The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (26 page)

“Agreed. I think he knows something as well. His arrival is no accident.” James made conversation, but his stiff muscles reminded him of the bottle of wine still half full at the camp. His mind concentrated on it, knowing what relief it would bring him soon. Southwind Keep, treachery, scrolls, giant cats, ogre armies, these things would not be bothering his weary mind for much longer as the wine always promised an answer.

Gwenneth I:II

Lazlette Academy Vallakazz, Chazzrynn

“Magic is not a power to be wielded, a gift to be stolen, nor a secret to be locked away. It is an art to be preserved, passed on, and never forgotten
.”-from the teachings of Flanius Lazlette, Archmage and founder of the Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum.

Snow fell in small wispy flakes from where she stood high on the bridge between the south and west towers. This spot, though not much of a view of the city at night, was overlooking Lake Pellicram, the traditional place for all wizards graduating their ninth and final year at the Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum. Gwenneth felt the winter air, annoyed that she, having graduated her family’s academy at the age of twenty-two, eight years ago, still had to attend this ceremony. The students all lined the bridge, seventeen this year, more than usual, and all six of the professors as well as her mother Aelaine Lazlette, High Wizard and Lady of Vallakazz. All the wizards were in their robes of deep blue, customary sashes of gold, holding their oaken staves and wands at their sides at attention. The professors, including herself and her mother, were dressed in traditional black with gold trimmed robes of the Academy, having no need of wooden items of focus much, however convenient at times when a proven wizard cared not to put in as much effort to channel and manipulate the energies the world supplied.

The procession began, trumpets blared from seven floors below on the terrace, and Gwenne followed the professors one by one, incanting the words of arcane flight and levitation in unison, “
Vianminor efrenti felanashrae.
” the eight wizards rose slowly to a height of five feet above the bridge and drifted in mid air, turning to face the class assembled and hovered effortlessly almost a hundred feet above the lake. The trumpets gave their final notes and the small crowd of hundreds below allowed to view the ceremony all clapped and cheered the spectacle. Gwenne, next to Middir of Kivanis and Dasius of Caberra, looked to her mother out of the corner of her eye, waiting for her signal to begin. The prodigal daughter had never liked Dasius, the bald old Caberran, his tan skin and arrogant accent, and the feeling of dislike was mutual. Gwenneth had bested him at a harmless duel of arcane offenses when she was in her eighth year and called him “
Dasius the lesser
” in front of the class as the man tired out and gave in to the exceptional youth. Gwenneth had many months of Academy hours and cleaning duty for such an insult on a professor and they had made an example of her, most said because of who she was rather than what she had done. Needless to say, the two had not spoken many words since and were nearly considered rivals by the rumor mill of the Academy. Gwenne looked past him as though he did not exist and watched the others, Brellmond Graniff a man from here in Vallakazz who knew her late father and taught much alchemy and classic arcane. Enira D’Fallow of Harlaheim was present, a woman that once served the late King Philliam the third of Caberra and studied the attraction of magical energies with the great Kalzarius. Linnel and Damoval Traelsidian, the two old brothers from Shanador that once traveled with many famed wizards before retiring here, were both well versed in the elemental and telekinetic forces of the arts. Gwenne had studied under each and every one of them, grew up with them and their stories, and envied their power and knowledge from lifetimes spent in the arts. She longed to have been the places they had been and met the mighty and famous wizards they had met.

Her mother waved her hand, illuminating more than fifty torch sconces with magical flame all up and down the four towers of the her academy, causing sounds of awe and admiration from the onlookers below. Gwenne knew that was her cue. She breathed in deeply, concentrating on her sense of magical energies around her and in the lake. Gwenne could see in her mind the auras of the arcane enchantments with her skills and years of practice, she felt the wands, the staves, trinkets and rings of the professors, and most importantly, the nine hundred sixty one crystals in Lake Pellicram. Her mind clear as she floated above the water in the chill night sky, Gwenneth Lazlette spoke the words of illumination, lighting the stones beneath the water, every one of them coming to life in a myriad of tones and hues. With both hands raised in front of her, not even looking at the waters below, palms out, Gwenne raised the gems out and above the water, gently floating and circling in a slow orbit, drawing hushed “
oohs
” and “
aaahs
” from the crowd at the beauty of the show of light. The other younger students, over a hundred of them, watched as well from balconies, windows of dormitory rooms, and other bridges. The High Wizard’s daughter opened her eyes, concentrating on maintaining the revolution of the lit, hand sized, crystals around the lake, her green eyes calm and sensing auras now well over a thousand feet away in every direction. Despite the repetition of this long and tedious ceremony year after year, Gwenneth did enjoy the attention and awe she received from almost every student and citizen in Vallakazz.

“Welcome graduating students of Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum. It is the year three hundred forty four and those that have come before you, each and every one, have completed nine years of study here with us. It is a dark time for our art and has been since the migration from Altestan to Agara so many centuries ago. Many of you will serve great lords, some mighty wizards, a few will be counsel in the halls of kings, and some still will stay here and teach our craft to others. We have a proud and honorable reputation here in Vallakazz, and our curriculum does not ever lower the standards set down by my great grandfather and the other founders of this Academy of the arcane. Regardless of your destinations, your stone of ceremonial passage will join the other nine hundred sixty one before you, a test of the skills you have mastered here with us. You have all passed the written and laboratorial examinations here and tonight we will test your control of the arcane powers you have learned. Remember always, that our art, our practitioners, and our teachers are hunted relentlessly by those agents of the Altestan Empires. Their belief that the secrets of the arcane must be guarded and controlled was the reason we fled south, the reason many wizards have perished, and the reason and undeniable truth, that you must pass on what you have learned. Professor Linnel Traelsidian.” Aelaine waved her hand, sending faint white light over top of the old gray bearded man with a sagging brimmed hat.

Gwenne tried to listen, but her senses of arcane energies were pulled, something powerful, four things powerful, more so than any concentration she had ever seen. One was moving slowly closer to the city from the west, she had no means to really see it, or the area, only her senses of arcane sight told her that it was there, powerful and old. The other three were moving faster, moving away from Vallakazz, heading north, all together very close, going past the city, miles away. Gwenne could not tell exactly, but her senses had improved more than she had ever imagined since she still held the glowing crystals in orbit, was levitating above the water, and could see the arcane in two different directions well outside the city. She glanced over at Middir, who was staring at her, she looked back, both of them with concern on their faces. The old professor nodded and opened his eyes wide, suggesting she keep her focus on the here and now, also that he was aware of what she was seeing. Gwenne assumed he was seeing the same thing and by the quick glance of her mother to them both, it was the three of them alone that had noticed the auras from this distance. None of them paid much attention to professor Linnel’s speech on the use of telekinetic forces of the arcane to assist in everyday life, they had heard it many times before and Gwenne was interested more in the things her mother and Middir were seeing with her.

“….It has been my pleasure to instruct you on the uses of the existing energies, unseen and ancient, that a wizard may make use of in the world. I commend you all.” Linnel finished with removing his hat and swooping low while levitating over the swirl of glowing crystals and the lake, revealing he had more hair in his gray beard stretching to his chest than on his head.

“Professor Damoval Traelsidian.” Aelaine waved her hand again, moving the white light without a glance to the younger of the two brother wizards.

The wind picked up, fluttering the robes of those elder wizards floating above the lake. Damoval levitated forward a bit, his black and gray hair braided, his short beard groomed perfectly above his rotund belly. “Dear class of three hundred forty four, your capabilities at defending yourself and your art, perhaps your assigned noble court even, lie in the areas I have taught you over the last nine years. The existing elements in place, such as the cold, fire and heat, smoke or fog that can be manipulated to your controls easily, as they are seen and touched, require little on your part. To the drawn elements not so readily available such as electricity from the sky and magnetisms of the earth and stone, you have worked hard. And finally the summoned and conjured, deadly powerful forms of elemental mastery that lie in lightning, storm-like winds, intense incendiary heats from the deep of the world, I caution you. Much responsibility and care I have taught you over the years in using these studies and arts. A wizard cannot fool themself about the dangers invoked within them, and in days…….”

Gwenne tried to listen, but the sense that many smaller items of enchantment followed at quick pace behind the three powerful ones overrode her attention to professor Damoval. It seemed that the set of three books of High Elven Magic she recalled from her concealed eavesdropping, were being chased by something well equipped with may enchanted auras on their person. Her head nearly turned, as the aura from the west came closer, perhaps hours from the city now and a thought of her father, who she vaguely had an impression of to start, ran through her senses from the aura on an item carried. From the west, it seemed very near the powerful whatever it was, that approached Vallakazz. Confused, intrigued, the hundreds of circling crystals in brilliant colors, flickered for a moment, dropping an inch, and then continuing as Gwenneth realized her loss of focus. A slow turn from the head of her mother and a smiling glare, reminded Gwenne of her purpose this night and not to cause a scene at this important ceremony.

“…from the lights you infuse into torches, candles, and other objects for convenience, to warding off enemies of your kingdoms with searing lines of flame and lightning from the storms above, the elemental forces in any form shall be yours to command with great care and skill. It has been most rewarding instructing you, and best of luck to you all.” Damoval bowed his head slightly, floating back in line with the other professors.

The Lady of Lazlette motioned to her right, past her daughter, to the tall aging man, his black hair pulled tight and straight in a tail, and speckled beard neatly trimmed. Brellmond Graniff stood a hand above any man in the academy, being of Chazzrynnian blood which from history, was eastern Altestani mixed with large native tribes found here in the south many, many centuries ago.

He glided forward, white light marking his turn to address the graduating class. “You will be asked by those you serve and those that serve you in the future, what the study of the arcane arts means to you. You will be asked to teach and train others, some of you
many
others. Our history is vast, troubled, and hidden throughout the ages and continents, however much of the most basic truths remain. We wizards, practice the arts of manipulating existing powers and forces into different variables. Just as the mountain kingdom of Boraduum produces steel armor from a mixture of hard work, mining ore, smelting, forging, pounding, and a bit of artistic creativity, so do we take that which is there, call upon it, invoke it, move it through and around us, mix it with word and actions, and produce effects most would call grand magical spells. You have learned much of the rudimentary magicks, from glyphs, to potions, the use of staff and wand, and arcane focus and meditations. I challenge you all, to remember your basic principles and morals of using what you have learned and passing it as taught to you. I see so many that leave here, destined in their mind to be the next archmage of somewhere, driven by power and the search for more of it. I see many as well, that let those they serve under push them into countless years of creating gifts and enchanting an arsenal, living meagerly in their alchemical labs and studies. You are artists, creators and composers of great magicks, trained in the most acclaimed school known on Agara. I have trained students from twelve different countries and one problem has plagued them the most. Where the basic steps and beliefs of the arcane arts cease and something or someone else takes priority. If I had the power to wish you all something, it would be to always remember your lessons here and let nothing compromise what you have been taught. May the light of Megos guide you and protect you all.” tall, serious, and testing in every word, Brellmond bowed and opened his hands, the ancient traditional blessing of Megos the father of magic, father of Annar and Alden, and a deity that faded from worship by all but a few over a millennia ago. His tales and teachings taught more in the Aldane churches and temples than anywhere else, yet Brellmond was a believer that Megos still ruled the Carician Gods from his citadel “
Marthentine
” on Carice, the white moon. His classes would gossip from time to time of his references to the dead religion, to the point Gwenne’s mother had to have a talk with him about his curriculum several times over the years.