Paragon of Destruction

Arran looked at the tall man in front of them, eyes full of suspicion. Although the stranger had shown no signs of ill will, he didn’t believe for a second that the man’s timely appearance was a coincidence.

"You were following us." He gave the stranger an appraising look, yet his eyes told him little about the man. Tall and middle-aged, wearing a simple but expensive robe and a well-made sword, he suspected the man held a prominent rank in the Ninth Valley — but then, he already knew that from the novice’s reaction.

"So I was," the man replied. "It isn’t every day that we get visitors from another Valley."

"How did you find out?" Snowcloud asked. She sounded more curious than shocked, as if she had already expected them to be identified.

"Mages who return from the borderlands rarely stay in Alder’s Farm for more than a single night. When two young mages linger for three days, and one of them remains in her room for days on end, an innkeeper is bound to get suspicious." The man chuckled. "There are still some of us in the Valley who don’t take our safety for granted."

"So you know we’re from another Valley," Arran said. "Will that be a problem?"

"Far from it," the man said. "Visitors from other Valleys may be rare, but they are always welcome. And in your case, particularly so." He motioned at Arran and Snowcloud. "Let me accompany you while you head back to your inn. I have an offer that may interest you."

Arran glanced at Snowcloud, who responded with a small nod. "All right," he said. "We’ll listen."

As they headed toward the park’s exit, their surroundings now fully shrouded in the darkness of night, the man began to speak.

"Since you’ve come all this way, I expect you intend to stay in the Ninth Valley for some time." He glanced at Arran, and when no objection came, he continued. "Now, I assume the both of you are adepts—"

"We’re just initiates," Arran interjected.

"Initiates?" The tall man raised an eyebrow. "From what little I’ve seen, you certainly are stronger than any initiates I’ve ever met, and I’ve met many. But no matter. What about that companion of yours, the one who left for the capital some days ago?"

"She’s our teacher," Snowcloud said. "She’s an adept."

"Two initiates and an adept..." The man furrowed his brow in thought, then asked, "Am I correct in assuming that the three of you all have experience in battle?"

"You are." Arran knew there was no point in hiding that fact. A lie would only serve to make the man suspicious.

"Excellent. In that case, I would like to extend an invitation to join the House of Swords, both for you and for your teacher."

"The House of Swords?" Arran had never heard the name before, and he knitted his brows in confusion as he glanced at the tall man.

"We are a fellowship of those within the Valley who haven’t yet forgotten the importance of strength." Pride was clear in the man’s expression as he spoke, and he continued, "Even in these peaceful times, we do not neglect our training — unlike too many of our fellow mages, we realize that no peace lasts forever."

Arran frowned. "But why do you want us to join?"

With a hint of regret, the man said, "No amount of training can equal real experience. And while I am old enough to remember the days when battle was common, many of our younger members have never faced a true fight."

"You think training with us will benefit them."

Arran suddenly understood the man’s intentions. If his inexperienced students spent their time training with equally inexperienced partners, it would be all too easy for them to pick up dangerous habits.

Having more experience students among their ranks would not solve the problem entirely, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt, either.

"Exactly," the man replied with a smile. "There are benefits in it for you as well, of course. Joining our fellowship will allow you to train with the most talented mages in the Valley. And beyond that, it will grant you status and provide you with privileges that many others do not enjoy."

"Your offer is a gracious one," Snowcloud said. "But we cannot accept it. We will pass it on to our teacher when she returns, but the decision is hers."

"Of course," the man said. "When she returns, tell her that Grandmaster Solin wishes to speak with her. She can find me at the House of Swords in the restricted section of the capital."

It appeared he was about to leave, his interest in clearly lessened after he learned that Snowcloud and Arran were just initiates, with their teacher the one who would make the ultimate decision.

Yet now that Arran understood the man was a Grandmaster, he quickly realized there was an opportunity here — one he would not let go to waste.

"Grandmaster Solin," he said, forcing himself to take an obsequious tone, "I was wondering if you could explain something to me. Something about the Ninth Valley."

The man frowned. "What do you wish to know?"

"In our own Valley, the borderlands are crawling with danger and Hunters are considered mortal enemies. Yet here, the borderlands seem as safe as the Valley itself, with Hunters eradicating the Society’s enemies. How did this strange state of affairs come to be?"

Grandmaster Solin let out a laugh. "You are certainly right in calling it strange," he said. "A century ago, I would have looked upon it much the same as you do now. But the truth is disappointingly simple."

Arran paid close attention as the man spoke. Simple or not, he was extremely interested in the explanation, and he doubted he would find a better source for quite some time.

The man continued, "For centuries, we fought the Hunters, losing as often as we won. But half a century ago, an unspoken truce emerged. And with the two main powers in the borderlands no longer fighting each other, all other serious threats were soon eliminated."

"An unspoken truce?" Arran asked. "What was the cause of that?"

"Both sides grew weary of battle," the Grandmaster said. "We spent centuries battling the Hunters, but no matter how many we killed, more always appeared. One day, the Matriarch ordered us to stop attacking Hunters unless they attacked first, and I suppose their leaders did the same. Ever since, we’ve had peace."

"It seems peace has served you well," Arran said.

"It has," Grandmaster Solin said. "In some ways, at least. Our numbers have tripled over the past half-century, but the lack of danger has caused our strength to dwindle. We have become like untempered steel, and I fear that if the Hunters take up arms against us once more, the pressure might break us."

"Then you don’t agree with the Matriarch’s decision?" Arran asked cautiously.

"A dangerous question," the man replied, his expression now troubled. "If your teacher decides to join the House of Swords, perhaps we will discuss it in the future." He sighed. "But now, I must depart. Tell your teacher of my invitation, and hopefully, I shall see you both again soon."

With a final friendly wave, the man departed, soon disappearing into the dark streets of Alder’s Farm.

Arran and Snowcloud continued on silently for some time, neither of them daring to speak where strangers might hear. Yet night had already emptied the streets of most traffic, and when Arran spread out his Shadowsight, he saw that there was nobody nearby to hear them.

"We can talk," he said. "So what do you think?"

Snowcloud thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I don’t know. It seems that despite the peace, the Ninth Valley is far from stable. And if their mages are as weak as Grandmaster Solin said..."

"If the Hunters turn on them, it could be a bloodbath. Unless peace has caused the Hunters to grow weak as well. But I doubt that." Arran sighed. "I suppose we’ll have to wait for Brightblade and hope she’s learned something useful."

A few minutes later they were back at the inn, where Arran cast a wary glance at the portly innkeeper. Yet as much as he disliked being spied on, he could not blame the man for wanting to protect his homeland.

It took another three days for Brightblade to return, most of which Arran and Snowcloud spent exploring the town and its many shops and restaurants. While Snowcloud did not pause her training entirely, Arran was glad that she no longer secluded herself.

Brightblade finally made her return on the morning of their sixth day in Alder’s Farm. She burst into Arran’s room shortly before dawn, a tired look on her face and a sleepy Snowcloud in tow.

Arran was already awake. He wasn’t as obsessive in his training as Snowcloud, but he spent an hour each morning using the Patriarch’s amulet to strengthen his resistance to magic. It wasn’t as effective as his training in Uvar, but in six months, he had made enough progress that he was confident he could now easily withstand even adepts’ attacks.

"You’re already awake. Good." Brightblade walked into the room, then sat down on the bed. "I’ve learned quite a bit these past few days." She turned to Snowcloud. "Close the door behind you!"

After Snowcloud did as she said, she waved a few times with her right hand, and Arran could feel a thin layer of Essence spreading through the room.

"Now we can talk," she said. "To start, I’ve discovered what the situation with the Hunters is, and why the borderlands are so calm."

"The Matriarch ordered a truce half a century ago," Arran said. "We know."

Brightblade frowned. "It seems I’m not the only one who had a fortunate encounter. What happened?"

Arran quickly told her about their encounter with Grandmaster Solin, making sure to repeat everything the man had told them.

Brightblade’s nodded as he spoke, unexpectedly seeming quite pleased with the situation. When he finished talking, she broke into a smile. "Then it looks like we’ll be joining the House of Swords."

"You’re actually planning to accept his invitation?" Snowcloud’s eyes were wide with surprise, and Arran shared her astonishment. Even from what little he knew, he suspected that joining the House of Swords would ally them with the Matriarch’s opponents.

"The situation in the Ninth Valley is more complicated than it appears, and the two of you have inadvertently provided us an excellent opportunity." She stood up. "But I’ll explain while we travel. Pack your things; we’re heading for the capital immediately."