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Chapter 4: Promise
Over the next few
days, Varcor trained his healing magic with Reylyn, exercising his heart
instead of his will. He found that healing did not require the inhibition of
emotion he thought it needed, but a very specific one. Since Varcor had a great
deal of control over his emotions, he could easily find the same feeling he
needed for healing as the one he found in the song. In a short time, the time
he needed to cure a wound was halved, and his power reached deeper, enabling to
mend bones and purify toxins.
However, he
wondered if that was the extent. As he always did when he learned something
new, he found as many books as he could on the subject and studied further. He
was surprised to find that Reylyn had a great collection of books on healing,
even some theories that no one had proved yet. One of them in particular caught
his attention.
After his lesson
one afternoon, he asked Reylyn, “Is it possible to revive the dead?”
Reylyn looked
surprised for a moment, like she had been struck in the face. The look threw
Varcor off balance, and he knew immediately that he should not have asked.
“It is not,” she
said, her voice soft and cracked. “No, you cannot bring the dead back to life.”
“I have read as
much in your books, but there are a number of them that say . . .” He started
to argue, but could see the sad look in the dragoness’ eyes, imploring him to
stop. He drew his words back and cast his gaze apologetically low.
“No, Varcor,”
Reylyn said, her voice still soft. “Only the gods could return the souls of the
dead to their bodies, and they rarely choose to do it. Mortal creatures can
sustain life, even create it, but cannot return it.” Reylyn closed her eyes and
took a deep breath, as though she was trying to steady herself. “Why don’t we
stop here for the day? Take a walk down to the village and get yourself
something for dinner.”
She turned and
walked down the slope that lead back to the cave. Varcor hated himself for asking such a
question, cursed his own curiosity. He realized then why she had those books. He
started to wonder if there were any other dragons in Kayledon.
******
Reylyn lay on a
pile of gold, her favorite place to sleep. Her gaze moved around the room,
trying to concentrate on something other than Varcor’s question. She could not
recall the last time she was so distraught. She knew the boy meant no harm, but
her scars in this matter were deep. It was all she could do to keep herself
from lashing out at him, to punish him for reading her private texts. Like any
other dragon, she was horrible at organization, so there was no real way to
know that those texts were off limits if he found them. She should have burned
those books long ago.
But something
inside her would not let her give up hope.
Movement from
outside the cave brought her to her senses. Something was outside, something that wasn’t
Varcor. It was not that she did not get visitors from the village, just that
this was not the aura of a villager. It felt like a demon.
“Who’s there?” She
cried out hoarsely. “I am not in a good mood, so you best leave while you have
a chance.”
“My,
my, aren't you testy today,” a strangely familiar
voice said in her mind, flooding her thoughts with memories. “What’s the matter, little one? Your pupil
not dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s?”
“Only one immortal
is brazen enough to call me little,” She hummed, a smirk growing on her face. “It
has been too long, Lyxas.”
The nightmare
stepped forward, and bowed before her. “Poerna
sends his regards. I have some news, none of it you will like.”
“Then I must ask
you to leave,” Reylyn said jokingly. “As I said, you’ve come to me at the end
of my temper.”
“A
temper too foul to hear news of the Darkplane?”
Lyxas offered tantalizingly.
She paused a
moment, considering his words. “Has this to do with . . .”
“In
short, he is moving, but we know not why,” he said, and
added narrowing his eyes, “or who
through. You need to be careful.”
“Do you suspect my
charges?” Reylyn growled. She began to stand, but Lyxas shook his fiery mane.
“Not
yet. But,” he started, eyeing her curiously, “do you really still consider the orcs your
responsibility?”
“I do,” she said
tersely. “And they shall be, until I have repented.”
Lyxas looked at
her sadly, an unexpected action from the demon-horse. “You still will not forgive yourself? By the unnamed shadows, child, it
was over a century ago! No one can remember but you and us, and you are the
only one out of six still holding out on mercy.”
She lay back down
on her treasure pile, and softly scratched a crimson claw over the stone floor.
Lyxas shook his head and took his leave, giving her the solitude of her
self-confinement.
******
Varcor returned to
the cave later that night, but he and Reylyn did not speak a word to each
other. He knew his earlier words had disturbed some long past sorrow of hers,
and did not wish to pry further. He felt that it was not his place to ask, not
yet. He was still her student, and owed her a great deal of respect. Still, he
could tell she was aching to say something, to pass this uncomfortable silence.
Varcor decided to
end it himself. He had a question for her that she had left him with the day
she had woken up. Up until now, he had no other reason to ask her. Breaking the
torturous silence seemed reason enough.
He came up close
to her, sitting on a large stone that he had designated as his spot in her
chamber. She seemed to notice him, but hardly moved her head from the floor.
She was looking over with a plaintive expression, as a child might look to a
parent for words of advice.
“Before, after you
had woken up,” he started, his voice wary and low, “you said something to me
about passing one of your tests. What did you mean? In fact, why exactly did
you bring me here in the first place?”
She smiled. It was
a welcome sight to the half-orc, and he nearly sighed in relief.
“I have been
waiting for you to ask that since I spoke of it,” she said warmly, her old
friendly tone returning. “But before we talk about that, there is something
else you need to know. What do you know about art, Varcor?”
“Art?” He was
confused now. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.” The
word was final, leaving no room for debate. “What do you know about it?”
“I have read about
great artists,” he started, “the first orcan artists, musicians, poets . . .”
“But what do you
know of making art?” she asked, her eyes gazing questioningly on him.
“Nothing, really,”
Varcor admitted. “I have had other concerns for a long time. I never really
thought about it.”
“I see.” The
dragoness lifted her large head. “Well, the way most people understand it, art
is an expression that mere words cannot define. The creator puts forth an idea
that they don’t know how to relate in another way.”
Varcor nodded. He
could not possibly see what this had to do with him.
“But I . . .” She
paused, thought furrowing her brow. “Dragons see art a little differently. We,
above all else, know that nothing lasts forever. If there is one thing that
does, it is art. Not just one piece, but all the pieces that come before and
after it. It is continuous and endless as the stars in the sky.
“Artists do more
than just create something from an idea. When an artist creates, they put a
part of themselves into their work; something they hope will tie them to the
eternity of art. They all want this, even if they don’t know it.”
“But what does
this have to do with me?” Varcor asked, impatience edging his voice. This was
all very mysterious to him, and he was not sure he liked where it was going.
She paused here,
and looked long and hard at her student. He could tell she was either trying to
say something difficult, or was trying to decide what to say. Finally, she
closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I was there when you were found, out
in the meteor field,” she said, her voice cracking.
Varcor felt his
heart quicken.
“I was the one who
lifted you from the ground, and wrapped you in a blanket, handing you to your
father. I wanted to help shape your world, but that chance was taken from me. That
was the most I saw of you until three years ago.”
Varcor’s heart
skipped a beat. “Why?” His voice came in a rasp; it was all he could do to get
past the lump in his throat. “Why did my father keep you away?”
“I don’t think
Toras had much to do with it,” She said softly. Varcor could tell that she had
much respect for his father; just in the way she spoke his name. “He knew that
I had much to offer in your upbringing, and had even told me as much. But
someone did not want a dragon to interfere with your life, and I was shut off
from the kingdom. I don’t think any message I sent to your father ever made it
near him.”
Varcor’s heart
filled with emotion. He could not believe what he was hearing. He was curious
as to who would want to leave Reylyn out of his life, but was infuriated by the
injustice of it all. At the same time, he wondered why she did not just take
what she wanted. She was a dragon after all. He might have asked then, but she
continued before he could.
“When I was
finally invited to visit by your father, all I wanted was to see you. When I
did, I was horrified at what you were becoming,” she nearly spat the words, and
Varcor could feel the temperature in the large chamber rising. “You were a
spoiled prince, with a foul temper and a short fuse, and you could not even
look out for yourself. But I could still see a glimmer of hope, a spark of
strength within you that your poor guardian must have tried to foster.”
Varcor knew
immediately what she was talking about. Kronta Baangs had always treated Varcor
like a normal being, not a heavenly gift or royal heir. The combat training he
got from his unrelated uncle was the most fulfilling thing that had happened to
him, before he had met Reylyn. He suddenly wondered about his uncle, and what
he might have been doing.
“That’s why I
brought you here, Flamesoul. I knew I had to help craft you into someone who
can help your people one day, and so did Kronta. He was the one who helped
convince that I tutor you. Your father looked as though the thought had never
occurred to him, as though he had forgotten about me.” She hesitated, and her
breathing sounded very forced. He could see her trying to calm herself.
“I carry with me a
darkness that I cannot be free of,” she said evenly, when she at last spoke
again. “At least, that was how I felt until I saw you. I knew that if I could
teach you, and bring out your potential, I could ease part of this sorrow.”
Her voice was
becoming strained again, as though these words and emotions had been shut away
for a terribly long time. Varcor could not imagine anyone living with something
this harrowing for very long. He felt a new sadness, a sort of pity for his
teacher that made him want to share her pains.
“I have put a part
of myself, part of my race, into you,” She said, looking at him, tears rimming
her orange eyes. “You are a masterpiece, Flamesoul; A powerful, compassionate,
intelligent existence. You have a will that would make the Firelord himself bow
to you. You are a dragon’s art.”
Varcor sat quietly
for a moment, not sure how to process what she was telling him. He had no idea
what these three years had meant to her, but could not begin to imagine how she
felt about him. What was this sadness that seemed to be there, even when she
could hide it so well? If she and her father were so close, how could he not
have known this?
“I am sorry,” she
whispered, brushing her great red paw under her eyes to wipe away the tears. “I
didn’t mean to get so caught up in that. I haven’t answered your first
question.”
“It’s all right,”
he said softly, feeling almost responsible for her sadness.
“The tests,” she
continued, much more calmly, “were objectives I set for myself to teach you. The
first you passed long ago, though I did not notice until our conversation that
morning. It was to see if you could be made to fend for yourself.” She smiled,
in spite of her earlier show of emotion. “I think spending two weeks without my
help qualifies you for passing that one.”
Varcor smiled
back. “It was not so bad.” He realized that his words were proof of how far he
had come. Three years ago he could not have gotten along for two days alone.
“The second test
was to see if you could learn compassion for others. Not just orcs, but all
other creatures. There is no other force like the one that binds creatures
together in emotion. You cannot help anyone if you don’t understand their
feelings.” She gave him a gentle, motherly look. “I see the look on your face
now, and I think it’s pretty obvious to both of us that you pass this one,
too.”
He was happy to
hear her say that. At least she knew he cared for her, even if he could not do
anything more to help her.
She sighed long
and hard. “The third and final test will prove to be difficult, for me and you.
I haven’t yet devised a way that you could prove to me you have passed it.”
As if to answer
her, a sweet and melodious humming filled the room. Varcor looked around, but
could not see where it came from. Suddenly, a tiny, golden form flitted through
the air into the chamber, heading for Reylyn. Varcor watched what appeared to
by a golden, glowing bird perched atop a stone and bowed before the red
dragoness.
“What is that?”
Varcor managed to whisper.
She looked at him
oddly. “You have never seen a songspirit before?” He shook his head, though he
had heard of them, and seen references to them in his readings. “These are the
message carriers of Kayledon, derived from the plane of air.”
“As expected of
the Red Lady,” the little bird said in a singsong, heavenly voice. “Your
knowledge almost surpasses your beauty.”
“Enough flattery,
wind child,” Reylyn prompted. “What news do you have for me?”
“I bear tidings
from the king,” it said. “He wishes that Varcor Voldur be released to him in
one week’s time. Until then, you are to finish any training you may be giving
him, and if you have not already done so, instruct him about the Prophecy of
Unity. Colonel Kronta Baangs will be here to retrieve the prince at the
appointed time. That is all.” With that, the songspirit shimmered and
disappeared.
Varcor swallowed
hard, unsure of how to take this news. He was excited at the prospect of going
home and seeing his father and Kronta again, but on the other hand he was loath
to leave Reylyn so soon. He felt there was so much more he could learn from
her, and did not want to leave her side yet.
He looked to her
for a clue to what she felt about the situation. She gazed thoughtfully at the
ceiling, as though trying to remember something. “Colonel?” She half whispered,
half thought aloud. “Last time we spoke, he was a private.”
“Reylyn,” Varcor
spoke up to get her attention, “what do we do now?”
She turned to him,
her eyes still thoughtful. “We have already spoken on the Prophecy, yes?” she
said patiently.
“Yes,” Varcor
stammered, uncertain of where she was going with this. “You taught me about the
Prophecy as one of our first lessons.”
“Then I believe I
have something more important that you should learn, Flamesoul,” she said
determinedly. “If all goes well, you shall also pass the final test.”
******
Varcor sat at his
reading table, drumming his fingers on the solid oak as he thumbed through a
large tome, poring over pages of lore on the demon horde. He had long grown
tired of his stool, and had dragged an overstuffed chair (Reylyn’s favorite)
over to the table. Beside him on the floor were at least a dozen other books
that had promising titles that he had pulled from various shelves. Strewn about
on the table were several he had already looked through and had either had
inconclusive information or did not cover the particular part of the Demon
Horde war that he was interested in.
He was not happy
when Reylyn had given him the assignment for his final test. When she had told
him that he needed to find out who had started the Demon Horde attack, he
thought she was out of her mind. It had very little to do with the Prophecy as
he knew it, and she could not have picked a more difficult topic to research. Most
of the sources he had uncovered held that it was either an unprecedented raid,
or that there was no official reason for the attack, just demons being demons.
“Nothing happens
without a reason,” Varcor kept telling himself angrily. “No one could be
foolish enough to believe demons could be so careless.” He could scarcely
believe that this was an accepted theory on demons. They might have been
creatures of chaos, but that did not mean they could not plan an attack and
have motives for attempting a war.
He leaned forward
in his seat as he found a passage that intrigued him greatly. The book was a
collection of lore on demons, specifically the demons that had invaded with the
horde. He had hoped that he would find out about the leaders of the horde, but
apparently the otherworldly forces were being directed from the Darkplane, the
demon home plane.
According to the
book, demons were not capable of entering the Prime Material plane without
being summoned or otherwise given passage. They could, however, influence the
actions of mortals through focuses and dreams, convincing them to release the
demon into the world. However, there were few demons that could amass such a
great amount of followers or influence someone powerful enough to bring them
all through that it must have been a demon lord.
Excitedly, Varcor
snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the pile on the table. He jumped up
from his seat and began scanning the titles in the stack beside him. The book
he was looking for was at the bottom of the pile, so he upended his stack to
retrieve it. It was a codex, a collection of names of extra planar beings, and
it included a list of the demon lords known to the sages of the Prime Material
plane. He flipped around to the right page, and paused when he found a name
that intrigued him. All the others he found were mentioned as being banished,
sealed, forgotten, or otherwise incapable of attempting anything on the scale
of the Horde, save one. This one, Varcor had read about.
Sorting through
his disheveled pile, the half-orc picked up the one book he had taken from its
shelf on a whim. He figured that if he could not find what Reylyn asked of him,
he could at least study more on the Prophecy. The book was entirely about
Unity, the band of heroes that had once saved the world from utter destruction.
It was no more than a legend, but any scholar knew that fiction was at least
based on reality. The prophecy itself had stemmed from the actual group known
as Unity, foretold by the very sorcerer who had instituted the school of
Solreth.
The danger that
Unity had been reported to have thwarted was a demon lord. His full name,
written in the primer that he matched it with was Jarexellion. Unless there was
some unheard of demon lord that had amassed power equal to one of the oldest
demon lords in existence without the Material plane noticing, there could be no
other candidate.
Varcor pushed away
all the discarded books away from the table, unearthing his parchment and
quill. He opened his inkbottle, and smiled as he started his report. Reylyn
would be pleased with his work this night.
******
“Done?” Reylyn
said, surprised. “But you only just started last night!”
Varcor shrugged,
his smirk confident. “What can I say? I knew where to look, and your selection
had all the right information.”
Reylyn propped her
chin in one upturned paw as she lay on her treasure pile. “I don’t know . . .
you finished it awfully fast. Are you sure that you want to show this to me
now, Flamesoul? You don’t want to look it over again to make certain your
assessment?”
Varcor smiled. “I
already have. I double checked all my facts and sources, and triple checked all
my spelling.”
Reylyn shook her
head, grinning broadly. “Are you sure you’re an orc, and not an elf in
disguise?” she laughed. “You’d make a better scholar than a prince.”
The half orc
laughed along with her. He could not help but feel happy that he was different
from his kin. While the orcs were nice enough, most of them still had very
little to do with the pursuit of knowledge. He found that while he was studying
with Reylyn, he felt more fulfilled than when he was learning swordplay with
Kronta or being lectured on Faarthus’s teachings by Iksol.
Reylyn transformed
herself to her human state, something Varcor had never quite gotten used to. He
much preferred her natural state to the falsity of her human guise, and he was
not used to being taller than she was. She took the sheaf of parchments from
him, and started reading. It was while she was reading that Varcor realized
something that made his heart freeze. He
had gone to great lengths to find out the demon that instigated the whole
conflict, but he had neglected to mention his findings about demons accessing
the Prime Material plane. In further frigid terror, he realized that the demon
might not have been what she was looking for, that she had intended for him to
find out who had allowed Jarexellion to send his armies out from the Darkplane
in the first place.
Much to his
surprise, she nodded. “That is incredible. I didn’t think you would get it
right on your first try.”
“What?” Varcor
said, confused.
She gave him a
perplexed look. “What is it? You seemed so confident about your work a moment
ago.”
“I . . .” He
started, pausing to think if he should mention his realization. “I was just
thinking that it was incomplete.”
“How?” She said,
waving the papers in front of him. “You detailed your sources, explained your
thoughts clearly, and I could not find a single spelling error.”
“I mean the
information. I did not give any thought to the mortal side of the conflict.”
She cocked an
eyebrow, still seeming just as much a dragon in her human form. “What are you
going on about, dear boy?”
“Demons need
mortal aid before they can enter our world. In my fervor to find the demon
responsible, I did not even think to find out the mortal responsible for . . .”
She paled as he
spoke the words, which startled him. Her expression would have been enough to
keep him from saying more, but he had never seen her go pale before, not even
in her human form.
“How did you find
that out?” She breathed, her voice barely a whisper.
“That was my basis
for guessing Jarexellion. He was the only one powerful enough at the time to do
it.” He scratched his chin. “To even attempt something like that, the sorcerer
responsible would have to have been incredibly talented. Would it be all right
if I looked it up now, and added it to my report?”
She was silent for
a while, and Varcor at first interpreted it as indecision. “It would not be for
my test, just for posterity’s . . .”
He stopped in mid
sentence when she fixed him with a look that would have made Faarthus blanch. Her
eyes almost glowed with anger, and Varcor could feel his soul shrink under the
weight of her ire.
“What does it
matter, Varcor?” She said sternly. “It could have been anyone with magical
training, even a fledgling student like you. Demons have the ability to play on
your worst fears and greatest desires. A demon as powerful as Jarexellion can
enslave the minds of any but the most brilliant of creatures. No, Varcor, there
was no mortal was at fault in the Coming of the Horde.”
Varcor almost
choked on his own emotion, looking away from her. He could not believe that he
had been so brazen as to consider that a mortal would have intentionally
released hell on the world. He did not know what to say to her, no words seemed
to be appropriate for apology. He looked up at her, and saw that the anger had
dissolved into a frustrated sadness. He felt sickened for opening up some old
wound she suffered ages ago, and so soon after he had upset her with his other
questions.
After a long
silence, she handed him back his report. He took it carefully, not knowing what
to expect from her now. She would not look him in the eyes. He did not know
whether that was a good thing.
He wanted to curse
at himself. He wanted to take a dagger to the books in the library. He wanted
to yell at her for giving him the assignment. But there was no one to blame for
his unease, or her sadness.
He did the only
thing he felt was left. He put a hand on her shoulder, and said, “I’m sorry.”
She looked up at
him again, emotion welling up in her eyes. He realized that this might have
been the first time in three years that he actually touched her. By the look
she gave him, not many people gave her such affection.
“It isn’t your
fault, Flamesoul,” she said, smiling and drawing him into a hug. Varcor sighed
in relief as he held her, just happy to see her smile. She pulled back after a
moment, still smiling. “You passed, you know.”
“I did?” he said,
and she nodded.
“Yes. I know for a
fact that no book in my library states that Jarexellion was the cause of the
Horde War. You did better than most scholars, orc or otherwise. This assignment
was to test if you could find the truth out for yourself, and you have done
that spectacularly. Now, on the issue of the sorcerer responsible . . .”
“I don’t want to
know anymore,” Varcor said. “You’re right. I should not have made that
assumption. No matter what happened, no mortal could be held accountable for
that disaster.”
She gave him
another soft smile. “I know. But I think it would be important that you know. But
I don’t want you to find out here. Take your research to Cagar-Tugan. If you don’t
find out by the next time we meet, I may tell you myself.”
Varcor nodded,
understanding more than he let on. He had already guessed that she knew. She
had probably been attached to that person, by the reactions she had given him. If
this had to do with his question about bringing the dead back, he would not be
surprised.
“Oh!” She said
suddenly, and hurried off toward her treasure pile. Varcor watched as she moved
aside a few coins and baubles and came out with a crimson leather gauntlet for
the right hand, its fingers missing, with a large, fiery garnet set into the
back.
“This is your
reward for passing all my tests,” she said, handing it to him reverently.
“It is beautiful,”
he said. He pulled it onto his hand, and it seemed to mold itself to the
contours of his hand.
“It is more than
beautiful,” she said. She returned to her true form, and climbed atop her
treasure bed. “It is a fire magic amplifier. It was said to be worn by a great
hero in times of trouble. You will find that it makes your powers easier to
command and much more effective.”
“I am honored with
this gift,” he said, bowing deep. “I shall wear it with pride.”
She laughed then,
a deep melodious sound that echoed throughout the cave. “You never change,
Flamesoul.”
******
The next five days
seemed to pass for Varcor in the space of a breath. Reylyn had him finish his
healing magic training, but it seemed little more than a distraction after all
he had learned. He and Reylyn conversed openly, they way the did before Varcor
had asked about resurrection. When the conversations were over, he could only
think of how much he would miss those discussions.
Finally, the day
came when Kronta showed up on the cliffs outside Reylyn’s lair. When he
arrived, both Varcor and Reylyn were reading near the entrance of the cave. When he saw Varcor, the big orc beamed. “Why,
look at ye!” he said, making his way over to the cave entrance to give Varcor a
friendly hug. “Ye’ve grown like a tree, ye have! Almost as tall as meself!”
“It is good to see
you, Uncle,” Varcor said, accepting the hug gratefully. “I’ve missed you and
father very much.”
“It has been a
long time, Kronta,” Reylyn said, closing the dragon-sized tome she was reading.
“I trust you had no trouble on the cliffs?”
“Bah!” Kronta
said. “No more trouble than a flight o’ stairs! How have ye been, m’lady?”
“I’m very well,
Colonel,” she said, with emphasis on his new title.
“Ah, it ain’t much
more than a title,” he said gruffly, embarrassed. “In charge o’ me old unit or
the bloody Silver Guards, It’s all the same ta me.” He looked to Varcor. “Are
ye ready, boy?”
“I . . .” Varcor
said, and then hesitated. He looked up to Reylyn, unsure of how to say what he
wanted. For all his study and learning, he did not know how to say goodbye.
Reylyn must have
seen the unease on his face, and guessed what he was trying to say. She shook
her large head when he stammered, and leaned down to whisper, “This isn’t good
bye, Flamesoul. You and I will meet again, I promise.”
He nodded, and
then hugged her muzzle, unable to contain his emotion. “I will see the one
responsible for your sadness punished,” he whispered. “I swear it.”
She looked at him
softly. She smiled again, and nudged him away towards Kronta.
“Thank ye,
m’lady,” the big orc said.
“You are most
welcome, Kronta. Tell the king his son was a joy to teach, more so than he
was.”
“Aye, ye’ve got my
word,” Kronta said. “Let’s be off, boy.”
“I am a boy no
longer, Uncle,” Varcor said, his dark red eyes blazing with an inner fire. “I
am now Flamesoul.”
