AZZANON – THE POOR QUARTER, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
11TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Their search for Matrinda had already taken a few hours, but it was the location it was leading more than the time it was taking which was annoying Azzanon.
“I thought Klydor was the pinnacle of equality for all?” he gently mocked. “How very disappointing to discover your poor are just as wretched, downtrodden, and smell the same as they do everywhere else.”
Eva shot him a disapproving look.
‘I wonder if all elves have no sense of humour. Or just the ones I have the pleasure to travel with.’
“How about you refuse to tell me one more time about why we are out here looking for her?” he asked. “Hoping for a regular customer discount perhaps? Or maybe offer to buy her a new stall somewhere seeing as how you kind of got most of the black market destroyed, and what wasn’t destroyed was arrested or impounded. What makes you think she will be happy to see you at all?”
“Because I think her mother knew that was all going to happen and did some quite dangerous things to help us,” Mitchell explained. “Which means we owe her a huge of debt of thanks in addition to her helping us out with the troll blood. Actually, not just us. All of Klydor and probably Driax too.”
‘I think its amusing when people start making things out to be hugely grandiose in order to make themselves feel more important.’
A slightly guilty feeling of that thought being quite hypocritical washed over Azzanon.
‘Except of course when I do it. Then it’s totally justified.’
The next hour was spent knocking on doors asking alternately if anyone knew of Madame Trekeli, did anyone know of Matrinda, and finally, at Mitchell’s suggestion, did anyone know of the old female Eridani healer or alchemist.
The last one was the most successful at getting people to talk. It worked especially well once Azzanon started claiming that Eva was sick from an exotic, non-contagious disease, and they needed someone with special healing powers to save her. Many a hard heart stared into her eyes and melted, giving them the information they sought - or at least they did once Azzanon managed to convince her to take the mirror mask off so they could actually see her eyes.
And finally they approached a small, modest home in a street that was close to, but perhaps not quite, the poorest streets in Chandrex. It had little to distinguish it from many other similar buildings, all of them jammed together in a way that suggested to his non-engineer mind that they were holding each other up.
‘And if one falls, I suspect it would be like watching a game of dominos.’
Constructed from timber and shoddy greying plasterwork, each house had patchwork repairs that looked like they had used salvaged wood and flotsam that had probably washed up on the shores not far from here. The exteriors were weathered, tinted with the salt and grime of countless storms, and the roof was made of mismatched tiles and thatched sections likely hastily repaired after each tempest.
“Be careful when you knock,” cautioned Azzanon sarcastically, “you might knock them all over.”
“Show some respect. This is someone’s house,” replied Eva rebukingly.
“I am sorry. But you take up a life of crime, and this is still the best you can do?” derided Azzanon. “Why bother being a criminal at all? I imagine it is real easy to find legal occupations that pay you enough to be dirt poor.”
Mitchell was trying to stay out of the exchange, but Azzanon was sure he saw him chuckle at the jokes. Before he could continue further, Mitchell approached the door and went to knock.
‘At least a 50% chance this will be the wrong house. I suspect we may have to knock on quite a few in this strip before we find the right one.’
The door opened before his hand even touched the wood.
Matrinda was standing there, her long, curly dark hair hanging to her shoulders, and she wore a simple white peasant’s dress.
‘I am pleasantly proven incorrect. And beauty certainly is not limited by social status.’
“My mother said you would come,” she said simply, breaking the awkward silence as Mitchell seemingly forgot how to talk. Whether he was just surprised at the sudden door opening, or lost his ability to speak because of her beauty, Azzanon could not be sure. It was an inexperienced mistake either way.
Matrinda looked around the street behind them carefully before ushering them inside. Azzanon winked at her as he walked past. She smiled back. He liked that.
The home was as small as the front facing exterior suggested, with a single room as the main feature, and what looked like two small bedrooms to one side, and a door likely leading to a toilet out the back. In this room the main feature was a rough-hewn timber table, scarred by use and time, surrounded by a handful of mismatched chairs. There was a simple hearth along one wall which would provide warmth and a means to cook, its bricks stained with soot, although it was not currently lit. Ragged mats offered some comfort for the feet, and covered what looked like a very worn timber floor. Evidence of patchwork repairs were everywhere.
The home had a strong smell, which Azzanon thought was a mix of brine, and the earthly aroma of dried herbs. One thing he did not see was mould. So the Madame and her daughter were doing their best to take care of the place.
Sitting in what appeared to be the best of the chairs was Madame Trekeli.
“Forgive me if I do not get up. My old bones are tired from the excitement of today,” she said. “I don’t move as well as I used to.”
“Totally OK,” replied Mitchell. “I just came to say thank you and to ask a couple of questions, if you didn’t mind.”
The older lady smiled warmly. “Questions are the key to learning. Or at least the right questions are. You look like someone who has already asked a lot of questions in their life. Although I am not sure you have yet asked all the right ones.”
‘That answer was almost a riddle. Please don’t answer everything as a riddle. I hate riddles.’
Madame Trekeli motioned for them to take a seat opposite her. Mitchell and Azzanon moved towards the chairs. Eva remained standing, alert and vigilant.
“Shall I put a kettle on?” asked Matrinda.
“Not for me, thank you,” replied Mitchell. “But if you want one, please feel free.”
Eva and Azzanon both declined too.
‘This late in the day, the proper drink to offer would be alcoholic. Although I shudder to think what quality of wine these poor people may have to suffer through. Vinegar with a fancy label?’
“Thank you for your help in the market earlier today,” Mitchell began. “Without it, what I guard would now almost certainly be in the hands of the one person who must never be allowed to have it.”
‘If this stone is so dangerous, why let the boy keep it? At some point I may have to stop pretending I don’t know what I am not supposed to know and ask.’
The old woman smiled. “My gift has shown me many things over the years. But almost nothing with the clarity of that moment. I knew Josak would find you, and that if you had the item on you, then he would have it soon after that. I was not sure if what I did would stop him obtaining it, but I was sure I had to try. I suspect the Gods were blessing us today, though. With his ability to sense the stone I think it fortunate he did not realise the deception once I started trying to take the item away.”
“I suspect at some point he did,” interceded Azzanon. “I shot him with a crossbow, and he had just turned around and was heading straight for where the secret exit was. Had he been following Mitchell, I imagine he would have been heading to the main entrance.”
“We are all in your debt,” Mitchell intoned solemnly. “You took great risk to yourself to help people you did not even know. As did your daughter in returning the item to me after I was unconscious. That is not common.”
“You see,” Madame Trekeli said to Matrinda with a smile, “I told you this one was smart.”
“I only gave the item to her to give back to you once I sensed that the evil one had left. I would not have sent it back into the market otherwise,” advised Madame Trekeli. “But I appreciate you coming all this way to thank us.”
“Actually, I intend to do more than that. I wish to reward you,” countered Mitchell. “I do not have much, but I suspect it is enough to add some more joy into your lives for at least a little while.”
The old lady smiled. “I did not do it for a reward child.”
“I know,” replied Mitchell quickly. “And perhaps that is why you are even more worthy of one.”
“I Mitchell of Garet, thank you for the aid you and your daughter rendered to us today, and in recognition I wish to give you this small token of our appreciation.”
Mitchell nodded to Eva and she reached into a pouch of gems and took out two moderate sized gems and slid them across the table to Madame Trekeli.
Azzanon tried to value the gems from where he was standing and guessed them to be around 100 gold pieces each. Not a forever life altering sum of money. But a very large sum of money nonetheless for people living like this.
Matrinda’s eyes lit up, and a big grin enveloped her face. That brought joy to Azzanon.
Strangely, Madame Trekeli did not seem particularly affected by the gift. It was not that she looked ungrateful, but more that she did not seem to be emotionally impacted by the potential monetary gain of the gift.
‘Either she intends to return it, or she is not unaccustomed to having, or perhaps had, monetary sums like this around her before.’
“Then I, Madame Trekeli of the Kendari people, accept your generous gift.” And she gently reached across the table and slid the two gemstones to be in front of her.
‘And she is not returning it.’
“But I do have a couple of questions I would like to ask, if you do not mind,” requested Mitchell.
Madame Trekeli gave him a warm grandmotherly smile. “Ask your questions, Eternal one. I will be honoured if I can assist you with my knowledge or my wisdom.”
“Did you see anything else in your visions that might help us?” Mitchell asked. “Either initially, or perhaps while you bore the item? I have to go east and find a place where something happened a long time ago. My task is not easy, and any clues you might have could be very useful to me.”
“The moment I saw you, I could see the incredible destiny the two of you have. There has perhaps never been a pair with destinies as strong and bold as yours,” Madame Trekeli began.
Azzanon could not help but roll his eyes.
‘Why does everyone have a grand destiny when it comes to these fortune tellings? Surely most people are destined to do nothing, and live very plain and inconsequential lives. But you don’t hear that fortune get told very often. You will dig dirt. A lot of dirt. Your back will hurt. They you will die. Nobody will much remember you five minutes after you are dead.’
“But you are beset by evil and challenges which are powerful enough to break you and your destiny. Nothing is locked in stone when it comes to the future. Only the past is certain,” Madame Trekeli explained. “And so, something had branched your fate, and put you in that market. And in that market, there was a likely event that would have seen you lose the item you guard. I still do not know what it is, but I knew the man who sought it could not be allowed to have it.”
“I knew there was risk in helping you. But I have spent my life trying to use my gift to help others. It is not always as easy as you might think. Many people do not really want to know about the important things that might happen in their future. Tell someone they are going to be a magnificent warrior who will find glory on the battlefield, and every young man will believe you. Tell a young couple they should refrain from having children because it will only bring them grief, despair and madness, and they will hate you for it. Or they will ignore you.”
‘As a spy I can tell you nobody likes bad news. It doesn’t matter if it’s a prophecy, an opinion, or a fact. All are as welcome as a case of diarrhoea. And most of the time they take it out on the messenger. That is why I like to deliver good news personally, and bad news with a letter, preferably written from 1000 miles away.’
“I see your fate taking you to another Klydorian city. It was not one I had been to. It was near water, but it definitely wasn’t Chandrex. And your enemy their lurks in the shadows, or perhaps is the shadows. But not the one they call Shadow. He may in fact be an ally.”
‘What the hell does that mean? Bloody riddles!’
“Did you see anything that looked like it was happening on or near the Plains of Victory? I need to find the exact spot, if I can, that the Black Knight saved a young Prince Ulderan during the Great War.”
‘I see the boy has decided to reply with stupidity of his own.’
“I cannot be sure child. I do not know your history as well a local might,” replied Madame Trekeli. “But I did see you fighting a thing that was part man and part shadow. That was on a grassland plain. But there were things in the vision that made no sense to me. Perhaps they will mean something to you?”
Mitchell gestured she should continue, leaning closer to take in every soft-spoken word.
“You are fighting at night. But in the background I am sure I can see the sun.”
‘OK. Well that makes sense. Does the opponent also have a dolphin shaped head?’
“Perhaps it is a globe of darkness spell?” suggested Mitchell.
“I don’t think that is the answer, my child. The area of darkness seems much too large,” replied Madame Trekeli. “But there is more. I sense a giant barrier is trapping you and your opponent together, and you are in a fight to the death. Mercy is not an option for either of you.”
“Am I not also there, protecting him?” asked Eva, a note of desperation in her voice.
“I do not see you my child,” replied Madame Trekeli, with a sympathetic tone. Azzanon could see the closest thing he had seen to actual emotion on the elf girl’s face. It was both confusion and fear.
‘She thinks she must die.’
Azzanon did not believe much in the certainty of fate. He believed the spirit was too powerful, and that everyone had control of their own destiny or fate. But he could see this had rattled Eva.
“I am sure you are there somewhere. Probably fighting some other thing that is even worse than the shadow-man. Something that would surely have killed Mitchell were it not for you,” Azzanon said, trying to lift her spirits.
She turned to look at him, and he could see in her eyes she was desperate to believe him. She was desperate for any explanation that was better than she was already dead.
Madame Trekeli could see it too now.
“Your destiny is to outlive your ward, young child. If Mitchell survives this fight, then you will too.”
“Are my other companions there?” Mitchell asked. “Can you see them?”
“There were many others there. Many have fallen before this final epic moment. I cannot be sure if they yet live. Some still fight. But they are trapped outside, in the light.”
“So in this final moment, I am alone against the evil!” Mitchell declared resolutely. “And I must be ready for it.”
“Not entirely alone. You have on your side a shadow of your own. But you must be very careful how much you trust that one,” replied Madame Trekeli ominously. “You need him, but he is also likely your end.”
“How do I know how much I can trust him?” asked Mitchell.
“That I cannot tell you child. I know only that the fates want you two in this fight. This battle is not your likely end. And nor is it the end in your journey. I do not believe there is anymore help I can give you this night. And it would be best if you were to leave soon.”
“Why is that?” asked Mitchell.
“Because I sense that powerful forces are now looking for me. They know I have borne your item and they wish to speak to me on this. But they will not find us. We will be long gone before they get here,” Madame Trekeli replied. “Pack up our things Matrinda. As we have many times before.”
Her daughter seemed disappointed. Azzanon imagined it would be hard at her age to just up and leave everything. She almost certainly had friends and a life here. But he knew firsthand what it felt like to have to pack up a life in an instant and move on. He knew that feeling all too well.
“Can I help?” offered Azzanon. “I have some experience in moving on quickly, and making sure you leave nothing behind to help would-be pursuers.”
He felt the attention of everyone in the room suddenly shift to him.
“What? In my line of work I have had to do it many times. At best, it happens when an assignment ends. At worst, it happens when something goes wrong, and I have to leave immediately.”
He moved towards Matrinda. “Come on. Show me what you need to take.”
“I have seen a vision of you too,” said Madame Trekeli.
“No offence. But I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want anything to take the surprise out of life,” he replied, without even needing to consider it. “Even if something is going to kill me, I want to face it upbeat, and with wit and a smile.”
MITCHELL – CHURCH OF FAYLEN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
12TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Mitchell felt bone tired when he finally crawled into the small cot in the church. He felt a sense of relief that has washed most of his anxiety away. He had the Stone. Maragon and the other members of the Seven were going to recover. Sleep came quickly.
And he dreamed. He knew immediately it was a dream. But it felt different. Special. Like it was more real.
He was standing on a featureless plain that stretched as far as he could see in all directions. There was no wind. It all felt very still. It was dark, and he could see the stars twinkling clearly in the night sky. They seemed clearer and more well defined than any night he could ever remember looking at them. He spent time staring at them, wondering at their beauty.
Did they look over him? Did they care? Did they have messages for him if he was smart enough to decipher them?
He looked for his favourite constellation, The Hunter. He did not have any reason to feel a bond to that one. In fact, there were others which probably should have appealed to him more; the Mage, the Burning Tower, or even the Library of the Seekers. But whenever he looked up at the sky he always looked for The Hunter. Even in this dream state, he did as he often did in the real world, and he pulled back on an imaginary bow and fired it towards the night sky.
As a small child it was always the constellation he could find the easiest. The three starts which made up his belt were easy to see as the formed part of what looked like a saucepan. As long as he could remember he had hoped the Hunter would guide him on his true path, and help him find purpose, and a sense of belonging and acceptance.
He was not sure how long he looked at them. But when he looked at the ground again, he could see two figures approaching. One was a female figure. The other was an old man.
She was wearing the simple and practical clothing of a tribal peoples, with a white tunic and pants with brown stitching used for both purpose and simple decoration. She had long brown hair tied back with a gathering of feathers. As she came closer, he could see a caring smile on her face. One that almost immediately disarmed him of any concern, and he warmed to her. He suspected he would have even if he had not known who she was.
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This was ShaShayla, of the Plainsfolk. One of the original Champions of Laurabel. To hear Maragon describe her, never had a more caring and good person lived anywhere or at any time.
The older man was even more well-known Mitchell. He wore the holy vestments of a Priest of Faylen and had a face that suggested both wisdom and patience, with an element of mischief that was not what one expected when dealing with a priest; Brother Turin.
Mitchell smiled as they approached. He was slightly anxious, but he was not afraid.
For the briefest of a second, he thought he saw something flicker or move in the darkness behind the two. But when he focused on that spot he saw it, he saw nothing. His smile faltered slightly.
“You need not fear, young one. I promise you we mean you no harm. We wish only to speak and see if you are ready to help,” ShaShayla said. Mitchell found her voice calming. He felt his concerns drifting away.
‘Careful. This woman is one of the most powerful Enchantress who ever lived. She may be good, but her natural powers make you want to believe her and do as she says. I must keep my wits and make sure my thoughts are my own.’
“You are cautious,” she continued. “As you should be. Do you know who I am?”
Mitchell said as clearly as possible, “I do,” nodding in affirmation, as he did so.
“Do you know why I am here?” ShaShayla asked.
“Maragon said if you came, then you would offer me the chance to take on your soul and become one of the Seven,” Mitchell replied, going with simplicity and truth in his answer. “He also told me to decline your offer.”
Mitchell saw a brief smile on Brother Turin’s face. “Did he just. He has always been most protective of you, young Mitchell.”
‘And so very good at making plans in anticipation of what another might do.’
“That is because he knows the boy is pure of heart and almost totally incorruptible. That is why I want him to be my replacement,” stressed ShaShayla.
“Certainly understandable,” agreed the old priest.
Again Mitchell thought he saw a flicker of movement or shadow in the darkness behind them. But again, when he looked past them, he could not see anything.
“But we cannot always have what we want, ShaShayla. You know that. Sometimes we must do what we must for the mission,” countered Brother Turin, but there was a slight look of pain across his face as he said it.
‘What is going on here? If ShaShayla wants me, then that response suggests there is some reason she cannot have that. Why? Is Turin trying to honour Maragon’s wishes? There are entire layers to this conversation I do not understand.’
“Why can you not choose me?” Mitchell asked.
“Because Maragon has requested you be left for him,” replied Brother Turin, but again there was a look of pain or perhaps annoyance on his face as he did so, and this pain transferred through to his voice. Again, Mitchell could have sworn he saw a flicker in the darkness behind Turin just before he responded.
Mitchell tried to draw in the smallest amount of magickal energy. Just a test to see if he could channel in this dream. He felt the familiar sensation of magickal energy surge into him. He could.
“But Maragon may not die within your lifetime. He is the smartest and best of us. He may live on and you could die before ever joining our Order. You are the perfect weapon for the Seven. I wish to ensure it is one we take full advantage of,” replied ShaShayla, speaking directly to Mitchell and imploring him to heed her words. She turned her head towards Brother Turin before adding, “And it is supposed to be my choice.”
‘Supposed to be?’
“Must we have this same conversation again?” came Brother Turin’s voice, but there was something different in it now. It had an arrogant tone. His face was now free of pain or discomfort, but there was a different look in his eyes. One that Mitchell had seen on rare occasions before. Usually when Brother Turin would act in ways that were unsettling.
As the two figures seemed to focus on each other, Mitchell cast a divination spell. It was a relatively simple spell that would detect how many life forces were around him. He doubted he was powerful enough to dispel anyone powerful enough to cast an Invisibility spell or some other powerful illusion or shadow spell that was concealing their presence. But none of those spells would mask the presence of their life force.
His spell detected three life forces.
‘We are not alone! Someone else is here!’
ShaShayla seemed shocked.
“He knows!” she exclaimed.
“Be careful! You are confusing the boy,” said Brother Turin. But in his normal, more caring tone.
‘And they know too!’
“Why can I detect three life forces?” asked Mitchell firmly.
Both ShaShayla and Brother Turin exchanged a prolonged look.
There was that flicker of shadowy movement again. Close to Brother Turin. Really close.
“We are on the edge of the spirit realm,” replied Brother Turin. This is where the souls of the recently departed go before moving on. You must be able to sense another soul nearby,” replied Brother Turin, but there was a pained look on his face again.
“I do not believe you. I can see it. Its shadowy, and its lurking behind Brother Turin,” Mitchell said.
Whatever the shadowy figure was, Mitchell both saw and felt it lunge at him. It was a weird shape; like a Centaur, except if the horse part was instead a spider, or perhaps a crab. There was a flash of white light as it tried to strike Mitchell’s head. One, two, three flashes in quick succession. But Mitchell felt nothing.
“Leave him alone!” cried Brother Turin.
Mitchell felt fear and uncertainty. Whatever was happening here was not at all as he had expected. But it was clear whatever the shadow was trying to do, something was protecting him. He looked to ShaShayla and Brother Turin, and he was sure it was neither of them.
He heard, or perhaps felt, a psychic scream of either anger or frustration from the shadowy creature. In his head it was very loud, but he was sure he had not heard it through his ears.
The Shadow retreated again. How far it went Mitchell was not sure, but it moved back beyond ShaShayla and Brother Turin and disappeared again from view.
“What was that?” asked Mitchell.
“It really is best if we do not talk about that,” said ShaShayla, looking at Mitchell with that caring and compassionate look again. “There are things that Maragon does not know. Important things. He thinks he knows everything about the Seven. But he doesn’t.”
Mitchell could hear the guilt and shame in her voice.
‘What could the Seven have to be ashamed of? They defeated the great dragon, Razilin’Tera, and saved everyone! Did they not?’
“And he cannot know. It could jeopardise everything. On that we all agree,” said Brother Turin.
“If you want me to bear your soul, I have to know everything. Otherwise, my answer will have to be no!” implored Mitchell.
“All I can tell you is my soul is more complicated than the others in the Seven,” explained ShaShayla.
“It is deeply regrettable some of the things that were done both back then, and since. But were it not done, then Razilin’Tera would likely not have remained defeated for the last 850 years. But it is imperative that Brother Turin’s replacement be strong of mind and will, and ideally a resolute idealist who is not easily coerced onto the easier path.”
“Are you saying I was not those things?” asked Brother Turin.
“You were not as strong as I had hoped,” replied ShaShayla, her response a mixture of honesty and compassion. “I think you secretly had desires or perhaps latent sympathies for your Inquisition brethren and their methods. And I think that was used against you. But I have a good sense that Mitchell here will not have any weakness that can be exploited.”
She moved a few steps closer to Mitchell and turned her caring and compassionate eyes upon him.
Mitchell met them briefly, then looked away.
“What is it child? Do you not trust me?” she said.
“I do. Maragon was adamant I could,” Mitchell replied. “But I think you are a Sorcerer and I think your eyes may influence others, whether you intend them to or not. I will listen to you, but I want to be sure it is just your argument and my logic and reason that makes my choice.”
“I understand,” she replied. He felt her move a few steps further back again. “I know this is difficult, but I think we are coming to a critical moment in history. I have this feeling that Razilin’Tera’s return might be close. And we need the most incorruptible souls to help us stop that happening.”
“There is merit in what ShaShayla is saying, Mitchell,” agreed Brother Turin. “Adjusting for your young age, you are one of the strongest potential candidates to join the Seven that I have seen.”
“A second ago you didn’t seem so sure,” countered Mitchell.
The old priest flashed a quick look at ShaShayla before he responded. “I was not myself. I have regained control of my emotions now.”
“I am afraid I do not believe you,” replied Mitchell. “This other soul I could feel, is this a corruption or perhaps some kind of demonic possession that you have suffered and have managed to hide from the rest of the Seven?”
Brother Turin smiled ever so slightly, like a teacher who is very proud of one of their students. ShaShayla remained much harder to read.
Even with your impressive knowledge of magick, I don’t think you are ready, or perhaps even capable, of understanding, what you have just seen. But I can assure you, this is not some recent affliction we are hiding from the others,” replied Brother Turin sincerely. “Oh No! I am afraid this dates all the way back to the defeat of Razilin’Tera himself.”
“What I can tell you is the Seven have had help, even from the beginning, from some powerful sources,” added ShaShayla. “Some of them Maragon knows about. But some he does not. And its important this remains so. Nobody within the Seven can ever know everything. There is too much risk if that soul were ever captured and had information extracted.”
“To be fair, Evronn would likely not have accepted their help. But we needed it,” explained Brother Turin. “Have you ever wondered why Razilin’Tera accepted the Champions challenge in the first place?”
Mitchell had not. For the sake of the story, it made for a very dramatic and heroic end. The human empire of Micronia about to fall. Seven brave heroes challenge Dragons, Giants and more to a battle of champions. If they lose the enemy horde agrees to break-up and leave the besieged city. And the Dragon and his host accept, only to lose. And the world is saved.
As he thought about it now, it did not really make sense for the Horde to accept the challenge. The battle was over. The city was trapped, and nobody was coming to its rescue. Maybe Dragons were just vain and arrogant?
“The battle was over. Laurabel the city, and the entire empire of Micronia were defeated, and humankind with them,” continued Brother Turin. “Only a future of death or enslavement awaited. Yet Razilin’Tera gives the humans a chance and agrees to fight the seven Champions. Now he probably did expect to win. And he probably would have enjoyed crushing the Champions in front of the walls of all those counting on them. But it is still a risk he didn’t need to take. And he had to know it was unlikely he could have stopped his horde from looting and pillaging the city even if they did lose. The creatures he had arrayed were unlikely to walk away because of a hand-shake bet.”
“Is vanity enough of a reason?” asked Mitchell, offering the only reason he could think of which explained it without changing the story very much at all.
‘It sounds like the arrogant thing an evil overlord Dragon is supposed to do, right? Their arrogance ultimately allows the forces of good to win.’
But thinking about it now, it did sound more like a children’s tale, than how a real cataclysmic conflict would likely end.
“Razilin’Tera agreed because a powerful force told him they had magically poisoned the water sources that his whole army had been using. And they said if he did not agree to the challenge, then they would activate the poison and his host would all die there on the plains outside Laurabel,” explained ShaShayla.
“A host as powerful as the one Razilin’Tera had arrayed, would surely have healers who could negate the poison, would it not?” Mitchell asked.
“Against normal poisons… yes,” replied Brother Turin, but there was a slight chuckle and grin in his demeanour as he answered. “But this mysterious ally was quite formidable, and knew things about magick that none within Razilin’Tera’s host would know. It was certainly possible he would know of poisons that they could not stop.”
“Why not just poison the host and be done with it, then?” asked Mitchell. “Seems simpler and a lot less risky.”
“I have pondered that exact question since I joined the Seven,” admitted Brother Turin. “I can only come up with two plausible answers. One: It was a bluff, and no such poison existed. Or two: he wanted Razilin’Tera to accept the duel so he could ensure he died and part of his soul could be trapped in the Stone of Evronn forever. Maybe that was his plan all along.”
“The Stone of Evronn has part of Razilin’Tera’s soul trapped in it?” Mitchell asked aghast.
“It does,” replied Brother Turin. “That is part of the key to how it works, and why his followers want the Stone so much. They need it to return their master whole back into this world.”
“And the Stone seems to have already attuned itself to you. It wants you to carry it. You will be perfect to be my new host, and the Stone’s wielder and protector,” exclaimed ShaShayla with some passion.
Mitchell caught the slightest look shot her way from Brother Turin.
‘There is some part of that statement he either does not believe, or does not agree with.’
“Will you accept?” asked ShaShayla, her voice almost pleading with him. He looked up at her only for a second, and could see the same begging look in her eyes.
Mitchell considered. He loved the idea of joining the Seven, and to do it sooner was better. It validated him, made him a part of something. As the bearer of the Stone, it made him important. But another part of him felt like accepting this was betraying Maragon. He knew he was likely intended to be Maragon’s successor.
‘But Maragon has also trained another option. I do not know he will pick me!’
His eyes went to Brother Turin, and he looked him in the eyes, seeing if an answer could be found there. Unfortunately Turin seemed to be torn. He had a look of the deepest worry and apprehension.
“Are you more worried I will accept? Or that I will decline?” Mitchell asked.
“I am worried about a great deal. There is no option here which leaves me at peace,” Brother Turin replied. “Honestly, you are likely best suited to replace both Maragon and myself. I wish the Seven had four more like you. But we do not. There is just the one of you.”
There was a brief flash of pain across the face of Brother Turin.
“Our friend does not like Mitchell as a choice. He strongly suggests we leave now and find another,” said Brother Turin through gritted teeth.
“Why is he hurting you?” asked Mitchell.
“He is not trying to. He just wants to be heard. But for us younger souls, this is a painful experience,” replied Brother Turin. “In this place he must speak through another. He is choosing me out of respect for her, and because I told him to always use me while I yet live. I guess this is likely the last time I can serve you in this way my dearest Lady and idol.”
A look of genuine sadness passed between ShaShayla and Brother Turin.
“You have served me so very well for a great many years. I will miss you, and always think of you fondly,” ShaShayla replied, the sincerity clear in her voice. “Thank you for your service!”
They both turned back to Mitchell. Mitchell could see tears in ShaShayla’s eyes.
“What is your decision, my child?” ShaShayla asked.
“I assume the shadowy one remains right? If I accept he takes up residence in my mind as you do?” Mitchell asked.
“Unfortunately that is true,” replied ShaShayla. “But those strong of mind can resist his influences. He will be like an annoying voice trying to get you to do the wrong thing, and you just shut it out.”
“Were you able to shut it out, Brother Turin?” Mitchell asked.
“Mostly. But there were some serious moments I could not,” Brother Turin acknowledged. “I sometimes regretted my actions afterwards.”
A flash of pain registered on Turin’s old face, and then he added, “The method. I regretted the method, but rarely the outcome. Mitchell it is important you know we are not divided in our desire to stop Razilin’Tera, and we have on more than one occasion been the reason some machination of his damned cult has been foiled.”
“You must remember that in our line of duty, not everyone on our side is pure, and not everyone we fight is evil,” cautioned ShaShayla.
“Your version of that is much nicer than mine,” commented Brother Turin. “In order to do what we must, sometimes we have to kill good people because they ally with bad people. And other times we have to work with bad people, because as it happens, evil will often fight other evil. And you take what help you can get.”
“That does explain how we got our shadow,” agreed ShaShayla. “And he has certainly helped us fight evils.”
“But that is what worries me,” stated Mitchell. “You could not know this, but I encountered an Eridani woman with the Sight. She gave me a reading of my future.”
“It is a gift that remains more common amongst the old blood than the new,” commented ShaShayla. “And the Eridani are the closest descendants to the people of Micronia.”
“But you must be VERY careful with such things, my boy,” warned Brother Turin. “The Seven have at times being mislead by false prophecies. Several times it was found out later that the predictions were deliberately wrong to cause harm or mishap to our cause.”
“I am 100 percent confident she means me no harm. But she did speak of shadows. She said I must fight on in an epic battle, held in some bubble of darkness during the day. But she also said I would have a shadow with me, on my side. He would be the only ally I would have at the critical moment. But she also said while he was an ally, he would likely be my end.”
“I feel quite sure there will only be one of the shadow we are referring to,” said Brother Turin.
“But there are a great many things which could be referred to as a shadow. Anything from a human hiding in the darkness, a caster using shadow magick, or even a wraith or shade of some kind,” offered ShaShayla.
“But at this stage I cannot even be sure which one your ‘friend’ might be. He might be my ally. But he could be the thing I end up fighting,” replied Mitchell.
“The safest way to control this shadow will be to accept my soul,” declared ShaShayla.
Mitchell again saw some doubt on Brother Turin’s face with that suggestion.
“Do the Champion souls have the ability to influence or force you to do something you do not want to?” Mitchell asked.
“No. Or at least I don’t think we do. I have never tried it,” replied ShaShayla. “You have access to my memories and my thoughts, you will gain an affinity for the skills that I had, and in some cases, may even gain some of my powers, but that is rare. Mostly it is just my wisdom, counsel, and knowledge. I can use these to influence you, but there is no magical compulsion. You are free to act as you please. And it is for this reason we try to find souls similar to ourselves. If you are going to spend a great many years living inside someone’s head, but be powerless to make them do what you want, you need to know they will act in a way you are comfortable with.”
“It is for this reason I need you,” she implored. “You would agree you already know our cause, and you believe in it?”
Mitchell looked at her and nodded.
“That already puts you ahead of most. And it seems right now, something big is about to happen, so I don’t want to lose time trying to merge with someone who might not initially feel that way.”
‘That part makes sense.”
“You are a strong idealist, which means you will do the right thing, no matter the cost,” ShaShayla continued.
Mitchell again nodded his head.
‘I certainly want to believe that is true.’
“Then of all the people, you are the perfect choice to take my position. You know what is required, and you have the mindset to be able to extract the value from the information our shadowy friend has; and believe me it has plenty of value for our cause. But you will use it without unnecessarily taking his advice, and therefore prevent him pushing us down darker paths than we should be treading.”
Like most, Mitchell found himself believing that he would be able to resist the temptation or lure of whatever this shadowy voice might say. He believed himself strong and incorruptible.
“The shadow cannot truly compel you if you do not wish to do a certain thing,” advised Brother Turin. “But his arguments on why you should do something can be quite convincing.”
“He is very good at that,” agreed ShaShayla. “But Maragon will have taught you how to see through to the truth of things. He will not find you an easy one to manipulate.”
Again, what ShaShayla said seemed the truth to Mitchell.
He found himself warming to this idea. He did want to be part of the Seven. More than anything he had ever wanted before. He thought about all the great hero stories Maragon had told him. Or that Bossy Owl had repeated many, many times over. How he wanted to replicate those great heroes.
Sarek Aranson – the first hero Mitchell ever knew in person. In the service of his kingdom he had; killed the Orc warlord Krin’yak on the battlefield, breaking the will of Krin’Yak’s host; rescued Lord Vendermere’s daughter from a black robed Krushai cult; and he lead the charge that carried the day versus the Merlos at Silverton. Three separate moments each worthy of a song.
Zankeine – the greatest warrior humanity had ever produced. He killed three different Clan leaders, including one who just proclaimed himself High King of the North, because he didn’t agree with how bloodthirsty they were. Was offered the seat of High King and declined it because he did not want the power or responsibility. And then joined the fight versus Razilin’Tera and in the final battle, as a Champion, he kills both a demon and a giant before falling to Razilin’Tera’s flames. And to top it off, he becomes the human God of war.
Zarthas the Great – Perhaps second only to Evronn himself as the greatest human Mage ever. Zarthas wanted to dispel the horror and suspicion that many held towards magick. He hunted dark wizards with zeal, determined to prove that magick would be a positive influence on Driax, resulting in the famous encounter at the Three Trees Tavern, where he confronted four evil channelers at once, and destroyed them all. With their death, the influence they had been obtaining over the town was ended, and the townsfolk were saved from a ritual intended to open gates to the Demon realm directly. Zarthas then documented and codified much of his knowledge of magick, with the wisdom of those precious documents forming the basis for the rules and strictures of the Council of Defence.
Mitchell could hear the words of Maragon or Bossy Owl echoing in his head. He so badly wanted to be one of these heroes.
He was going to accept.
“I…”
But then he also recalled other more cautionary tales, their words came streaming into his mind unbidden, told in the firm, warning voice of Maragon.
The Black Baron, who’s lust for power and the throne drove him mad. Even upon death his desire remained so strong, that his soul became trapped in this plane forever, doomed to haunt and influence others to try and do what he could not.
‘Do not seek power just to have power. It will surely corrupt and destroy you.’
Mishelle Darkrobe was a powerful wizard with the respect of her people and her King. She even studied under Zarthas the Great. She started researching dark and forbidden magick only to better understand how to fight it. She decided she could fight dark magick better if she could use it, probably telling herself she would only use it a little, when it was most needed. But then others join her. And whether it was her, or her followers who were first corrupted, the lure of dark magick takes them. Her entire order went rogue, and caused a lot of death, destruction and distrust of magick before Zarthas the Great ended their order, and Mishelle, in Three Trees Tavern.
‘Do not become the thing you fight. If you do, even if you win, you lose.’
And even the great Zarthas, eventually became what he had sought to destroy. Being around so much dark magick, and likely learning too much about it, eventually lead Zarthas to try a grand ritual which would suck all of the dark magick out of the kingdom, and make it impossible to channel any magick from those dark spheres. It was a ritual of tremendous power, that would require a huge number of great wizards.
It was also incredibly dangerous, with a great deal that could go wrong. But Zarthas assured everyone he could handle the risks. Even though no such spell had been cast before, including by the elves or any of the older races.
Zarthas was ultimately killed by his own friends when he could not be convinced to halt his ritual.
It seemed to Mitchell there were no heroes in the stories he knew who had successfully controlled evil. Every one of the stories where the hero tries, he invariably fails and becomes the evil which must be destroyed.
Their common flaw was always pride. They always believed they were different, or special. They believed the rules and the risks of delving down dark paths did not apply to them, because they would be strong enough to handle it.
Mitchell doubted he was more special than all those who had gone before him and failed.
And he certainly could not endanger the Stone by taking the risk.
“I respect the fact you have asked this of me. But I am afraid I have to decline.”
He could see the bitter disappointment on ShaShayla’s face. She smiled at him and nodded her head slightly in acknowledgement, but there was no warmth in her eyes. Only sadness.
Brother Turin was more masked.
Mitchell thought maybe he could suggest one of the others. That might help them, and soften the blow of him saying no.
But who should he suggest?
‘Alicia is strong of mind and virtue. She is stronger than me in that area I suspect. But could I bare the thought of having helped put an evil inside her head. What if it drove her to do evil? What if I had to then destroy her?’
The whole idea terrified him to his core. He could never risk that.
‘Eva? She is strong of mind too. And she is already accepting of the mission and its importance. Her elven blood might also help fight the corruption of the shadow. She might be perfect. And if she had the shadow inside her, it would be less likely to be the thing that kills me, right?’
“What about Eva?” Mitchell asked. “She already knows the mission. She is already sworn to protect me and the Stone. And she might be the best answer to resist any corruption from the shadow.”
A sharp look was exchanged between ShaShayla and Brother Turin. It lasted only a couple of seconds, but whatever triggered it, the feeling was clearly vehement.
“No! It cannot be her,” said ShaShayla firmly, and with a definite finality.
Mitchell was waiting for a reason. But none came.
“I think we are probably done here,” said Brother Turin. “We should probably keep moving.”
ShaShayla nodded her agreement.
“Mitchell, it has been lovely to see you one last time. Take care of Maragon for me,” said Brother Turin as his farewell, “And I do think you will make an excellent bearer for the Stone.”
Mitchell went to him and wrapped him in a warm hug.
“Some of those times when we were together, and you were a little…” Mitchell searched for the right word… “off. Was that the shadow?”
“It was my child,” replied Brother Turin, his response bringing some comfort to Mitchell and helping solve a puzzle that Mitchell had never previously been able to figure out.
“But the shadow means well,” Brother Turin continued. “He just isn’t much interested in the traditional definitions of politeness; or right and wrong for that matter. He has his own definitions, and that is all that matters to him. But I can assure you of one thing. He hates Razilin’Tera, and all of the Dragon-Lords of Za’Ha’Doom.”
“His kind are not supposed to be here anymore. If you tell anyone, then the Gods might find out, and make him leave. I am sure that we still need him, so its really important you don’t tell anyone about what you learned. Especially don’t tell Maragon.”
Mitchell pulled back on the embrace enough to look Brother Turin in the eyes, questioning that request without needing to say the words.
“I believed it enough that I never told Faylen,” replied Brother Turin. “Never mentioned it in any of the thousands of the prayers I gave to him. Compared to that, what I am asking you is easy.”
Mitchell was stunned by that admission.
‘You believed this secret so much, you concealed it from your God?! Wow!’
Brother Turin pulled Mitchell back into the embrace, and pulled Mitchell’s head to his shoulder. Mitchell let him, appreciating the hug from a man who had been very much an uncle for much of his upbringing. Brother Turin reassuredly rubbed Mitchell’s back, as he had done several times when he was still a small boy. That comforting sensation was the last thing Mitchell felt as the dream ended.
Mitchell awoke with tears in his eyes. Brother Turin was gone.
And ShaShayla, and her shadow, were likely now in somebody else.