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Race:
Elf Base Class: Mage Profession: Bard Disciplines: None Title: Servant of All Email: jeremy@mindflare.com |
Race: Elf
Base Class: Mage
Profession: Bard
Disciplines: NoneTitle: Servant of All
Email: jeremy@mindflare.com
Aztice is Dar Khelegur, born in the Age of Twilight, prior to the awakening of the Dragon, although he was not so named in that time before time. After witnessing the destruction caused by the Dragon, he took up bladeweaving, hoping that he could use such a skill to prevent some future disaster. Soon, he found himself fighting for the Deathless Empire as Sillestor bloodily united the Elves.
He fought in the Taming, against the gods and the archons. He was near Sillestor as he prepared to attack the All-Father using Shadowbane, but Thurin intervened, took the sword, and beheaded Sillestor. Aztice fled the battle in unbounded terror, Thurin's words echoing through his mind: "Foulest of traitors! You bade this blade be the death of all that is evil, and so it is."
He swore never to wield a sword again, and abandoned bladeweaving permanently. Aztice left the military and lost virtually all interest in any kind of politics. He began devoting time to an undeveloped interest in music. He was also one of the relatively few Elves who genuinely returned his loyalty to the All-Father, but it wasn't a sufficiently active interest for him to join the order of the Repentant when he was invited to do so.
When time started and it was discovered that new elves were being born mortal, Aztice came to the sudden realization that he was an elder. Led by some vague idea that he ought to be wise, or at least knowledgeable, as a result, he became a scholar of sorts. Eventually, he began a thorough study of philosophy and theology.
He did not play an active role, either militarily or politically, in the War of the Scourge, until it was almost over. When Ithriana returned to her people carrying Shadowbane, Beregund dead, the mindset he had been maintaining during his recent studies forced him to speak out, urging that Shadowbane be returned to those whom the All-Father had allowed to find it. More than any abstract philosophical reason, however, he simply didn't trust Elves to use it well after the Taming. He was far more comfortable with the idea of Shadowbane in the hands of Dwarves or even of Men than those of his own people.
His views were not popular. For his troubles, Aztice was forced into exile from his own people. Humans, ironically, also shunned him; some because Elves were still disliked despite the alliance, some for fear of damaging that alliance by harboring an Elvish fugitive, some because they simply refused to consider the concept of Elves and Humans sharing a civil life in common as well as a military one.
He retreated to the woods, which most any Elf who lived in the Age of Twilight is fond of, and lived in solitude. He found solace in music, prayer, and introspection. For over a thousand years, he remained there. During this time he thought deeply about what he had done in his long life up until then, and what he might do in the future. He meditated on the things he had studied. He considered what he believed, and how he ought to act as a result. Still, he did not act.
Ironically, his isolation was ended by the Turning, even as it ripped Aerynth apart and plunged nearly everyone else into relative isolation. He took it as an admonishment by the All-Father to act, and although he thinks it rather silly, he cannot quite get over the idea that the Turning was engineered for the sole purpose of forcing him to return to the world.
So he set out, armed with the only weapons he had wielded in many times the life of a man: faith and song. His studies and his hermitage have given him immense confidence in what he believes, and he will follow those beliefs at any cost.
He eventually resolved to seek out the order of the Repentant, which he recalled from so long ago, but when he searched for it, he discovered only a rumor of its existence and scarcely a ghost of its memory. The abbey he remembered no longer stood. He could find no one who claimed that name, and so he claimed it himself: the new Servant of All, of the Repentant, for no others could he find on which to lay the title, and he could not now bear its disappearance from the world.
from Reusain's Journal before time began Blade Weavers before time began Broken Eternity 1 NR A Foray in the Woods 1080 KY = 5390 NR The Turning 1 SY = 1099 KY = 5409 NR A Meeting 1 SY Divergence 21 SY
Note: This is an excerpt from the journal of a friend named Reusain, describing the first time we met. I recovered his journal some time after the Taming.
One of them called me over to help move a particularly large piece of rubble blocking the entrance to the last section of the library. When we lifted it and got a look through the doorway, there was someone who had been trapped inside.
Imagine my surprise! Virtually every adult elf in the city had armed and left to challenge the Dragon. It was difficult to imagine how he had not been missed at the assembly.
I sized him up. He was rather young. Perhaps not even really an adult yet-that would explain it. Still, he was rather tall (around seven feet) and had the look of one used to physical work. Brilliant green eyes looked out in earnest, and I could have told from looking at him (had I not already known) that he'd been trapped for a time. He was covered in alabaster dust from the collapse, and a small cut on his forehead was partially covered by thick, brown hair.
"Just hold on," I told him. "We're going to get you out of there."
We redoubled our efforts and had what was left of the doorway sufficiently clear to let him out before long. He stepped out eagerly and looked around, but his face paled when he saw the rest of the city in ruins. He turned to me.
"Everyone . . . where is everyone? Are they all . . ?"
"Some are gone forever," I said sadly. "Most left after the collapse and readied for battle. The quake was caused by a foul creature who just emerged from the earth-all the armies of elvenkind are assembling to attack it."
"Why are you still here?" he asked immediately.
"Someone needed to start the repairs," I suggested. I saw in his eyes that he knew there was more to it than that, but how could I explain to one so young why I chose not to fight? Would he think it was a disguise for trepidation, like so many others?
Something in my expression, or perhaps my hesitation in speaking, must have indicated it was an unwelcome question, for he asked instead what he could do to help. He was older than most of those already working, so I asked him to help me organize the clean-up.
That elf will be a leader someday. I watched him move through the ruins with an instant familiarity, moving from site to site and helping the workers there for a time. He seemed to wave an arm or point at something every ten seconds whenever he was engaged in conversation, and I watched as everyone, instantly understanding, moved to the designated location and began to clear a path. Twice, I think, he met friends, and they embraced.
But more important than his directions, he seemed to energize the people he spoke to. Perhaps it was merely because he had experienced forced rest while the rest of us were working, but he definitely had a vigor about him. I didn't hear most of what he said during the day, but everyone seemed encouraged when we regrouped. It might have just been because we'd found a survivor and there was a renewed hope for finding more…
I sat down with him during the meal. "How are you doing?" I asked.
He forced a faint smile. "We're making progress," he said. "But I still cannot quite bring myself to believe it." I nodded in silent assent.
"I had hoped to find more of the people I knew," he added, shaking his head sadly. "I had more friends . . . but they are most likely gone."
I wasn't sure what to say. "They might still be buried but alive, as you were," I suggested.
"Unlikely. It has been too long." I knew how he felt; I had lost friends in the collapse as well.
"I never thought this is what I would be doing in such a crisis," he continued after a pause. "I was apprenticed to Uralyan."
"An excellent bladeweaver," I commented.
He nodded once. "May the gods bring him safely back to us. I thought, if the need ever arose to fight, he would be called upon, and I would go with him."
"All the events of late have been strange," I commented.
We sat for a while, watching the stars.
"You had best get some sleep," I told him, and left to do so myself. He hadn't moved by the time I was out of sight.
Blades sang as they sliced the air. I backpedaled, putting myself temporarily out of range so that my opponent's blows couldn't dissipate my swords' speed as I began my weave over again. When he closed again, they were ablur.
"You can't keep retreating!" he called with a grin. His eyes flashed with mock menace, and he leapt into the air, going into an insane spin. His blades seemed to form a single, solid disc spiraling about his body. Mine flew up to deflect them, emitting a staccato series of clangs as our weapons met half a dozen times in a second.
"And you can't keep advancing!" I replied, smiling. I saw him hesitate for an instant as he tried to decipher my comment, and I took advantage of the moment to attack. I battered his swords to the sides, exposing his chest to my boot. He staggered back, fulfilling my prediction.
I offered him a hand, but he waved it away and stood on his own, discarding his blades in a small pile of training equipment at the edge of the sunlit room. I followed suit and we moved to a nearby rough wooden bench.
"An excellent match, Taverl," I commented, pride infusing a wide smile into my face.
"You've improved since our last time," he replied, his voice tired but neutral.
"Luck," I pleaded, unconvincingly. My smile remained fixed. "And I caught you off-guard at the end."
He frowned derisively. "An experienced blade weaver caught off-guard by such a silly quip? Hardly."
"It worked."
He coughed quietly. It was childish to press the point, but for some reason I didn't care today. "You'll have to be prepared next time," I pressed, a hint of sarcasm entering my voice without my notice.
Taverl gazed about the room as if he hadn't heard. After a short pause, he asked "So, when are you going to abandon this quaint little school and come to the Deathless?"
For no good reason, a chill went up my spine at the mention of the name. I pointedly ignored it. "What concern of mine is the Deathless Empire's soldiery?" I asked.
"Friend! You wound me!" he said in mock sorrow. "Don't you know I'll be on the front lines soon?"
"The front lines?" I said patronizingly. "Doing what, defending our diplomats? No one is seriously going to resist Shadowbane at this point." Everyone knew by now that the leader of the Deathless Empire, Sillestor, had possession of the sword Shadowbane, crafted and given to him by the god Thurin. Sillestor's already considerable mastery of swordsmanship had been made unchallengeable by that addition. "That blade was crafted to beat the Dragon; how are the remaining petty Elf lords to stand against it?"
"It can only be in one place at once!" he protested. "Shall Sillestor single-handed destroy all their armies?"
"That would be a more efficient use of military resources," I pointed out.
Taverl rolled his eyes. "Even if the fighting is over for now, what about the Dragon? What if it wakes again? Do you intend to let Sillestor fight the Terror alone as well, since he wields Shadowbane?"
"Of course not!"
"Do you think he'll wait for you? When the last surviving guard of the Khalinviri who guard him now stumbles into the throne room of the Deathless Empire and declares that the Terror has awoken, and the generals ask 'Shall we ready the army and leave immediately?' do you think Sillestor will say, 'No, let us delay while we ask the students at every school of blade weaving in the Empire if they would like to join us?'" His voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Pandarrion has prophesied that it shall not wake again until the end of the world!" I declared defiantly.
"Pandarrion!" he shouted as he stood and turned to fully face me, angry for the first time in my memory. "That fool of a god woke the Terror in the first place! Our majestic cities crumbled! Do you know how many died? Even many of the first Sidhe were lost to us! And the golden moon was destroyed in the Dragon's fire, so that we now have that cursed burning orb ever in the sky and the twilight is lost to us!" His hands were shaking with rage now, and I was intensely grateful that he was no longer armed. "Is that the one whose prophecy you have such great faith in?"
I was taken entirely aback. Such things were not said . . . or was such thinking now commonplace in the upper echelons of the Deathless? I looked around and saw no one else in the room to overhear.
"I mourn the twilight," I said quietly. "But lay the fault on the Dragon itself, not on Pandarrion."
"Not on Pandarrion?" He voice was still harsh, but no longer loud. "Then tell me: why did this god who can predict the Dragon's next rising not predict the first one, get it under control, or at least give us warning?"
My mouth opened, and shut silently. I didn't have an answer. "We were totally unprepared!" he pressed. "If it happens again, we have to be ready!"
"Enough!" I ordered. "Let me time to think on this!"
He stopped then, but I knew he had said enough. The seed was planted in my mind, and I couldn't escape from it as it took root and began to infect my thinking. It seemed like a concept originating entirely from without, and I distrusted it, but I couldn't dispel it. At that point, I was only hoping my mind would be less clear, rather than more, when I made a decision.
I think Taverl knew that, too.
Dissonance
Rhythm disappears
A splinter in the mindDiscordant time
Dizzying sights
Shifting lightShadow
Eternity howls
Sun rounds the skyFleeing sense
Proximate lunacy
Utter confusionIncomprehension
Forever fades
Moments seep through cracksBroken rune
Broken hope
Broken eternity
I stopped counting the days of my exile after a few months, and stopped numbering the seasons after a few decades, so I can't tell you exactly when it was that the fighting finally neared my wooded refuge. I can say that it was very close to the end of my hermitage - within half a century, certainly.
Precious little moonlight filtered through the forest canopy on that night, so I held out hope that my small cabin wouldn't be found. I could clearly hear the fighting, though. The clash of metal on metal, trees accidentally impaled, shouting voices - I couldn't make out what they were saying. When I left my people centuries before, we were at peace with the humans, but I held out little hope now that the combatants could be anything but Elves and Men.
I knelt by the window, alternately looking out and praying. I don't remember everything that I prayed for--that they wouldn't find me, that the fighting would stop, that as few as possible might die, that the Father would do something - but I remember I prayed long and hard. Eventually, the sounds of fighting died down, and I worked up enough courage to step outside and look around.
The sight was horrific. In the dim light, I could make out dozens of bodies sprawled about. Some places I stepped, I felt the ground wet with blood beneath my feet. Trees were slashed, some had holes clean through them; underbrush was trampled. Glowing embers littered the ground as a silent testimony to the use of magic. I began to examine the bodies. As I feared, humans and elves . . .
And minotaurs.
I blinked and looked again. Of course, I knew that minotaurs had been used in several battles since the blood curse, but I had never actually seen them fight. Looking at the fallen bodies, I could hardly fathom the damage they must have caused . . .
"Accursed elves . . ."
Startled, I quickly turned and saw a human pulling himself to his feet, using his sword as a prop. He was burned in several places, and his plate mail was cracked from some vicious blow. He tried to charge me, but his body refused and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Cautiously, I lifted him and carried him back to my cabin. He awoke the next morning, with the discipline of a soldier, the moment the shaft of light from the window reached his eyes. When he saw me - he couldn't have recognized me from the previous night, the lighting was too poor for human eyes - his reaction was one of fear and anger.
"Where am I?" he immediately demanded.
"Several hundred feet from where you collapsed last night," I told him.
"Am I a prisoner?"
"No," I assured him. "Except, perhaps, to your injuries. You may leave at any time, if you can muster the strength to walk out the door. I am not part of the Elvish army."
He looked around, examining his surroundings. "It is fortunate you passed out when you did," I commented, "or we might both be dead, I from a case of mistaken identity and your sword over there--" I motioned to a blood-stained blade propped up by a broken suit of mail in the far corner of the room "--and you from untreated wounds."
"What is my condition?" he asked, somewhat less hostile.
"You have multiple burns, at least two cracked ribs, and probably internal injuries," I informed him mournfully. "As well as several minor injuries. I'm afraid I am not a doctor, and I haven't been able to do much for you."
"Why have you not called a healer, then?" he demanded.
I suppressed a derisive laugh. "You ought to know as well as I, sir, that alerting any elves to your presence would result in their sending an executioner, not a healer. They would probably kill me as well, considering the terms on which I left. And I suspect I couldn't get within arrow-range of a human city and live long enough to request a healer for you."
His countenance lowered. "Any other survivors?"
I shook my head. "None that I found."
"Am I going to survive?"
I sighed. "I don't know. Your condition seems very bad, but if the All-Father is willing-"
He let out a mirthless laugh. "The All-Father?" he asked scornfully. "He hasn't answered my prayers in years. Why should he start now?"
There was a long silence. Eventually, I reached down and picked up my lute and began to play a serene tune. The human visibly relaxed, and I began to quietly sing. He listened attentively as I spun tales of the All-Father and His servants. I knew many tales of those who suffered for Him, but there was grace throughout. I wasn't really conscious of what I was doing, but I needed to say it, and it seemed that he needed to hear it. I concluded with part of my own story, from the time of the Taming, though I hardly realized I was doing it. I finished, and let the last note hang in the still air.
"Now rest," I told him, though he looked like he was about to slip into sleep anyway.
"Wait," he said suddenly. "What's your name?"
I hesitated. Then, I told him my given name--the last time I ever spoke it. After he heard it, the human slowly drifted into sleep. I carefully set down the lute and returned to my prayers.
The next day, he seemed slightly improved. The surface injuries were disappearing, the human's strength starting to return. He allowed me to question him about events in the world. It was then I first learned of Konrad's boast and the War of Tears, and also of Cambruin the High King, so revered by humans for uniting their race. He was unable, though, to tell me how the War of the Scourge ended. Sometimes I forget how short human lives are.
He did tell me that the war wasn't going well for the humans. "I suppose Valdimanthor is making good use of Shadowbane," I said derisively.
"Shadowbane?" he asked. "What is that?"
I felt my eyes widen. "By the archons, how can one not have heard of Shadowbane? It is the most powerful weapon ever made, forged by Thurin himself, the blade of chaos alloy tempered in the Dragon's blood and the hilt of Volliandra's golden hair. It can slay Gods!" I spoke in a rush. "You have not heard of it?"
He shook his head. "Valdimanthor has it?"
"I think every soldier in your army would hear of it if he used it," I said, "And I cannot imagine why he would not use it if he had it, so perhaps I dare hope that he has it not."
There was a short pause. Then, "Why would he have it in the first place?" he asked.
For many hours that followed, I spun the tale of the War of the Scourge, giving the story the life that I would later know only an experienced bard can breath into it. When that was finished, he insisted I tell him how the dwarves came to have it, so I spun a second tale. Neither was interrupted with questions.
"How is it that one with such an interest in history as you knows so little of it?" I finally asked, trying not to sound tactless.
"I'm not sure," he said reservedly. "I've spent all my life training to fight . . ."
Suddenly he looked very tired. "Rest," I told him. "We can talk more tomorrow."
In the light of the morning that followed, he looked not better, but worse. Much worse. I could tell then that his wounds weren't going to heal on their own.
He greeted me with a weak smile, which I returned in kind. Our conversation that day was much more subdued. He was probably just as aware of his own condition as I was--or perhaps something in my countenance gave it away; I have never been good at concealment. Whatever the reason, he decided that evening to make his dying request.
"Listen," he said quietly, and I did so.
"I doubt I'm going to make it through the night. But I have no regrets. I spent my life fighting for what I believed in. My only fear was that I had forgotten how to live without fighting.
"But now I know--the All-Father sent you, and gave me three days with you to discover that I still knew how to look at an Elf without hatred, that my life was still worth something when the fight was taken away. And you made me think. You made me think about the Father, and about everything the prelates said while I was growing up. I'm not afraid to die a believer.
"But by dying now . . . I leave one thing undone."
He motioned me closer. I leaned in, and he continued in a whisper.
"I have a family. A wife, Elizabeth, and two young boys, Kain and Venzar. I have to ask you . . . I know you can't very well go to my city right now . . . but somehow, could you find a way to tell them I said goodbye, and that I love them?"
I didn't think it was possible. I could never find them; if I did, they wouldn't believe me . . .
But I knew I had to. "I'll try," I promised, and meant it.
His eyes closed. I made a silent prayer.
The sun is high, the woods are bright
The lake reflects the radiant light
I see Braialla's robe of flowers
The trees are filled with birds in flightAnd not a thought have I to spare
For subtle tensions in the air
To intrude upon my wand'ring mind
No melancholy thought would dareA battle rages fiercely, though,
Some place quite far from here, I know,
Where many an Elf or Man today
Will lose their life by blade or bowBut still I sit and watch the wood
I might yet help--I know I should
But gazing, I see perfect peace
I can't deny--whoever could?That wondrous sight doth change so soon
To darkest night from brightest noon
The sky is riven when I look
I see not even silver moonThe mightiest and fiercest drake
Such a sound could never make
As when the archons' cries of rage
Aerynth to its core do shakeI feel the ground beneath me move
And quickly there appears a groove
The waters trembling in the lake
No effort of the gods could sootheThe crack then parts the deepest stone
A horrible sight to me is shown
As the waters disappear
Of a volition all their ownA chasm opens, dark and deep
A young deer makes a frantic leap
I realize then that everything
The earth will swallow it will keepI quickly turned and quickly fled
Filled with sudden doubt and dread
From behind there came a glow
That lit the landscape all in redI knelt in prayer, and yet heard naught
Though help was desperately sought
Then with monstrous pain and grief
Suddenly there came a thoughtAs I thought, I became sure
Sure as the sky had been azure
To this curse that plagued us all
I knew the one and only cureSooner, I knew, I should have left
The time I spent was mine by theft
Was it from me the Father turned,
For my delay the earth was cleft?I left at once with greatest speed
For suddenly I saw the need
Together His children must stand
I cannot leave undone this deed
“Halt!”
I stopped outside the gates to what used to be the Elven city of Debyenin and was now apparently a human city. Looking up, I saw an archer standing on the wall with his bow ready to fire. Apparently, the chaos following the Turning was dying down, and vigil reasserting itself. The first two towns hadn’t had guards in place to stop me.
I held my hands out. “I’m unarmed, sir,” I shouted, “and not even a soldier at that. I come in peace, and seek an audience with a prelate of the All-Father in your church.”
The human archer expertly scanned the horizon for any signs of a waiting army, then disappeared from sight. It only took a few minutes for the gates to be opened, which told me that the archer had needed to contact a superior, but the chain of command here was very efficiently run. There was clearly an experienced officer in charge of this garrison. I searched my memory. I couldn’t think of any strategic importance attached to Debyenin, but that might easily have changed since the War of the Scourge.
As soon as the doors were open, two soldiers were sent out to meet me. I could tell they were looking for concealed weapons. I let them; I didn’t have any, and I was in no hurry to confront the prelate. Eventually they escorted me in and shut the gates.
“Thank you,” I said to the highest-ranking soldier present. “Would you be so kind as to direct me towards the church?”
He didn’t seem malicious, but I could see he wasn’t used to seeing an elf in any context but a battle. Maybe he wasn’t used to seeing an elf at all. “That way,” he said, pointing. “My men will escort you there.”
The walk only took about five minute, and we were there. I looked up at the modest but well-constructed church, which was in the same location as Debyenin’s, but clearly not the same building. I surmised it had been destroyed when the city changed hands.
Confident that doing anything to surprise the soldiers’ expectations would be a bad idea, I entered without further delay. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be any service in progress, and the church was all but deserted. Still, every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on me within moments. Someone hurriedly left the room, and shortly thereafter a short man in priestly robes entered through the same passage.
“Hail, brother,” I greeted him, and hoped the title was correct. I was about to continue, but he spoke faster than me.
“Are you here for the other elf?”
That caught me off guard. I hadn’t seen another elf in millennia.
He seemed to see my hesitation. “We haven’t hurt him,” he assured me. “He has been cared for.”
A captured soldier, perhaps? In any case, this explained the ease with which I was let in.
I decided to preempt further misunderstanding. “I did not know there was an elf here,” I told him, “but if there is, I would be glad to see him.”
I knew that, in spite of my own advice, I had just surprised everyone’s expectations of me. That was unavoidable, however, when they leapt to conclusions. And they weren’t likely to throw me out of town because of that.
I also knew that the prelate must have been at least a little surprised, but he didn’t show it. “Very well. However, you should be aware that his condition is…disheartening.”
I followed him down a long corridor illuminated through a beautiful stained-glass window and into a small room where, to my mild astonishment, I did in fact find a young elf comfortably seated on what I suspected was one of a very small number of cushioned chairs in the entire church. I had braced myself for some debilitating injury, but he seemed to be in perfect health.
For an elf, he was exceptionally young; certainly within his first half-century. The humans probably didn’t fully appreciate the significance of that, but they could hardly be blamed for that, with lives as short as theirs. He seemed to be relatively calm, considering that he was among humans and that there was a war going on.
“Hail, sir,” I said, and waited for a response. Receiving none, I added, “I am called Aztice Ethertone. Why are you here?”
He looked at me sourly. “They told me to stay here. Then they left. The archon left too.”
The archon? The archon? They said that the All-Father had become silent, but no one spoke of archons recently. Had there been an archon here of some singular importance?
“We haven’t confined him,” the prelate was protesting to me. “I asked him to wait here when you arrived.”
I realized I was frowning. I corrected the expression.
“When did you come here?” I asked the elf.
“I left after the fighting stopped and then the sky turned black. Things were falling apart, like the ground and the walls. I kept falling down. I couldn’t find anyone.”
I felt my brow furrow. “What did you do?”
“I went inside. They told me to get out, that they were going and others were coming and I should stay with my father. My father died.” I saw a tear in his eye. “Then, everyone went out, and everyone else came in. They chased me away.”
The prelate sighed. “I warned you about his condition.”
I looked up. “How long has he been here?”
“About a week. He just kind of wandered in. Came straight to the church, though I’m not sure why. Nothing he says about what happened is entirely coherent.” He frowned slightly. “He seems to have some training as a healer of the church. I sometimes see him casting spells of healing on people who don’t seem to be there, or don’t seem to be hurt.”
I turned back to the elf. “What is your name?”
“Aradell.”
“Where is your mother?”
There was a long pause, and then Aradell tentatively smiled. “She’s at the church. Can you take me there?”
I looked at the prelate, who was now registering surprise. “Not this church, I swear!” he protested. “There’s not another elf in the city! I have never seen this one before this week!”
Well, it explained why he had come to the church.
I looked back at Aradell. “Do you know which church she’s in?”
He looked confused. “She’s at the church. I want to see her. My sister’s there too.”
I plunged into deep thought. I tried to consider what I could do for Aradell. I knew that I had little in the way of resources and even less knowledge of the world as it was currently.
But I knew what the All-Father would say. I heard the words in my mind, and was startled that I heard them in His voice. Perhaps just old habit; the thoughts certainly seemed to be my own, but I was possessed of incredible confidence that the All-Father would speak them if He were there.
I knelt down, so that my face was on a level with Aradell’s. “I’ll tell you what, Aradell,” I said. “I will do whatever I can to find your mother and your sister, and see you reunited. I swear it in the name of the All-Father.”
After the encounter, I spoke with the prelate as I had originally planned. I received about the same answer as at the previous two cities: peace would be wonderful, good luck, we’ll pray for you. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with the thought of living or working together with elves, but he seemed to be doing the best to put prejudice aside. No offer of direct support, though. I was glad of the prayers, if he remembered to continue them after I left, but it wasn’t what I had hoped.
After acquiring some meager supplies and direction to another town, I prepared to leave. Traveling was difficult and uncertain with the world so disturbed. Some rumors even suggested that huge portions of Aerynth had been totally destroyed. I thought that unlikely, but I had no way of being certain.
After saying farewell to the prelate an thanking him for his hospitality, I turned to leave, but suddenly heard a voice.
“I’m ready to go.”
I turned around and saw Aradell looking at me expectantly. His eyes seemed hopeful for the first time since my arrival.
“My mother and sister are probably waiting for me,” he added.
“Aradell, I…”
The prelate stepped forward solemnly. “It would be best if he went with you,” he said softly. “To be frank, the town does not tolerate him well. He should be with other elves. Besides, there is little I can do for him here.”
I hesitated.
Then, “Spoken with the wisdom of the archons,” I admitted. “Let’s go, Aradell.”
He smiled. I made sure my lute was fastened securely, then turned back to the prelate.
“Grace and peace to you,” I wished him. “Perhaps we shall meet again.”
“May the All-Father shower blessings on you both,” he said.
And He did.
"We should probably lay our plans for our departure."
Aradell looked up at me, then out the elegant window at what has passed for a sunset since the Turning. "Are you going already?" he asked. "I thought you were going to make a speech tomorrow."
I shrugged. "The city authority has used every trick in the book to delay my speaking, and I'm sure they've got something ready if I try to do anything tomorrow."
He arched an eyebrow. "You know a few tricks yourself."
I smiled. "The only 'trick' I know is how to pursue something, quickly and forcefully, to its final conclusion. Yes, I'm sure I could press them into a straight answer and break down the barriers to my message; but quite frankly, I'm worried. If I break down the dam holding back all the pressure I've been putting on them, what am I going to find on the other side? Whatever the faults of the government here, they do indeed represent the opinion of the people. I could have a riot on my hands."
"Yes, I suppose so." Aradell grew quiet. "Aztice, I've been thinking, about the last twenty years, and about the future . . . I'm not sure how to say this . . ."
"You want to stay," I suggested.
The look on his face was priceless. "How did you know?"
"When I started talking about leaving, you asked 'are you going already?' You obviously weren't planning on coming with me."
He shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me."
"We've been together for twenty years," I said, "In the grand scheme, that's not long, but it's a long time to spend with one person. We probably know each other about as well as any two people know each other this side of death."
Aradell seemed to consider this. "Anyway," I continued, "you were saying you had been thinking. A worthy pastime; what of?"
"Well, staying, evidently."
I waited until he continued. "I have really enjoyed your company for the last twenty years, and I'm grateful. You took me with you, away from that human city - I have nothing against the humans, but life without another elf would have been unbearable - and helped me recover from madness. You've been my mentor, taught me history and theology; without you, I would not have a good appreciation for my heritage, nor an intimate knowledge of the All-Father.
"But while I completely support what you're doing, trying to sow the seeds of unity, I don't think I can continue to travel with you. I need to conduct my own investigations of the world, study for myself what is true. It seems to me that we have a great deal of power in this world - enough to sunder the world itself, probably many times over and in many different ways - and that what we truly need is the knowledge to use all this power correctly."
"I think you mean wisdom," I interjected.
"Knowing the right way to use power is a kind of wisdom," he replied.
"Quite so," I agreed. "Continue."
Aradell spent a few moments collecting his thoughts, as he had trained himself to do whenever his train of thought was interrupted. "So, I have decided that I wish to study rather than travel, to try to gather knowledge with which to temper the world's might, and to consider on my own 'how shall we then live.'"
I smiled at the use of my catch phrase. "And how do you think that is?"
Aradell hesitated. "Well . . . I'm not entirely sure I have the same views as you."
"You seem as if you have something particular in mind," I prompted.
"Well, for example," Aradell expanded, "I think it may be justified to do something that might be called 'evil' if it can be used to bring about something good."
"Evil is going about something good in the wrong way," I defined it, "People are always motivated by something with good qualities."
Aradell waved a hand in dismissal. "I know that. But it seems to me that there are occasions where a very great good might be accomplished through a relatively insignificant injustice."
"There might also be other ways to accomplish the same good without injustice, that we can't see," I countered gently. "And furthermore, many times doing something evil may not bring about the good that we hope it will."
"That's why I feel I need to study, and accumulate knowledge," said Aradell, "Any action we take might have negative results if we don't know all the repercussions of that act. Obviously, I would not use questionable means if there are other options available to achieve the same goal."
"We cannot ever know all the repercussions of any action," I pointed out.
"Then we should have maximum knowledge. You're splitting hairs."
"A great many conflicts in the world could be avoided if we made more precise use of language, Aradell. So an imperfect knowledge is still enough to justify the risk of something you know is wrong, if the potential gain is great enough?"
"I believe it can be."
"I see." I shifted to a more comfortable position in my chair. "But how good does it have to be to be enough? People who live their lives according to this logic have a tendency to gradually shift their standards, allowing greater and greater evil for less and less good."
"That shift can be avoided if one has a strong enough will," Aradell protested, somewhat irritated. "And as for how good it has to be, that is what I intend to determine in my studies."
I sighed. "You have certainly given this a lot of thought."
Aradell nodded. "I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise."
"Why not?"
That caught him off guard. He considered for a moment. "Because I feared you would be unhappy with the idea."
"Have I given you any reason to fear that?"
Once again, Aradell thought before speaking. "Only that you have made me welcome, and shown me that you were glad to have me with you," he finally said. Then, "I do not, of course, fault you for this."
"Have you made any specific plans?" I inquired.
"I would like to study magic. They have an excellent library in this city, and the library's master has said I am free to use it. I may even be able to get an apprenticeship from one of the magi here. I have heard of a channeler who is seeking an assistant."
"I see," I replied. "This is also the first elf-controlled city we've visited in some time, which is no doubt also a factor."
Aradell nodded. "I don't think I'd be allowed to stay among another race."
"Well," I concluded, "I see no reason why you should not stay. I spent a good deal of my life in study as well, and I think it's done me a great deal of good."
"I'm sorry to part with you," Aradell repeated, "And you have taught me a good deal already."
"You could never learn as much from one person as you can from a library," I observed. "Don't worry. If I have saved you from the mistakes I made before I began studying, I have no doubt you'll do well."
Aradell smiled. "Thank you, for everything. There's just one other thing . . ."
"Yes?"
"Aztice . . . if you ever find my family . . . will you contact me?"
"Of course, Aradell. I gave my word twenty years ago that I'd see you reunited, and I certainly haven't given up yet."
They embraced. "Pray for me, Aradell, while I'm gone," I requested.
"And you for me. I'll make you proud of me, when we see one another again."
"Don't worry so much about that," I told him, "Make our Father proud."
He smiled again.
"I will."
If for some reason you need to know more about Aztice than is written here, please do not hesitate to contact me.