers, the four companions garnered little notice as they made their way through the streets. At the young woman’s insistence, the companions split up and found separate lodging in two inns that faced each other on the street. Although Luthien was not entirely pleased with the arrangement, he knew that anyone searching for them would be looking for a group of four.

The day passed peacefully, if slowly. Luthien, with Azarielle tow, secured a place for his companions aboard a treasure hunting zeppelin that was bound for the Forsaken Lands. Sadly, no amount of gold was enough to convince the zeppelin captain to take them beyond the boarders of ancient Aztur. From the boarders of Aztur to Everstar Spire was seven days on foot – not an idea in which Luthien relished. Azarielle was thus tasked with finding an Arcane means of transportation to shorten their trip.

And so, the young mage spent the rest of her day in research, pouring over her books and Elucielle Gwenevar’s journal in hopes that the great archmage would provide some inspiration. By the time she retired that evening, the young woman had devised a way to fly herself and her companions in a speedy manner. Of course, there were still a few safety glitches to work out, but those were minor.

What concerned her most was how much arcane power she would need to use in order to keep all four of them moving at the desired speed. If they faced off against Theredoniel and the servant, she would need to be at the height of her power, not exhausted. Mumbling a prayer to Abihayil and asking her to grant her wisdom, the young woman soon fell asleep.

She opened her eyes to the sight of ancient trees reaching their thick, leafy boughs up to the infinite night sky. Her hands rested upon soft, dew-moist grass, and the sensation of cool wetness was enough of a shock that the young woman bolted her feet. The world around her was something wildly and beautifully fantastical, a poetic melding of ancient trees and shimmering crystals. Elegant homes built from white marble and crystals were seamlessly entwined in the trunks and branches of the most unusually shaped trees. Verdant leaves lay spread over the roofs of houses, and beautiful flowers blossomed upon every windowsill.

Silvery mage globes bobbed up and down amongst the trees, lighting up what looked like a town square built around a fountain with the statue of a beautiful elven woman sitting at the edge of the water and reading a book. Elves and humans alike milled about, dressed in flowing robes of satin and gossamer, and speaking in melodious high elven. Somewhere hidden in the thick canopy of leaves, a bird sang sweetly to the accompaniment flute and harp.

And standing in the distance, a pillar of shimmering white stone and shiny gold crystals stood Everstar Spire.

“Gwenevar City,” Red stepped out from the flowing throng of people with a dazzling smile. “If it still existed, that teacher of yours would be its lord, and you, my darling little mage, would be the next lady. How the souls of those noble patriarchs and matriarchs must be screaming in Zion, ha!”

Azarielle gave the strange man a not entire friendly as she didn’t particularly liked being called ‘darling little mage’, “Gwenevar City was destroyed in the Mage Wars. It wouldn’t look like this now.”

“Well, you aren’t entirely hopeless, it would seem,” Red nodded in a way that Azarielle found extremely annoying. She wondered for just a brief moment if Luthien felt the same when she talked to her, and promptly dismissed that thought as utter nonsense.

“It was here that those idiot Kethevar brothers, Doriel and Cedriel fought one another. Can you believe it was over a woman?” Red shook his head. “Oh the follies of men who, for the sake of a woman, would destroy a nation. Elucielle’s great nephew Gordaniel, who was the lord of Gwenevar City at the time, died in that battle. He was a likable boy, Gordaniel, not the sharpest tool in the shed if you know my meaning, and altogether too obsessed with pecan pies, but a good boy nonetheless. I think Elucielle might have actually liked him, if that woman was capable of liking anyone.”

“Did you know Doriel Kethevar?” Azarielle asked.

Red did not answer. Instead, he walked to the fountain and sat down next to the sculpture of beautiful woman, “Do you know what your greatest weakness was, Elucielle? It was your damnable merciful heart. You saw the shadow in Doriel’s heart and yet, instead of extinguishing his power, you taught him the Art in hopes that his heart would be turned towards Abihyail. Your favorite apprentice killed your favorite great nephew. Doriel made Gordaniel rot to pieces in front of your beloved people. And you, the great Archmage Elucielle Gwenevar, died for the sake of a soulless servant of an Abyssal One. You were such a fool.” The strange young-looking man held out his hand as if to touch the statue, the tips of his fingers hovering only a breath away from those sculpted cheeks.

“Mercy is not weakness. We owe our very existence to the mercy of the Uncrowned King. If he had not sacrificed himself for us, we would all die the soul’s death, corrupted as we are by taint of the Abyssal Ones” Azarielle said softly.

Red’s mouth twisted into a smile that was half-amused and half-bitter. “Are you preaching to me, baby mage?”

He rose to his feet abruptly and turned to Azarielle, “You want to know about Doriel Kethevar?”

Before Azarielle could even answer, everything around her began to bleed away, the colors melting into one another until everything became a mass of oozing browns and sickly greens. The young woman reeled from this dizzying effect, and she reached out a hand reflexively to grasp hold of something.

She grasped something cold and stiff, and when she opened her eyes, she found her hand pressed against the decaying back of a corpse, only inches away from exposed, white bones. The young mage snatched her hand back, the words of an arcane shield tumbling from her lips almost reflexively.

“That’s not going to do you much good here, little mage,” Red shook his head. “That youngster Azariel really didn’t teach you much about dream walking, did he? Well, in this place, the only things that amount to anything are the power of your will and the strength of your faith. And experience, of course. Let me see, did he tell you about…”

But Azarielle wasn’t really listening.

The beautiful Gwenevar City had become a slaughterhouse. Bodies paved the ground upon which she stood, strewn about like so much rubbish. Rivers of blood flowed through the streets, carrying along pieces of decayed flesh and rotted limbs. The grand, ancient trees were nothing more than over large kindling, and the birds that had sang so sweetly were silenced. An ominous red mist hung over the air which reeked of death. The verdant paradise was now a nightmare of red and gray – blood and death.

“Blessed Abihayil,” the young woman whispered as she looked at the horrific scene around her.

“…and that is why you really should… hmmm?” Red, who had been rambling on about dream walking, paused when he noted that the young woman was not paying any attention to her. “How disrespectful! I will have you know that mages would murder one another to have lessons from me! And here I find you, a mage-ling, not paying any attention to something you obviously lack any experiences with, and…”

“You were there. This is your memory!” Azarielle turned to strange man. “How could you have been there and…!”

“And I am terribly, terribly insulted! You think I am Doriel? Do I look like a simpering idiot to you?” Red huffed in indignation.

“Then how I am seeing this?” the young woman demanded. “This is your memory – it’s so vivid that I can see it, touch it, smelly it! By Abihayil, I can even feel the despair hanging in the air, and that is your emotion! You walked through these streets; how were you able to survive?”

“Did I not tell you that I am great and powerful, and all that good stuff?” Red frowned. “You think a little immature child like Doriel Kethevar could kill me?”

“Doriel Kethevar was said to be as powerful as Elucielle Gwenevar herself.”

“That is quite untrue, I assure you.” Red sniffed disdainfully. “I mean, he was an Honored One, not an Exalted One. You are staring at me with a rather idiotic look, little mageling. The Exalted One is what you call a Servant or Avatar of the Abyssal Ones – you know the ones that the archmages fight? My goodness, don’t you young mages learn anything nowadays? I say, the mages’ education system is really on the decline…Anyhow, you wanted to know about Doriel.”

The image around them shifted again, and Azarielle found herself standing inside what might have once been a grand temple with painted glass windows that were now smashed to pieces. Here too, the dead lay unburied, in various states of decay. But here, the rest of Gwenevar City, there yet remained life.

Kneeling on the raised dais at the far end of the room was a golden-haired elf dressed in a long blue coat. The elf held the body of a pale-haired elven woman, rocking back and forth with her, singing quietly in a beautiful but frighteningly hollow voice. His face was streaked with blood and tears, and his eyes, blank and unseeing.

“I give you Doriel Kethevar,” Red said. “His plague killed his brother’s wife, the woman who was the love his life.”

“What…”

Before she could finish her sentence, one of the bodies lying closest to the dais began to move. Grunting in obvious pain, an elf dressed in blood-stained armor that reminded her slightly of Luthien’s armor crawled slowly to his feet.

“May Abihayil keep you and protect you, Qurenielle, my love,” the armored elf whispered. “I shall join you in the arms of our Father soon.”

“Why can I not bring her back?” the one Red had called Doriel asked, turning to face the armored elf. His voice rose until it was a wail. “She cannot be gone! Why did you bring her here?!”

“She believed that your soul could still be saved, and your murdered her! Her soul is beyond the clutches of your evil mistress!”

“No…no…no…no…no!” Doriel sprang to his feet, his eyes wild. “She cannot be gone!” Power, dark, terrible, twisted power wept through the room and tore into the other elf’s armor as if it were paper. The armored elf staggered was brought to his knees, blood flying from his body in crimson splashes.

Throwing up his arms, the armored elf cried out, “By Abihayil’s grace, in the name of the Eternal Father let this blight of pestilence be cleansed!”

There was a blinding flash of bright light, as if the sun had leaped into existence. Azarielle felt her whole body consumed by fire, and she opened her mouth to scream. She woke up with first rays of the morning sun slanting through the shutters of the window.