| Subject: Hold yore horses matey!! Here's the end of Chapter 1....Enjoy |
Author:
Sekin
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Date Posted: 23:54:33 10/19/04 Tue
In reply to:
Windy!
's message, "Ahhh you finish in the wrong places.... I always want to know what is going to happen the suspense kills me until you post again!!!!" on 00:29:25 10/19/04 Tue
The walk up to Iadorn’s room was a short and uneventful one. The Tower was deep in the clutches of night and sleep. The only movement they saw was from several patrols of Guards doing their rounds, but that was usual. A climb up a flight of tight, spiraling stairs and then a walk down a long somber corridor saw them at the top room of the North Spire.
Iadorn shouldered open the solid door and strode inside. The flames of a dying fire roared up suddenly when he entered. Unbuckling his scabbard, he hung it carefully on the back of his chair as Mavahon entered right behind him. She glanced around and then removed her helmet, holding it casually in one hand.
Iadorn’s chambers were spacious, but filled to the bursting with objects and items. The most numerous of these, were the Mage Orbs. The Orbs were used to capture and safely contain demons that were too far gone too be saved but too powerful to destroy. Looking around her, Mavahon noted that there were far too many of those apple-sized spheres scattered around. Far too many for comfort.
Her gaze continued to rove around. Mounted above the fireplace, was a great shell of some gigantic turtle that was twice her height. The shell had been a gift to Iadorn from the crew of a Sea Tribe ship. Propped up in a corner, was a claw of some giant beast and on the windowsill, a plant consisting mainly of red berries and sharp spines, vied for position with a glass sculpture of an owl.
Placed randomly amongst the items and plants, were weapons of all shapes, sizes and types. Mavahon could see a dagger, a rapier, a stray arrow, and even a spear lying on the chairs, on top of book piles and even on the small bed. They gave her a quiet reassurance. Freshly polished and sharpened, they all belonged to Iadorn. Unlike other Mages she had met, Iadorn knew that magic had its limits. It could not save you from everything and where magic failed, cold steel was the next best option.
Crammed into one tight corner was a small bed, fairly plain and simple and likewise squeezed into the middle of the room, was a small, circular table. Mavahon sank down into a wooden chair placed to one side of it, opposite of Iadorn who sat in the other one.
The Mage leaned back in his chair and placed booted feet onto the one patch of table not overwhelmed by parchments and scrolls. He sipped at a flask of water that he had taken from the windowsill and gazed at Mavahon seriously. “Mavahon Scahach,” he said. “You have been lying again.”
Mavahon ran a hand through her hair in quiet thought. “Have I really?”
Iadorn took another drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “You did not almost die because of your own foolishness!” he scolded gently.
“Not this again Iadorn!”
“Should I tell you what really happened? You twist the truth so much that sometimes I think you forget.”
Mavahon glared sulkily at the tabletop.
“I had left the Tower to deal with a demon so powerful that none of my men could capture and transport it. For some strange reason, you followed me and it was a good thing that you did too. The demon was stronger than I remembered and you held it off long enough for me to kill it. Without you, I shudder to think how that battle would have ended…”
She fidgeted, looking uncomfortable.
Finishing off the water, Iadorn frowned. “Why do you not like admitting that fact? True, there was no “Barbarian King” with a terrible spear and purple eyes,” his faint grin returned, “but you did save me.”
“Iadorn…”
“Why don’t you admit it? Be proud of it? Heaven only knows how many more male admirers would then be attracted to you, eh?”
“Iadorn!” Mavahon growled. “Wipe that grin off your face right now! Don’t laugh! Arggh! Stop laughing!”
Letting his mirth die down, Iadorn returned back to full seriousness. “Why not admit it?”
Mavahon sighed. “Iadorn, to all Guards here, especially the younger ones, you are their only pillar of strength…I…”
“I see,” the Mage said dryly, “You think that if they knew the truth, that I almost died, that I’m not invincible, they’d loose their faith and courage?”
“Got it in one,” she chuckled mirthlessly.
“Your concern is touching,” Iadorn said, taking his boots down from the tabletop. “But I don’t think you’re entirely right about the Guards. They all know that I’m only human and no man is immortal or invincible.”
“No, they don’t! The younger ones doubt that you can even bleed!”
“What are you getting at?” Iadorn asked quietly. He rose and took a fresh flask of water from the windowsill. Pulling out the cork with his teeth, he spat it into his hand before drinking deeply.
“There are a lot of dark tales circulating throughout the Tower, Iadorn. Some of them are actually more truth than fiction.” Iadorn grunted in agreement. “The men are not blind. They see you spending hours and hours pent up in a room, battling demons. Hell! They spend days tracking demons for you! They know that more and more spirits are falling to greed.”
“That happens,” the Mage Lord replied. “It’s nothing new.”
“Don’t try to reassure me,” Mavahon said tensely. “I’m no green recruit Iadorn. Never before have I seen so many demons at once…especially so many that you can’t save.” She glanced pointedly at the Mage Orbs.
Iadorn winced as if the water he had just swallowed had turned to something foul in his mouth.
“Don’t deny it,” she said warningly.
Iadorn was silent for a long time, running a hand over the large creases in his slept-in tunic. “You’re right,” he said at length. “You’re absolutely right…there are too many demons.”
“I know. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
He smiled thinly. “Neither do you Mavahon…”
The Guard passed a hand over her eyes. “When I’m not tossing and turning over the demons, I’m pacing about the disturbances in the magic.”
Iadorn raised an eyebrow. “You mean the turbulence?”
“Turbulence! Yes! Magical turbulence! That’s exactly what it is.”
Placing the two empty flasks back n the windowsill, Iadorn strode over to the unmade bed, searching through the clothes tossed there. “It has only been reported twice.”
“Twice, in my opinion, is two times too many.”
“Listen, let’s not worry over half-imagined, un-real phantoms,” he said firmly.
“Un-real?” she exclaimed. “Un-real! Obviously they were real enough for the other Mages to contact you!” Iadorn did not answer right away. Pulling out a crumbled robe from beneath the sheets, he shrugged out of his loose tunic. Mavahon saw the lean, scarred muscles of his back and arms before he slipped the robe on and turned to face her. No one would be able to tell that he was the Mage Lord of Arsgoran now. His hair was extremely tousled, his eyes were bleary and, the robe seemed more suited for a plump merchant than anyone else.
He resumed his seat the table, belting the robe loosely at his waist. “Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“I think,” Iadorn said, rubbing his chin with a finger. “That what the two Mages described as “magical turbulence” is nothing more than their own incompetence.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Pardon me? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Mavahon had to laugh. “So, instead of considering the possibility that we indeed have a serious problem on our hands, you credit these disturbances to incapability of these two people?”
“Correct,” Iadorn said icily, disapproving her sudden chuckles. “Just look at the evidence. Both of these Mages described several things. One was the resistance they felt when trying to form a spell. Turbulence is a good word for it, because it came and went, only rattling them during certain parts of their casting. Secondly, once the spell was formed, they said that it had undesired effects and consequences. You could say that it backfired.”
“I still don’t see your point,” Mavahon remarked, tracing the inscription on her sword hilt with a finger.
“Those are the typical signs of an inexperienced Mage,” he replied, speaking around a yawn. “You wouldn’t know because you have yet to experiment with more difficult spells, but believe me, during my training, I set more things on fire than the designated candle.”
Mavahon grinned.
“So all I’m saying is don’t loose sleep over false alarms. Wait until you have more proof before you pace at night.”
The Guard rose and replaced her helmet on her head. “Sounds like a plan, but you have to follow it too, you know.”
Iadorn nodded. “I will”
Mavahon looked him straight in the eye and spoke with her usual formality. “Thank you for listening to me Lord.”
Iadorn blinked in acknowledgement and said, “Remember to see Radan tomorrow. He stayed awake just to see you and you two barely talked.”
Mavahon looked back at him from the doorway and saluted. With a small grin, she stepped out into the hallway, closed the door behind her, and was gone.
For a long time, Iadorn remained seated and stared at the table as the fire burned progressively lower. The lines on worry and sorrow that marked his face became bitterer and his eyes narrowed as dark thoughts wormed their way inside his head. He sat in their grip, thinking, puzzling, and gnawing at his lower lip in agitation, until the embers finally died. Only when the room’s light faded to pitch black, did Iadorn stir. The mage strode over to his bed and laid down on it, shifting the spear aside to make room. He held his head in his hands, exhaling deeply and rubbing at his eyes. He tried to relax, tried to sleep, but after a good half hour of tossing and turning, he gave up the pretense. With a snort of disgust, Iadorn rose and began to pace.
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