Ronith

Ronith kept her breaths shallow and quiet, sucking them through her teeth so she wouldn’t have to suffer the stench of the abandoned well. Stagnant water covered the tops of her boots and a yellow film clung to the mossy walls. She’d turned a broken bucket upside down for the creature to stand on, its long toes curling over the edge as it sneered at her, wrists bound together with leather cord. Ronith held the long end. Like a leash, she thought, the realization giving her a sick feeling in her gut. That’s not how one treated a sibling. Voices drifted down on them from the circle of blue sky above.

“This is the last place you saw it?” the Alchemist asked.

“Heading this way, yes,” the Summoner replied.

“May I ask why you didn’t follow it?”

A pause. “I got sidetracked.”

The creature mewled, and Ronith tapped her forefinger to her thumb, silencing it with petty magic. It glared at her hatefully. She had no idea if there was intelligence behind its yellow eyes, but she put a finger to her lips, then signaled in Elf-sign, I’m here to help you.

The voices drew closer.

“I found Yelora by the Oracle ruins.”

“She’s the Elf Queen to you, Summoner. Not some schoolgirl to pine over.”

“I wasn’t pining over her. It’s my natural charm. And, anyway, what I wanted to tell you is she and her companions left.”

Left? Ronith’s jaw clenched and her teeth ground together. Considering the fact that Ronith was one of those companions, the statement wasn’t entirely true. Did Yelora and Sochee even look for her? Of course, she wouldn’t have been able to return to the Elflands with them anyway, not with the creature in tow. Yelora would order its death, and then Ronith would have to defy her queen.

It wasn’t right. The creature was only the way it was because it had one dust-mote’s worth more darkness in it than she did. Had Yelora forgotten that Ronith was the first Elf-child born of Queen Fara’s desperation? She had more in common with this forsaken thing than anyone else in Terris. She owed it her protection.

But where could she take it? The Elf Mage would never stand against Yelora. Ronith doubted she’d find support from her kinfolk in the Riverlands, the Deeplands, or the Canopy. Perhaps the desert borderlands would provide a haven. Ronith imagined herself and her odd charge confronting miles of prickly scrub and sand-laden gusts. It would be difficult, but they would find a way to survive. Ronith was a survivor, and this creature was, too.

“The Elf Queen left?” The Alchemist’s voice drifted down, peeved. “Whyever would she do that? She must come back at once. We must call a Council to discuss this new power.”

New power? Shadows moved above her. Ronith cast a petty shade spell over the well and hoped the creature would stay silent.

“Have you learned anything new of the shards?” the Summoner asked.

“They are powerful, but short-lived. With enough of them, the balance of power in Terris could be shifted.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

What were these shards of which they spoke? Ronith had not encountered any.

“Shifted, how, my lord?” the Summoner asked.

“For centuries only the Wizards and the Elves have wielded magic. Imagine what could happen if the Dwarves got hold of it. Or the Imperials.” The Alchemist’s tone was ominous. “It must be safeguarded. I will call a Council and suggest that the Wizards take charge of this new magic. We will keep it out of nefarious hands and study it, for the wellbeing of all Terris.”

“It seems to make Imperials sick,” the Summoner said. “A couple of our Imperial-born Disciples became ill after touching the crystals. I haven’t had a problem, but I have my gloves.”

“Interesting,” mused the Alchemist. “What of the Elves?”

The Summoner hesitated. “The Queen had one and it did her no harm.”

“And the Dwarves?”

“Moyshec was fine.”

They were moving away now, their voices no longer drifting down into the well, but Ronith had to know more. This new magic sounded powerful. She did not wish to be left at a disadvantage. She tied the creature’s leash to her belt and used magic to double its length. Digging her fingers into the slimy, algae-coated crevices, she began to climb. As an Elf, she was light and nimble, and the pointed tips of her boots carved a decent foothold where the mortar inside the old well had crumbled.

“We must convince all the leaders of Terris that this new magic could be dangerous. That they must turn it over to us for study. It is the only way to ensure it is not used for evil.” The Alchemist’s deep, resonant voice was barely audible.

Like a spider scaling a wall, Ronith climbed higher until a sharp tug almost yanked her from her perch. She looked down to where two angry yellow eyes gleamed.

Stop it, she mouthed at the creature. At least the petty silencing spell was holding.

“Who knows how many shards fell from it before it crashed?”

“Yes, and what level of power is to be found at the crash site itself?”

“The Elf Queen used crystals to awaken the Oracle.”

“What?”

“I overheard her talking to it.”

Their voices were trailing off again. The creature tugged at the leash, but Ronith ignored it as she dug in her fingers and the toes of her boots and climbed. She was almost at the top now. The rope around her waist grew heavy, and she realized the creature was now dangling from it. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she would only be a minute. She needed to learn what Yelora was up to. Did she have possession of this new magic? If so, would she use it to hunt and destroy the creature? Ronith, too, as she’d abandoned her queen to protect it? And if Yelora had awakened an ancient Oracle, what had she learned from it?”

When she could hear their voices once more, she pressed her cheek to the cold stone and listened.

“What did it say?”

“I know not, Sir, but whatever it was, it spooked her. Why else would she have run off so quickly and left the monster behind?”

“Foolish boy! How could you not have heard?”

“Eavesdropping on a young lady felt... impolite.”

The Alchemist growled. “For the last time—she’s not a young lady, she’s a powerful Elven queen, and you are a Summoner of the Arcane Sect! You should be worrying less about impressing her and more about navigating the politics of leadership.”

“She likes me. She wanted to zap me with her staff, but changed her mind. Isn’t getting people to like you part of politics?”

“You must contact her, Summoner. We need the Elf Queendom to be in attendance at the Council. Natural and Celestial Magic must be aligned in purpose.”

“I’ll send a message immediately, Sir.”

Ronith’s foot slipped, dislodging a stone. It hit the shallow water below, the sound of its splash echoing upward. Cursing under her breath, she jammed her boot into another foothold. Her fingertips screamed at holding the combined weight of her own body and the creature’s. Sweat beaded on her brow. Had they heard her?

Below, the creature dangled by its wrists like an angry yellow-eyed pendulum. A shadow passed overhead, darkening its gray features to black.

Ronith looked up to the Alchemist frowning down at her from the edge of the well.