3 comments/ 4579 views/ 14 favorites With Good Intent By: Guinahart Dear readers, there's more story than steam in this one. But if you enjoy magic and adventure, then I hope you'll like it! I welcome comments and emails, and thank you for reading! -Guinevere A. Hart * * * * * Céde woke with her dream still in her head. She recalled being nestled in the roots of a majestic and magical tree that sang and spoke to her. She lay awake in the grey light of pre-dawn and tried to remember what the tree had said. Though the matronly voice still echoed from the fading vision, the words and their meaning were already gone. Céde felt it was more than just a normal dream, for it had left an impression on her spirit and given her great inspiration for a new work. By trade, Céde was a jewel crafter, and in her mind's eye, she could see herself creating a beautiful pendant. It would honor not only the tree from her dream, but perhaps even the world Goddess, Velith, herself. She sat up and stretched as her plan for the morning formed. The first step was to sketch. She was going to have to find a tree, but no ordinary tree would do. Céde's heart began to beat a bit faster as she thought of a lone foray into the woods outside of town. Her father would never permit such an adventure, of course. She preferred not to have to lie, but she was not above sneaking. Céde was determined to be out the door before she had to answer any questions. The house was still quiet. A glance at the faintly glowing runes of the Aether clock on the wall confirmed that it was still early. She leapt from her bed, dressed in a hurry, and quickly tamed her wild tresses into a braid. Pausing for just a moment as her gaze fell on the history books on her desk, she remembered the report on ylf'nim politics that she was supposed to write for her father. He acted as though it was something important for her to learn, but something so dull could not possibly be that important. Céde could think of at least a hundred better things to do, so the thought of her studies was shoved aside for her current passion. She threw the coverlet up over the mattress, not exactly 'made', but the bed looked good enough to her. She did take the time to kick her pile of laundry into a slightly neater pile though. There was no time to be fussy, for she wanted to be about her art while her inspiration was fresh. A quick dig through the stack of books beside her bed, and she found what she was looking for. She grabbed her sketchbook and tucked a few pencils into the pouch at her waist. Just behind the door, Céde listened intently for the sounds of her father or Uncle Varrin. It sounded like someone was in the kitchen, but if she was fast, she could get out the front door before she had to answer questions. She snuck out of her room and down the stairs. She winced as she hit a creaking step and stopped to listen again, but there were no other sounds but hers. She smiled, for she just knew she was going to make it. * * * * * Shade Varrin stood in the morning shadows beneath the stairs and watched as Mercédeon Aarondale, with her sketchbook under her arm, headed for the front door. His mouth quirked up, for it seemed she thought she was being sneaky with her early rising and quiet footfalls. She had her long, black curls tied back in a loose braid that was already coming unbound around her face. She wore a tight-fitting bodice, and Varrin did not like that anymore than her father would. It was the style among the human women of Silver Crossing to display a certain amount of cleavage. Céde was twenty years old. Among the myn'nim, it was old enough to do as she pleased. But if they had raised her at home in Ardyth'tol among their ylf'nim kin, she would still be considered adolescent. Gavriel Aarondale had been exiled from Ardyth'tol shortly after his daughter's birth and his wife's death. He and Varrin had raised Céde in a human town, and they could not fault her for being like them. She got as far as her hand on the latch before her father caught her arm and stopped her. Gavriel stared long into her violet eyes, so much like her mother's. "Céde, where are you going? I have asked you not to leave the house without telling me." Céde rolled her eyes and smiled. "I'm not 'leaving', Papa. I'm just going to find the right tree." He shook his head, confused. "What tree?" She sighed. "The one that's going to be a pendant, of course!" Varrin read the defeat in Gavriel's eyes as he relented, too easily, to whatever mission she was on that morning. "Don't go too far. There are plenty of trees right here in town, so you stay within the town proper." When Céde was passionate about something, she never listened. Varrin knew she was not hearing her father. Gavriel knew it too, for his gaze and his voice darkened. "Promise me, Mercédeon." Using her full name, he might make her listen, but Varrin doubted it. He watched her lower her eyes and shift her weight between her feet. Finally, she said, "I promise." Varrin knew she was only feeding her father the line he wanted to hear, but she was Gavriel's flesh and blood. When they were younger men, his pale-elf friend could not be tied down, always choosing his own way, for good or ill. Add her mother Lelliahn's passion and willfulness, and it made for a difficult combination. There was no chance that girl would stay close to town. Gavriel nodded, released her arm, and Céde was out the door in an instant. Her father leaned against the frame and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes snapped open, and he fixed his gaze on him. "Varrin, go. But stay out of her sight." Varrin stepped into the light from the window and gave a quick nod. Even after twenty-five years, Gavriel's grey eyes were still pained when they looked at Varrin's ruined face. He had once been a handsome dark-elf, but after spending an agonizing week of torture at the hands of their enemies, his visage had become fearsome. Gavriel and Lelliahn had saved him from the demons, and they did their best to put his flesh back together. A fine job they did, with Gavriel's skills as a physic and Lelliahn's as a mage, but Varrin was left scarred inside as well as out. He knew his appearance made others uncomfortable, but there was nothing for it. Varrin nodded once to his employer and friend. He pulled his mottled, witch-made cloak about his shoulders and lifted the hood over his head, shading his face. With only a thought, he activated the magic in the cloak and seemed to disappear. The only sign of his passing was a heat like shimmer where he moved. Silently, Varrin slipped out the back door and up to the rooftops where he could see without being seen. He thought he knew where she would go. Though there were plenty of trees in town, she would not find what she was looking for until she reached the forest west of town. All of the buildings and even the roads were marked with warding runes to hold back Velith's insistent wild nature. Though their Goddess was not particularly destructive, she had a tendency to inadvertently wreck mortal endeavors toward civilization. Without the runes maintained, Velith's flora and fauna would overrun the towns and villages with her abundant life. Varrin figured Céde was headed for just such abundance. Once she was outside the house, she did not seem to be in any particular hurry. She hummed to herself as she walked down the main street, smiling and exchanging "good mornings" with other early risers. She paused at the bakery to see her friend Adelle. As he listened to the two girls cluck and giggle, Varrin sneered. The human girl was nice enough, but Varrin thought her overly bubbly and silly. In his opinion, the girl had nothing but air between her stumpy round ears, and he felt his Céde was better than that. When she left the bakery she had a breakfast roll with her, and Varrin's own stomach rumbled with envy. He was not surprised when she stopped at the bookseller's. Mr. Wendel was just opening the door to his small shop when Céde bid him good morning and asked him if she could have an early peek at his wares. The old man laughed and let her inside. Varrin sighed and sat down to lean against the chimney stack. He hated taking Mercédeon to the book shop, and loathed it even more to have to spy on her while she shopped. Unlike other fathers, or uncles he supposed, taking Céde for clothes, shoes, and hair ribbons was quick and painless, for she just did not seem to care. But if it was books she wanted, he might as well write off the rest of his day. If Mr. Wendel had anything new at all, she would be in there for hours. He could go back to the bakery, get something to eat, maybe even get in a good nap before Céde left the shop. He pulled the edge of his hood over his face and closed his eyes, keeping an ear open for when she left. Finally, he heard the door shut and he peered over the side to see that Céde was on the move again. He gave a satisfied grunt; she had not been as long as he had expected. As he had supposed, Céde kept to the main street heading for the woods, but then she veered off course and turned down a side street. Varrin knew the myn'nim town like a map of his own skin. It looked like Céde was going to be making a stop at the forge. She had been friends with the blacksmith's boy for years, but he did not particularly care for the turn their friendship seemed to be taking. He followed her and climbed up onto the roof of the blacksmith's shop. There, he laid himself flat and pressed his ear to the tiles. He listened as the working of the bellows stopped, then the half-orc journeyman spoke. "Mornin', Miss Aarondale." "Good morning, Jorak. And it's Céde." "Mm-hm. Might early to be up and about on your day off, ain't it?" "I'm designing a new pendant, and I need to find the perfect tree." There was a long pause, then Jorak said, "There's some real fine trees in the park down by the river, Miss." Varrin could hear the smile in her voice as Céde replied, "Those are too small. I'm going into the woods to find an older tree, one that has a... well, a presence." "You ought not go in them woods by yourself, Miss. There's good trees in the park, and you can just use your imagination to make them bigger." Varrin nodded, silently agreeing with the orc-blood. Another pause, then Céde said, "You could offer to go with me, Jorak." It sounded to Varrin like there was an awful lot of flirt in that statement, and he did not like that at all. He was somewhat impressed when Jorak answered. "For one, I have work. And another, it ain't right for us to go into the woods alone together. People might think wrong things, get to saying things that aren't true." "Jorak, we've been good friends these last seven years. Does it really matter what people say?" "Maybe not. But you matter, Miss. I won't see any kind of harm done to you. Now, I sure do wish you'd reconsider and take your drawing book down to the park." From his spot on the roof, Varrin actually heard Céde sigh in a loud huff. "I'll think about it. Sometimes, you sound just like Papa, Jorak." "Well, I reckon he tells you what's what because he loves you." Varrin saw Céde leave, then Jorak took a few steps after her. "Miss Aarond-..." He was cut off by a shout from Master Agnar Sindri. "Jorak! Get on that fire, boy!" Then more quietly, the blacksmith said, "And put your eyes back in your head. I told you a hundred times, elf blood and orc blood don't mix!" Jorak watched Céde a moment more. Then he went back to his work, and Varrin moved on to the next roof. Late in the morning and far from town, Céde found her tree. The massive and ancient oak had gnarled roots that twisted and spread along the forest floor, while its reaching branches seemed to cradle the sky. Varrin watched from behind some boulders on a nearby hill as Céde circled the trunk, running her hands over the rough bark. She settled in and spent hours sketching its branches and leaves. As she worked, she sang to herself, not knowing or caring that her voice carried through the woods and over the rocky hills. Passion in her work sent her volume high, but she believed she was alone, free to pour out her soul in art and song. She did not know that Varrin crouched among the rocks; that his tension was on high alert against whatever else may be listening to Céde's song. Varrin watched the girl from the rocks on the hill and thought of his life. He thought of Céde and Gavriel, of the events that had led this tiny, broken family of ylf'nim to live among the myn'nim. Twenty years ago, a mysterious plague struck the kingdom of Ardyth'tol. Among its victims were the king, the queen, and Gavriel's pregnant wife, the princess Lelliahn. Then the plague ended as mysteriously as it had begun. The only royal blood left in the wake of the sickness was Prince Reilln and the premature infant, Mercédeon. In spite of the fact that Reilln had the mind of a small child, the Council majority voted that the prince should take his father's place on the throne. Gavriel and a few other councilmen suspected corruption at several levels. When they raised their opposition, they were exiled from their homeland. Varrin contemplated whether they would ever be able to return, when a new sound pulled him from his thoughts. The hairs on his neck stood on end as he heard a slight rustling in the grass behind him. A band of kobolds came slinking through the grass and up over the rocks. Most of them wore crude cloth or leather armor, and they all carried rusted daggers and nets. A kobold alone was nothing but a minor nuisance. However, the creatures acted in large numbers, and together they presented a greater challenge. He took only four of them with his bow before a pair got through and grabbed onto him. With two of the little scaly things clinging to his legs, he lost some maneuverability. They tried to work their blades through his leathers, but their metal was dull. Varrin dropped his bow and pulled a long dagger from his belt. He stabbed at the serpent-like heads that tried to chew through his pants. As those two fell, more kobolds piled on top of him. Frustrated, he watched as several of the creatures poured over the hill towards the girl he was supposed to protect. He drew his second blade, stabbing, kicking, and throwing the kobolds off himself. Though it had been only seconds, it seemed an age before he finally turned from the pile of dead beasts to go after the ones that had slipped past him. He hoped that he could catch them before they caught Céde, or that she would at least be faster than they were. Then he saw a few of the kobolds running back towards him, their eyes wide with what looked like fear. His blades already mucked with gore, he swung them again, lobbing off two more scaly heads. He wondered what could have possibly frightened the kobolds. Certainly, they would not be fleeing from a young girl like Céde. Something made them run, and the hill on which Varrin stood was now eerily silent. Quickly, he moved over the rocks, hoping to find Céde unharmed. Looking down at the path, he saw her sketchbook, but the girl was gone. He found a kobold with its chest blown open and still smoldering. Pale green tendrils of vines had already begun to sprout and entwine the body. It seemed the Goddess was rather quick to inter the bodies in her own way. He briefly examined a newly formed pit with several broken kobold bodies at its bottom. They too, were being covered in green and pulled deeper into the soil. As fat drops of rain began to spatter, he imagined that he could feel the presence of the Goddess, then wondered if it was his imagination at all. Under his breath he muttered, "Mother of All," but he was not sure if it was a curse or a prayer. Something in the atmosphere made his skin tingle. The whole business smelled of powerful magic, and the only one there to have done it had been Céde. The girl had never displayed any magical abilities before, and the energy used against the kobolds had been something extraordinary. He had to inform Gavriel, but first he needed to catch up to Céde, and see that she returned home in one piece. Reaching the path, Varrin picked up the sketchbook and her trail back to the village. * * * * * The sky had begun to gray, so Céde started for home, hoping it would not rain before she got her book under shelter. She was passing under the hills when a strange noise gave her pause. A series of yips and woops spilled from the rocks above her. Her eyes grew wide when she saw them coming over the hill, grubby little reptilian creatures in loin cloths and shabby armor. They came scrambling over the rocks, and Céde's heart was in her throat. She had never seen real kobolds before, but she knew them and their tactics from books. They would swarm over her and pull her down if they could. The monsters counted on her terror, and she was afraid, but it was her fear that started everything. Something strange inside of Céde shifted. She felt her skin grow hot, and she was acutely aware of her own rushing blood. She gasped as raw power pulsed and surged from her center, brutally shoving fear aside. Without knowing what she was doing, she straightened her spine and turned to face the onrushing kobolds. She did not know what this new power was; she just wanted the kobolds gone. Power pushed out from her, and the ground beneath the kobolds broke open. Grass and weeds came alive like serpents and coiled around the kobolds' flailing limbs, constricting their bodies and dragging them down into the hole. Several of the creatures tumbled or were pulled into the pit to be rained upon by loose rocks from above. Céde watched in awe as her hand moved without her thought. She felt the power push again, and bolts of white light flew from her fingertips. The bolts struck one of the kobolds, and the creature's chest exploded. The remaining few monsters skidded to a halt, then turned and ran back the way they had come. When she saw those bolts of powerful energy that shot from her own hand, destroying the kobold, Céde also turned and ran. Running as hard as she could all the way down the path, she wanted to get away from the monsters and from whatever it was she had just done. She feared the strange new power even more than the kobolds, but she could never outrun something that was a part of her. Céde finally stopped when she reached the edge of town, hands on her knees, pulling in great gasps of air. She pulled it together as best she could and slowed her pace to a walk. She prayed fervently to all the Gods that she could look like everything was just fine. Normal people did not make cracks in the ground to swallow beasts or shoot fire out of their hands to blow up monsters. Normal people did not run through town with madness leaking out of their insides. She brushed off her dress, stood up straight, and donned an expression that she hoped was one of pleasant civility, then passed the runes that marked the edge of town and the end of the wild wood. The people she passed only smiled and nodded at her, bidding her a good day, as if everything was just as right as it could be. Reaching home, she cracked the door and peered inside, relieved to see that her Papa was still at work in the infirmary and Uncle Varrin was out doing whatever it was Uncle Varrin did. On shaky legs, she climbed the stairs to her room and shut the door behind her. She expected the mirror to reveal an ugly, red-eyed monster. To Céde's surprise, the glass reflected the same young woman she had been earlier that day. Though, the eyes that gazed back at her seemed much wider than they should be, as if worn on the face of a lunatic. Her cheeks and her eyelids were red, and her hair was a mess, but she was the same girl, not a monster at all. The power had not changed her into some hideous creature, at least not on the outside. The changes that happened on the inside though, both terrified and excited her. Hot, restless, with a tightness in her lower abdomen, she needed something, but could not identify what that something was. It was similar to the feelings she had when she watched her friend, Jorak work the forge. The thought of Jorak caused warm moisture to gather between her legs with another pang of need. With Good Intent There was a little dirt on her dress and her face, and her panties were wet. She needed to clean up before her father and Varrin returned. Céde quickly chose some clean clothes and went to the wash room. Her skin was still tingling from the release of power, and the rough texture of the warm linen washcloth passing over her erect nipples caused her to gasp. She closed her eyes and imagined big, callused hands in place of the cloth. She rubbed and squeezed, pinched and pulled, until her rapid breathing caught on a moan. Céde needed more, and slid the cloth (his hand) down her belly and over her hip then down the inside of her thigh. With her fingers (his fingers), she opened her outer folds and moaned again when she touched her engorged clitoris. She brought the cloth (his strong and rugged hand) against the tender and wanting place. In her mind, Jorak's long, thick fingers pressed and stirred until her knees shook. She lay down on the floor of the washroom and worked her clitoris with the cloth, and it was not long before the pressure released. An involuntary cry left her throat as she climaxed. Lying on the cool floor and panting, Céde listened for several minutes to the sounds in the house, praying that no one had been home to hear her. As far as her ears could tell, there was no one there but her. She breathed deeply as she came down from her orgasm, then she stood up to finish putting herself together. Sometimes, in the dark of night, she would lay awake and think of Jorak. Such thoughts would often lead her to touch herself, however it had never felt as good to her as it did just then, and she wondered if the power had anything to do with it. Céde had no idea what that was all about, but in the aftermath, the residual energy seemed to dissipate. She felt calmer, able to think more clearly about what happened and what she could do about it. Never had she possessed the ability to cause the kind of damage she had done that day. What scared her the most was that, on some strange level, she liked it. It was terrible and beautiful, all at once. Part of her hoped it would happen again, while the sensible part of her prayed that it was some weird fluke she would never see again. As she got dressed, Céde wondered how she was ever going to explain any of it to her father. This was not a change she thought her Papa could handle, and she decided for the moment not to tell him. She thought that perhaps it would be best to handle it on her own. For one thing, if she told him, he would not let her out of the house again. For another, she just knew it would make the worry in his eyes even worse. That night, Céde and Gavriel sat together at dinner, while Varrin had excused himself on some vague errand. Typically, they would talk to each other, engaging in lively conversation about the day they had had. On that night though, a silence hung heavy over them both. For a long time, the two of them just pushed food around on their plates, occasionally sneaking glances at each other, but neither speaking. Finally, Gavriel cleared his throat and asked, "So, Céde, tell me about your day." He kept his voice carefully controlled, but his eyes were deeply troubled. Céde did not look at him. Instead, she said to her plate, "Fine." "'Fine'. Is that all you have to say?" When Céde only shrugged in reply, his eyes narrowed and his voice took an edge. "So you found your tree then, did you? Well, let's see it." His voice lowered to a dangerous tone. "Show me the tree you drew today, Mercédeon." There was that use of her full name instead of Céde. He was clearly angry with her, which meant that he somehow knew something, but she wondered how much. She thought it best to play dumb until she could find out. He wanted to see her tree, but she had dropped her sketchbook when the kobolds attacked her. She flicked a glance at him, but it was too hard to meet his eyes as she devised her falsehood. "Um, I left my sketchbook in my room. It, it's not finished anyway. I, um..." Gavriel took Céde's sketchbook off his lap, where it had been hidden by the table, and set it down with a snap. She looked first at the book, only a few water spots on the cover, but otherwise undamaged. Then she looked at her father's face. His head was cocked to one side, his eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth a hard straight line. She knew he was not only angry, but now hurt by her attempted lie. She searched his face, looking for some way that she could still salvage the conversation. Céde decided it would be best to just stop talking. The anger and pain in her Papa's voice made her heart ache. "How long did you think you would lie to me? You deliberately disobeyed me this morning. You broke your promise to me. Now you sit here and attempt to lie. You have no idea how much you've hurt me today." Céde lowered her face and would have said something by way of apology, but Gavriel snatched the sketchbook from the table. With a booming voice and contrived smile, he bellowed, "Shall we look at your damnable tree then?" "What? What are you...?" He slammed the book open, roughly rifling through the pages until he came to the last entries. "Is this it then?" He made a face of disgust, "This...thing is supposed to be a tree?" She could not believe what he was doing. He had always been proud of her talents and had never insulted her work before. Céde's shock began to dissolve into anger. For the second time that day, her heart started to pound, and her skin grew hot. She was tingling all over, and her hands involuntarily clenched into white-knuckled fists. Without realizing it, she rose to her feet, and Gavriel rose with her. He was watching her carefully, but still he continued his berating. "All your trouble, for this? This is shit, Céde. Why did you even bother? A dog could draw a better tree!" Wisps of Céde's hair lashed at her livid face, in a hot wind that spun in a widening vortex around her. She started panting as power rushed outwards from the center of her being. The power screamed a rage in her head. It pounded on the inside of her skull, demanding release, but she did not want to hurt her Papa. She clenched tight her trembling fists, trying to control a thing she could not comprehend. "Stop it!" she cried, but her voice was strange to her, as if the power tried to speak through her. Then all Hells broke loose, as plates, cups and flatware flew from the table to spin through the air and crash against the walls. Food and wine were flung out and spun around and around in the maelstrom. The fire leapt high in the hearth, while even the chairs skittered and clattered across the floor. Again, Céde screamed, "Stop it!" She was not screaming at her Papa. She screamed, instead, at the power raging forth from inside her. Gavriel ducked a flying plate as he got closer to Céde in the relatively safe epicenter of the dining-room storm. She felt her father's arms close around her. The voice that spoke in her ear was no longer mocking, but tender and full of love. "It's all right, now. Céde, let go of it. Just let it fall away." Something made the power slowly fade; either the warmth and calm in his voice, or maybe just her own exhaustion. In its absence, Céde could only shake and cry. She collapsed in her father's arms, and she let him help her back into a chair. Kneeling in front of her, Gavriel took both of her shaking hands in his. "I had to see the truth of this myself. Gods, Céde. I could have lost you today." He kissed her fingers and smiled softly. "I forgive you for lying. Now, do you forgive me?" In a weak, trembling voice she said, "No, you were an ass!" But she had already forgiven him, for he made it stop. She was still a pathetic, weepy mess, trying to wipe away tears that just kept coming. "Do you really hate my tree?" Gavriel laughed, then kissed his daughter's head. "It's beautiful, sweet Céde. Just beautiful." Inside the shadow of the small kitchen doorway, Varrin silently slid the long, blackened dagger back into its sheath. The complete lack of thought that it had taken to pull the blade made him wince. He tried, without success, to unclench his gut. Gavriel was not only his employer, but was also his life-long friend. He would do whatever he had to do for Gavriel's protection, even lose his only friend for taking a blade to his daughter. The power she displayed was not normal mage-craft. It was sorcery, and it was out of control. Céde could have killed Gavriel. Still, Varrin loved her as if she were flesh of his flesh, and he was sickened by his own soul. Varrin waited patiently in the shadows, as father and daughter gathered up their mess. As they began carrying it all back into the kitchen, he made a show of having just returned from wherever he was supposed to have gone. He said nothing of the mess as he stood at the basin, helping Céde wash the salvageable dishes. Though Varrin spoke very little, Céde was never one to tolerate silence. "Uncle, you'll never guess what's happened..." He half-listened as she told her story from the beginning. As their stack of clean dishes grew, her words slowed, faded, and stopped all together. He looked at her and found her staring intently at him, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed. He met her gaze calmly, as she pieced it together. "Uncle, you're not listening. And you're not listening because you know. You already know, because you followed me. You were spying on me!" Her eyes narrowed further and her voice had risen to a volume surpassing shrill. When she paused, he shrugged and rasped in his infuriatingly calm tone, "You left town after you were told not to. Now you've seen why you were told. By the way, you're welcome." Varrin's version of a grin might frighten others, but it often won Céde's heart to behold the rare sight. Though she was not quite yet having it. "'Welcome', for what? I rescued myself!" "I rescued your book." He winked at her, another disturbing gesture in such a dark and twisted face, but he was family. He turned from her then and tossing one towel at her, Varrin grabbed another and began to dry the dishes. Céde wanted to stay mad at him. She wanted to reach out with her power and throw the dishes at him, but he was just being Uncle. It was like having two Papa's, one or both of them always looking over her shoulder. She thought of the kobolds, and knew there were more than the ones she saw. Besides, he had saved her book. She dried and stacked in silence, but she had decided to forgive Uncle. While his daughter and his friend washed the remaining dishes, Gavriel sat in his chair by the cook stove and smoked his pipe. He watched the embers in the stove and tried to think of what to do. His daughter, he feared, was in danger from so much more than some tiny kobold raiding party, for Mercédeon's power was not a normal Aptitude for magic. The magically inclined show an Aptitude in early childhood. These are not sorcerers, but mages: those who have an ability to understand the workings of runes and spells. During market season, the Scepters would come from the Spire, to test the children with puzzles of increasing difficulty. Children who could solve a majority of the puzzles were tested further. They were given minor spells to cast: light a candle, make a pebble glow, levitate a stick, or some other small thing. If the children could cast these spells with any success at all, they were said to have true Aptitude. Then the Scepters took them back to the Spire, a towering castle in the White Range Mountains northeast of Ardyth'tol, where the children who displayed an Aptitude for mage-craft were trained to use it. Mercédeon was an adult among the myn'nim and still a child among ylf'nim, but she was well beyond her early childhood years. Her power came not from runes and the magical combinations of components, but was channeled through her from the very planet, the Goddess Velith herself. This power was wild, unfettered and unchecked by the civilized restraints of runes, words, and spells. Dangerous and destructive, without proper instruction and discipline, the power would completely overwhelm Céde's sense of self. Gavriel knew he would not be able to handle this alone. She needed someone who could teach her, but there had been no sorcerers on Velith for thousands of years. He was not even sure that the Scepters would know what to do with Mercédeon. His thoughts ran in terrible circles, and he could think of no one else to help them, but the Scepters. Travel to the Spire meant travel through the forests of Ardyth'tol, roads that were closed to Gavriel twenty years ago. He considered what would happen if Céde's unchecked power went off every time her emotions got the better of her, and at her age, that was pretty much all the time. Could he wait another two months for market season when the Scepters would come to Silver Crossing? Gavriel shuddered at the visions of mass destruction playing behind his eyes. As Céde retired for the night, Varrin sat across from his friend and gave voice to what was in Gavriel's head. "Going to be a right mess around here soon." "We've got a right mess already." He flicked a brief glance toward the dining room. "She'll have Lelliahn's journal. It should help. I hope." Céde's mother, Lelliahn had been a Spire-trained mage. Gavriel thought there might be something in her journal that could help Céde. He knew that passing on his wife's journal was only grasping at straws, but at least he would be doing something. It was time to open old wounds, and to open Lelliahn's old trunk that he kept stored in the attic. "Gavriel, the girl's going to need a place to work these things out. A backwater, myn'nim mining town is not that place. She needs to go to the Spire. The Scepters there'll teach her what to do with herself." "All of Ardyth'tol lies between Silver Crossing and the Spire of White Range. I cannot take her there. I am in exile." "Technically, I'm not." "But Céde loves her work at the jeweler's shop. She has friends here..." "You really think her friends are going to relate to what she's going through? And what if she upsets the shop? What happens to her job then? You know full well she should go to the Spire. She'll get new work, new friends." "Like myself, Mercédeon has a claim to the ylf'nim throne. If those people find out who she is, she could be in serious danger. Not to mention the beasts on the White Range pass through to the Spire." "All the more reason for me to take her there. Scepters won't get here for another two months. If you want to wait for them to take her, how much damage could be done in that time; damage to this town, to her?" Gavriel stared back at the embers of the dying cook fire. After a time, he said, "For now, help me bring Lelliahn's trunk down from the attic. We'll talk of this again tomorrow." Varrin very quietly asked, "Have you considered what this means for Velith? There's been no sorcery for thousands of years. Not since the Lord of Hordes tried to take this planet. Not since the Sorcerers' Sundering killed all of them off and nearly killed Velith itself in banishing the demon lord. I've spent years hunting down demon minions and their descendants left over from the Horde Wars. I don't want to meet their leader. This may herald the return of the Lord of Hordes, Gavriel." When her Papa and Uncle Varrin grew quiet, Mercédeon stopped eavesdropping and went up the stairs, skipping the third stair that always croaked like a frog. She was looking forward to seeing Lelliahn's things and getting to know the mother she never met. She hardly knew anything about demons or demon hordes, nor did she want to. The ancient histories regarding the Sundering and Lord of Hordes was vague at best. Céde was not even sure she believed in much of it. It could not possibly have anything to do with her, and she was simply not going to think about. This business about a journey to the Spire disturbed her. Her life was in Silver Crossing. The jewelry smith, Master Forsmythe was elderly and cranky, he needed Céde. She was quite sure he would never be able to manage the shop without her. Then there was her best friend, Adelle, who was recently engaged to the mining foreman, Master Geoffrey. Céde wrinkled her nose at a match she found distasteful. Adelle was three years younger than Céde, but of marriageable age to humans. In Céde's opinion, Adelle was much too young and, at twenty-seven, the foreman was much too old for her. However, if marrying the mining foreman made Adelle happy, then Céde should be there for her friend. Of everyone she knew in town, she thought she would miss Jorak the most. She liked how his thick black curls grew half way down his back like a mane. She liked the red glint in his dark eyes when he smiled at her. She even liked the tusks that grew from his strong lower jaw and stood out over his upper lip. Sometimes, he took off his shirt and used it to wipe his brow, and she liked to watch his muscles move beneath his deeply tanned skin. She even liked the way he smelled of heat and sweat, and something else that she could not quite place. She especially liked the way her insides felt all churned up when she looked at him, or even when she thought of him. Her father did not like the way Jorak smelled or the way he looked, but he did business with the half-orc as civilly as he did everyone else in Silver Crossing. Céde did not like the way Uncle Varrin's eyes narrowed when he saw her talking with him, as if he did not trust her, or maybe he did not trust Jorak. Jorak's shoulders and back were crisscrossed with lines, scars he received from wherever the blacksmith took him from. He was only an adolescent boy when Agnar brought him to Silver Crossing. No one wanted to cross the blacksmith, so no one dared tell him he could not raise the half-orc boy or teach him a trade. Céde could only imagine that those scars came from cruel beatings, and that was something she certainly did not like. She was sure she would have the courage to ask him about it one day. If she was going to have to go to the Spire, she would not be able to be there for Master Forsmythe, for Adelle's wedding, or to ask Jorak about his scars. It made her sad, but maybe if she could keep her power contained, her Papa might wait until the Scepters come, or maybe he would not send her at all. She did not think she could go to sleep. There was too much to think about, but as soon as Céde laid her head on the pillow, her eyes closed and did not open again until morning. * * * * * The tunnels rang with the sounds of hammers and picks clanging against stubborn stone, the scrape of shovels through rocky dirt, the grunts and occasional jibes from men at their work. Then a cry - "Oi! Looks like we got Hellstone!" - and the noise became an abrupt silence. The small group of men that were working the same section of tunnels gathered around Mick, who stood directly under the lantern light holding up a piece of dark rock. It was not the shining silver or galena that they were looking for, but the black stone with dark green striations meant a heavy return of coin, provided they had found a good vein of the rare ore. The men murmured amongst themselves about the possibilities, already debating on whether they would see a raise in their wages. One of them called down the hole for the Nipper. When the boy appeared, they sent him up after Foreman Geoffrey. From the spot where Mick had been working, Anders called out, "Well, what the Hells is this, now?" Mick put the rock in his pocket, then he and the others joined their colleague. Anders brought a lantern close to the wall and illuminated the space that Mick had opened up. Behind what appeared to be natural rock, with promising traces of Hellstone ore, there was a peek of smooth faced dark stone. The stone was carved with runes similar to those the mages marked on their buildings to protect the town from the wilds. Though the wards were not familiar to the men, they knew mage-craft when they saw it. Mick's eyes widened with a superstitious fear, and he backed away from the space. "We should leave that alone. It don't feel right." He even went so far as to take the rock from his pocket and drop it on the ground. With Good Intent Anders shuddered briefly, as if to shake off a sudden chill. Not taking his eyes off the runes before him, he said, "Hells with that. I want to see what this thing is. Besides, you know we're gonna have to get at this Hellstone." Anders set his chisel and raised his hammer to get back to work, and a few of his less superstitious fellows dug in alongside him. Foreman Geoffrey arrived, and with his arms folded across his chest, he frowned at the men who were only watching Anders and the others uncover the runes. "Are you men, or are you a bunch of gossipin' old biddies? Since when are you gettin' paid to gawk?" When they did not move fast enough, he barked, "Get to work!" The gawkers jumped and scurried into other parts of the mine. Through the brief exchange, Anders and his crew kept working with a single-minded focus. Geoffrey listened for a minute to confirm that the diggers had started their work in other parts of the mine. Then he stooped and picked up the piece of Hellstone rock from the ground to examine it closely. He noted the rocks being loosened by the men and told the Nipper to fetch a cart. He leaned in between two of the men to have a closer look at the strange markings. Geoffrey was literate, and even knew how to recognize a few mage runes, but these were foreign to him. Embedded within the earth, he assumed that whatever it was, it had to be very ancient. Under his breath he muttered, "What the Hells is it?" Anders seemed to have heard him, for he answered, "Door." Then he kept digging. "How do you know?" Geoffrey asked, but Anders had nothing else to say. In a trance like state, the men steadily worked at the wall. When the boy returned with the cart, Geoffrey told him, "Run quick and fetch Master Barlow. Tell him there's Hellstone down here, and get him to come look at this... door or whatever it is." As the Nipper ran off, Geoffrey began loading the cart himself. He was loathe to leave the precious ore alone, and the odd behavior of the men at the wall made him nervous. It was beyond him why they seemed so strange, and he was anxious for Master Barlow to arrive. No one spoke as the men broke the rock and Geoffrey filled the cart. When he had a full load, he decided to wheel it up. Whether he was present or not, he did not think the men would change their behavior. Once Geoffrey had taken the cart up the tunnel, a slow and sick smile spread across Anders' lips. He took up a pick and slammed the blade into the ancient stonework door. The other three followed suit, immediately setting a rhythm. Chips of stone flew and scattered, then a massive crack formed in the structure. The next blow opened a hole. From that dark space, a dank black smoke billowed out and filled the section of tunnel. Still entranced, Anders pulled the smoke into his nose and mouth, while his fellows clutched at their throats and fell to floor. The smoke swirled about the men then funneled back into the room beyond the hole in the door. When it was done, the three men slowly picked themselves up off the ground. Ignoring the blood that freely flowed from his nose, Anders chuckled darkly at his colleagues who coughed and retched while they tried to gain their feet. In a voice that did not belong to him, Anders rasped, "Get your shit together. We got work to do, boys." By the time Geoffrey and Master Barlow arrived, Anders and his crew had gone back to work. With a handkerchief over his nose, and goose stepping to avoid getting unavoidable dirt on his polished shoes, Barlow picked up a piece of Hellstone in a gloved hand and made a humming noise of approval. Next, he examined the hole and what was left of the runes. He clucked his cultured tongue and said, "You gentlemen should not have damaged the runes before we had opportunity to research them. Ah, well. Geoffrey, keep quiet about the ore, until I know just what I've got here. Have these men finish opening this thing. I want to see what's inside." Then more quietly, as if the men could not hear him, he said, "And see if you can't get them to bathe, hmm? They're disgusting." Geoffrey murmured, "Yes, Master Barlow," and watched the mine owner take his quick and dainty steps out of the tunnel. He saw the blood and vomit. He noted the streaks of gore on Anders' sleeve where he had wiped his nose, and the man still had dried blood on his face. The other three kept coughing and wheezing. Unlike their previous behavior, regardless of their physical states, the four men were chatting as they worked, animated regarding Barlow's visit and the possibility of higher pay. Geoffrey said, "Anders, what happened in here? Why did you open it up?" The man grinned his usual grin, but there was something unsettling in his eyes that Geoffrey could not place. "Sorry 'bout that, Boss. Were an accident, it were." The foreman peered at the hole and the men who made it. It did not look like an accident to him. "You men get up to the infirmary and see Physic Aarondale." As the men followed his orders and left the tunnel, Geoffrey stepped closer to the dark hole in the wall. Peering inside was useless, even with the lantern brought up close. As he leaned closer, he could have sworn that he heard a faint whispering from inside, though he could not understand the words. The sound caused his sweat to grow cold and made him feel nauseated. He backed away from the space and shook his head. He wanted to cover it up, to leave it alone. If Master Barlow thought he could get something out of it though, he was going to have get his men to open it up.