The Testing (5 page)

Corthain swallowed. “You mentioned only sons. Does Lord Arthain have any daughters?”

The Sword nodded. “Just one. Thalia. An Adept of the Conclave, like her father.” 

“She is?” said Corthain. He was astonished at the relief he felt. Thalia had not perished in the Testing. She had survived. 

“She is. And…just between you and me, she’s something of a…character,” the Sword, grinning behind his helm. “Drives her father wild, she does. Not a bad sort, for an Adept. Though it’s not my place to say so, of course.” 

“Of course,” said Corthain. “That’s all I wished to know. Thank you.”

He turned to go.

“Divine have mercy,” said the Sword, sudden awe in his voice. 

Corthain grimaced.

“You’re…you’re Corthain Kalarien, aren’t you?”

“That he is,” said Luthair. “Shouldn’t you be saluting or something?”

“My lord,” said the stunned Sword. “It…let me just say it is an honor to meet you. We would have all perished at Dark River, if you had not taken command.”

“Many brave men perished at Dark River,” said Corthain. 

“Have you come to claim your inheritance?” said the Sword. “You are Magister Arthain’s heir, now. And…whatever happened in the past, surely the Hammer of Dark River would be welcome among the lords of the city.”

“No,” said Corthain. “I am here on business, nothing more, and I wish to leave in a few days. I would prefer if you mentioned my presence to no one.”

The Sword gaped at him. No way the man would keep quiet after this.

Corthain sighed. “You may mention my presence to my father, if you wish. Whether he wishes to speak to me or not…that is up to him.” 

“Aye, my lord,” said the Sword, banging a fist against his armored chest. 

Corthain nodded, thanked the man, and left.

“That was a mistake,” he muttered as they walked back to the Silver Coin Inn. 

Luthair blinked. “You don’t think your father will have you arrested, do you?”

“No,” said Corthain. He hesitated. “I think.”

Luthair sighed. “Ever the optimist, my lord domn.”

“But he hated me twelve years ago, and I doubt his enmity has wavered in the slightest,” said Corthain. “Once he realizes why I am here, he may forbid Salorin to buy the wines of Moiria simply out of spite.”

“Ah,” said Luthair, scratching at his jaw. "I can relate."

"You can?"

“Well, my father was a drunk.”

Corthain blinked. “Was he?” Luthair never spoke of his family.

“And a mean drunk, too,” said Luthair. “Liked to smack us around when he was in his cups. Well, one day when I was twelve or thirteen, I decided that I’d had enough. So I waited until he passed out, then I tied him to the pigpen fence. Took all his clothes, too, and then I left. Never once looked back.”

“I see,” said Corthain. “You robbed him, too, didn’t you?”

“Of course!” Luthair looked offended. “A man’s got his pride, my lord domn. Besides, it wasn’t as if I would stick around to collect my inheritance, anyway. So I took it with me.” His tone grew thoughtful. “I wonder what happened to him, sometimes. The farm was near Tarrenheim, and the Jurgurs sacked that country good and hard. He’s probably dead, along with all my kin.” He spat on the street. “Not that I ever cared a damn about them, the grasping scoundrels.” 

“So you’re saying I should put my father behind me, is that it?” said Corthain.

“What? No, no,” said Luthair. “I’m saying you should rob the old bastard and leave him tied up to a pigpen.”

Corthain snorted. “I confess, I had never thought of that.”

###

The letter arrived at dawn the next morning.

Corthain had just finished the Forms when a knock came at his door. A messenger wearing the colors of House Kalarien entered, bearing a scroll imprinted with the seal of Magister Arthain.

The note was written in High Imperial, and curt. It requested Corthain’s presence at midday, and offered no other details.

Corthain sighed. He scribbled a brief response, indicating that he would come, and handed the note back to the messenger, who bowed and departed. Corthain stared after him, hand twitching to his sword hilt.

He doubted the meeting with his father would be pleasant. And there was no telling how the old man would react once he learned that Corthain had become a Callian domn. 

The people of Moiria needed this wine trade with Araspan. He hoped he had not just destroyed their chances. 

Chapter 6 - The Testing

The astraljump ended, and Rachaelis found herself in a circular chamber with no doors and no windows. Niches lined the walls, and in each niche stood a mirror. Rachaelis turned in a slow circle, saw herself reflected over and over again.

Did she really look so scrawny and pale?

She completed her circle, and Magister Mauriana stood before her, expression stern. 

“The first trial of the Testing, Initiate,” said Mauriana. “Use the magic of illusion. Disguise yourself as me. Perfectly.” 

That didn’t seem so hard. Or dangerous. 

Rachaelis lifted her hand, blue light flaring around her fingers. She held an image of the Magister in her mind, precise in every detail. Then she released the spell, and the energy crackled around her. She shaped it with her mind, forcing the power into the image she desired. 

When she looked into the mirrors, Mauriana's face stared back at her. The same hair, the same eyes, the same black-trimmed red robe with the black stole. A pity the clothes were only illusionary. It was cold in here. Rachaelis frowned, adjusted her hair, and faced Mauriana.

The older woman walked in a circle around her, examining the illusion. 

“Adequate,” said Mauriana. “You may release the spell.”

Rachaelis did so, and the image of the stately Magister in the mirror vanished, replaced by a pale, shivering young woman. 

“You pass the first trial,” said Mauriana, pointing. One of the mirrors vanished, revealing a stone arch. “You may proceed to the next.” 

Rachaelis nodded and walked to the arch.

Again an astraljump spell took her, and the silver light devoured her.

When it cleared, she found herself in another domed chamber, identical to the first. Instead of mirrors, though, in each of the twelve niches stood a red-robed Magister.

In fact, the same Magister.

Rachaelis turned in a circle. Every last Magister in the niches looked identical, the same gray hair, the same close-cropped beard, the same narrowed eyes. Illusion, then. An image fashioned out of magical power and nothing else. 

“The second trial of the Testing, Initiate,” said each of the identical Magisters, speaking in unison. “I am projecting eleven images of myself. I stand in one of the niches. Determine what is illusion and what is real. Find me.”

Rachaelis bit her lip, thinking. To simply walk up and touch the illusions would do no good; a skilled Adept could fashion illusions capable of fooling all five senses. But an illusion was only a spell like any other. 

She lifted her hand and worked the spell to sense the presence of magical energies. She swept her hand in a circle, her magical senses probing, searching. The illusions in the niche brushed against her senses, and she turned, seeking out the real Magister…

But every Magister in the niche was an illusion.

Rachaelis frowned. All of them were illusionary? Perhaps the Magister had disguised his presence somehow, made his real form register as an illusion to Rachaelis’s spell? But that would take a complicated spell, one even a Magister's skill could not conceal. Or…

A tight smile came over Rachaelis’s face. 

Or it was a simple trick. 

She recast the spell to sense magic, this time widening the focus to include the entire chamber. Again she felt the spells powering the illusionary images in the stone niches. But this time she felt another spell, towards the center of the chamber, one subtler and fainter. 

She walked to the source of the spell, put out her hand, and touched a man's shoulder. An instant later the images in the niches vanished, and the Magister appeared before Rachaelis as he released his spell of invisibility. 

“I found you,” said Rachaelis. 

“Very good,” said the Magister. “Most of the Initiates assume that I am standing in one of the niches. How did you know?” 

“You lied to me. An illusion is only a spell to trick the senses. A lie is an illusion to the mind,” said Rachaelis.

“Yes,” said the old man. He seemed pleased. “You have passed the second trial.” He pointed, and silver flight flickered in one of the niches. “You may proceed to the next.” 

Rachaelis strode into the niche.

Again an astraljump took her.

When the silver light cleared, she stood in a vast stone hall, dimly lit by scattered spelllamps. A low stone dais rose in the center of the room, and upon the dais stood a rough-hewn pillar. There was a metallic smell in the air, something familiar and unpleasant…

Blood.

Rachaelis came to the dais and shivered from something other than the cold. 

Three dogs lay upon the dais, blood pooled around their slashed throats, eyes glittering and lifeless. The blood was still wet, and Rachaelis had the feeling that if she touched the fur, they would still feel warm. 

But why? Why kill the dogs like that?

A silver flash, and Magister Jonas appeared before her, his blocky face solemn.

“The third trial of the Testing, Initiate,” said Jonas. “Often an Adept must defend himself, whether from demons, those pursuing paths of forbidden magic, or from the violence of ignorant men. Our weapon is fire drawn from the astral world itself, fire against which nothing can stand.”

Rachaelis nodded.

“Blue astralfire can destroy material objects,” said Jonas, pointing. “The pillar. Destroy it.”

Rachaelis took a deep breath, drew in her power, and thrust out her palm. A snarling crackle, and a bar of azure flame erupted from her hand. It slammed into the pillar, drilling into its core. There was a thunderclap, and the pillar split in two, collapsing into a pile of shattered fragments. 

Jonas lifted a single eyebrow. 

A wave of dizziness went through Rachaelis. She had hit the thing harder than she wanted.  She had to conserve her strength. The Divine only knew how much longer the Testing might last. 

“Good,” said Jonas. He waved his hand, and a shimmering halo of silver light appeared around him. “The silver astralfire can pierce magical protections and unravel spells.” He beckoned. “Pierce my protections.”

Again Rachaelis summoned the power and gestured. A column of snarling silver flame leapt from her hand and crashed into Jonas’s ward. For a moment the ward shuddered and hissed, power struggling against power. Then the ward collapsed, and Jonas stumbled back a few steps, astonishment on his face. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” said Rachaelis.

Jonas barked out a laugh. “No. But you’re a strong one. My own fault. Talvin warned me.” He looked at her, and the amusement drained from his face. Then he gestured again, and vanished in the silver flash.

Rachaelis blinked. There were three kinds of astralfire, and she had only used the first two. But why had Jonas left? Had she failed somehow?

She looked towards the dais, and saw the dead dogs move.

Her breath seized in her throat. The dogs climbed to their feet in jerky, halting movements, as if manipulated by unseen strings. Blood still dripped from their slashed throats. As one their heads rotated to face her, and she saw a hellish glare in their eyes, as if hot coals burned within their skulls.

Demons. The dogs had been possessed, had risen again as ghouls. 

The dead dogs stalked towards her in eerie silence, still moving with that ghastly jerking motion.

Rachaelis wanted to run, to find someplace to hide, but the stone hall was bare. She heard the dogs’ claws tap against the stone floor as they drew closer, muzzles peeling back from fangs, the stink of blood growing overwhelming…

Wait. The Testing. Three kinds of astralfire, blue, silver, and white. Blue harmed material things. Silver destroyed magical spells. And white harmed immaterial creatures, things from the astral realm.

Like demons.

The ghoul-dogs were almost upon her. Rachaelis screamed, flung out her hand, and loosed the power. A sheet of white flame shot from her fingers in a fan, slamming into the dogs. The ghouls shuddered, limbs flailing, and the red glare in their eyes vanished in a searing white glow. They collapsed the floor as the white astralfire devoured the demons, reducing the ghouls to dead flesh once more.

The fire winked out, and Rachaelis stared at the dogs, breathing hard, watching them for any trace of movement.

Instead she saw a silver flash, and Magister Jonas reappeared. 

“You have passed the third trial,” said Jonas, and an ornate stone archway appeared out of nowhere on the dais. “You may proceed to the next.”

“That was,” said Rachaelis, still looking at the dead dogs. “That was cruel.”

Something flickered in Jonas’s eyes. “You may proceed to the next.”

Rachaelis walked around him and entered the arch, taking care not to step in the puddles of blood.

When the silver light cleared, she felt sand beneath her bare feet, coarse and gritty. She stood in a small arena, similar to those that hosted gladiatorial games in the city. Rows of tiered seats rose over her, stretching away into a colorless black sky. 

Arthain Kalarien stood in the overseer’s box, hand resting on the railing. 

“The fourth trial of the Testing, Initiate,” said Arthain, his voice booming over the sands. “Mastery of astralfire is well and good, but often you will need to defend yourself in situations of life and death, in trials that will wrack your mind and body alike.”

He gestured at iron gates below the railing.

“When those gates open, you will be attacked by twelve gladiators. Eleven are illusionary. One is real. And he has been promised his freedom, should he rend you from your life.” 

Rachaelis blinked. The Magisters wanted her to kill a man?

“Defend yourself!” said Arthain, and the iron gates swung open with a clang.

Men rushed out, wearing the masked helmets and spiked shoulder plates of gladiators. Each carried a short sword and a round shield. And each man looked perfectly identical to the other. 

They sprinted towards her, and there was no time for sensing spells, no time to think. Rachaelis threw out her hands and called forth silver astralfire. Silver flame lashed out in a cone, billowed across the sandy ground, and struck the charging gladiators. All but one vanished as the silver astralfire collapsed the illusion spells. The last gladiator, the real gladiator, charged at Rachaelis, sword drawn back to kill her with one mighty blow.

Rachaelis swung her fist to meet him, blue astralfire seeping between her fingers.

But the gladiator pivoted at the last moment, and lashed out with his shield instead of his sword. Rachaelis’s astralfire blasted away the top half of his shield, but the rest slammed into her torso, sent her stumbling back a half-dozen steps to land hard in the sand. 

The gladiator sprang after her, sword plunging down.

Rachaelis flung herself sideways, and the blade plunged through the space her neck had occupied a heartbeat before, burying itself in the sand. She rolled to one knee, hand coming up. The gladiator wrenched his blade free and lunged at her, sword stabbing for her heart.

But Rachaelis was faster this time. Azure flame blasted from her palm, hammering into the gladiator’s face and chest. She heard him scream as the fire ripped away his helmet and sent him tumbling to the ground. Rachaelis scrambled to her feet, ready for another spell. 

But it was over. The gladiator lay on the ground, smoke rising from the livid burns on his chest and jaw. The smell of burned flesh was horrible. Rachaelis felt her gorge rise. Good thing she had been too nervous to eat for the last few days. 

She looked down at herself and flinched. Bruises covered her hip and side, and blood trickled from scrapes on her belly and breasts. 

A silver flash, and Magister Arthain appeared on the other side of the wounded gladiator. 

“Finish him,” said Arthain.

Rachaelis shook her head. 

“Finish him,” repeated Arthain. “He dared to lift his hand against an Initiate of the Conclave. Such impudence must be punished. Kill him, now.” 

“No,” said Rachaelis. 

Arthain’s lip curled in contempt. “Those who would strike at you must die, Initiate. You are too soft. Those who attack an Adept must perish.”

Rachaelis glared at him. “This man did not attack me of his own will. You told him he would have his freedom if he struck me down. So it seems that you struck at me, and he was only your tool. Does that mean I should strike you down?”

Arthain’s cold green eyes narrowed, and for a moment Rachaelis thought that he would attack her.

“You have passed the fourth trial, Initiate,” said Arthain. “You need only defend yourself, not kill your attacker. Even if slaying your attacker is the path of wisdom.” He gestured, and the ornate stone archway appeared before the iron gates. “You may proceed to the next trial.”

“What about him?” said Rachaelis.

Arthain’s voice was iron. “Proceed, Initiate.”

Rachaelis glared at him for a moment longer, then stalked through the archway. 

When the astraljump ended, she stood in a narrow stone corridor, the walls meeting in an arch twenty feet over her head. Magister Arthain stood fifteen paces away, his cortana ready in his hand. 

“The fifth trial of the Testing, Initiate,” said Arthain, gesturing with the cortana. “You have demonstrated mastery of astralfire.” His lip curled. “If barely. But an Adept must be able to defend himself, as well as to attack.” He lifted the cortana. “Defend yourself from steel. Now.”

He raced at her, blood-colored robes billowing, cortana drawn back for a slash. But Rachaelis had seen the test coming this time. Even as he moved, she cast a spell. A shimmering halo of blue light appeared around her, a ward to guard against material objects. A heartbeat later Arthain’s cortana came crashing down, only to rebound from the ward in a spray of sparks. The old man recovered his balance and swung thrice more. Each time Rachaelis felt the strain upon her will as the blade struck against her spell, but each time she held the defensive ward in place. 

“Well enough,” said Arthain, returning his cortana to its scabbard. “You may release the ward, Initiate.”

Rachaelis did so, and Arthain backed away a dozen steps, flexing his fingers.