Archmage Miir stood next to Niamh in the chill of Northtemple Cemetery, but barely noticed it. She didn’t pay heed to the mausoleum dusted with unnatural snow or the darkness that was creeping through the clearing. How could she notice anything else but the face of the woman who had lost so much and now was facing down her worst nightmare because of Miir’s own request?
“It can’t be,” Niamh said finally, her breath ghosting in white clouds. “I saw this before. In a dream, before the Kraah attack on the Mageguild.”
“Describe her to me,” Archmage Miir prompted.
Niamh shuddered, as if fighting the urge to crumple to the ground. “It’s gone now. But there was snow, a woman the color of bleached bone, and she was calling me. I hate her. Source, she is pure evil. How did you make her go away?”
Relief washed through Niamh, knees nearly buckling as the danger passed, replaced swiftly by the deeper ache of exhaustion and gratitude.
“She went away because I started cleansing the leyline while you were in your nightmare, trance, whatever it was. There is nothing in the texts about anything like this.” Miir grimaced in distaste, then offered Niamh a vial of restorative potion. She tried to force sympathy into her expression. “I’m sorry I had to ask you to come here. I have just never seen corruption spread this quickly. And Scholar Belden’s notes were quite clear in saying that he intended to draw Kraah power to this place.”
Miir tapped a boot on the ground idly, brow creased with worry. Along the path ahead, green light flickered for one last moment in a line that extended from the leytemple beyond where they both stood. “It’s gone now, but I’m worried there are more out there like this one. And I know for certain of one that is far worse.”
“Worse than this nightmare? What do we do about it?” Niamh asked, the slight hitch in the Valiant’s tone resonating in Miir’s heart.
Miir hated the helplessness in Niamh’s expression. No doubt, she wondered what anyone could do against the Kraah evil that had suddenly awakened in their world. The revelation that Scholar Belden had tampered with the Waystone under the gaze of both the Ivory Order and the Valiant Corps had shaken many to their core. If they could not see these things happening right before their eyes, what even more terrible things were happening in the shadows?
Miir almost envied them their shapeless fears. She saw into the shadows.
“There are indeed far worse,” Miir said. “South of here, close to Porthaven. A town called Duskmere. So what we do is we send word, we study, we work, we find out more about the Kraah cult Belden claims to have been a part of in his notes. Keleth is already dispatching his most trustworthy people to some of the affected sites. You and Jeron need to watch the Mageguild. Constant vigilance, Niamh. At least Sparrow’s work is to nest in Easthaven, it seems. What are your thoughts on Valiant Moya Anders, by the by?”
“Whatever you have planned for her, she is up to the task,” Niamh said without hesitation. “I’ve met no one as brave and true. Maybe not the most discreet,” she added with a dry laugh.
“I don’t need discretion. That’s what I have people like you for. I need a Guardian for a talented mage who served at my side for ten years before taking up leytemple cleansing on his own. Ahndras Frost knows something about fighting corruption.”
The sickly green light that had lined and forked through the clearing like veins filled with poison should not have been visible to the naked eye—not without revealing spells. These leylines were different. Leylines, the energetic network that crisscrossed over Ahra, mapped fastidiously over the centuries by scholars from every nation—carried the essence that powered all of Ahra’s magic. If this corruption spread, Source knew what horrors it would bring.
Archmage Miir was the one to shiver this time. This all had to be connected to the attack on the Easthaven Mageguild and especially to the Kraah, a nightmare come to life. She had a plan, though. Moya was a promising part of it, and Niamh’s faith in the other woman set her mind at ease. A Sacred Guardian, a career soldier, and like Miir’s apprentice Ahndras, touched by the dark Kraah cult, allegedly called the Harbingers. Surely she would not let her distrust of aethermages impede what she must do.
“Archmage, is everything okay?” Niamh prodded, drawing Miir out of her dark thoughts. She blinked at the other woman, mustering a smile.
“Yes, yes. Nothing a good cup of tea won’t fix. Now, I must be on the move, and fast. Go to Jeron and do something light-hearted and enjoyable, something to shake this nastiness off. But stay vigilant. And go straight to the Loremaster if your dreams or visions change. You know how to contact me in great need. I’ll get word to as many leytemple mages and Mageguild head sages as quickly as possible. Be safe, Niamh, and Source go with you.”
“Source go with you, too,” Niamh replied before she padded silently away from the clearing.
Archmage Miir stood for a time in the cemetery’s silence, the now peaceful leytemple a soothing haven rather than the source of horror. Her path was clear. She had to convince Valiant Moya Anders, a woman she had found in their time together to be a devoted and able soldier, to leave her post, her friends and home to face down an evil that had nearly killed her all those years ago.
The woman who, Archmage Miir knew in her very bones, would be the best hope for Ahndras Frost’s—and therefore all Ahra’s—safety. And Source help them all if the plan failed.
Lizzie Sinclaire 