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Thanks,
Tyler

Twinsoul, Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Lesson

        

Varcor stood at the edge of the cliffs outside Reylyn’s Lair, surveying the lands toward the south, towards Cagar-Tugan. Spring in Faarthusia usually came later than in other parts of the world, due to its elevation and geography, but this year held an early thaw. Silvery streams of melted ice and snow flowed from mountainsides and plateaus down to the valleys, where he could already see green life starting to grow. Soon, the valley farms would spring back to life, and the lands surrounding Reylyn’s mountains would be full of activity and life.

The half-orc brushed his long white hair out of his deep red eyes. The collar of his apprentice robes (attire that Reylyn insisted he wear) came up to cover the very bottom of his pale, gray green face. He was strangely short for an orc, even a half-orc, but anyone who judged him on his stature was in for a surprise. He was a skilled swordsman and fierce fire principle, both talents getting tested every day. Reylyn said that he was born to be a master of fire magic, as he already had the calm temperament that other fire Principles lacked.

He looked to the back of his right hand, eyeing the crimson symbol that people said Faarthus himself had scribed there. According to the priesthood, he was the chosen one, the favored soul that Faarthus had sent to the orcs to aid them. It seemed obvious to Varcor that he would be skilled in fire magic if Faarthus, the god of fire, had chosen him to do his work in this world. It was his fate.

He looked back out over the landscape, and could see the High City of the Orcs as a spot on the horizon. The prince missed his home, but in some ways he was glad that he was not there. His training with Reylyn was no coincidence. She had requested his custody three years ago, when she had witnessed him fight in a sparring match against his Uncle Baangs. He had lost that fight, and had tried to singe Kronta’s eyebrows off. She had determined that any magical training he was getting from the priesthood was not giving him the control he needed to become a savior to his race. This had upset Iksol, his old magic trainer, which had pleased Varcor greatly. His father had agreed that she should take him on as a student, and Varcor liked the idea just because it irritated Iksol. Why his father trusted that one’s advice was beyond his learning.

He shuddered to think where he would be now, under Iksol’s tutelage.

“Flamesoul? Why are you awake so early?” said a still-sleepy voice from behind him. In the cave behind him, he could see the large red dragoness, lumbering out from the depths of her cave.

Varcor smiled. “I am sorry if I woke you.”

She sighed deeply when she came out of the cave and into the sunlight. Her sigh sounded like a windstorm to the half-orc. “It is so warm this morning! Spring is early this year.” She lay down on her belly next to Varcor, half in and half out of the cave.

“Yes,” Varcor said thoughtfully. “I wonder what it means.”

Reylyn sighed again, but this one had an air of tedium to it. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Varcor. It’s just a shift in the seasons. It happens now and again.”

“I believe everything happens for a reason,” Varcor insisted, “even if mortals have no control over it.”

“You read too much, my dear,” Reylyn told him. “You’re starting to sound like a philosopher.”

“I thought I came here to study?” the half-orc replied slyly.

She laughed softly. “Yes, but half the books in my library already? It took me a century and a half to gather that many books!”

“You give me time enough to study,” Varcor said, his voice accusing.

“For very good reason!” she said. “Study and meditation are important to increasing magical control.”

“As is practice,” he hinted.

“Well, winter has a way of taking its toll on me,” Reylyn mumbled, looking slightly embarrassed. “Actually, this season has not been quite as trying on me. I believe we could resume lessons very soon.”

“I’ll give you a chance to stretch first,” Varcor said. “Two weeks of sleep is a long time, even for you.”

“Two weeks?” She said sounding alarmed. “You must be joking!”

Varcor shook his head. “I know that your nature makes you more susceptible to the cold, so I thought it would be best if you got your strength back.”

Reylyn looked at him warmly. “That was very considerate of you, Flamesoul,” she said quietly. “You are growing very quickly. Just two years ago, you were afraid to spend a few days alone without me. Now, you not only take care of yourself when I slumber, but you look after me as well.”

“It’s hardly that impressive,” Varcor muttered, his cheeks glowing hot.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” she said, standing up. “You have come a long way from the spoiled prince with a host of servants.” A moment later, she smiled, saying, “You have passed the first test.”

She stepped further out onto the precipice, and beat her wings a few times. “I am off to find breakfast. See to it that you are ready for lessons when I return.”

Before Varcor could ask her what she meant, she pushed off strong legs and took wing, flying toward her northern hunting grounds. He sighed deeply himself, and went back into the cave, trying to fathom the words of a dragon.

*******

For a long while after that morning, Varcor thought hard on the words Reylyn had spoken to him that morning. He could see that he had changed when he looked back at his years at the castle. But what about that was important to his training here with Reylyn? What were the tests that she mentioned? Before that, she had not spoken a single word about any kind of examination in three years. He had assumed that she was judging his progress as he made it, and she never seemed the kind to have a regimented learning sequence.

In the afternoon, Reylyn led him up to one of the higher cliffs on her mountain, where they usually trained or sparred. Reylyn’s mountain lair was not tallest of nearby mountains, but it offered the best view, especially from the south-facing cliffs. On clear days, Varcor could see the walls of Cagar-Tugan on the southern horizon, and could barely make out the castle that rose above it all. The western horizon held the shores of the Everwater; the ocean that reached further than any one had dared to travel. If he walked all the way to the western edge of the cliff, he could also see Martoth, one of the two ports in Faarthusia. The other, Olimport, was much too distant south to be seen from Reylyn’s lair.

After he took in the view, Varcor turned to Reylyn. “Shall we begin?”

“Not yet,” She answered. “Do you remember where we left off, exactly?”

“Well,” Varcor sighed, “we covered projectile magic, focused rays, constant streams, igniting from a distance, igniting an area, heatless flame, and the last was detonation magic.”

“Did we cover underwater casting?”

“Yes.”

“How about close range techniques?”

“Delivered through both touch and steel.”

Reylyn thought for a moment. “What about sensing auras?”

Varcor shifted his stance nervously. “We tried, but to no avail.”

She nodded. “I remember now. It isn’t surprising; orcs are not the best at sensing auras.”

Varcor grimaced. “I hoped to be the exception.”

“You cannot be good at everything, Flamesoul.” Reylyn smiled suddenly, as though she thought of something. “There is something we haven’t covered, an application you very well may excel at.”

Varcor cocked his head curiously, unsure of what it could be. In his mind, she had covered pretty much every application of fire possible, and all that was left was refinement. At any rate, he hardly thought that an extra technique could help him any, how many different ways to burn things could there be?

“Why don’t we just practice today, like we planned?” Varcor asked, not wanting to voice his opinions out loud.

“If I am right and this is something you’re talented in, you will not want to continue practicing your other magics,” she informed him, stepping over to the cliff side. “Few fire Principles are talented in this area, but you seem perfect for it. Even I am not that skilled in this sort of thing.”

Varcor raised his eyebrows. He was not certain if that was just a fib placed for incentive or an earnest claim. Sometimes she could bend the truth in such a way as to make him more interested in his training. They were less lies than they were half-truths, so he could not claim that she had definitely lied to him, ever. However, the possibility of exceeding a red dragon in any form of fire magic was just too tempting for him to ignore.

Reylyn then took off without explanation, flying around to the eastern side of the mountain. Varcor waited only a few minutes before she returned, carrying a mountain goat in her claws. She set down, but still held the goat off the ground in one paw. The poor beast wriggled and bleated desperately, but it was all to no avail against Reylyn’s powerful grip.

She must have seen his face and felt his unease, because she gave him a wry look. “I promise you, I will not eat him, at least not in front of you.”

“Comforting,” Varcor said, just as wryly. “Is that what you left for; a snack?”

“I don’t plan to eat him,” the dragon smiled. “This is your training partner.”          

“Excuse me?” Varcor asked, unable to hide the dubious tone of his voice. He wondered if it was wise to let her sleep so long, for her brain had surely not woken with her.

“Let me explain before you criticize my sanity,” Reylyn’s smile was starting to give way to laughter. “I want to teach you how to heal.”

Varcor’s thoughts halted completely. He went over her words in his mind, just to be sure that she said what he thought she did. “Healing? With fire magic?”

“Do you not think it possible?” She chided, waggling the goat at him. “Natural flame can be used to seal wounds, purify water, and restore feeling to cold-numbed limbs. Most fire Principles will never realize this possibility, because they are preoccupied with fire magic as a weapon. In fact, it is the best for healing out of the four natural Principles.”

Varcor bowed his head low. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have judged so quickly.”

She nodded back. “I understand how you feel, being in your place long ago. My teacher gave me a similar lecture when I said it couldn’t be done.” She sighed and frowned. “In truth, most fire Principles are not suited to the task of healing. Typically, fires lack focus and mental discipline, and have little ability to control their emotions. It is a great irony that those most able to heal in this world are those who are not patient enough or cannot fathom the possibility.”

The large dragon looked back to him. “But you might do well. You have shown great discipline and patience, and have the perfect temperament. Are you ready?”

“I will try,” he answered.

Reylyn stepped over to him, and lowered the goat to his level. “You need only muster the barest warmth to your hands, and hold them to the wound. Focus your will on that tiny, gentle flame, and let it spread. After some concentration, you will be able direct it. Lead it to where the wound is deepest, and press your thoughts into it, commanding it to heal.  Be careful not to stray in thought or you might burn instead. If you are patient enough, and let the flame do its work, the rest should take care of itself.”

She lifted her other claw, and drew a single talon across the goat’s belly, drawing a line of blood into its white coat, the goat’s bleating became louder and more frightened, but Reylyn held it steady.

Varcor began immediately, doing just as he was told. He placed his hands on the slice, and concentrated. Soon, he had the gentle flame that she spoke of, licking at the bloodstained fur. He fought to gain control over the heat, and soon it moved with his will. He directed it into the long gash, finding its depth. He then forced his thoughts on it commanding the blood to stop flowing.

A sudden rise in temperature and a startled cry from the goat made him hold his thoughts. He could not seem to press his will into the flame without it becoming too hot. He redoubled his efforts, but coaxed it slowly instead of pushing all at once. Still, the same rise in temperature and startled bleat, and he retracted his thoughts. He could not think of what he was doing wrong.

A sudden idea came to him, and he tried again. Instead of focusing so strongly, he closed his eyes and hummed softly. It was a simple song that he had heard long ago as a child, from a minstrel passing through to Martoth. The singer was human but the song was surely elven, for a more beautiful tune he never heard. He often used it to comfort himself, and it gave him a warm feeling inside that he could simply not explain.

A gentle pulse went through his entire body, stemming from his heart. It felt like a heartbeat of flame. He focused this new gentleness from his heart into his hands, spreading it into the wound. He could hardly contain his smile as he felt the wound close, as though of its own accord.

“Well done, Flamesoul,” Reylyn whispered, her smile pleasantly surprised. “I did not get it right until my tenth try, and you succeed on your first attempt.”

“I almost did not,” Varcor said, breathless. The strain caused by the new magic was much more than he expected. “I came close to boiling the poor thing’s blood.”

“You do not understand just how incredible a thing this is, Varcor.” Her eyes spoke of a profoundness the half-orc did not understand. “No matter what I’ve told you about healing with fire, there are only two other fire Principles left with the ability to heal, with you being the third.” Her smile increased greatly. “And all three of us know that song.”

Varcor blushed. “You know it too?”

She nodded. “Of course I do. It’s an old dragon song. My own mother sang it to me when I was very little.”

“A dragon song? I didn’t know dragons could sing.”

Reylyn put the goat down, and it scampered down the cliff. She leveled her eyes with his, her chin nearly on the ground, and a sly grin on her face. “This might be news to you, Flamesoul, but you don’t know everything . . . yet.”

That night, Reylyn sang the whole song to him. He was asleep before she could finish it.

Twinsoul, Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Road

Evandel walked down the cobbled road north, from Vainemar towards Shae’Ildarae. He measured his steps with a tall staff, topped with a crystal, as was the fashion for a sorcerer’s staff. The hand that held the staff, his left hand, bore the traditional bracer and hand wrappings, but his right was unadorned, showing clearly the azure symbol of Taelri on its back. His blue and white traveling clothes were dusty and worn from the road, and his long sorcerer’s cloak brushed the path behind him as he made his way.

Despite his long journey, his light, unusually tall half-elven frame still bespoke a measure of energy in his stride.  His short, messy blonde hair reflected the length of his journey, and his ocean blue eyes reflected a mind distracted by worry.

His boots and staff clacked upon the stones of the path, a sound the half-elf had come to loathe.  He knew the road would eventually become a dirt path, and that was what he was waiting for.  Cobblestones were easier to walk on, but earthen paths had much more character.  Evandel could see footprints in dirt roads, and that gave them a past, a history that told those that walked them to take comfort, for others had come this way as well.  The road’s transition also marked that he was again in Shae’Ildarae, his homeland.  It had been a long four years since he started studying magic at Solreth, the wizard academy, and the newly ordained sorcerer was looking forward to seeing his home, family, and friends again.

Along the way, the half-elf contemplated what he had learned in the human city.  It had been startling indeed when he found that his best friend, Bargo Tramas, was not at the address Bargo had sent to Evandel while he was at Solreth.  It had been strange that Evandel had learned that he had moved from home to go to Vainemar, the capital city of the country of Valora, when he could have studied or trained under any instructors just as good at Fisathvanna, the elven city.

What worried him the most was that he had not heard anything from Deida Laiken or Zaken Ryts, his other close friends.  Deida was the only human girl Evandel’s age living in Tyhal when they were growing up, so she had a harder time than most gaining the respect of her peers. 

Evandel estimated that she earned this when she had defeated the strongest boy in the village at single combat without getting hit once or even drawing blood.  Before that, her only friends had been Evandel, Bargo, and Zaken, who were outcasts themselves.  Half-elves don’t tend to get along well with normal elves for the most part, and Bargo had been bereft of an aura, the inner magic latent in all things, since Evandel had known him. 

Zaken was an orphan, like Evandel, and on top of that, he was born with the tail of a devil, or at least that was what was said about it.  The tail did seem rather fiendish, long and red with a sharp looking, arrowhead shaped tip, but it seemed to Evandel that such a tail could not be found on a nicer person.  He did have an impish sense of humor and an affinity for shadowy magic, but those who knew Zaken truly knew that looks could be deceiving.

It was not due to Evandel’s lack of trying that he lost touch with his friends.  At least once a month for the past four years, the sorcerer had sent letters to his mother, giving her his latest news and asking for Deida and Bargo’s whereabouts.  He and Bargo had kept in touch for about two years, until he had apparently moved to Vainemar.  Then, about a month ago, Evandel received a letter from Bargo saying that he had moved and that he was continuing training at Vainemar.  Evandel had sent him a reply, asking what he was doing, but still no songspirit, the extra-planar message carriers of Kayledon, had come to him with a letter. 

It was less of a mystery as to why he could not contact Zaken; Evandel knew that the young man had left to go treasure hunting.  Despite his considerable intellect and talent for aura manipulation, Zaken had no intention of following Evandel and applying to Solreth.  He had expressed early and often that he wanted to see all of Kayledon, and that he wanted to become an adventurer.  Evandel guessed that when all of his friends seemed to be moving on, Zaken had finally given in to the call of the road.  The half-elf had no way to pin down the wanderer, so he could not correspond with him; even songspirits had their limits.  He lost touch with Zaken not for lack of correspondence, but because correspondence was impossible.  Evandel sincerely believed that he had little chance of ever seeing Zaken again; treasure hunting was a dangerous job, even with Zaken’s considerable talent.  Even if he did survive his work, he had to come home in the first place.

Deida seemed to have simply disappeared from the face of the earth when Evandel left.  His foster mother, with her ability to locate others’ auras, could not get a hold of her.  Evandel worried that she had run off in secret to some distant place, despite the fact that she loved Tyhal and the Elderwoods.  He felt that such an act was against her nature, and there was no evidence to point at that particular outcome.  Still, he had a feeling that there was some secret that she was keeping, something that would drive her to silence for four years.  Her plans when Evandel had left had been to stay in the village, and become part of the militia.  Someone was not telling him the entire truth, and that bothered him.

His staff touched an uneven spot on the road, jarring him from his thoughts.  He cast his eyes down briefly, still keeping his stride.  He smiled softly as his feet stepped onto the dirt path at the end of the cobblestone road.  Down the road, he could see the tree line of the Elderwoods.  In less than a day, he would be home.  Perhaps, by the Festival of Dawn’s Blessing, he would find his answers.

Evandel’s pace relaxed considerably when he began his approach to Tyhal from Fisathvanna.  After a night in the Elven city and a day spent in Vainemar a week ago, Evandel cringed at the thought of being in a city for any longer.  He greatly appreciated the simple, friendlier atmosphere of the Treehome village.  It seemed as though no one outside of Solreth had any patience for a half-elf, even a sorcerer.  At least at Tyhal he had family and people who knew him. 

His mind still lingered on the state of his friends’ whereabouts.  He hoped that he would see them at the festival, but he was quickly realizing that such a dream was a childish one.  If his friends had indeed left home, most likely it would have been for good.  He had already prepared himself for this mentally, and wished his friends well in whatever endeavors they would take on.  Still the thought that he would not see them again was a distracting one.

He was almost distracted enough that he nearly missed the darting shadows in the trees.

Evandel slowed down, readying his staff and concentrating on the surrounding elements.  His magical training allowed him to sense the presence of other auras and their Principle element, whether it was one of the four natural elements: earth, water, fire, or air, or if it was a higher element, light or darkness.  Very few people had light or darkness as their Principle, but some creatures had naturally occurring higher Principles.

He could sense an abundance of earth and water, the usual combination for a fertile forest.  Every now and then he glimpsed an air aura as a bird flew overhead, but there was one concentrated aura of darkness hiding among the trees.  When he used his eyes, he could not see anyone or anything, but his aura sense was certain that a dark aura was among the trees.

While darkness did not necessarily mean good or evil, Evandel decided to take the initiative.  He held his staff in both hands, and the crystal tip began to glow brightly.  His eyes flashed with blue energy, and he concentrated on the water in the air, in the earth, and in the trees.  When he found enough, he started bringing it toward him.  He willed the moisture to gather in the air together in a tight spot, not thick enough for ice, but dense enough to make a strong impact.  In less than a few seconds, a globe of water no bigger than his fist floated in front of him.

“You’re very good at hiding yourself, whoever you are,” Evandel said aloud.  “However, you cannot hide for long from a sorcerer!”  With a wave of his staff he sent the globe streaking through the air toward the dark aura.

His target must have been expecting his move, because it dove behind a tree at the last   moment.  He changed the globe’s trajectory at the last second, blasting it into the side of the tree and splintering the wood.

“Whoa, now,” the dark aura spoke in a male voice Evandel clearly recognized.  “I’m not going to ask how you even saw me, but that’s not a very friendly greeting.”  The man stepped out from behind the tree, dropping its invisibility aura.  Evandel could see him clearly now.  The man had black hair cut short and straight, much like the dark clothes he was wearing.  He was at least a head shorter than Evandel, and his gait spoke of confidence and experience.  His eyes were pale blue with a silvery sheen to them, which had always reminded Evandel of a hazy, winter sky.  His features were sharp, with high cheekbones and pointed nose and chin, giving him a sinister look.  His skin was darker than that of a normal human’s, as though he had spent a great deal of time on the road.

There were two things that gave him away.  The first was his smile.  That disarming, roguish grin was something Evandel remembered very well from his youth.  That smile meant trouble, and at the same time it meant his near future was going to be eventful.

The second thing was the long red tail that swished behind him.

“Is that how you say hello to a friend you haven’t seen in four years?” Zaken asked him, his grin broadening.

“By the Five Stars!” Evandel exclaimed happily.  “I thought you would have left for good!”  He came closer and extended his hand, which was promptly shaken, then drawn closer for a friendly hug.

“You know me better, Ev,” Zaken said.  “Nothing could keep me from coming back to my hole in the wall.  I may be an adventurer now, but I’m not one to forget my roots—or my friends for that matter!  I thought you would have become powerful,” he said, glancing back at   the cracked tree, “but I wasn’t expecting that much.”

“Your power has grown as well,” Evandel said, slightly embarrassed.  “Your concealing magic is almost perfect.  I’ve only seen a Solreth master perform better.”

Zaken exaggerated a bow.  “To be praised by a sorcerer of Solreth for my meager magic is truly an honor.  I consider it no more than a survival skill.  Truly, what you do is real magic.  Not many people can splinter wood with water!”

Evandel smiled sheepishly, now truly embarrassed.  “I don’t suppose you were going to stay for the festival?”

“Honestly, I will stay until I am kicked out,” Zaken said, and his eyes became thoughtful.  “I’ve seen a lot lately, and I need some time to think.”

Evandel eyed him curiously, but the adventurer shook his head.  “Now is not the time for such things.  Come now; let’s walk home together.  There, you’ll tell me of your time in Solreth, and I’ll share a tale or two of my own.”

On the walk back, Evandel had to suppress his urge to barrage his friend with a torrent of questions.  He wanted to know so much about the other lands of Kayledon, but he didn’t want to press Zaken until they were in more comfortable surroundings.  They had all week to catch up with each other, so Evandel contented himself with the notion that he would be able to spend the festival with at least one of his friends.

It then occurred to him to ask Zaken if he had seen anything of Deida or Bargo in his travels.  When he asked, Zaken looked at him curiously.

“What do you mean, where have they been?” Zaken echoed.  “Didn’t you know?”

“Well, Bargo has been in Vainemar, but I heard nothing of Deida since I left,” Evandel answered.

“They’re both at the village,” Zaken said simply.  “You can ask them when we get there.”

Evandel’s eyes went wide in surprise.  “How do you know?”

“I’ve already been back there.  In fact, the only reason I was out today was to escort you from Fisathvanna.”

Now Evandel could not stop himself.  “What have they been doing?  Why don’t they return my songspirits?  Where did Deida go that my mother couldn’t reach her?  By the Five Stars, why didn’t they tell me they would be here?”

Zaken started laughing, and Evandel halted his tirade.  “What’s so funny?”

“You ask like we meant to ignore you,” Zaken said after his laughter subsided.  “We never meant to alarm you, friend.  We’ve all been busy, you not the least of all.”

“I . . . I’m sorry,” Evandel said, feeling like a fool.  “I just didn’t think correspondence would be so erratic with everyone heading off on their own.”

“I’ll let Bargo and Deida plead their cases, but you must know that I travel a lot, and the songspirits need a specific location for delivering messages.”

“You could have sent one to me,” Evandel pointed out.

“The life of an adventurer is a hectic one,” Zaken said, shaking his head.  “When it occurred to me that you might want to know how I’m faring, I was concerned with escaping with my life from grimlock cultists.”

Evandel laughed.  “Well, then, you are forgiven.  If that is a typical page from your stories, I doubt my stories from Solreth are going to impress you.”

“You don’t need stories to impress me, friend,” Zaken assured him, pointing to the battered tree.  “You’ve already done that with your magic!  We’ve been apart four long years, I would like to know what you’ve been up to, no expectations, no professors to impress, just friends sharing tales.”

Evandel smiled, and looked up at the sky through the trees.  He had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of his old friends.