Mikhail
The rays of the setting suns trickled through the canopy of leaves and warmed his sallow face. Evening birds began singing their songs of twilight, and just like the sky, Mikhail’s mind was in between two colors. It had been five years since he'd seen the light of day, only having had the oil lamps of the mines to light his path.
Yet he couldn't enjoy it. Though it kept him alive, his heart was dead. The empire had taken the final thing he had left to live for, and no amount of warmth and light could have revived his still beating heart. Nebo was gone.
He sat in front of his tent. The slave rebellion had freed them, and soon after split them up into small groups to evade detection. Mikhail was assigned to Frehar and Twenty, Elka had come with them too along with a few other freed slaves. They were to stay hidden as best they could, and the Freeweavers that had come storming into the mine had cast a few spells to prevent detection.
They were to join with the rest again in a few days at an undisclosed location to the east. They weren't told exactly where, in case one of them was caught and tortured.
Footsteps approached, Frehar and Twenty came to visit.
“Hey big man,” Frehar said, patting Mikhail's shoulder. “Feel like having some meat when it's done? We caught some Golars earlier.”
Mikhail looked at the chubby, weasel-like creature with bulging eyes in Frehar’s hand, and turned his head away to stare off into the distance. “Thanks, but no.” It wasn't their fault, but that creature was the last thing Mikhail wanted to see right now.
The two rebels looked at each other for a moment, and sat down.
“Please, Mikhail,” Frehar said. “You need to eat, or you'll die of hunger before any imperial blade finds you, friend.”
Twenty nodded in agreement. The big Acuamori looked at Mikhail with pity in his eyes.
Mikhail kept staring at nothing in particular. “I said no.”
“We know how you feel, I know Ne-”
“Don't speak his name!” Mikhail shouted, veins bulging in his neck. “You know nothing of how I feel, you gods damned poet.” He yanked the dead animal out of Frehar's hand and threw it into the forest. “I've lost him, I've lost the one person who gave meaning to this fucking mess of a life!”
For once, Frehar was quiet.
“What do I care if I die of hunger, or a blade, or of being mauled to death by whatever things are in this damned forest. Let me die in peace, damn you.”
Twenty stood up, grabbed Mikhail by his tunic and punched him in the jaw. Mikhail rolled backwards into his tent, took a second to collect himself, and launched himself at Twenty roaring with rage.
They rolled over the ground, punching and grappling with each other. For every blow Mikhail landed, two more came in return. The years of malnourishment in the mines hadn't done him any favours. Frehar quickly intervened and pulled the men apart with great effort.
“Gods damn it Twenty, shove off, you violent fool!” Frehar said, standing in between them and panting.
Twenty growled, and strode off into the forest to find the dead animal.
Mikhail dusted himself off and picked the dead leaves out of his hair. His lip was swollen and he had a splitting headache. “What in the hells is wrong with that dumb giant?”
“You remember what I told you about Twenty, right?”
“How he got his name, you mean?”
“Yes. He didn't kill those imperials for no reason, they hanged his wife and daughter. He was out hunting at the time.”
Mikhail was stunned. “I- I didn't know. I'm sorry.”
“You couldn't know.”
“But that still doesn't give him the right to attack me out of nowhere!”
Frehar shook his head. “I've known him for over twelve years, and I haven't seen him act like this with others before, I think he cares about you more than you know.”
Mikhail raised a bleeding eyebrow. “The man's got a funny way of showing it.”
“If he didn't care about you, he'd have grabbed an axe instead of using his fists.”
Twenty had found the animal, and sat down against a tree, inspecting its carcass.
“He hates seeing you give up like this, Mikhail. Nebo is alive, which means there's still hope.” Frehar looked at Twenty. “His family is dead, that's why he was angry with you, because you're giving up without even trying.”
Mikhail sighed. “I'm just so very tired, Frehar, and how am I supposed to find him anyway? That fucking wizard-”
“Weaver.”
“Fine, Weaver, took him to gods know where. He's probably being tortured as we speak, I don't even want to think about it.”
“Not necessarily. I think after that display of arcane talent, he's probably been taken to the Elysian Tower.”
“I've heard about that place before, years ago, when we were on trial in the Spire.”
“It's a place where they train and educate imperial Weavers like the one you saw at the mines. They don't kill Arcaneborne if they get their hands on them at a young age, but they mold them into weapons of the empire.”
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“I saw what that man did to several tonnes of rock and stone. You're telling me there's a tower full of those kinds of people?”
“Yes, although this Weaver seemed to be particularly strong.”
Mikhail rubbed his beard. “So how is there hope, again? How am I supposed to invade a tower of fucking rock smashing Weavers?”
“You don't, Mikhail, you wait for them to come out.” Frehar smiled. “Join the rebellion, you've a decent head on your shoulders and if you eat a little I bet you'd be a force to be reckoned with in no time.” His smile turned into a grin. “You held your own against Twenty pretty well, after all.”
“Oh shut your mouth,” Mikhail said. “I'm grateful for what you do, but I'm no hero, Frehar. I don't care about freeing slaves or a grand goal like overthrowing the empire.”
“Maybe you don't, but I'm sure you can see how the information you get by working with us would benefit your search for Nebo, can't you?” He stood up and wiped his trousers. “And if you save a few people in the meantime, all the better.”
Mikhail thought it over for a minute, and decided there was some truth in Frehar's words. He felt a small fire return in his chest, it was a tiny chance, but he might be able to save Nebo, and a tiny chance was all he could ask for. “Fine, I'll join you, but only until I find Nebo. Don't get me killed in the meantime.”
Frehar's eyes lit up. “Good man! Now go apologize to Twenty, and let's go eat that meat, mental counsel makes a man hungry.” He looked in Twenty’s direction. “I'm sure he'll like the look in your eyes.”
Mikhail kicked Frehar’s shins, causing him to jump and grab his leg. “Fuck off, poet.” He turned and walked towards Twenty to apologize. “But thank you.”
Nebo
A purple crystal spun around on the table before him, filling the room with a whirring sound. There were four black stone walls surrounding him without an entrance to speak of. The Weaver dragged him from the mines and threw him into this room before stepping into another portal and vanishing from his sight.
He could still see Mikhail and Elka in his mind's eye, scrambling to save him from the Weaver’s grasp.
He buried his head in his remaining hand and sighed.
What's going to happen to me?
Before he left, the Weaver had cast a spell to stop his arm from bleeding, but he didn't think he'd done that out of kindness. It was most likely to keep him from bleeding out so he could torture him later while he was fully conscious. A shiver crept up his spine.
The continuous whirring of the crystal stopped, breaking his train of thought.
It hung suspended in the air, humming softly.
A portal opened behind him, and Nebo turned around, his eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.
The grey haired Weaver stepped inside, followed by a small red-skinned, mischievous looking creature wearing leather armour and a golden circlet. It had small, beady eyes and two slits where a nose should be.
It was grinning, exposing its jagged, yellow teeth.
The Weaver sat in the chair opposite Nebo, and set down a bottle and two mugs on the table. The creature perched on top of the armrest of the Weaver’s chair, and kept its piercing gaze fixed on Nebo.
“Hello, child. You must be wondering why you're here.” The Weaver said after a while.
Nebo swallowed, and nodded.
“My name is Nodryev, I'm a Weaver of the Elysian Tower,” He said. “And you must be thirsty.”
Nebo hesitated, but then nodded again. His throat was parched.
Nodryev snapped his fingers, and the evil-looking creature filled the cups on the table with the fluid in the bottle. When they were filled, he handed a cup to Nodryev first, and then hobbled towards Nebo to give him his cup.
Nebo grabbed it, but didn't drink yet.
A sly smile formed on Nodryev’s face, and he took a sip first.
Nebo sighed, and drank the blue liquid. It was quite sweet, and it cooled his throat.
“What is your name, child?” Nodryev asked.
Nebo cleared his throat. “I'm Nebo.”
“That'll suffice for now.”
He wasn't sure what the old Weaver meant by that. “Why did you bring me here, Master Nodryev?”
“Because you have talent, child, and a lot of it at that. Not many your age could cause a man to explode like that and still keep their eyesight.” The Weaver stared into his eyes.
But you're not talented enough to do the same to me yet, Neophyte, so cease your infantile weaving under the table.
He felt a pit in his stomach and immediately stopped, how did he catch him?
Nodryev chuckled. “In addition to your talent,” the Weaver said, “You have a certain ruthlessness in you at such a tender age, as you just demonstrated by trying to blow me up as well.”
“It's because I wanted to protect my friends, and now, myself.” Nebo said.
He chuckled. “Yes, but not many have the conviction for murder at your age, not even in the face of imminent danger.”
Nebo felt his cheeks flush. It wasn't like he enjoyed it, right?
Well, maybe I enjoyed killing Elryc a little, but he was a worm who liked killing innocent people.
“I saw you smile, you know? When you killed that shiftmaster, I mean.”
“He was pure evil!”
“Maybe so, I'm not judging you child.” Nodryev leaned forward, folding his fingers together. “The Dunmori Empire has need of Weavers like you, those who don't hesitate to end an enemy.”
Nebo flared his nostrils and felt heat rise in his chest. “I hate the empire, why would I ever help the nation that had me enslaved and people I love killed?”
“Because I think you're not a fool.” Nodryev said. He took another sip of his cup. “I understand why you would despise the empire, boy, but the Elysian Tower can help you hone your talents, make you become powerful beyond imagination. Is that not something you want after living powerlessly as a slave for so long?”
Nebo's rapid breathing steadied. As much as he hated the empire, he had to admit Nodryev made a fair point. If he refused, he'd probably die right here in this room. Why not make use of the empire for now? When he grew strong enough, he could do whatever he wanted.
“You're young, still. In the next few years you'll come to understand the realities of this world, and the necessity of the empire. Learn the mysteries of the Allweave, and build the reality you want.” Nodryev said. “The path to power is what lies in front of you, Neophyte, all you have to do is grasp it.”
Nebo racked his brain. What choice did he have? He needed to survive to find Mikhail again, and he could develop his natural gifts. On the other hand, he'd have to work for the very same people that enslaved innocents and had Katya executed.
After a short deliberation, he decided he should survive for now.
“Alright, I'll come to study at this tower.”
Nodryev looked at him haughtily. “Good, smart boy.” He rummaged around in his robe and took a small vial out. “Drink this, It'll heal your wound completely.”
Nebo frowned and took the vial. “This will regrow my arm?”
“That's not what I said. It will completely close the wound, but you'll still only have one arm.”
That disappointed Nebo.
“You can learn how to grow it back in the Tower, child, or how to craft a new one out of metals and eldritch components. That will depend on your talents, though.”
His eyes lit up, he couldn't believe things like that were possible. “Can't you regrow it for me, sir?”
Nodryev's eyes darkened. “You should learn this as soon as possible, do not ask others for help.” He stood up. “In the empire, hard work and talent determine your worth. You will earn your arm yourself.”
Nebo felt like he made a mistake. He opened the vial and drank it, feeling the wound close on its own. “Sorry, I got too excited.”
“Mistakes are how you learn, Nebo, but be careful not to make too many.” Nodryev motioned for Nebo to stand up. “Follow me, we're going to my laboratory.”
Nebo got up, clutching his now healed stump. “Weren't you going to send me to the tower, sir?”
The old Weaver chuckled. “Yes, but first you'll be learning from me. Or do you feel it would be wise to send a puppy to live among wolves?”
He didn't like being compared to a puppy, but he understood what the Weaver meant. “No sir, I don't.”
“Good, you're not a fool, then.” He turned to open the portal. “One more thing, child.”
“Yes, sir?”
“From now on you will address me as Master or Threadgiver. This is how you'll address the teachers at the Tower as well.”
Nebo clenched his jaws, after the years he spent as a slave he wouldn't be addressing anyone as master. “Yes, Threadgiver.”
Nodryev nodded. “Good, now follow me.” He approached the portal, the imp happily hopping behind him. “Power and knowledge await.”