A mournful wind 'round icy spires

A distant past consumed by fire.

Ferrian and Arzath stared at each other, frozen in place, each looking equally shocked at seeing the other. Arzath's expression was the first to change. Slowly, it went from incredulity to curiosity. "So," he said, looking the boy up and down, taking in his deathly appearance. "You survived. Interesting." His eyes narrowed. "That does not explain, however, how the hell you got in here!" His eyes darted around the room and behind him, as though wondering what other surprises lay around the corners.

Ferrian finally found his voice. "How I got in here?" he managed. "I'd be interested to know the same thing!"

Arzath glared at him. Then he moved slowly into the room and closed the doors behind him. "You could say I found the back door," he said. "Every sorcerer requires a non-magical means of access to their abode in case of contingencies. This one was exceedingly difficult to find, near impossible, in fact.

"I only discovered it by pure luck: I happened to be staring at exactly the right place at the right time. If luck had been with me earlier, I would have gained access to the castle weeks ago and saved all this ridiculous trouble." He moved towards Ferrian as he spoke. Ferrian noticed that he had re-dressed the wound on his arm, and his clothing and hair were dry. He had found a clean cloak somewhere, too. Obviously, he had been inside the castle for some time.

Ferrian could not see any weapons on him, but there was no telling what he might have picked up while ferreting around. He didn't trust Arzath as far as he could spit. He wasn't sure of his intentions and refused to let himself be manipulated again.

He wished that he hadn't let go of that Sword, after all.

"I am quite certain that no one followed me in," Arzath continued, stopping a few feet away and regarding Ferrian with suspicion. "In fact, I assumed you were dead." He raised an eyebrow. "I could have been fooled."

Ferrian's jaw tightened as he bit back a sarcastic remark. "Shut up," he muttered instead, and walked back to the fire, careful to keep Arzath in his peripheral vision as he did so.

Arzath followed him quickly. "Then… you broke in through the shield?"

"I didn't break anything! Requar let me in!"

Arzath froze mid-step. The look on his face was almost worth everything Ferrian had been through. "What?!"

Ferrian shrugged nonchalantly. "I just talked to him and he opened the shield for me," he said. "No big deal. He seems like a pretty decent guy to me. Maybe you should try being nice to him."

Arzath's sharp intake of breath sounded like a snake choking.

Suddenly, he lunged at Ferrian, so quickly that the boy gave a start and nearly tripped over the tinderbox. Righting himself quickly, he scurried around the dining table, convinced the man was going to throttle him.

"You made contact with Requar?" Arzath repeated, furious. "You revealed your presence? What else did you tell him?!"

Ferrian continued to back away. "I didn't tell him anything! It doesn't matter, anyway: he's on his way back. He's going to be here in two days, and you better not be around when he arrives!"

Arzath put his face in his hands and ran them through his hair, then began to pace in front of the fireplace. He stopped and gazed up at the ceiling for a long moment, apparently considering something. Then all of a sudden he began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he had to brace himself on the mantle.

"Excellent!" he crowed. "Haha, I could not have planned this better!" He flung an arm out theatrically. "Oh, I am looking forward to our reunion, Requar! Especially when you have so generously provided me with exactly what I need!"

He reached into his jacket and withdrew an object wrapped in black cloth. With great care, he unwrapped it and slid it free of its sheath.

Immediately, Ferrian felt pins and needles wash through his body. He backed against the wall, feeling inexplicably nauseous. The knife that Arzath was holding was horrific-looking: all uneven jagged edges and odd cut-out pieces. It was obviously designed to inflict as much pain and damage to its victim as possible.

"What... what is that thing?" he gasped.

Arzath held up the knife so that its dark, iridescent metal caught the firelight. "This," he breathed, "is a trigonic dagger. The most lethal weapon ever forged."

The two of them sat beside the fire; Arzath slouched in a comfortable armchair, legs crossed over one arm, chewing on some dried fruit, Ferrian hunched against the wall opposite, attempting to fight off an oncoming fever.

For awhile, he had tried to doze, but the wailing wind taunted him, twisting through his dreams, waking him repeatedly with a jerk. The heat of the fire had not done him any good; in fact, it seemed to be making him feel worse. The ice had melted and dried from his clothing, but he was still frozen inside, while his skin burned and itched and refused to regain any colour. And he could not stop shivering.

He had tried to eat some of the food that Arzath had brought out of the kitchen, but could not keep anything down, not even water. He wasn't surprised, considering few of his other bodily functions were working as they should.

He hoped fervently that Requar would be able to help him. But could this curse really be reversed? Or would he be stuck in his horrid half-existence for… who knew how long?

Thinking of Requar, his thoughts drifted once again to anxious contemplation of the trigonic dagger. Arzath's intentions were now horrifyingly clear. The thought of him ambushing his unsuspecting brother with that evil thing made his stomach lurch again. He wanted desperately to go outside and try communicating again through the shield, to warn Requar of what awaited him when he returned home. But Arzath had made it very clear that if he attempted such a thing the knife would taste its next victim rather suddenly.

Ferrian didn't know if it were possible for him to die a second time, but he could certainly feel pain, and he wasn't eager to experience what that dagger had to offer. He sighed, trying to console himself with the fact that Requar was a sorcerer. He had magic, and Arzath didn't. He had lived a long time, and seemed intelligent. He wouldn't just walk blindly into danger. He would be able to defend himself, whether Ferrian warned him or not.

Why then did he have a terrible feeling of dread curled up in his stomach?

The wind rattled some shutters high up on the castle, as though trying to find a way in. Ferrian shivered harder.

"Why… why do you want to kill him?" Ferrian asked. "Requar. What has he d-done to deserve it?"

Arzath regarded him for a long moment. "He ruined my life. He took everything from me. Everything I ever cared about." He tossed the remainder of the fruit into the fire, as though he had lost the taste for it, suddenly.

"How?"

Arzath snorted a bitter laugh. "Oh, don't be deluded by whatever cosy little conversation you had with him earlier. You don't expect he let you in here out of compassion, do you? Concern for your welfare? Ha! He is a sorcerer, he is just as interested in your magic as I am!"

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "I expect he told you all about the shield? Explained that you cannot pass it from either side? That is because it is designed to keep things in as well as out. If I had not discovered an alternative entrance, you would be trapped in here like a wonderful little specimen in a jar."

Ferrian glared at him. "I don't believe you! That's the sort of thing you would do, and Requar is nothing like you!"

Arzath smirked and leaned back in the chair, gesturing with his hand. "Of course he is nothing like me! He is worse! And you would know him better than I, his own brother! Especially since you've spoken with him for... oh, all of five minutes!"

Ferrian said nothing.

"He is more manipulative that you would ever believe," Arzath sneered. "He uses his looks and charm to convince people he is genuine. Did you not trust him implicitly, from the first moment you heard his voice? Did you not want to obey his every request? Of course you did, boy, because he has that effect on people! Don't be fooled. He will ruin your life, too, if he gets his hands on you. He is not the marvellous, benevolent saviour you are so desperately looking for. He will use your magic for his own purposes. He will destroy you, if you let him."

Ferrian looked away, swallowing. He didn't know if he believed what Arzath was saying or not. He didn't want to, but doubts were starting to creep through him.

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I put so much hope on finding Requar, he thought. It was foolish of me to think that he would solve all my problems. I don't know anything about him. Do I really trust him, or am I just desperate?

"You are still not convinced?" Arzath said. He gestured again at the room. "Look at his castle. Quite grand, isn't it? Why do you suppose he lives here all on his lonesome?"

Ferrian frowned. "It must be hard to invite people around with Griks and Murons and you as neighbours."

Arzath grinned. "Indeed. I do my best to ensure that is so. But what kind of people do you think he would invite, if he could?"

Ferrian shook his head: he didn't know.

"Sorcerers, naturally," Arzath declared.

"Sorcerers? But there aren't–" he stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering the tapestry in the foyer.

And then realisation hit him in the head like a brick.

"The School," he breathed, eyes going wide. "He's trying to rebuild the School of Magical Studies!"

Arzath clapped. "You figured it out at last. I'm impressed."

"But…" Ferrian shook his head incredulously. "But who would want to train here? People are terrified of magic. No one trusts it any more; and besides that, it's outlawed. Where would he find willing apprentices?"

"As I said," Arzath replied, raising an eyebrow, "Requar has the charm and intelligence to convince anyone of anything, given enough time. Probably, he would spool out some drivel about using magic only for peaceful purposes." He cringed. "I assume that is what he has been out doing all this time. Thinking I was dead, he saw the perfect opportunity to advance his plans."

"He thinks you're dead?" Ferrian said, blinking in surprise.

"He threw me off a cliff!" Arzath snapped. "How do you think I lost my magic?" He glared into the fire.

They fell silent for a time, Ferrian mulling over what he had been told, trying to untangle the truth from Arzath's prejudices, and finding it an impossible task.

“How was the old SOMS destroyed?" he asked finally.

"Take a good guess." Arzath muttered darkly.

Ferrian paused, thinking. "You're telling me," he said slowly, "that Lord Requar destroyed the old School just so that he could build a new one?"

"Precisely." Arzath looked back at him. "Requar was never happy with the way the School was run. He felt that it was corrupted, and his feelings were not unfounded: it was.

"The place was a snake den. Forbidden magic was being practised capriciously, cursed artefacts were being traded and distributed amongst not only students and teachers but also the general populace, blackmail and backstabbing and scandals were part of everyday life. It was a school for the extremely rich: only those with enough money or influence were allowed to attend. Fortunately, my family had both.

"None of this concerned me. I was there to become a sorcerer: to train and to graduate and to receive my Sword and I did not care how this was accomplished. Friendships and alliances meant nothing to me. I did what I had to do to survive. It was unacceptable to Requar, however. He had never wanted to become a sorcerer; had loathed them, in fact. He joined the School only to find a spell to save our mother, who was dying at the time.

"Mother died five years into his training." Arzath paused, pained by the memory. Then he went on: "But Requar stayed on at the School. He had no choice: apprentices were not allowed to leave until they had completed their training. He became obsessed with finding the spell he had been seeking, even though it was no longer of any use to him. A guilt complex, I expect. It consumed him, drove him near to madness. Or perhaps all the way, considering what he did next.

"He found it difficult to study while he was being forced to watch his back all the time. So, he resolved to do something about it.

"His plan was to be carried out during the next graduation ceremony. He had plenty of time to prepare: graduation ceremonies were held only once every ten years. They were extremely eminent occasions, cause for much celebration and fanfare. All sorcerers were required to attend every graduation ceremony, including those that were still in training and those who had long since left the School. The study of sorcery had been in decline for many years; there were no more than forty fully-fledged Sword-wielding sorcerers present, including the teachers. The rest of the attendees consisted of students, graduates, the graduate's families, and other members of high society who had paid enough to be there. Often, royalty was involved as well. I suspect he chose this event to gain as many witnesses as possible.

"Or as many victims."

He paused for a moment thoughtfully. "Whether he actually intended to kill everyone there or simply the head of the school, the Enchanter, I do not know. Most likely the latter. With the Enchanter removed, someone else would be forced to step up and take his place. Perhaps he was even deluded enough to believe that person would be himself.

"It was a few months before the ceremony when I first noticed that Requar was acting oddly. He never missed lectures or practises or meals; he was not that conspicuous, but when he was not at scheduled activities he simply disappeared, nowhere to be found. He seemed anxious and distracted all the time, which was not unusual for him, but this time I sensed that it was something more. I did not bother trying to talk to him directly: I knew he would not reveal anything to me. He tended to avoid me out of habit in any case, as I enjoyed making life difficult for him whenever possible.

"So instead, I broke into his study one night when he was absent. And what did I find there, lying neatly spread out across his desk, but a diagram of the School, scrawled with notes and markers for the placement of destruction orbs!" Arzath's eyes were wide with incredulity and anger. "More than that, I found one of the insidious things hidden away in a drawer!"

"What are destruction orbs?" Ferrian asked quietly.

Arzath shook his head and waved a hand, distracted by the question. "Objects infused with magic to the point where it becomes explosive, if a catalyst is added," he explained quickly. "They can be made of anything with suitable magic-storing properties, usually crystals or gemstones. The one I discovered in Requar's study was not made of any traditional materials, however…"

He reached again into his clothing and took out the trigonic dagger. Ferrian winced as the prickly sensations in his skin returned and quickly averted his gaze.

"It was made of trigon," Arzath proclaimed. "The same as this knife." He glanced over at Ferrian. "Do you have any idea what trigon is?"

Ferrian shook his head mutely.

Arzath's expression was sour. "It is a form of anti-magic. In great enough quantities, it has the ability to nullify spells. It does this by absorbing them, feeding off them to increase its own power. Due to this superior absorption ability, it has the capacity to hold enormous amounts of energy.

"Added to that, trigon is also a form of anti-life. It devours life-force in the same way as magic-force. If delivered into the bloodstream of a living creature, it causes illness, madness, and eventually, what can only be described as half-death. The victim becomes a demon-wraith, forced to feed on the souls of others to maintain its own abominable existence.

"One cut is all it takes. The slightest nick."

As he talked, there was a strange look in Arzath's eyes, and his hand shook a little. He put the dagger away suddenly. "As you can imagine," he continued, "the catastrophic potential of a trigonic destruction orb is theoretically limitless.

"And from what I had seen of the diagram, Requar planned to use not one of these orbs, but four!"

He shook his head. "I have no idea where he obtained them from, but it would not have been too difficult. Corruption was so rampant that even something as dangerous as trigon could be acquired, for a price.

"I could not find the other three orbs, but I kept the one I had as evidence. I had intended to steal the map as well, but I heard someone approaching along the corridor and was forced to leave the study.

"To my surprise, it was Requar, accompanied by the Enchanter himself. I hid around a corner and watched them enter his study, barely able to contain my glee. Surely, the Enchanter would see the map on the desk and Requar's plot would be foiled.

"I crept closer to the door to hear their conversation, but to my annoyance, it had been spelled to block sound. There was a small glass panel in the door, however, and through it, I could see the two of them clearly engaged in a heated argument. There was a look of fear on Requar's face; he was gesturing at the map, obviously trying to explain himself.

"I actually laughed out loud, at once grateful for the silence spell. My brother would be stripped of his magic and expelled from the School, I thought.

"The Enchanter emerged some time later, looking disgruntled and angry. I returned to my own quarters, satisfied.

"But in the following weeks, nothing happened. Nothing changed. Requar remained at the School, continuing his study and his mysterious behaviour. Not a word was heard from the Enchanter about the assassination plot, although there were whispers amongst the students. I could not believe it. Somehow, that worm had managed to talk his way out of trouble!

"I now found myself in a despicable quandary. I could not go to the Enchanter with my suspicions and evidence without implicating myself. Being caught in possession of trigon was enough to warrant execution, let alone expulsion.

"So I did the only thing left I could do. I finally confronted Requar myself.

"I caught him as he was walking back to his quarters through the cloisters, idly practising a moonlight spell as he went. I demanded to know what he was up to, careful not to reveal that I had stolen the orb in case he sought to pin the blame on me. He refused to tell me; instead warning me to leave the School, admitting that something dangerous was going to occur.

"I was shocked that he would suggest such a thing. I questioned if it was his intention to stop me from receiving my Sword. He told me it had nothing to do with me, and again insisted that I had to leave the School as soon as possible, for my own benefit.

"I wanted to know why, but he would not say another word. Furious, I attacked him, but he invoked his camouflage spell and slipped away, leaving me staring at the remnants of his moonlight magic."

Arzath paused, glowering into the flames, light and shadows flickering restlessly across his face. He closed his eyes. "The day of the graduation ceremony dawned bright and clear," he went on quietly. "A thrill of anticipation swept through the air. Banners and pennants flickered everywhere in the sea breeze. An enormous crowd was gathered, filling every inch of lawn space.

"I was with the other graduates as we made our slow way up to the Graduation Hall, a large rotunda set apart from the other buildings on the edge of the bluff. Requar came running out of the main compound, dressed in his ceremonial robes, late for the parade. Pushing up the line, he grabbed my arm, trying to stop me from going any farther. He was agitated, distressed, practically begging me not to go into the Hall.

"I shrugged him off, ignoring him as he had ignored me. I no longer cared about his vile plans: I was focused only on receiving my Sword of Lightning. Once I had graduated, I would be only too delighted to leave the wretched place.

"The ceremony went as planned, there was no hint of anything amiss… until Requar stepped up to claim his Sword of Healing."

Arzath hesitated. "I cannot recall exactly what happened, events flashed by too fast. The bond had been completed, he was stepping down off the dais… then suddenly his arm swept out, blue light flashing out of his Sword in an arc. There was a monstrous white flare that consumed everything… a roar as though the bluff itself had opened up… a sensation of heat: tearing, searing heat. The light changed to red, then black.

"The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, smoke swirling around me, the Graduation Hall – the entire School – in ruins around me. The sky was deep crimson, as though soaked in blood. I felt strange, detached, though not in pain. I could barely move my body, though I managed to shift my head.

"Requar was standing beside me, staring at the devastation. Just standing there, Sword in hand, staring. When he noticed me looking at him, he waved a hand over my face and I passed out.

"When next I woke, I was lying in the infirmary in Sunsee, though I was not injured. The healers were all panicked, terrified. The light streaming in through the windows was red, deeper than sunset. Looking out, I saw people fleeing the city like rats from a burning ship.

"I hunted for Requar through the chaos, but could not find him. He had fled with everyone else, disappeared into the wilderness."

Hate crawled across Arzath's face. "But I vowed," he breathed, "from that day on, I would make him pay for what he had done."