Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (50 page)

“
True,” returned Valdieron, a little curious at their sudden fortune, “but I did not see many travelers in the streets who would need such a room as this. Obviously he makes his money on sales in the taproom, so he can afford to give us one of his better rooms.”

“
Well, we had better make sure we don’t mess up on this one. Surely his customers will consist of some people of influence, and who knows where word of our performance might spread. We might be welcomed like this in every town we pass.”

“
Remember, we don’t want to be too conspicuous, Javin. All it would take is for the wrong person to see or hear of us, to put us in great danger. I know little of these Ashar’an, but it stands to reason they have eyes and ears in even the remotest of places.”

“
They can kill me if they want, but not before I have a bath,” groaned Javin, stretching as he undressed and made for the bath, which resided in an alcove off the bedroom. Fresh towels were set on wooden benches, while soaps and other potions were available around the tub.

Of much the same opinion, Valdieron did the same; the warm water driving away most of the aches and pains, though few of the concerns he felt. Through some means Valdieron did not dwell on, the water remained at the same warm temperature. After washing and drying himself, he changed into fresh clothing.

“
I think I’ll check out the quality of the ale here in Zarn,” smiled Javin, pulling on his boots after giving them a thorough wipe clean. “Coming?”

“
No, I think I’ll stay and catch up on some rest. Can you check on Kaz while you’re down there, though? He won’t wander away, but he’ll probably get hungry soon. I’ll have to see Palarmaine about getting something for him to eat.”

“
There are plenty of horses there if he can’t wait,” Javin quipped with a smile as he slipped from the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet before he closed the door behind him.

The first thing Valdieron did was wash his clothing and boots. The bath allowed him to soak his heavily dusted clothing plus scrub them with the sandy soaps present, and he placed them over the benches to drip dry.

His pack he also gave a clean, enabling him to take a quick stock of his belongings. His battered old cookware he gave a scrub, for they had accumulated a fair amount of grime that rainwater or a dip in a stream could not remove. The six texts of Llewellyn’s on the ‘Wind Dancers’ he removed from the weatherproof leather bag he kept them in, checking each in case of a leak, for moisture would be disastrous to the old parchment and ink, but each was in the same condition they had been when he left Thorhus. Another thin tome accompanied them, this one a translation of the ancient Elvin text into the common tongue, for he needed to be able to read the Elvin text in the tomes to get the most from them. His learning came slow, for he had no teacher to show him the proper inflections and tones needed to speak the musical language, but he was able to work his way slowly through the tomes.

Setting aside these tomes, he withdrew the remaining items in the pack. A length of thin but strong rope, his fletching kit with extra bowstring, tinderbox, oil and lantern, plus the small metal box that had originally contained the Dragon’s Tear he wore around his neck along with his purse. His quiver and bow were left with the saddles, under the ever-watchful eye of Kaz.

Returning everything except the tomes, he stretched out on the soft bed and began to work on his study of the Elvin language. He knew parchment and ink would allow him to write down what he learnt, making the task a little easier, so he reminded himself to buy these when he had the opportunity, and instead worked on the pronunciation of the few words he already knew, along with the alphabet.

Sleep overcame him finally, and he found himself suddenly in the darkened plaza of Kel’Valor. With the awareness this brought him, he knew he could return to wakefulness or the normal slumber that brought dreams, but instead chose to remain. His trips to the Combat Plane had been few of late, mainly because of the exhaustive sparring he and Javin had been having. As such, he felt a tugging from the Plane, as if he needed to be there for a reason.

The Dragon who occasionally loomed high over the plaza was not in attendance this visit. Valdieron knew as little about the dragon as he did the Master, and wished he had asked Cazarandaya, the Dragon in the Spider Caverns, what he knew.

He began to cross to the Combat Ambit, its doors now ever  wide to allow him access, but as he crossed the center of the plaza, an impulse caused him to turn to the right, where he saw the dark form of the Master framed against the lit interior of the building called the ‘Hall of Magic’. The appearance of the master startled Valdieron, for lately he had seen little of his mentor.

But now, the Master’s appearance at the Hall of Magic made Valdieron nervous. He had been told in time he would study in the Hall of Magic, just as he had in the Hall of Combat, a revelation that made him afraid yet anxious. He had seen how effective magic could be, and knew the Ashar’an were masters of the Art. Any knowledge and ability he had in the art would be of great use if he ever encountered them again.

With a rueful glance at the Combat Ambit, he saw the doors sliding silently closed, as if to lock him out, and he knew he must turn towards the Hall of Magic.

Without word, the Master turned aside for him to pass under the great arch into the hall. Valdieron began to step past him, but stopped as a faint whispering came to him. He could not determine its origin or even decipher the faint words, but knew they were meant for him. He listened further, but the words did not repeat, and a look to the Master showed he was going to offer nothing, if indeed he had heard.

The Hall of Magic was lit with a bright ambience of indeterminable origin, enabling Valdieron to view the huge room. The ceiling was vaulted, with great rib  like arches leading to a flat circular apex that looked to be some rainbow  hued disc ten feet in diameter. The walls were inset with silver pilasters that held up the roof’s ribs, and the floor was of a circular checkered design of concentric circles that grew gradually larger around a disc identical to the one inset into the roof, except this one had a small pedestal on which rested a circular globe that pulsed with a myriad of colors. From where Valdieron stood at the entry, a similar pedestal and globe was set at each circle, twelve in number, not counting the central globe.

Without being told, Valdieron moved to the first sphere, and found it about the size of a melon. The colors that swirled within looked sharp and clear through the thin glassy surface. The pedestal was waist high, and as he extended his hand, he felt dim warmth as his fingers neared it.

Then he noticed a strange imprint in the globe, barely perceptible, which he realized were hand impressions, situated on either side of the globe. Reaching out, he placed both of his hands in these impressions. He felt a tingling along his fingers and arms, and his eyes felt suddenly weary and blurred, like he had not slept for days. He could feel himself drifting into unconsciousness, all the while aware of his contact with the strange globe.

Like a dream, images came to him, just as they had when he had drunk from the Fountain of Truth, so lifelike they assailed his every senses, yet he was aware he was present in spirit only.

The ‘dream’ was obviously pertaining to the magical arts, as scene after scene showed Kay'taari performing spectacular and sometimes inane feats with magic. Probably meant to show the extent to which magic could be manipulated, it also showed more than anything, magic could be used as a weapon or a means of destruction and carnage.

“
Empathy. Reasoning. Knowledge. Intuition. These are the traits of the practitioner of magic, just as strength, speed, and reflex are to the warrior.” The words were those of the Master, sounding in his mind as they always did, while around him, magicians manipulated the elements to bring rain or create fire, or whip up a tree-shaking tempest.

“
From the beginning of time and creation, magic has existed, though not as you see it here, but in its true form as the lifeblood of the universe, the glue binding everything together.”

“
Then we are beings of magic,” mused Valdieron, flinching reflexively as meteoric balls of fire obliterated a mountain nearby, raining debris down around him.

“
Yes, and as such, are able to manipulate this essence called Magic.”

“
So then, all things are capable of Magic?”

“
Only those who have minds with the ability to process the thoughts necessary to manipulate the essence. This includes many races of creature with the mental ability both inferior and superior than we of the Kay'taari.” Valdieron knew Dragons could wield great magic, as could those of Elvenkind.

Having been told a little about the nature of magic by Astan-Valar and Ka’Varel, Valdieron knew of the anti  life which fed off the magical energy that was magic. “If manipulating the Essence creates the Unlife, why use it?”

“
That is not the case, Valdieron. The Unlife is the antithesis of the Essence itself, so no amount of manipulation will change it. Despite what you have been told, magic does not strengthen the Unlife, but is the only weapon that can be used against it.”

Feeling what he could only call relieved anxiety, Valdieron turned his attention back to the visions flickering around him.

“
Open your mind, Valdieron. Be one with the universe, and you will be one with magic.”

The room dimmed noticeably, though the images continued, lulling Valdieron into a trance  like state, while age  old instruction in the magical arts was passed to him through means both arcane and intricate.

A stranger in a strange land, Javin nevertheless felt somewhat at home in the opulent taproom of the ‘Lady’s Blessing’. The patronage was not large, but built gradually as the afternoon shadows lengthened outside. He started off speaking with the barman they had approached when they entered the Inn earlier, Algrier by name, an aging man whose dark skin glistened with the sheen of perspiration as he worked methodically behind the large marble  topped bar. His features were not soft, but he was pleasant to talk with once he began to open up, sharing jokes and sly comments with those who spoke with him, and he asked little about Javin, for which the Darishi was grateful. Plus, he poured a good tankard of cold ale, which made him immediately likeable.

“
You the entertainment tonight, huh?” he chuckled, sliding across another gleaming silver tankard to replace the one Javin drained without taking breath.

“
As long as I’m sober, yes, though I think I’d rather be part of the audience tonight.” He said this jokingly as a pair of well  dressed young ladies entered through the arched doorway, looking as if they should be important in white lace dresses. Two young men, of similar bearing and age, entered after them, laughing at some private joke. Neither so much as acknowledged the presence of the burly hired hands who flanked the door. Obviously such were beneath them, and unworthy even of note.

“
You’re not wrong there, friend, but I’m thinking you had better be a little careful with your ways. No offence intended, but some of the young hot-heads who come here might take any lingering gaze the wrong way, if you take my meaning, and I’d hate to see any trouble for Mister Palarmaine.”

“
I’ll try to be subtle then,” assured Javin with a chuckle that Algrier mirrored before turning to serve a customer. The Darishi was a little surprised at the friendly warning from the barman, but realized he had his own interests in mind, for any harm done to the Inn’s reputation would affect him also.

A trio of old musicians set up on the narrow stage, in that they placed three stools upon it and sat with an instrument each: a flute, a lute and a cluster of lap top hand drums, each of varying size. They began with some slow, melodious tunes, obviously not wanting to burn themselves out before the majority of the patronage turned up, though Javin was skeptical as to whether or not they would even make it that long.

With darkness well and truly blanketing the city outside, and the taproom filling by the minute, Javin paid for his drinks and rose. Several people around him eyed him and his twin weapons warily, though he merely gave them a smile and nod of the head, letting the puzzled and confused whispers follow him as he wound his way to the stairs beside the stage. Let the patrons wonder for a time, and then he and Valdieron would give them a show they had not seen before.

Turning as he made the stairs for one last look at the growing patrons, four figures entering through the door made him curse and press against the near wall. All wore the red and black stripes of the Bloodguard, but now wore showy white and red capes at the expense of the red beret. The one who led them was the young officer who had accosted them in the street earlier. Cursing again as he realized the possibility of trouble, Javin leapt up the stairs to tell Valdieron the news.

Something tugged at Valdieron as he watched and learned inside Kel’Valor, drawing him from the Dream Plane and images of arcane magic. His mind woke, as if from a trance, and awareness came back to him with the coming of consciousness, but with the fading presence of Kel’Valor he felt a dull force, like the faintest of breezes on a warm day. He concentrated on this force, sensing it was something urgent and he had little time, but his mind, now opened for the magical training of Kel’Valor, grasped at the force. As it did, he realized it was a faint voice, the words indistinct. Like a beacon it drew him, but just as he began to perceive the repetitive words, his eyes opened and he looked up at Javin, who stood shaking him softly.