Flameseeker (Book 3) (3 page)

As students and lower-ranking administration were
forbidden in the Council’s wing without permission, the long, dark halls were
quiet enough for Jarial to hear the echo of his own footsteps. He heard the
muffled voices of the Councilmembers continue beyond the doors of the main chamber
as he drew further away.

Have I really become so powerful that I have
set some sort of standard here?
Jarial thought, idly gazing at the torches
lining the smooth stone walls. Dim halos flickered and danced throughout the
narrow hall, providing a lighted path toward a spiral stairwell that led to the
main hall of the Citadel.

As he descended the stairs, he mulled over recent
events. It was strange that, despite not having walked those halls in
twenty-six years, he had been welcomed by students and Councilmembers alike.
He’d recognized most of the faculty, and many of the students, who had all been
small children when last he saw them.

Amber-hued light from the main hall greeted Jarial
as he descended the final step. Some students and administration lingered
there, while others hustled to their classes. A majestic marble fountain sat in
the middle of the hall. A vestibule, which divided the main hall, had been
transformed into a massive library, the Library of the Sun, holding the books
of most use to novice students. Two other libraries—the Library of the Moon, on
the second floor, and the Library of the Stars, on the third floor—served the
more advanced and specialized students.

Jarial thought about the days he and Xavorin had
frequented the Library of the Sun. They had been young, then, and still new to
the Art. Jarial glimpsed a group of students, exchanging notes at a table, and
his heart ached. Once upon a time, he and Xavorin had sat at that same table,
studying for a test.

Jarial tore his gaze from the library and focused
his attention elsewhere.
Why? Why did you betray me, Xavorin? After all I
did for you....

A small commotion coming from near the fountain interrupted
his thoughts. He slowly approached the group of students and faculty, who had
crowded excitedly around a tall young man with a bald head. The man leaned on a
wooden staff with carved runes that gleamed with energy. His robes, which
Jarial realized were of that of a Citadel student’s, were shabby and torn from
days of travel. His tattooed face looked exhausted, yet determination glowed in
his narrow, slanted brown eyes. Sitting on his shoulder was a brown long-tailed
sand weasel.

“Omari! You’ve returned!” one student exclaimed.
“How did your test go? Did you pass?”

Omari turned to the student, a young woman, who
had managed to squeeze through the crowd to stand by him, staring admiringly.
Without a word, he held his staff aloft. It crackled with electricity, and the
students around him gasped in awe. He smiled. “I would say that it was a
success.”

Several administrators approached and broke up the
crowd. Groans and disappointed murmurs swept across the hall as everyone
reluctantly dispersed and returned to their daily duties. Omari was directed to
the stairs leading up to the Council’s wing.

He brushed past Jarial’s shoulder and glanced back
at him with the eyes of the determined child Jarial had once known.

That determined child, it seemed, was now a man.

Gods,
Jarial thought,
I really am
getting old.

III

Jarial watched Omari make his way out of the main
hall and toward the spiral staircase leading up to the Council’s wing. Once the
young mage had vanished around the curve of the stairway, Jarial murmured “
Tacete
,”
cloaking himself in silence. Jarial then mounted the stairs, following
undetected in Omari’s footsteps.

Omari reached the doors of the Council’s chambers
and knocked several times before slowly entering the meeting room where the Councilmembers
were still gathered. The wooden doors closed behind him, and Jarial pressed his
ear against it to listen to the voices beyond.

* * *

Omari, relieved to finally be back, stood before
the members of the Council, who each fixed a piercing gaze on him, waiting to
hear his report. The startled silence in the chamber made him shift
uncomfortably. He felt Percival’s furry body tense, and the weasel dug tiny
claws into the shoulder of his robe.

“It is all right, my friend,”
Omari said
mentally to his familiar.

Percival shuddered and let out soft chitters of
apprehension.

Omari scanned each of the Councilmembers. He realized
that one member was missing.
Where is Master Faulk?

“Omari!” The elder stood. “What a surprise and
relief it is to have you back!” He motioned for Omari to proceed to Faulk’s
empty chair.

Omari bowed his head and followed the gesture, but
once he reached the seat, he hesitated to sit down. He felt unworthy of sitting
amongst the greatest of the greats, after the humility he had learned from
Kyniythyria, the Dragon. “Greetings, Elder. I apologize if I have worried everyone.”

“We had lost contact with you and your escorts,” Master
Yates said. “We ended up resorting to scrying, but were still unable to locate
you.”

Omari arched an eyebrow.
Could the Dragon have masked
my location with the power she instilled in my staff?
With a glance at his
staff, he carefully laid it on the table, and he lowered himself into the plush
chair behind it with a comfortable sigh. The cushions conformed to his body,
providing a perfect fit for his back and buttocks. He relaxed, and Percival,
reassured, climbed down from his shoulder and curled up comfortably in his lap.

On the table in front of him, though Omari had
done nothing to cause it, the staff continued crackling and glowing with blue
electricity. All eyes turned to the staff, and gasps and murmurs echoed through
the chamber.

“Amazing,” the elder whispered. “A Dragon’s power
indeed flows within this staff.” He paused and tilted his head, as if he were
listening intently to a voice no one else could hear. “But wait! There’s
something else embedded in the staff.”

“Yes, Grandmaster,” Omari said. “It is a message—for
Master Faulk.”

The elder sighed. “Unfortunately, Master Faulk has
been missing for two days.”

“What? Missing?”
That is unlike him to do such
a thing.

The elder nodded. “We are still searching for him.
Don’t worry, Omari. Your test is still valid, and we acknowledge the proof of
your success. But we cannot grant a final ruling without him.”

Omari sighed.
Confound it, Kaijin. I have deviated
too long from my test trying to help you deal with your trivial issues. Now
something terrible might have happened to Master Faulk! I am going to try to
find him as soon as possible.
Percival stirred on his shoulder, and Omari glanced
down. The weasel seemed irritable about something, and after a moment Omari
felt it—that feeling of being watched by one unseen. He scanned the room but
saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“What do you see?”

“Omari,” the elder called, prompting him to sever
the empathic link with his familiar.

“My apologies, Grandmaster,” Omari said, slightly
rattled. “My mind was drifting.”

The elder drummed his fingers on the hard wooden
surface of the table, his expression hardening. “If you expect to earn that
seat you are currently sitting in, then you must learn to
focus.
”

The other members’ hard stares remained fixed on
Omari, and he cringed. “Y-yes, Grandmaster. My
sincerest
apologies,
Grandmaster.”

“Now, then.” The elder’s face softened, and he
scrutinized Omari. “Please share the details of your adventure with the Council.”

The elder’s request made Omari’s mouth go dry. He
would’ve rather forgotten it all, as much of it had been unpleasant. He sighed
deeply and let his gaze travel over the Councilmembers.
Confound it, I just
want to take a nice long bath and go to sleep—and look for Master Faulk.
He
took a moment to search for words.

“Omari!” the elder barked.

Omari jumped in his seat, and then sat up
straighter and cleared his throat. “It was a rather terrifying experience.
First, my assigned escorts were all attacked and killed by a pack of vagabonds,
and I barely managed to escape. I fled and hid under an invisibility spell.
Realizing I was alone, I still continued forward in my travels. But not long
after, I met a group of adventurers, and before I knew it, we had reached the
Dragon’s mountain in the Mallowyn Crags.

“Just when I thought I had completed my task, the
Dragon sent us all out to find Her egg, which was stolen by slayers who called
themselves the Legion. Needless to say, my comrades and I brought that group of
ill doers to bloody justice, and we rescued the egg. So grateful She was to
have Her child back, She enchanted my staff, as well as bestowed Her blessings
upon us.”

Small murmurs swarmed through the chamber, and the
Councilmembers exchanged glances, nodding.

“Fascinating.” The elder looked thoughtful. “Is
there more?”

Omari mulled over Kaijin and his strange quest.
“My comrades and I journeyed to another place called the Pyre—a peculiar place
where the Firelord, Ignis, supposedly reigns. A member of my party, also a
mage, found sanctuary there.”

Master Yates perked up. “Another mage, you say?
Was he a Citadel student?”

“No, Honored Sixth. He was ... an outcast.” Omari
licked his lips.
I had better leave things at that.

Master D’Hasha slammed his fist on the table,
causing everyone to jump. “Pray tell, not
another
renegade!”

“N-no, Honored Seventh.” Omari quickly shook his
head. “He is ... a reputable man. However, he does have a strange passion for
fire.”

Mistress Aldermoon tapped her chin. “Mmm. He
sounds like he could be a pyromancer. I know little of the Pyre, other than
it’s a priestly place. The people there are very reclusive. Would they truly welcome
such outsiders as mage outcasts amongst their ranks?”

Omari shrugged. “They did not seem to have a problem
with him, Honored Third. In fact, the high priest and priestess affirmed his
sanctuary there.”

More murmurs swept through the chamber.

“It is strange, I know,” Omari continued. “But I
have not seen such unusual power wielded by a man before. Perhaps that is why
the clerics did not turn him away.”

“Explain,” the elder demanded, his expression
hardening again.

Omari kept his composure. He raised his head
slightly, confident but still respectful. “This man, Kaijin, is being influenced
by the Firelord himself. Kaijin claims he becomes possessed at times and does
things against his will.”

The other members all turned to the elder, their expressions
shocked and curious.

The elder stroked his grey-white beard, his expression
neutral. “Divine intervention,” he muttered. “I never thought I would hear of
such phenomena again in my lifetime—much less of it happening to a mage.”

“Again, Elder?” Master Darkwinter blinked.

“There was one such incident that I heard about
from a group of clerics during my youth. They spoke of a woman—a simple
commoner—who had become possessed by Tydus, the Dark Lord. Her influence
brought chaos and war in the peaceful country of Corvandor, north of the
Azulene Sea. I daresay that this phenomenon can only be a bad omen.”

“How terrible,” Mistress Aldermoon said, shaking
her head.

“Indeed,” the elder said. “And that a
mage
has
been possessed—this cannot bode well.”

“Let us meet this Kaijin fellow,” Master Harden suggested
to the Council.

A few members nodded in agreement, and Master
Ustan asked, “Why don’t we send him a message of our interest?”

“With all due respect, Honored Council,” Omari
interjected. “Kaijin will most likely not come willingly, as he has already
found his place at the Pyre.”

“Then perhaps we should go there, instead?” Master
Adney suggested.

“And do what?” Mistress Shikawa said. “Take the
man? We cannot force his will. Not even we can withstand the Firelord’s power,
which Kaijin has seemingly been touched with.”

“Maira is right,” the elder said with a sigh.
“Besides, I am certain they will not allow us to observe him. I propose we hold
another meeting next week to resume this discussion in further detail. For now,
however, we have far more immediate issues to discuss.” He nodded to Omari.
“You are dismissed. Thank you for your detailed report. The final ruling of
your test remains pending until Master Faulk returns.”

“Of course, Grandmaster. I understand. Farewell,
then, Honored Eight.” Omari stood, retrieving his staff. Percival returned to
his usual spot on his shoulder. After giving a respectful bow, Omari turned on
his heel and left.

* * *

Jarial quickly pulled back from the door, hiding
himself in the darkness of the hallway.
So Kaijin is alive and well. Thank
the gods. If there’s any chance of me seeing him again, it will be through Omari.
Jarial stared at Omari, who walked with his head lowered. Once the doors to the
Council’s chambers closed, bewilderment and frustration filled Omari’s face.

As Omari approached, Jarial dropped the silence spell
and stepped out from the shadows, standing before him. He looked up at the
taller young man, who started. Percival let out an alarm-whistle.

Jarial smirked. “That sounded like quite an adventure
you had, boy.”

The young man stared at him, wide-eyed. “M-
master
Glace
?”

Jarial nodded, and then patted Omari’s back. “How
have you been? It’s been so long since I last saw you, and you’ve grown into a
fine young man. Twenty-eight now, I hear.”

Omari grinned. “Indeed, sir.”

“By the gods, I can’t believe it’s been
that
long.” Jarial shook his head. “Now I
know
I’m getting old.”

Omari stifled a chuckle. “Master Glace, you look
as though you have not aged a day since I last saw you.”

Jarial’s lips formed a smile. Thanks to his
illusion spells he kept cast on himself, he always appeared much younger than
his real age.

“My ass is not the one you should be kissing,
Omari,” Jarial quipped. “You’re trying to impress the Council to earn your
place, are you not?”

A hint of a frown spread across Omari’s face, and
then he nodded. “Yes, sir. But I must await Master Faulk’s return—wherever he
is—so that the Council’s final ruling can be made official.”

“Mmm, yes. I heard he went missing. How unfortunate.
But there is nothing you or I can do about that right now.” He gestured with a
side-tilt of his head for Omari to follow. “Walk with me. I’d like to know more
about your endeavors.” He turned down a corridor that led the way to the exit.

“My endeavors ...” Omari repeated, catching up to
him. “I simply have one: to ascend as one of the Nine. I had hoped that I had
successfully passed my first test, having survived such a treacherous journey.”

“It is not my place to say if you have or have
not, but from the time I noticed you when you first came to the Citadel as a
boy, I knew you were someone special—someone destined for something great.”

Omari beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

They descended the stairwell and were soon back in
the main hall, which was still bustling with activity. Jarial continued along
toward the exit, ignoring the glances and greetings he received from students
and faculty, new and old. He eventually made his way outside the Citadel and
into the main courtyard. The orange skies, streaked with sooty lines of clouds,
heralded the fast-approaching dusk, and the outline of Ghaeldorund’s skyline
could be seen on the horizon, across the sea.

The air was cool and dry, and a light breeze
kissed Jarial’s face.
Before I know it, winter will be here.

On the ground in the middle of the courtyard, a
large teleportation circle with abstract designs and runes around it glowed
softly in the advancing twilight. It was the primary means of transporting from
the Citadel to Ghaeldorund, which was on the mainland. Only those possessing
certain enchanted items approved by the Citadel administration were permitted
to use the teleporter.

Jarial fished through his purse for the gold
brooch he had been given by Maira upon his return to Ghaeldorund. The simple
trinket, upon which a star was inscribed on the sapphire inset, was Jarial’s
key to using the device.

Omari pulled a tarnished locket out from within
the breast of his robe. Etched on one side of the locket was a rune that meant “storm.”

He still uses his mother’s locket?

Omari looked to Jarial, awaiting his lead.

Brooch in hand, Jarial stepped into the circle.
Light momentarily blinded him before all was clear again, and he was standing
in another similar circle—a landing point. A metal railing lined the cliff he
now stood upon, overlooking Ghaeldorund’s docks below and the island upon which
the Citadel sat. He stepped out of the circle. A few Citadel students and citizens
milled about further inland from the cliff.