Tenth of Harbinger

A howling wind blew through the night, the biting cold cutting through the thick layers of clothing worn by the six riders as they made their way down the dirt path. Above them, the stars of the Harbinger sparkled, signalling the coming of winter. Their horses snorted but kept moving without slowing despite their discomfort. There was nothing around them for miles except for rocky outcroppings and small pockets of trees. At the head of column was a tall elf, his grey eyes searching the darkness for potential threats. On his hip hung a sword with a simple silver hilt. It wasn’t ornately carved, nor did it have any identifying features. Brimur had never been one for showing off his position, even as he took pride in the order of mages that he had led for the past three hundred years. He had the admiration of his Order, and the respect of even those who opposed him. The truth was, had they spotted him on the street, most wouldn’t recognise him as anything more than the average elf. That was his advantage over some of the more public orders. Those who needed to know who Brimur was, already knew, and acted accordingly. The Silent Order, after all, was one of the most respected of the mages’ clans even as it remained one of the least understood.

Brimur had capitalised on that fact a month ago when he had sent messengers to the heads of the other orders calling for a renewal of the Council of Mages, a gathering that had not taken place for centuries. Few would have called him alarmist; the events of the previous few months had all on edge. What had begun as a lone mage operating under false pretences had turned into a multinational battlefield between worldly and supernatural forces. It was fast becoming too extensive for the orders to continue to operate independently.

Brimur cleared his mind when he spotted the rock formation that he was looking for. It didn’t look too different from the others around the area, a group of massive boulders piled high by some sort of ancient geological event. The markings that his agent had left were subtle, but the elven script was recognisable to those who knew what to look for. A subtle flick of his wrist told the other riders that he’d found the path, and they followed close behind as he made his way down a steep hill towards a cliff. The northern reaches of Lustria were treacherous with their steep, rocky mountains that had long since been poisoned by the extensive mining that took place there. This had once been a lush forest, Brimur knew, but those days were long gone. Someone would have to find better ways to conduct the mining that made Lustria such an essential nation, or else there would be no beauty left. The dwarves in Nimura seemed to have developed the right means, but they weren’t ones to share.

At the base of the hill, they found a solid wooden door set in the rock. Brimur and his followers, a mix of Svaletans and Wextons, dismounted and gathered around it. They paid no attention to the appointed Wexton who led the horses away towards a nearby settlement. The elf looked around one more time, then said quietly to the remaining four,

“Stay close to me. Our destination is deep and the paths are deceptive. If you get lost, that’ll be the last that we see of you.”

Deep down they must have known that he was exaggerating, but they didn’t dare to question him, nor did they dare to stray more than a few feet from the person in front of them as they entered the old, discontinued mine. Brimur lit an oil lamp, the only source of light that he would permit, and took the lead as they made their way through the cramped tunnel. It never ceased to amaze him how the aging wooden supports still held up hundreds of tons of rock, even after three decades of neglect. There were a dozen of these old mines in the area, all of which connected to a number of central points. It was one of these meeting places that would host the mages as they held their Council, far beyond the prying eyes of mortals and Arcane alike. Brimur was a day early, though one of his recruits had arrived a week ago to begin the preparations. It took a lot of work to accommodate representatives of a half dozen sects, each with their own natures and requirements. It would be worth it if Brimur achieved his objectives. If not, well, at least he had tried. That had to count for something in the small term at least. It would cost them dearly in the months to come.

The darkness of the tunnels would have been suffocating were they not led by an elf. He had explained the route in detail to his advance student, having studied the plans of the mines some months ago. Things had started to change in this world long before Belkai Androva became the Lord of Narandir, and Brimur had anticipated the need for a Council, though he hadn’t thought that it would be so soon. The tunnels seemed unending as they made their way through countless twists and turns, following Brimur’s strict orders as they avoided the magical traps that had been set to ensure that the Council was not disturbed. There would be more security added as the other delegations arrived. There were too many dangers roaming the world for them to take any chances. Whatever status quo had existed over the centuries had evaporated over the past few months, even if most hadn’t realised that fact.

Brimur noted with satisfaction that the right runes had been placed on the wall signifying the Council chamber. The chamber beyond was lit by a dozen oil lamps placed in alcoves along the wall. The old miners had left behind the seats and tables used for meals, and these were arranged in a rough circle. Based on the smells from the next room, the food supplies were still intact. They were met by a man named Harleigh, born of a northern tribe that dwelt closer to the coastline. He had found his way to the Order after his family was killed in a bandit raid, and had proven to have a particular skill for organisation and diplomacy.

“Master Brimur, all is ready, just as you ordered,” Harleigh announced as he made his way across the room. He waved the others to a third room, where he had found the old sleeping quarters.

“You’ve done well,” Brimur told him. “You weren’t followed?”

“Not that I could tell.” Harleigh knew there was no point in exaggerating. Brimur knew his strengths and weaknesses. “And I set the runes just as you said.”

Brimur nodded, his mind already moving on. “The others will be here in the morning. Tonight we will rest, then the real work will begin.”

“Will your plan work?” Harleigh asked. Brimur smiled grimly.

“If it doesn’t, then there is no backup plan,” he said quietly. “If Narandir stands alone, then we will all fall. That Forest is the key to our future.”

***

Brimur woke early the next morning, at least according to his estimation. Judging by the smell, the oil lamps had been out for at least two hours, which gave him a rough time estimate. He woke the others and had them lay out a breakfast for the other mages who would soon be arriving. As Harleigh directed the preparations, Brimur stood by the chamber entrance to greet the arrivals. He didn’t have long to wait. It must have been around first light on the surface when a red glow lit the tunnels and steadily approached. Brimur let his senses reach out and determined that there were three women approaching, each confident and self-assured. As they should be, Brimur thought as he recognised one of their heartbeats.

“I know you sense us, Master Brimur,” came a firm feminine voice from the darkness. They were still a few turns away from the chamber, but their voices carried clearly through the rocky passageways.

“I make no apologies, Las,” Brimur called back in response. She laughed, genuinely amused by the elf. Brimur was surprised. Lasiri Ar’ola, head of the Order of Watchers, had every reason to harbour hostility towards Brimur’s Order. It wasn’t personal, it seemed, but Brimur knew that the issue would be raised, and quickly.

The red glow soon revealed itself as a shimmering sword that looked as if it were made of fire. It was wielded by a blonde-haired woman in her early forties, whose strikingly blue eyes looked out from a face with angular features that had been weathered by too many years of conflict. She was beautiful, Brimur thought, her green leather jerkin darkened by the red light, as were her two handmaidens, both young dark-skinned Svaletans whose hands grasped flaming daggers. The Watchers were conjurers, wielding weapons from the Arcane planes as they sought to oppose semi-divine intervention in the lives of mortals.

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Lasiri closed her fist and the sword disappeared. Her handmaidens followed suit, and the oil lamps behind Brimur gave off the only light. She and Brimur studied each other for several long moments before she finally spoke again.

“You are being quite the dramatist, bringing us down here,” she said. “Care to explain?”

“I will in time,” Brimur promised. He glanced down the tunnel. “Was there anyone else out there?”

“Two Svaletans were about an hour behind,” Lasiri replied. “But they didn’t seem to be aggressive.”

“A man and a girl, dressed as peasants?” Brimur asked. She nodded and he told her, “They are expected.”

“The Temple?”

Brimur nodded, then waved for her group to enter the chamber. “Make yourselves at home. You must be hungry.”

“Indeed.” Lasiri smiled as she made her way past him. Brimur watched their hands carefully as they filed past, but there was no sign of aggression. His students were arrayed strategically across the room, and Brimur monitored them as he looked back to the tunnel. So long as they were relaxed, he could be confident that there was no clear danger.

The Svaletans were indeed the next to arrive. The first was an older man, at least in his thirties. Though they both wore peasants’ garb, the man carried himself like a soldier as he held a flaming torch and led his charge. Brimur could see the slightest bulge of a sword hilt under his cloak, and guessed that he was the guard. The real delegate was the sixteen-year-old who followed him. Her bright hazel eyes spoke of wisdom beyond her few years as she looked up at the elf.

“I bring greetings from the Prophetess,” the girl said, and Brimur bowed his head.

“It is an honour. You would be Sashai, I suppose,” the elf responded. “I have heard a few things about you from a mutual friend.”

She had the grace to look embarrassed, Brimur saw. With widened eyes she replied, “I have a lot of respect for Belkai. I don’t know what she may have said in return.”

“She has said enough for me to trust your counsel,” Brimur assured her, and waved for her to move past him. “You are welcome here.”

Sashai waited for her guardian to enter and scan the room before following him inside. She held no illusions about his ability to protect her from any attackers. Bursa was a combat veteran, part of the infantry forces that had been involved in the counterattack against the Aliri elves at Larton in northern Svaleta. He was built like a bear and had the reputation of a brave fighter. He was outmatched in the extreme, though, as he stood amongst wielders of Arcane weaponry and those who could kill using only their minds. He took his place along the wall and watched like a hawk as Sashai walked over to a bowl of grapes. She was met there by a blonde-haired woman who introduced herself as Lasiri.

“I met some of your Watchers a few months ago,” Sashai told her. “Weylon, I think his name was.”

“He was a good man,” Lasiri said, pain still evident in her voice. Sashai watched her carefully but saw more sadness than anger.

“I am sorry about him and his team,” Sashai said with a lowered voice. Lasiri grunted, and quickly changed the subject.

“I am surprised that the Temple would send one so young,” she remarked, but there was no criticism in her voice, simply the curiosity of one who wanted to understand her company.

“The Prophetess has her reasons, I assure you,” Sashai replied. “She would have come herself, but other matters interfered.”

“I’m sure they did,” Lasiri said. “It must be a heavy burden for her in that Temple.”

“The Sun chooses whom it wills, and gives them strength,” Sashai responded, eyeing another group entering the chamber. There were two men and two women dressed in the bright coloured robes common to Wexburg. Each man held an oaken staff, and each woman had a wand strapped to her waist. Wexton Spellcasters, Sashai thought, the only recognised Order that used real spells rather than tapping into Arcane energies. Formidable opponents, but typically regal as one would expect from a Wexburg export.

“I wonder, will Svaleta ever embrace magic in its fullness?” Lasiri asked, pulling Sashai’s attention back into focus. “It has been a long time since it was officially allowed within their borders.”

“The Kingdom has a complicated history with magic wielders,” Sashai reminded her. “Recent events have not helped.”

“Is it true that a Svaletan writer once wrote that magic would kill us all?” The Watcher smiled sarcastically.

“‘The end of all things will begin with magic; those who promise life will be the ones to end us all’,” Sashai quoted from memory. “It’s an anonymous tract, but almost amusing in its ignorance. We are required to memorise it. The Prophetess believes that it is an important warning not to abuse our powers.”

“Indeed,” Lasiri mused. “Perhaps that is worth meditating on today.”

Sashai had no chance to reply as Brimur’s voice echoed through the chamber. She turned, surprised to see that two more groups had filed in without her noticing.

“If you would all gather around,” Brimur called out, “We shall commence this Council.”

“Sit with me, Madame Sashai,” Lasiri said with a mocking edge to her voice. “I could use the voice of youth in times such as this.”

Sashai saw no reason to argue as she followed the Watcher to an empty table nearby and sat in the hard wooden chair beside her. She could feel the gaze of several mages who wondered at her youth, and for the first time wondered why Siara had sent her of all people. Youth does not mean inferiority, she reminded herself as she took a deep breath to steel her nerves.

“I have called for this Council to address the growing conflict over Narandir,” Brimur announced, standing alone behind a table. “I believe that this is reaching a crisis point that we can no longer ignore. But for those who may not understand the fulness of the situation, let me begin, well, at the beginning.

“As we all know, Narandir was dormant for around a thousand years. Its lord, known as the Recluse, cut himself off from the outside world. That all changed last year, when something shifted in the Forest’s magic.”

Brimur looked around at the gathered mages. “I want to make this clear; we do not understand why the magic of Narandir shifted. But it got the attention of several groups. The Watchers sent at least one hunter team that I am aware of. I sent a pair of Brilhardem to investigate, as Lasiri knows.”

The Watcher’s eyes narrowed, and Sashai could hear her take in a deep breath. Lasiri quickly got control of herself and calmed down before she could respond.

“This Recluse then began to make incursions into Svaleta at the same time as the Aliri Empire invaded from the north,” Brimur continued. He swallowed nervously before he admitted, “In all of this, we were deceived. While we do not believe that he caused the shift in Narandir, the Arcane Ashelath took advantage of it in an attempt to seize the Forest for himself.”

The mages had long suspected this, but to have it confirmed was a shock. Brimur waited for the murmurs to subside before he added,

“Unfortunately, one of my students, Belkai Androva, was revealed to be a servant of Ashelath.”

Lasiri could not hold back any longer. “Yes, Brimur, and she killed that hunter team that I had sent to investigate Narandir. Watchers’ blood is on her hands.”

“As is the blood of a fellow Brilhardem,” Brimur shot back. “The story does not end there. Belkai killed the Recluse and took his power. She is the new Lord of Narandir. But the rumours that I know have been circulating are correct; she killed Ashelath. She ended his tyranny and set herself free.”

He looked Lasiri in the eye and said, “She cannot bring anyone back. But I would say that being the first mortal to kill an Arcane should be sufficient to atone for her sins.”

“It should be blood for blood,” growled a man whose clothing Sashai didn’t recognise. “The ancient laws demand it.”

“So the Arcane said when they sent the Sons of Retribution to kill Belkai.” Sashai didn’t realise at first that she’d said it out loud. When she saw that everyone was looking at her, she stood and continued, “Belkai did mortals and Arcane alike a favour when she killed Ashelath. Her first act was to make peace with Svaleta, to try and repair the damage that the Recluse had done during his reign. In return, Delorax sought to kill Belkai. He wiped out whole towns in Svaleta and Nimura and destroyed two armies in the process.

“You say that Belkai killed innocents? At least she can say that she was pushed to it by the Father of Serpents. Delorax acts in pure power lust to take Narandir as his own.”

Everything was silent. Brimur smiled at Sashai and nodded as she took her seat. He looked around the room and broke the silence.

“That brings us to the crux of our gathering.” He focused his gaze on Lasiri. “I wish to ask for your Orders to stand together in support of the Lord of Narandir.”