3rd Year After The Sundering (3 AS)

Mage globes snapped into existence, bringing light to the sealed room. Standing in the center of the room, his scarlet robes adorned in silver spellwork, Feron the Unmaker glared at the retreating darkness. When no spies or assassins made themselves known, he gave a harumph before raising his arms above his head.

Concentric rings of magic sprang to life at his feet, slowly spiraling outwards until they filled the entire room. There was a rush of air before silence engulfed the chamber. With a satisfied nod, he lowered his arms until one hand rested at head height, palm up. A small, semi transparent sphere popped into his hand.

“The room has been secured.”

There was a single pulse from the sphere before it popped out. Rushing air heralded the arrivals of other mages teleporting in, each in their scarlet robes, though all were adorned in some type of threadwork, usually defensive spells, though the occasional display of vanity made itself known.

Feron looked around the room at a gathering of some of the most influential mages at the Terrace Academy of Magic, the only academy of magic on what had come to be known as Eastern Ryode.

“I trust that we have all been experiencing the same complications?” Feron watched the nodding heads and frowns for a moment before continuing. “People continue to blame mages for The Sundering. We have fewer enrollments and multiple withdrawals from a variety of programs. Additionally, our materials supplies have taken devastating hits. This cannot be allowed to continue.”

Dierdra, one of the more voracious consumers of supplies, gave an angry snort. “It’s come to the point where I have to make forays for my materials. This is cutting substantially into my research time. Many of my projects have become unstable due to the lack of either material or attention.”

One of the other mages gave a wry chuckle. “You never did like anything that took you away from your labs.”

Dierdra glared back. “Says the man who never leaves his precious crystals.” Her face, normally fair and smiling, contorted into a sneer.

Before the two could degenerate into yet another squabble, Feron cut them off. “We are all feeling the strain. The Hybridization Project has been especially hard hit. We have lost entire crops. However…” He paused to sweep his gaze around the room, ensuring he had all their attention. “We aren’t gathered here to complain. We are here to find solutions. I know you’ve each been trying to think of something to deal with our sorrows.”

Each other mage began speaking at once, the collection of suggestions as varied as the mages themselves and just as self involved. Every ‘solution’ was tailored to the needs of the mage making the offer. Not one tried to address any of the overarching issues.

After several minutes of what quickly had degenerated into an argument over the superiority of each suggestion, Feron frowned and brought his hands together in a thunderclap that reverberated around the room.

Crighton looked over at Feron with a wince turned scowl. “Was that quite necessary?”

“Quite. And now that we’ve gotten that out of our systems, allow me to present a proposal from our dear King, presented by a hand you are all familiar with.” Feron motioned to an empty portion of the wall, which shimmered to reveal a young man in a shimmering white robe adorned with a golden thread sunburst upon the chest.

Dierdra smiled at the reveal. “Speaker Brightheart! It’s been too long!” Other greetings quickly followed, each answered with a wide smile.

“It is good to see you all again. It is rare indeed for all of us to be gathered like this. That we need to meet in these kinds of circumstances…” The Speaker trailed off, shaking his head with a sad smile.

“Still, one day we will all meet in the light where we belong. That day is closer than we thought, thanks to The Sundering.” He held up a hand. “Yes, the results of our involvement in the Leyline Project were more energetic than originally intended. However, the anger currently directed at the mages gives us an opportunity, if properly harnessed.”

Brightheart’s smile broadened, his eyes drifting nearly closed in a look that would have been fatherly in a man a few years older. Reaching into the sleeves of his robes, he withdrew a scroll bedecked in ribbons and sealed with wax bearing the King’s personal mark.

“The King has decided that we need to redirect that anger to a more worthy target. Other Speakers will be going to the markets, crossroads, and other gathering places to spread the word of the true people responsible for The Sundering…

“The Majestix.”

***

“And who was it that said they protected the world? Who failed in that duty? The Majestix!”

Typhonus shook his head as he watched the Speaker addressing the crowd before the steps of the Hall. More and more he’d been seeing those white robes around the city, talking to anyone and everyone. While it was nice that people weren’t blaming the mages for the ills of the world, he wasn’t sure he agreed that the Majestix were responsible.

Turning away from the crowd, he made his way next door to the Academy. Mostly empty halls greeted him. He tried not to think about how many mages had been lost in The Sundering, or the lack of younger students chattering together.

Sighing to himself, he entered his study. NOt that he spent much time with his fellow mages of late. Looking around the room, he took in the project that had consumed him since The Sundering.

Slate boards dominated the walls, covered in spellwork and theoretical magic, the intricate workings of teleportation magic laid out. The Sundering had destabilized the matrix which had connected the world for thousands of years. The teleportation network had linked the world together, letting people instantly travel from one major node to another. More importantly to Typhonus, it was the field that his best friend had made his life.

Restoring the teleportation matrix would be his tribute to his lost friend. Every time he used a teleportation crystal he would in some way be able to touch the memories and bring a part of Marcus back to life.

Now if only he’d made any real progress these past three years.

A variety of magical apparatus, crystals, and scrolls lay like the detritus of a battlefield atop the various work tables. Smaller slates lay discarded, victims of abandoned theories. Of the three overstuffed chairs, only one sat free of piles of tomes.

Settling into that chair, he leaned back, covering his eyes with one hand. Marcus had made all of this seem so simple. Sure they’d been building on the work of hundreds of preceding mages, but what Marcus had been working on had been truly revolutionary.

Maybe he should try inviting some other people to work on things with him. There were several mages still in the Academy with no specific disciplines. A fresh mind or two might help push him to success.

The doors crashing open had Typhonus leaping to his feet, several defensive spells on his lips and his hands in his sleeves reaching for some crystals of questionable legality. The sight of two young men nearly tumbling over themselves was not what he expected.

“Ethaniel. Vincent. So nice of you to drop by. Although I could have sworn I’d locked those doors…” He trailed off, eyeing the two shadow mages and letting his magic dissipate.

Both young mages straightened themselves out before giving each other a quick look. Typhonus waited for them, his arms still up his sleeves. While he knew the boys to be hard working and trustworthy, they weren’t above the occasional prank, especially Vincent. Ethaniel had practically grown up at the Academy, while Vincent had had a more colorful upbringing among a short lived thieves guild. It did make Vincent surprisingly good at disarming magic, among his various other talents. Add in shadow magic and you had quite the skillset.

Ethaniel offered Typhonus a grin. “Sorry about that, sir, but I felt the news was worth interrupting you. Vincent here saw the latest materials expedition return and managed to overhear them talking about some of what they found.”

Managed to overhear, was it? Vincent’s penchant for ferreting out secrets had proven quite useful over the years. No doubt they learned something. Typhonus waited a brief moment before nodding to them to continue.

Vincent jumped in, his eyes nearly glittering in excitement. “They’ve brought back a huge natural teleportation crystal, one they think could be tuned into a new main node!”

Typhonus stood frozen. A possible new node? That could be the break he was waiting for. Rather than try to re-stabilize the entire network, they could reestablish it at the local level and then slowly build it back!

Barely holding back from hugging the boys, he instead tossed them each a gold coin, which they made disappear like magic. “Thank you! I’d better hurry before they try to use it for something else. Those are favor coins. You know what that means.”

With a grateful smile, he ushered them from the study, locking it again, then darted off to the main courtyard.

Time to make some magic.

***

“Blame has been fully shifted.”

Speaker Brightheart stood among his fellows in the Hall of Speakers, one of the most opulent buildings in Terrace. Only fitting as it housed those who represented the people. The collection of white robed individuals helped guide the people and advise the King.

Standing with his hands clasped before him, bright smile beaming, he added, “The people in the city and even those visiting from the surrounding lands all say the same thing, that the Majestix are at fault for The Sundering and for abandoning us.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Brightheart watched as satisfied smiles spread through the room. They had good reason for their satisfaction. In only a few seasons they had changed the hearts and minds of an entire city, the largest on Eastern Ryode. Where one Speaker might have been ignored, so many voices saying the same was too powerful. The paid supporters in the crowd helped as well.

“The King is well pleased with our success. He has mentioned some gifts of appreciation would be arriving later in the week.”

Those smiles turned to excited chatter. Brightheart gave them a few moments to bask in the pleasure of a job well rewarded, then gathered their attention again, the subtle spell weave of his robes causing the golden thread sunburst on his chest to sparkle and flare briefly. Once he had their focus, he continued.

“The next step in our King’s plan is about to being, and he needs us more than ever…” He paused to look several of his fellows in the eye, smile never wavering. “We must encourage more people to join the guard and the mages. “Raising one hand, he cut off any interruption.

“Our King sees beyond Terrace, to the possibilities and potential of the people. More, He sees a purpose to the blessing that has been placed upon the farms that surround us. That has freed so much labor and yet continues to produce as fast as we can harvest.

“The people need to be ready. In one year’s time, the guard is to be doubled, the mages grown as much as possible.

“We are to prepare the people for a grand future!”

Hands clasped one more, Brightheart let his beaming smile soften.

“No longer does the shadow of the Majestix loom over humanity. The Age of Man is dawning.”

***

“Daddy, you don’t need me around the house anymore. The youngins are old enough to help and with the prices of food so low there is more than we need even now.” Hanna offered her father her most beseeching look, wishing she could make her dark blue eyes sparkle on command like her older sister.

Seeing her father start to weaken she pressed in. “You heard the Speaker at the market! It’s a perfect time. The bonus for successfully joining the Academy means I can even pay for myself so I won’t even burden the family at all.” She lowered her eyes, drawing her dark braid over her shoulder and toying with the end. “Don’t you want me to succeed, Daddy?”

Hanna tried to watch her father through her lashes, though she couldn’t quite make out his expression. This was her best chance to create a life for herself, rather than end up as someone’s wife and staying home to care for children. She’d had enough caring for children in her fourteen years.

“Hanna.” She looked up as she felt her father’s hand on her shoulder. “Is this truly what you want? Or is this because you heard the Miller boy asking after you?”

A small squeak managed to escape her before she could stop it. Quickly shaking her head, she said, “No Dadd.” Pursing her lips, she clarified, “Well, not entirely. This is something I’ve thought long and hard about.” Entire weeks! “I want this for myself. I can feel it, inside, like a treasure waiting to be discovered.” She stretched out a hand, holding it over the wood floor with palm down and fingers outstretched. Her eyes drifted closed. There was something there, tantalizing, teasing.

The squeeze on her shoulder brought her back to the moment. Looking up, she gazed into eyes as deeply blue as her own. “Hanna. Go and pack.” His smile was gentle, love shining in those eyes. “I’ll walk you to the Academy after you say goodbye to your brothers and sister.”

Hanna gave an excited squeal and wrapped her arms around her father. “Thank you, Daddy”, she murmured into his shirt, giving him another hug before darting to the room she shared with most of her siblings.

The future was looking bright. She was going to learn Magic!

***

“Father, the time has come.”

Dallon looked up at his sixteen year old son, standing next to his chair, sword belted at the waist. The boy wore the sword well, having taken to the training in a way that surpassed his father, even before the knee injury.

“You look good, Son. The Arms Master tells me you’ve completed all the training he has prepared for you.” Struggling to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane, Dallon reached up to squeeze his son’s shoulder.

“The Guard is expanding rapidly right now. Something is coming, something major. Keep your eyes open. With your training you’ll advance quickly. Most of those joining have no experience.” Moving his hand back to his cane, he straightened to attention.

“Palcon, my son. Our family has protected Terrace since we arrived through a portal over a thousand years ago. Every generation has served. Many have died.” Brown eyes narrowed. “While one or more of your brothers may join you in the future, it will be you who represents the family.”

The boy seemed to stiffen even more. Such a serious child, one who knew and embraced his responsibilities. Not an ounce of hesitation or doubt in his body. “I will do the family proud, Father.”

Dallon finally allowed a small smile to grace his lips. “I know you will, my son. Now go see your mother before you go, or she’ll track you down at the Barracks and you don’t want that on your first day.”

He had to resist a chuckle as a spot of color bloomed on the boy’s cheeks. After watching Palcon head down the hall, Dallon finally let himself sink back into his chair. This moment had been years in coming. Before The Sundering he would have been more excited to see his son carry on the family tradition. Yet something had changed in the city when the world changed. There was an undercurrent he didn’t like. He especially didn’t like the way the Speakers had changed from being the Voice of the People to being the Voice To the People, guiding them along.

The tone in the city over the past year, with the anti-Majestix rhetoric, was only one of the disturbing trends. Some friends in the Academy whispered of more forbidden magics. Things that came close to violating the Accords, if not outright shattering it.

Protecting Terrace was more than just fighting monsters. Perhaps it was time to renew some of his contacts among the various city-states and settlements.

***

Palcon made his way to the training yard. Mother was usually there this time of day. Emerging into the mage globe lit room, he glanced around. Two of the men were sparring on one side of the room, yet they were being ignored by the other half frozen people spectating the other sparring session.

Mother had her hair pulled back with a black leather cord, leather armor, and a pair of short practice swords. Facing her were a pair of the more experienced men, each with sword and shield. Given the way all three seemed to be dripping in sweat, they’d been at it for a while.

Making his way over to the spectators, Palcon asked, “Mother’s winning, I take it?”

The man looked over then grinned. “Of course, lad! That style she brought from Dantala still seems to flumox most of the lads.”

Palcon watched his mother feinted towards one man to put him off balance, then spun and fell on the other in a flurry of blows that sang through the air. The clack clack of wood impacting wood was punctuated with groans and curses, especially as Mother snaked a blow past the shield to stab him in the chest.

As that man crumbled to the ground, Mother swept both blades behind her, momentarily fending off the other man. In that instant of hesitation, she spun to face him, pressing in with constant flickering slashes, each one pushing sword and shield a fraction out of place.

Apparently frantic, the man tried to slam forward with his shield. Mother smashed both blades into the shield, driving it downwards and revealing the suddenly panic stricken eyes of the man. Sliding her blades up the shield, she drove them forward, stopping with the swords crossed around the man’s neck.

The spectators exploded with cheers and groans, money quickly changing hands. Palcon grabbed a towel and walked over to give it to Mother. She smiled at him with those warm brown eyes. Those eyes took him in in an instant, no doubt noting the sword at his waist.

“That time is it?” She paused to wipe her head down quickly, then tossed the tower to one of the men. “Good thing you stopped by. I’d hate to embarrass you on your first day.” She gave him a quick embrace, careful with his practice blades. “Come. I’ve got something for you.”

Curious, Palcon followed Mother back into the house. It was still a marvel to him, the contrast between his parents. Father was so stoic and calculated, while Mother was swift and exuberant. They were both amazing fighters, with different styles that he’s been pressed to study. Even now, with his injured knee, Father was a talented swordsman, changing his style from one of mobility to one geared towards standing one’s ground. Thanks to his parents, Palcon could fight with either sword and shield, or sword and sword.

After only a few moments they arrived at his parent’s bedroom, where Mother had him wait while she slipped inside. He didn’t have to wait long before she emerged caring a blade that looked identical to the one at his waist.

“I know tradition is for you to carry the family blade into the guard, but you’ve been trained differently. I discussed it with your father and he agreed that it was time for a change. We had this one made for you so that we might start a new tradition. Wield them both with pride.”

Fighting back tears, he took the sword and accompanying sheath. “Thank you, Mother.” It took him two tries to clip the sheath to his belt. Why was it blurry?

“On my boy.”

He looked up in time to be engulfed by Mother. For a moment he let himself luxuriate in the attention. All too soon she pulled back, smiling at him. “Take care, Palcon, my son. Now go and save the world.”