When they were gone, he turned to the other fourumagiin the room, slaves of his since birth, nurtured carefully. Devoid of magic, of course, but utterly, irrevocably his. Standing docilely beside them was a powerfully gifted twenty-year-old novice Mage, one of several Vadim had bred and groomed to be his vessel in the event his plans to incarnate into a Tairen Soul did not come to fruition.
Vadim held out his hands. Hunks of rotting flesh had fallen or burned away, revealing glimpses of the ivory bone beneath. Theumagigathered around him and began wrapping perfumed linen around his putrefying flesh. He observed their efforts with detachment.
He could no longer put off the inevitable. Not even his great will could keep life pumping in this ruined body much longer. The end of this incarnation was upon him.
Word would have already raced through the corridors of the Mage halls. Primages with their eyes on the dark throne of Eld would be plotting to steal his chosen vessel and force him to incarnate into some worthlessumagidevoid of magic so they could plumb his mind for all his vast stores of knowledge and leave him to die in a decaying mortal shell.
But Vadim didn’t intend such an ignominious end to his glorious life.
“It is time,” he said. He reached for the fresh purple velvet robe hisumagihad brought to him. “You, ready the incarnation room. You two, take the vessel to be cleansed and prepared. And you”—he turned to the lastumagi—“you know what to do.”
The fourumagiand the vessel departed. Three of them headed down to the well-guarded, heavily warded incarnation room Vadim Maur had prepared in the bowels of Boura Fell. The fourthumagiset out for the laundry with the High Mage’s soiled robe. When they were out of earshot of Vadim Maur’s chambers, all fourumagiwere stopped, their hoods yanked back to verify their identities. Ten chimes later, the purple-shrouded figure of the High Mage exited the chamber as well, turning down a different tunnel. As Vadim had anticipated, dark figures darted out, clinging to the shadows as they followed.
They waited until their quarry had entered the incarnation chamber to spring. But when they yanked back the purple hood shrouding the High Mage’s face, it was not the rotting visage of Vadim Maur they found, but the face of hisumagiservant.
Deep in the bowels of the earth beneath the forests of Eld, Vadim Maur stepped from the Well of Souls into the door-less chamber he had carved out of solidsel’dorore several weeks ago, when it had become clear to him that his incarnation could no longer be avoided. He tossed the unusedchemarhe’d carried with him on the floor and, with a grunt of disgust, shed the scratchy woolen folds of theumagirobe he’d donned after his first transport through the Well from his chambers to the laundry. There, he’d exchanged places with theumagicarrying his soiled robe, and used a secondchemarto bring himself here, to his true incarnation chamber.
The room was lit only by a dim illumination weave. Fingers of light fell upon the ashen face of the barely conscious man bound to thesel’dortable. Vadim’s most trustedumagistood beside the table, cutting away the remains of the bound man’s once-elegant Celierian garb. He cleansed the man’s body with herbal soap, then anointed it with fragrant oil.
Vadim’s examined his vessel. There wasn’t a single mark on the man’s youthful, well-tended body. His torture—though agonizing enough to drive its victim quite mad—had been achieved completely through the use of Spirit weaves and Azrahn, destroying the mind, but leaving the body—and all its powers—completely intact.
“I expected such great things from you, Nour. Your bloodlines were impeccable, your gifts exceptional. But you didn’t have the wit to use your talents to their best advantage. You’ve been a terrible disappointment to me.” He leaned over the Primage’s limp body and gripped his jaw with one bandaged hand. Bloody drool from his lipless mouth dropped onto Nour’s cheek. “At last, I’ve found the perfect use for you.”
Elvia ~ Navahele
Strangely compelling music woke Ellysetta from sleep, a melody she’d never heard before yet somehow recognized.
She sat up and turned her head to gaze down upon Rain sleeping beside her. He lay tangled in the silken sheets, his limbs shining silver in the dimly lit confines of their bower. Love swelled in her heart, but she was aware of it in an oddly detached way, as if the emotion belonged to someone else.
The music in her mind grew louder, more insistent. She rose from the bed. The sheets slid from her body without a sound. She reached for an Elvish robe draped across the back of a chair and pulled it on as her feet moved soundlessly across the cool wooden floor.
The door to the small bower opened, and she passed through, stepping into the chill enchantment of the autumn night. The air was redolent with the aromas of night-blooming flowers, crisp fall dew, the earthy scents of the forest, and the unmistakable tang of magic.
Her bare feet skimmed down the steps that circled the Sentinel trunk. Around her the world was silent except for the sound of the song. The melody called to her, beckoned her, and she followed it with a strange, detached sense of purpose, a surety devoid of doubt or fear or even curiosity. Some part of her knew exactly where she was going and why.
The song led her through the heart of Navahele, past the moon-silvered stillness of its ponds, across the latticed bridges formed from blossoming vines and woven Sentinel roots. All around her the great trees of Navahele seemed to bend towards her as she passed. She made her way with swift but unhurried steps and passed through the opening in Grandfather Sentinel’s smooth, arching golden trunk to the soaring hollow of Galad Hawksheart’s throne room within.
The throne room was empty, the guards absent from their posts. The door at the back of the throne swung open as she approached, and she descended down the long, circling stair into the deep, glowing blue heart of Grandfather Sentinel.
Galad Hawksheart stood beside the mirror pool, waiting for her.
The notes of the melody that had drawn her here faded, still audible but muted, playing softly in the background, the only sound in the silence until she spoke.
“Is this a dream?” Her voice flowed out like ripples on a pond, each word echoing as if multiple Ellysettas had asked the question.
Lord Galad’s green eyes glowed in the dim chamber, mesmerizing and full of secrets. “The lucid dream of a Seer, Ellysetta Erimea, but it is nothing to fear. You drankeletheaand took your rest in the boughs of a Sentinel. Your Elvish blood awakens.”
“I’m not afraid.” And strangely, she wasn’t. She was utterly at peace—even the Rage of her tairen lay still and silent. “Did you summon me?”
“I did not. If anything, you summoned me. You still have questions in need of answers?”
“Yes.” She had not known the questions were there until he mentioned them, but once he did, they rose like bubbles of air floating to the surface of a pond. With them came the rebirth of emotion. “My Fey parents…” she began.
“—would not want you to sacrifice yourself to save them,” Hawksheart interrupted. “You have considered using your connection to your father to find them.” The Elf leaned forward, his green eyes burning into hers. “You must not do this. The High Mage will be waiting, and all will be lost.”
“You’re telling me there’s nothing I can do to save them?”
“On the contrary, you are the only one who can. But what price will you pay to do so? How many people will you condemn to death to set them free? Because if you rush to their aid now, many will die. Many times many.”
