Paragon of Destruction

They had already traveled several miles from Alder’s Farm by the time the sun rose above the mountains, its light revealing the densely populated lands of the Ninth Valley.

As far Arran’s eyes could see, the rolling fields were speckled with farms and cottages, and in the distance lay several villages. At a guess, he thought it would be impossible to travel even a single mile in any direction without meeting someone.

There was something about the sight that made him uncomfortable. Even in the Empire, he had never been in a place like this — a place with no room whatsoever for real solitude. And more importantly, no place to flee or hide.

Before he could give the matter any more thought, Brightblade’s voice interrupted his musings. "Now that we’re on our way, let me fill you in on the situation."

The words immediately caught Arran’s attention, and both he and Snowcloud turned toward Brightblade, anxious to hear what she had discovered in the previous days — and more importantly, what lay ahead for them.

"To start, the House of Swords is just one of many," Brightblade began. "The Ninth Valley is filled with different Houses, each of which with different aims and goals."

"Like the Sixth Valley’s factions?" Snowcloud asked, understandably wary after the things they had faced the previous year.

Brightblade shook her head. "Not quite. The Houses are more like guilds, each specialized in a particular area of magic. While they do have disagreements on the course of the Valley — large ones, at that — their original purpose was to bring together the Ninth Valley’s experts to combine their knowledge."

Snowcloud nodded slowly, although her expression suggested that she thought the whole idea quite strange.

"At the top stand four greater Houses," Brightblade said, "with many lesser ones beneath them. Over the years, these greater Houses have almost become like separate societies, with each having amassed experts in the others’ disciplines as well. The same is true for the lesser Houses, albeit to a lesser extent."

Arran listened intently as she spoke, his interest growing as he understood that the Ninth Valley was very different from the Sixth Valley.

Brightblade cast a look at Arran and Snowcloud, looking as if she was expecting questions.

When no questions came, she continued, "The first of the Greater Houses is the House of Seals. This is the largest and most influential House by far, and its traditional focus is on seals and formations."

"Their focus is on seals?" Arran’s curiosity was immediately sparked. He had yet to unseal his Destruction Realm, and learning more about seals would certainly help him. "If they’re the largest House, shouldn’t we join them?"

"No," Brightblade replied curtly. "The House of Seals is firmly under the control of the Matriarch. If we were to join the House of Seals, we would irrevocably ally ourselves with her. And given the state of the Ninth Valley, that is something I wish to avoid."

Arran gave her a resigned nod, though he could not help but be disappointed.

"Second is the House of Flames," Brightblade went on. "It was founded by experts on offensive magic, and these days, it holds the Matriarch’s most vocal critics. Naturally, we cannot join them either — allying ourselves with the Matriarch’s opponents would be unwise."

Neither Arran nor Snowcloud had any comments about this. That it would be a bad idea to join the Matriarch’s enemies was obvious.

Brightblade gave them another look, then continued. "Third is the House of Creation. Its members are mostly craftsmen — alchemists, enchanters, scribes, and so on. The House of Creation tends to avoid Valley politics, remaining neutral when it can."

Snowcloud’s eyes lit up at the mention of alchemists, but only for a moment. Their primary goal in coming to the Ninth Valley was to grow stronger, not to become skilled crafters.

"And finally," Brightblade said, "there’s the House of Shadows. As the name suggests, its strength lies in Shadow spells, particularly those meant for concealment. They’re predictably secretive, so I haven’t been able to discover much else about them."

They briefly went silent as a farmer passed them, a cart full of produce behind him. The man gave them a friendly nod, but otherwise barely appeared to notice their presence.

Some moments later, after the farmer passed out of earshot, Arran asked, "Then the House of Swords is one of the lesser Houses?"

"Correct," Brightblade said. "The House of Swords specializes in physical combat, and although its history gives it some status, both its numbers and its strength rank well below those of the greater Houses."

"That’s why you chose it? You want us to focus on studying physical combat?" Snowcloud asked, her brows knitted in thought.

Brightblade shook her head. "I chose it because we need to draw attention to ourselves. And that will be easier in a lesser House."

"You’ll have to explain that," Snowcloud said, confusion written plainly across her face. "I thought the plan was not to draw attention?"

"Your training will require resources that I alone cannot provide," Brightblade replied. "To get those resources, we need the full support of a House. And for that, we must make ourselves invaluable to them. That goal is more easily achieved in a lesser House than in a greater one."

Now, Arran began to understand her plan. She wanted them to make a big splash in a small pond, so they could earn the full backing of their House. Yet after giving it some thought, he thought the strategy seemed uncomfortably risky. "If we show our strength, won’t that draw too much attention from others?"

Brightblade grinned in response. "That’s the other benefit of joining a Lesser House. Even if we cause an uproar in the House of Swords — which I fully intend to do — the other Houses will barely even notice."

Arran furrowed his brow, then shrugged. From the sound of it, Brightblade had already thought the entire thing through.

Yet it seemed Snowcloud wasn’t yet satisfied. "What about—" she began.

"That’s enough for now," Brightblade interrupted her. "Most of your remaining questions will be answered soon enough, and there are too many people on the road who might overhear us."

This last part was no exaggeration. Only a brief time had passed since the sun had risen, but already the road had filled with traffic. Most of the people who passed them appeared to be farmers and villagers, but there were several who looked to be mages.

That none of the people they passed gave them a second glance brought Arran little comfort. After the innkeeper in Alder’s Farm had spied on them, he was fully aware that any of these farmers could easily do the same.

They progressed slowly along the traffic-filled roads, and before evening had even fallen, Brightblade suggested they stop in a nearby town to find an inn. She appeared to be wholly unconcerned with their slow pace.

When Arran asked her about this, she flashed him a grin. "I want to let the Grandmaster stew for a bit," she explained. "He’ll be easier to deal with after he spends a few days worrying whether we will show up."

And by a few days, Arran discovered, she meant well over a week. They could have crossed the distance in a day or two if they ran and traveled through the night, but Brightblade made it a point to travel slowly.

The delay caused him some frustration even if he knew the purpose. After over half a year of travel, his patience was starting to wear thin, and he was anxious to finally see their destination.

Yet when they reached the Ninth Valley’s capital, all his frustrations were instantly forgotten.

The city was vast beyond belief — at least five times the size of any city he had seen before, if not larger. Rather than a mere city, it resembled a boundless landscape of rolling hills that seemed to have spontaneously sprouted an endless number of buildings.

Brightblade glanced at Arran and Snowcloud’s dumbfounded expressions, then let out a loud laugh. "If just the sight dazzles you this much, you should know that at least a quarter of the people here are initiates."

"What?!" Snowcloud gasped in astonishment. "How... how can there be that many? The truce has only been in place for fifty years, hasn’t it?"

"A lot can happen in fifty years," Brightblade said. "Without any danger in becoming a mage, everyone with even the slightest shred of talent or ambition took the opportunity." She shrugged. "Most initiates never advance beyond that stage, but with so many of them, even that small fraction amounts to hundreds of thousands of novices."

"That’s terrifying," Snowcloud said, her voice quiet with awe. "Hundreds of thousands of novices... that’s more than the Sixth Valley has initiates."

Brightblade chuckled. "I should mention that although the House of Swords is only a lesser House, it still has at least ten thousand members." She motioned at the city. "Let’s go. Reaching the House of Blades will take several hours, and I intend for us to be among its most valued members by nightfall."

She set off toward the city, and Arran and Snowcloud followed behind her, eyes still fixed on the gargantuan city ahead of them.

As he approached the city, Arran finally truly understood Brightblade’s plan. In such a vast sea of mages, it would be easy for them to go unnoticed — even if they made it a point to draw attention.