Moya leaned on the railings of the Havens Ferry, warm spring air stirring her braids so that the beads woven through clicked against each other. Sailing the Greatsea Bay always relaxed her. The wind snapping in sails, boards and rigging creaking, the occasional burst of leymagical reactions to speed the boat through still waters, and the pleasant hum of conversation made the last two days feel like a holiday.
I need a holiday, especially after the last couple of days. And the nightmares, she thought sourly.
Everything had been awful since Archmage Miir’s surprise visit, but worst of all were her dreams. The memory of them clung to her like an oily film. Cold, dark presences, indistinct evil swirling round and round where she stood guard at a Waystone that glowed with a terrible, sickly green light. The crack in the stone widening, chipped away by steely claws as a death-rot smell choked the air around her…
The claws of a Kraah demon as it pushed its way into Tanahr.
The same dream for the past three nights, and just as terrifying every time. Moya felt sick even after being awake for several hours. She shook her head, peering around at the other travelers.
Merchants, a small group of Sisters of Light healers, people visiting family members—it was a good-natured lot, and their voices were calming. She had to remember it was people like these she’d sworn to protect, both as Guardian and Valiant.
Moya didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself or angry about having to work with an aethermage for the next however-long. Instead, she needed to prepare. She gazed for a while over the quiet sky-blue waters and made up her mind.
She would go into this with an open heart, but always listen to her gut instincts. Moya trusted herself to know if someone was up to no good. Her time as a Valiant had taught her what her years as a Guardian hadn’t. In a couple of hours, she’d be in Porthaven. It was time to get her head on straight.
Moya spent the rest of the voyage meditating on the Source, the sun on her face and fresh air blowing away the cobwebs nightmares and worry had left in her mind. Before she realized it, the ship-bells clanged and a flurry of activity signaled the ferry’s arrival in Porthaven.
Moya shouldered her bags and lined up with the other passengers on the gangway. The orderly dock operations ensured that both foot traffic and cargo moved at a good pace, and that merchants didn’t crowd the walkways. In less than an hour, she’d navigated through domed buildings crafted from rose and gold stone and rainbow-colored pennants snapping in the sea breeze, to the dais outside the city proper.
Since Porthaven did not share Easthaven’s heavy use of portals, access to the single portal system to the trade route town of Duskmere was limited to those who scheduled conveyance months in advance (and could pay the hefty fee), or folks who had Mageguild or militia clearance. Thankfully, Moya had both of the latter.
She readjusted her bags on her shoulders, showed the special writ from Archmage Miir to the portal guard, and stepped onto the dais. In an instant, shimmers of leymagic enveloped her, and when she stepped away, it was into a clearing amidst a clump of evergreen trees.
Duskmere, the small but busy town she’d visited with the Archmage after the Easthaven attack. Moya had loved it here—the hodge-podge of wood and stone buildings tucked into the edge of a pine and fir forest, goldstone cobbles marking main roads, but the rest the dark soil common in the area. The town was picturesque and cozy, a place one might settle down for a quiet, pleasant life.
The last step in her journey was to leave this peaceful town for the dark unknown of a corrupt leytemple. Despite her desire to stay, sampling the food over at The Pig and Pickle didn’t have any place in the line of duty.
“You are Valiant Anders, I assume?” A voice sounded at her side, the high Tan’shi words formal, lightly accented. Moya looked over to see a young woman standing next to her bags, her face expressionless.
“Hello. Can I help you?” Moya answered, finding herself unable to keep the sisterly tone from her voice. Too many years of being around younger siblings, she thought.
“Greetings. I have been told to help you get some shopping done here in town, and to get your bearings. I understand that Mage Frost has gone ahead to Nightstar to get started on his work.”
“Oh, really? That could be helpful, especially since I’m apparently on my own here. So, Mage Frost and Archmage Miir sent you?”
The young woman nodded. “That is correct. I’m Seshka, an apprentice.” She wore a green rough-spun robe that highlighted her rusty red hair, reminding Moya of another young leymage, Rexi Briseas, her friend Jeron’s acolyte. Seshka, though, seemed to lack Rexi’s mischievous nature. The eyes that gazed up at Moya offered no emotion.
“Shall we go, Valiant Anders? I want to make sure you have as much daylight as possible for your journey.”
Moya felt her lips tighten in a frown, but she forced her expression to smooth. Why did her stomach suddenly feel full of bricks, her senses buzzing with misgiving?
“I have no reason to be worried about any of this,” she reassured herself. Everything had gone smoothly on her journey so far, and now she had help getting her bearings before charging into the unknown. And of course Archmage Miir knew what she was doing—she’d said so, ten times over.
“Yes, a good idea, I suppose.”
“May I carry any of your bags?” Seshka asked, standing still and straight.
“Thank you, these here should not be too bad,” Moya said, pointing to the two lightest parcels she’d brought—bags of first aid supplies, and a spare cloak wrapped around her stash of sugar eggs left over from the recent spring festival. “Let’s start with the apothecary, then.”
“As you wish, Valiant Anders. Follow me.” The girl took the bags in her arms and headed toward Duskmere’s mercantile district, watching Moya with the same flat expression. An hour later, the bad feeling nagging at the back of Moya’s mind would not budge. How could it, when it just kept growing, pushing thoughts and worries against her already crowded head? Moya and the solemn acolyte, Seshka, had visited several merchants in the town’s bustling trade quarter, the girl wordlessly gathering Moya’s supplies into an empty travel pack Moya had brought for just this purpose.
“Do you have enough supplies now for your journey to the leytemple?” Seshka asked, glancing for a moment behind her before again focusing on Moya.
“I think so. The sooner I can get to my new mage, the better.”
“I understand. St. Eskala bless and keep you.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Moya said, bringing herself to meet the young woman’s eyes. St. Eskala. The name struck a bell of recognition somewhere in the back of Moya’s memory, but before she could remember, Seshka bowed, then disappeared back into the bustling town center. The air around Moya seemed to brighten, a soft floral-scented breeze soothing her back to the moment. She blinked, her surroundings fading from a fuzzy dreaminess into sharp focus.
Moya should not have been so relieved to see the young woman leave, but there had been something about her. Something empty, Moya thought, then at once chastised herself for thinking such a terrible thing about another person.
Was this something she’d need to tell her new mage about? She would ask Archmage Miir about the girl when they talked next.
Moya sighed and made her way to the town’s northernmost edge and the stable yards. A clump of people milled about, fussing and some of them scowling, agitated. Moya waited in line at the stable master’s hut, examining her map to the leytemple until it was her turn.
“Let me guess, you need a ride out of town?” the woman asked, voice tired.
“Actually, yes,” Moya said.
“You and half of Tanahr.” The stable master sighed, massaging her temples. Even at this early hour, she had smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. “No horses or zalith available, I’m sorry to say. There is one remaining shared caravan for the day, but it won’t arrive until late this afternoon, and even then, there is no guarantee there will be room.”
“Ah. I see.” Moya tried not to look too forlorn, her heart sinking. “May I ask what the hold-up is?”
“A delegation of priests on their way to Templegate before they boat out to the Concord Archive, that’s what. Some big to-do there. And then the pilgrims following them like ducklings… That’s a new one. Never seen the like, the lot all dressed in black and silent.” The woman shuddered, frowning.
“What kind of to-do?” Moya asked, misgiving billowing back like storm clouds.
“I do not know, but it’s slowed travel down to a crawl. All I heard was something about urgent research. Probably related to the mess-up in Easthaven last month. Anyway, there is one more place you can check, if you’re not too fancy for a bit of an adventure,” the woman said with an apologetic smile.
“I don’t think I’ve been fancy in my entire life. What have you got for me?” Moya said.
The woman outlined directions to another merchant outside of the town walls. From there, Moya hoped to get on the road and collect her new leymage. She made the short trek through a gentle expanse of lightly forested land to a cottage and pen on the edge of a large pond fed by a winding stream.
Moya’s heart sank. Of course, it was river stallions. Large, gray, thick-hided beasts with armor-plating on their heads and mouths full of dull, wide teeth, river stallions grazed and fished along the banks of bodies of water or in fens. They were well-suited as mounts or even pulling small carts through wetlands but also incredibly slow. Often ill-tempered and smelly from waddling through bog and mud, river stallions were any sensible person’s last resort for travel. Good thing she was both un-fancy, and apparently not at all sensible.
Moya hired one of the animals, her earlier misgiving transforming into a true stormy mood. By the time she had found the road—barely a cattle trail—between Duskmere and the Nightstar Temple, she was already an hour late to meet Ahndras Frost.
Though he was the one who went ahead without me, she grumbled to herself. If the corruption was already so bad he couldn’t wait for proper introductions, what did that bode for the days ahead?
After an eternity of plodding, swatting at biting gnats, and sweating in the increasing humidity, Moya’s mount lumbered to the edge of a tangled rise of earth, facing the series of small hills plotted on the map Miir had given her.
The river stallion paused, its leathery feet grinding into the boggy ground, its eyes wide. The stone marking the waypoint between Duskmere and the temple should be just over the rise. All leytemples had to be at least two miles from the nearest town, in the event corruption of the leylines caused problems. Moya rose in the saddle to get a better look. Before she realized what was happening, the beast cried out—a terrible, bleating roar—and reared onto its stubby hind legs.
The ground became the sky as she flew, tossed like a rag doll only to land with a whump, breath knocked from her lungs as she and her supplies all landed in the mud. Moya swore loudly enough that a flock of songbirds burst from the canopy above. The ponderous, naturally armor-plated river stallion stamped around the puddle where it had dumped her, its eyes wild.
“What in the world—”
The animal chose that moment to rear up and then stomp in a circle, splattering dirty water everywhere. Moya scrambled to her feet and charged forward, grabbing for the reins that the creature had dragged through the muck. She tugged on the lead, the sodden leather slippery in her muddy hands. “By the Source, I’m running late to meet a very unhappy mage. I’m begging you to cooperate.”
The next bellow sounded so close to Moya’s head that she ducked instinctively, clutching at her ringing ears. The river stallion lurched, tugging the reins from Moya’s hands and sending her sprawling onto her front this time. She lay winded for a moment before she could drag herself mostly upright. By the time she had scraped the mud out of her eyes well enough to see, the beast was already trampling through the fen, thundering back towards town.
“Wait, come back, please!” she yelled out to the heedless river stallion.
Moya stood clumsily, body aching and every part of her soggy. She glanced at the sun. The midday light faded behind a heavy bank of rain clouds. Moya groaned aloud, trying to ignore the mud coating her from head to toe. Her braids, gathered into a tail at her back, were filthy, and her hauberk was so caked with dirt it felt twice as heavy as before.
The river stallion was gone and her gear soaked—a truly inauspicious start to the relationship she was to cultivate with the new leymage. If Frost was like other temple leymages she’d had dealings with, he’d be extremely and loudly displeased at all of this. And who could blame him? Though if he were like the other aether leymage Moya had known…
She shuddered, trying not to think about that awful woman.
Thank the Source I have training in this kind of thing, she thought with grim relief.
From the time she’d been old enough to speak and walk, she learned the ways of a temple guardian in the same tradition her ancestors had been. She had also become intimately familiar with the many quirks of leymages during those years. If she were to believe her mother, her sisters, and many people she’d grown up with, Moya was a natural guardian—patient, strong, competent, and good-humored enough not to let the unpleasant aspects of her charges bother her. There had been only one person who had tested this.
Even now, protecting those who kept magic flowing through the most sacred leytemple of Ahra was a duty Moya took deeply to heart, though she had experienced more than her fair share of unpleasant temple leymages. Unpredictable, officious, and overly fond of hearing their own voices… at least, that is how they had always seemed to her. The last leymage she had worked with before signing up with Captain Hawke’s regiment had been all those things and more. Evil, nightmarish, and a member of a dark cult to boot.
Moya clenched her fists in frustration. Tarrying would not help the matter. The longer she waited, the more upset this aether leymage… this Ahndras Frost would be. She had to travel quickly, salvaging as much of this already-botched first impression as she could for her own sanity if nothing else.
Moya scooped up a few handfuls of puddle-water and tried to neaten herself. Using her ruined tabard as a makeshift washcloth, she mopped away mud from her hair and face. Feeling a little less like an earth-golem, Moya stowed the drenched tabard in a side-pocket of her pack (which the river stallion had been polite enough to dump beside the puddle of water Moya had fallen into) then shouldered the burden with a sigh of resignation.
“Source help me on my way,” Moya said as she cast a quick glance toward the cloud-darkening sky. She set off as quickly as her legs would allow.
Moya trudged for a time, dragging her wrist across her forehead and mop away the sweat. It was far too warm for this time of year, the forest so still and humid—a fact that was in stark contrast to the freezing rain that night in Easthaven. The sun seemed too low for the hour of day, but that couldn’t be right. She paused and looked around her. She was alone deep in the wild woods outside of Duskmere. The too-quiet woods.
It felt like the day just before the attack on the Mageguild.
So many things were not adding up. Seshka had unnerved Moya deeply. The young woman’s lack of spark, her unfocused eyes, how she’d so abruptly wandered off and melded into the crowd like shadow. And now, with the way the river stallion had suddenly spooked, leaving her in the middle of nowhere, the light fading around her. Moya struck out with more urgency than before, marching over twisted roots and uneven terrain towards the way-marker atop its hill, her footfalls shushing over a carpeting of leaf-rot in complete silence.
The silence…
No birds, no wind—no gnats buzzing in her face or shrill swamp hoppers singing from under rotting branches. That was new. She gazed around her, hand on the hilt of her sword. Every nerve in her body was alight with alarm, but for now, all she could do was walk and hope this leymage was not a monster.
—
“I don’t like this,” Ahndras Frost said to Nobody. As if in answer, a trumpet bird’s call echoed through the dense forest canopy above him.
He peered around the clearing, casting out his senses to search for remnants of the dark energy from the previous day. It was well past when he was to have met his new guardian in the square, though he’d left instructions with Willow and the others to send Moya along after him since his work clearly could not wait. He’d cast another revealing spell upon awakening, and what he found disturbed him. The corruption had spread overnight despite his new wards—this time, coming from the marker stone that was the halfway point between Duskmere and the Nightstar temple grounds.
Ahn frowned. The air was dense and humid and, except for that one loudmouthed bird, all was far too silent. Yesterday had been as chilly as late winter, but today was as sticky and hot as any early summer afternoon.
“Is this weather a side effect of corruption? I’ve read that it’s possible but rare,” he addressed Nothing, not bothering to hide his confusion from Nobody. This time, the trumpet bird didn’t reply.
He’d been scouring the clearing for an hour now, casting wards and cleansing spells and sweating beneath robes that would have barely kept him warm a few days ago, but now felt like a thick woolen coat in the unnatural heat. The guardian assigned to him, a Valiant from Easthaven, was nowhere to be seen, though he’d been fervently hoping she would find him here at the waypoint. Not good, since the corruption in the clearing was worryingly stubborn.
Ahn looked up. The sunlight was weakening fast, thick gray clouds piling on the horizon. He closed his eyes and leaned back against a tree, frustrated. The exhaustion he felt after his trek (really, he should not have spent the earlier morning sparring with Talli) and the ominous approaching storm were not helping matters. Why couldn’t he shake off last night’s nightmare?
She is supposed to be dead. She is dead. I should have nothing left to fear, he thought, not daring to say these words aloud even to Nobody and Nothing.
He was supposed to be starting anew, helping all of Ahra, this time with capable help. Archmage Miir had promised him a reliable escort. A good sort of person, and the best at what she did. He barely dared to hope things would go smoothly, but as he waited in this breathless, swampy forest he wasn’t sure how to feel. A great crack of thunder shook him back to his senses. Ahn jogged away from the tree he’d been leaning on, sheltering under an outcropping of rock.
Another crash sounded in front of him, but not from thunder. No, footsteps and moving fast. Ahn edged from his shelter, falling instinctively into guard stance, staff held before him, aether leymagic sparking at his fingertips. Something—someone—staggered into the clearing. When the stranger, a spectacularly muddy woman, saw his weapon, she held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, eyes wide with what looked like fear.
“Ahndras Frost?” the woman asked. She was wet to the skin, breathing hard as if she’d been running a great distance. She wore no tabard, but a sword hung at her waist, and she balanced a longbow and quiver between two large, unwieldy packs on her back as if they weighed nothing.
“Valiant Anders?” Ahn asked.
“That’s me, yes. There’s, ah… there is no need for that,” she said, keeping her distance.
“For what?” he asked, confused.
“That… that aether.” The woman didn’t move closer, but waved an arm in toward him, her lips drawn in a scowl.
“It’s the only magic I have,” he started, then just shrugged, resigned. “You are right, though. No need for it among colleagues. Now that I know the racket in the brush was a colleague and not something wanting to eat me alive.”
“I see. I mean, thank you.” Valiant Anders watched him for a moment, eyes lingering on the weapon he held.
“I informed you that my leymagic was of the aether variety, yes? In my letter? I hope you got my letter from Archmage Miir.” The words spilled from his tongue too fast to stop. Ahn started forward, then halted, afraid of drawing his new guardian’s ire. “I wanted you to know as soon as possible since we would work together for a while,” he added, looking away.
So, it was going to be this again, like always. Mistrust, disgust, fear from one who had sworn to protect him.
“I got your letter, yes,” the woman said, then slumped, looking as weary as Ahn felt. “And of course I’ll guard you with my life, as I have sworn to do for any temple leymage.” She moved a little closer, pushing muddy braids away from her face. “Mage Frost, please accept my apology for my tardiness. My guide took longer than I thought she would, and there was little transport out of town to be found.” The woman’s voice cracked on the words. He could see the conflict on her face, but the apology in her warm brown eyes was sincere.
“Oh, you had a guide? That’s a relief—I felt bad about having to leave without you. And of course, apology accepted, but only on the condition you tell me the story of how you came to be in such a state.”
“You mean covered in filth, sweaty, disheveled, and so on?” Her expression relaxed, just a little.
“Yes, and so on. Please call me Ahn. Mage Frost sounds a bit menacing.”
“Oh, well. Thank you, Ahn.” The woman opened and closed her mouth, looking again taken aback. “I’m Moya. Anyway, it’s a long story, but the short version is that my ride from Duskmere did not go as planned.”
“That sounds unfortunate and exciting. I would be less concerned about all this if not for the lovely day we are having.” Ahn gestured to the sky. “Though, it might not be a terrible thing if you were to be rained on, so there’s that.”
“Point taken.”
Ahn watched the woman wince in embarrassment. She looked like she’d come off the worst in a fight—one cheek was a darker brown than the other from a spectacular bruise, and a scratch zigzagged across her nose.
“Truly, no offense intended,” he added.
“You should be the offended one, I’d say,” Moya huffed in frustration. “I was to meet you to get our gear to the leytemple, easy-peasy. Turns out, the particular river stallion I ended up with did not care for its cart or its tack. Or me. The blasted thing dragged me through a bog before upturning the whole rig and bolting.”
“That would explain things,” Ahn ventured carefully. No wonder she looked miserable.
“I have ridden half-wild mustangs known for their rotten tempers and kept my seat—but this creature, it was something else. I’d have gone back into town, but I was already—” She paused, gazing around her. “You know, the more I think about it, the surer I am that something around here spooked it.”
“That is not surprising but upsetting. I’m afraid I’ve got some unwelcome news. This entire area is more corrupt than I’d even imagined possible. Right here, around the waypoint, a whole mess of it.” He swiped away sweat that was threatening to drip into his eyes, realizing that he was exhausted and terribly thirsty. He had pushed too hard in casting the protective wards.
“Source, you look unwell, and that says something coming from me right now,” Moya blurted out, looking horrified at her own frank observation. “Are you ill?”
“I did not think I was so frightening to behold,” Ahn muttered dryly but found he was having a challenging time shaping the words. He noticed that the air was even quieter than before, that Moya had the most remarkably rich brown eyes framed in thick lashes—that she was wobbling—
No, I’m the one wobbling.
Ahn registered an arm at his back, the scents of earth and flowers and a hint of pond water. “Valiant…Anders…” He lurched forward, face-planting into Moya’s neck.
His guardian’s first act of protection was to steer him with some difficulty towards the outcropping where he’d taken shelter moments before. She was strong, but he was taller and broader. Ahn laughed absently as Moya helped him plop awkwardly onto a cloak she pulled from her pack. “Putting this here so you don’t have time to win the Muddiest of All Tanahr prize—I claim full rights to that one. Do you need food? Water? What can I do?” Moya knelt beside him, studying Ahn with frank intensity.
Ahn tried to ignore the sudden heat that bled over his cheeks. He rarely felt so seen or so vulnerable around others. Moya watched him, mouth curved in a slight frown.
“I need a restorative potion, please.” Ahn pointed towards the travel pack he’d left on the ground a little way off. “I have been setting warding spells steadily for the last hour. I didn’t realize how much leymagic I’d used.”
Moya’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, then she rushed to grab his supplies. She returned looking already more energized than Ahn would have believed possible for a woman who had just run through a forest after being thrown into the mud and nearly trampled by a rampaging river stallion. That was why she was the guardian, the Valiant—steady nerves, resilience. Ahn was no weakling, but he was not a career soldier, either—he’d not even thought to pause for refreshment and restoration while casting his protection spells.
The surrounding forest had felt so dark, and his mission urgent.
“Thank you.” Ahn shivered away his misgiving and dug into the side compartment of his satchel. He uncorked a bottle of his best fix-all draught—one that would soothe minor wounds but also, for a leymage, rebalance the energies that allowed him to tap into the leylines that powered his spells.
Ahn took a sip and then paused, remembering Moya’s cut cheek and bruised face. She might look unfazed, but who knew what hurts he couldn’t see, and even the energetic soldier would feel such things later.
“Here. It will help you, too,” Ahn said and offered Moya the flask.
Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no, uh, aether weirdness in this, is there?” She clamped her mouth shut in embarrassment.
“No weirdness of any kind, aether or otherwise. I promise,” he added, trying to keep the jab he felt at her mistrust out of his words.
“I’m sorry. It’s a habit with good reason.” She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze.
“I realize we’ve just met, but I can assure you I’m not like that other aether leymage, whoever they were, who clearly hurt you. I’m not anyone but me, and as far as I’m aware, I and me have spent a lifetime being quite careful with who we are.”
“Well. If you and you say this is fine, I guess it’s fine,” Moya said, and reached for the potion. “Promise this won’t turn me into a salamander?”
“I promise you it will not turn you into a salamander.” Ahn said, thankful for the lighter turn in conversation.
“Relieved to hear it,” Moya said, then took a careful sip.
“I can’t promise it won’t turn you into a river stallion,” Ahn added.
Moya spluttered, something between a laugh and a cough. Ahn grinned, then drank more of the potion after Moya handed it back to him with a jokingly muttered curse.
“Mages,” she said, shaking her head.
“We are terrible,” Ahn nodded sagely and set the flask aside, waiting for its contents to strengthen him, misgiving growing like a weed garden in the back of his mind.
Lizzie Sinclaire 