Paragon of Destruction

"What gave it away?" Brightblade asked, her expression one of mild curiosity rather than alarm. It seemed she didn’t believe the matter a serious problem. Or, if she did, she did an excellent job of hiding it.

"You allowed him to study the Forms," the Matriarch explained. "It’s not unusual for young mages to be interested in those, but their teachers generally put a quick stop to that — and rightly so. Yet you allowed him to continue."

The Matriarch cast a short glance at Brightblade, and when no objection came, a pleased smile formed on her lips.

"That can only mean one thing," she continued. "You intend to have him recover Nikias’s writings. And venturing into that battlefield will require an exceptional resistance to magic — something that can only be gained in very few ways."

Brightblade nodded. "Well-reasoned. So what are your thoughts on the plan?"

"It’s risky," the Matriarch said. "It is questionable whether Nikias ever wrote down his secrets. And even if he did, the Hunters will have looted the battlefield long ago. Their resistance to magic may not rival that of someone with a Destruction Realm, but it is far from negligible."

"There is no reward without risk," Brightblade replied with a shrug. "But what of the Forms? If he succeeds, is the reward worth the effort? There wasn’t much to be found in the Valley’s libraries — certainly less than I would have expected."

The Matriarch hesitated in answering as she furrowed her brow in thought. "That question is more complicated than you might think," she finally said. "That Nikias had few students wasn’t a matter of pride or arrogance. In truth, few were suited for his methods. Though I suspect Ghostblade’s chances might be better than most."

"How so?" Brightblade asked.

"The Forms rely on insights as much as they rely on skill and knowledge," the Matriarch answered. "For most of Nikias’s prospective students, that proved an insurmountable obstacle." She turned her eyes to Arran. "But then, perhaps you are more suited for such a path?"

There was a knowing look in her eyes that made Arran wonder if she had discovered his true insight as easily as she had discovered his Destruction Realm. If she had, it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest.

Yet if she knew, she did not seem to think the matter merited further discussion. Instead, she turned back to Brightblade, then continued, "If the writings exist and he can find them, and if the path suits him, learning it would certainly be of no small benefit to him."

"Then he will continue to study the Forms," Brightblade said. "If nothing else, it’s a good way to further familiarize him with the principles of magic."

"Agreed," the Matriarch said with a nod. "Though we will have to ensure he continues to learn proper magic, too. And with the other Houses getting involved, he will need a strict schedule. What I propose is that—"

Brightblade and the Matriarch spent the next half hour discussing their plans for Arran’s training, setting out a schedule that wasn’t just strict but positively brutal. They did not ask for Arran’s input — apparently, his wishes weren’t among their concerns.

Arran slowly paled as he listened to them speak. From the sound of it, they meant his every waking moment to be filled with study, practice, and training, with little time for anything else.

Yet the more he heard, the more he began to think they were wrong. For all the meticulousness with which they crafted a schedule, it lacked the kind of free practice and sparring that helped him most in truly grasping spells and techniques.

"No."

Arran was almost surprised to hear the word come out of his mouth. He had not intended to go against his teachers. But even as he spoke, he realized it was necessary.

"No?" The Matriarch raised an eyebrow as she looked at him.

"This schedule — it won’t do." Arran’s voice grew firmer as he continued. "I need the evenings to myself. You said the other Houses would send students of their own, correct?"

The Matriarch gave a brief nod, and Arran continued, "Sparring with them will help me more than a few extra hours of study. Besides, studying magic won’t do me any good if I don’t know how to use it."

The Matriarch sighed gave Brightblade an exasperated look. "I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s taken on his teacher’s bad habits."

Brightblade, on the other hand, looked at Arran with an expression that suggested approval more than anything else. "He isn’t wrong," she said. "And if he is to be trained for battle, experience is certainly every bit as valuable as knowledge."

The Matriarch grudgingly accepted the argument, and the two women spent another quarter-hour adjusting Arran’s training schedule.

His joy at having his evenings to himself didn’t last long, however, as he soon realized that the new schedule didn’t seem all that different from the previous one. The main change, as far as he could tell, was that he would have less time to do exactly the same things.

Still, he didn’t complain. Having witnessed the devastating power of magic in Brightblade’s duel, he understood well enough that he would have to learn it one way or another. And if his schedule would be grueling, it was also an opportunity that other mages would kill for.

When the two finished their planning, the Matriarch looked at Arran with narrowed eyes.

"Is this new schedule to your liking?" she asked in an overly sweet tone that held a slight undercurrent of menace.

"It’ll do," Arran replied, flashing her a cheerful smile.

The Matriarch might be powerful, but any attempts to intimidate him were doomed to failure — if she wanted him to succeed her, she surely wouldn’t harm him. Not too badly, at least.

The Matriarch appeared to realize this as well, and she continued in a normal voice, "Since your status in the Valley is no longer a secret, we’ll need to do something about your servants as well. I will arrange to have them replaced with—"

"My servants stay," Arran interrupted her, his tone sharp. He had more faith in his servants than in anyone else within the House of Seals, and he had no intention of letting them be replaced by people he neither knew nor trusted.

The Matriarch looked nonplussed, but after a moment, a hint of annoyance appeared in her expression. Being rejected twice in the span of half an hour seemed more than she would bear.

Yet before she could voice her displeasure, Brightblade spoke up. "If you wish for him to be your successor, you can’t fault him for being strong-willed." She grinned, then added, "And with cooks like his, replacing them could only be a step backward."

Brightblade’s words caused the annoyance in the Matriarch’s expression to fade, but her confusion remained. "Why do you wish to keep them?"

"I’ve worked hard on winning their loyalty," Arran answered truthfully. "And I trust them more than I would their replacements."

"Trust is a dangerous thing," the Matriarch said. "But very well. You will need more servants, however — maintaining your new estate will require no small amount of labor."

"Then I will let my steward recruit them," Arran said. He had already decided that he would let Jovan recruit men and women from the outer Valley, imperials and borderlanders if possible. They would be grateful for the work, and doubly so for the training they would get.

The Matriarch gave him a reluctant nod. "Then our business for the day is nearly included. One matter remains, however—"

"A replacement for the amulet," Brightblade interrupted her, grinning broadly.

The Matriarch gave her a dark look. "Indeed. The amulet that supposedly protected him from the attacks of half a dozen adepts, only to fail just as the battle concluded." She glanced at Arran. "A priceless treasure, used to protect someone who needed no such protection."

"Perhaps the amulet wasn’t quite as powerful as I said." Brightblade shrugged. If having the deception revealed caused her even the least bit of embarrassment, she showed no sign of it.

"Perhaps," the Matriarch replied. "But he does need protection, and to that end, I have gathered some... replacements."

She shot another glare at Brightblade, then produced three items, which she laid on the desk before her. There were a ring and an amulet, but Arran’s eyes immediately shot toward the third item, which was a fine chain shirt that looked as if it was fashioned out of silver.

Yet to Arran’s disappoint, the Matriarch held up the amulet first.

"This," she said, "is useless. But it will give off a pretty little flash of light if you get struck by a magic attack. In your training, you can pretend it’s protecting you when you get hit by an attack."

She handed the amulet to Arran, then picked up the ring.

"This is one of the Valley’s most treasured artifacts," she said, a hint of reverence in her voice. "You are to keep it concealed using Shadow Essence at all times, and none of the Elders within the Valley must know that you have it."

Arran frowned. "What does it do?"

"It slowly gathers Essence from your surroundings," she explained. "When you suffer a sufficiently strong magical attack, it will use that Essence to create a shield. Given time to gather strength, it can block even the full strength of an Archmage — but each use will fully deplete its reserves, and days will pass before it can be used again."

Arran could only barely stop himself from gasping in awe. This wasn’t just a treasure; it was a life.

Against a strong mage, this ring could mean the difference between life and death. It would allow him to close the distance and strike before his opponent could launch a second attack.

As the Matriarch handed Arran the ring, she repeated, "Don’t let anyone else see this. A treasure like this will spark the greed of even the wealthiest mages."

Yet as Arran accepted the ring and put it on, Brightblade frowned deeply. "Where did you get this?"

"It was taken from a defeated Hunter," the Matriarch replied. "One of their commanders. A prize the Valley spent no small amount of blood in winning."

"The Hunters have magical treasures?" This was the first time he had heard of that, and it came as a surprise. Until now, he had thought they relied on similar techniques as the ones he used to resist magic.

"Among other things," the Matriarch confirmed. "Although their physical attributes are every bit as dangerous as their treasures."

Arran listened with interest. He knew far too little about the Hunters — especially now that he had joined a Valley which had waged numerous wars against them.

But the Matriarch did not elaborate. Instead, she picked up the silvery mail shirt from the table and handed it to Arran. He was surprised to find that it was far heavier than it looked.

"You should wear this under your robes," she said. "It’s made from starmetal, and it will offer decent protection against both magic and blades. It will do little to protect you from an arrow to the face, but it will stop a blade to the chest."

"Another Hunter’s treasure?" Arran asked. From what he had seen of mages so far, it seemed like most of them had little interest in armor — a foolish oversight, he believed.

"Correct," the Matriarch replied. "Though nowhere near as rare as the ring. Armor like this can be found on most of them."

"Perhaps there’s a lesson for us in that," Brightblade said, her expression pensive.

"Perhaps," the Matriarch said. "But since you are the Valley’s new Commander, I will leave it to you to decide what to make of it." After a brief moment of silence, she continued, "I believe that concludes our business for the day. Ghostblade, I expect you to host a banquet for the Valley’s Elders in two weeks. We will resume your training after that."

They spent some more minutes saying their goodbyes, after which Arran and Brightblade departed.

Yet almost as soon as they stepped out of the mansion, Brightblade shook her head. "There’s something she’s not telling us," she said, a deep frown on her forehead. "And I don’t expect it to be something pleasant."

"You think she plans to betray us?" Arran spoke in a soft voice, since they were still in the Matriarch’s gardens.

"No," Brightblade replied. "I imagine it will be far worse than that."