TST (38 page)

The young page ran through the marble-floored halls of Castle North haven in search of Duchess Mellina. The young boy in russet velvet page’s livery came to a halt in front of the large wooden doors just outside of Her Grace’s sitting room. The page paused to catch his breath and straighten his velvet doublet before rapping sharply on the door exactly three times. He immediately opened and passed through the large, ornately carved hardwood door as soon as the Lady beckoned him to enter.

Sitting in one of a pair of padded, high-backed chairs was Lady Mellina, embroidering a cloth with some sort of design. Lady Mellina was the Duchess of North Haven and its ruler since the death of her husband nearly ten years ago. At forty-six years of age, she was still a startlingly beautiful woman with only a hint of crow’s feet at the corners of her dark blue eyes to hint at her age. Her face and hands still maintained the smoothness of youth. About the only thing that kept her from being mistaken for her daughter’s older sister, was her constant stern expression.

Her unwavering poise and always-serious demeanor had earned her the nickname of the ice queen by her subjects and those that were familiar with her. Though she was often stern, she was deeply devoted to her subjects and their nickname for her was always spoken with the warmest of regards, for her subjects returned her devotion in equal measure.

Her daughter, Lady Miranda, was much more like her father. Her dark auburn mane and jade green eyes were nearly the mirror of her father’s. She was outgoing, outspoken, and loved to live life to its fullest. She was often found riding about the forests in leather leggings and jumping fallen logs and low walls laughing all the while as her entourage tried valiantly to keep up.

Miranda was much beloved by the people of North Haven and could often be found conversing and dancing with the locals in some of the nicer inns whenever she was able to sneak away from her handmaidens and guards.

Not that she really needed any guards within the walls of North Haven. With the exception of perhaps the most dangerous and poverty stricken areas of the city, every man and woman in the city would thrash anyone that so much as raised a hand or even a voice to their beloved Lady.

The young page strode forward with the cadence of the most highly trained soldier in the army, a silver tray resting lightly on his upturned palms. He stopped precisely two paces from the Duchess, his heels together, toes splayed exactly at a forty-five degree angle, and bowed slightly at the waist, dipping his head all the while never letting the tray he bore move so much as an inch in any direction.

“Milady, there is a letter for you,” the page said as his blond, shoulder-length hair swayed slightly next to his face.

“Thank you, Jonathan,” Duchess Mellina replied formally as she retrieved the folded wax-sealed paper from the silver tray. “You may go.”

Lady Miranda caught Jonathan’s eye as he bowed to each of the women and beckoned him over with a crook of her finger. Jonathan stepped smartly to stand before his Lady as she reached into a pocket of her dress and handed him a piece of hard candy wrapped in wax paper with a warm smile that reached her eyes.

Despite his best effort at maintaining his professional countenance, the page could not help but smile back at her. Miranda shooed him away with a brush of her fingers. Jonathan marched back through the doors, closing them behind him before popping the treat into his mouth and running back through the ornate corridors with a large smile on his face.

“What is it, mother?” Miranda asked, looking up from the book she was reading.

“It is an invitation for the two of us to be Duke Ulric’s guests at his winter festival ball,” the duchess replied as she read the fine script written upon the expensive paper.

Miranda’s face turned cross at the information. “You know as well as I that he is aware that your responsibilities would not allow you travel during winter festival. That snake is just using you to try to get me to attend. I will not have it. The man is a troll.”

“He is not a troll. He is quite handsome and very charming when he wants to be. You should be more receptive towards him,” her mother admonished.

“The man is a pig and traitor to the crown! He subverts King Jarvin’s authority every chance he gets!”

“Do not speak thusly, daughter. The duke has done nothing overtly subversive towards our monarch and such talk will only sow discord.”

“Not overtly subversive? What must he do before his actions are considered overtly subversive, wave a bloody sword in one hand whilst swinging Jarvin’s head about in the other?” Miranda demanded.

Duchess Mellina set down her embroidery and glared daggers at her daughter. “Many of the nobles disagree with King Jarvin’s edicts, I have even debated the merits of more than one of his proclamations myself yet I consider myself loyal to His Majesty.”

“Mother, you know how important winter festival is to me and how involved I am with setting it up. I could not possibly attend Duke Ulric’s ball. I have a responsibility to my own people,” she argued.

“That is as you say. Very well, I will decline Duke Ulric’s invitation for the both of us. However, I must insist that you be his guest at spring festival and I will inform him of such in my reply,” the Duchess compromised. “It would do well for you to attend Duke Ulric’s ball if nothing else than to strengthen the ties between our two cities. Perhaps you may even find he is not as boorish as you imagine. It has been several years since you have met him in person and opinions change. A marriage could have enormous benefits for both our people and our own treasury that, I need not remind you, is growing more meager with each passing season.”

“If it is so important to you to join our houses then you should have married him yourself when he sought to suit you!” Miranda shouted waspishly.

“Lower your voice child and conduct yourself as a Lady. Shouting is crude and unseemly. You know perfectly well I swore I would never marry after your father died and I do not intend to break that vow. Besides, I am well past the age of begetting an heir to the duke anyhow.”

“I suppose it is better to whore off your only daughter, your only child, to improve our own standing, for that is what it is! No matter the amount of jewels, titles, and riches you would trade me for; it still makes me no more than a high priced harlot!” Miranda screamed in rage as she wrenched the doors open and prepared to storm out of the room.

“Miranda you will not speak with the tongue of a common tavern wench.”

Though Duchess Mellina never raised her voice, the fire in her eyes was clearly evident and Miranda could feel them burning into her back as she fled the room.

******

“That was a clever spell you used to raise those spikes from the ground,” Duncan said as the two sat back in the rune caster’s workshop enjoying a well-earned mug of beer.

Azerick nodded his appreciation at the dwarf’s compliment. “I particularly liked the way you turned the stone into mud then reversed it to trap such a large creature. I will have to study that and find a way to mimic the effect with my sorcery,” Azerick replied.

“That is one of my better ones!” Duncan crowed.

It did not take the rune carver long to duplicate Azerick’s stone spike spell, far less time than it took the sorcerer to develop his own earth transmutation spell. Azerick continued to practice the art of rune carving until Duncan decided that his carving skills were sufficiently honed and began trying to teach him how to draw energy from the earth to empower them so they would serve a purpose beyond mere decoration.

Azerick quickly found that this was far more difficult than learning the carving process had been. His own natural instinct to seek out the Source to power all things magical always leapt to the fore in an attempt to complete the task, which frustrated student and master both.

“You must get it through your head that there are more sources of power and magic than the one you use to power your sorcery,” Duncan told him for perhaps the hundredth time.

“I know, but it is like trying to force myself to walk on my hands. I know I am supposed to but my feet always wants to take over the task,” Azerick replied in frustration.

“I think what you need to do is learn how to talk to the stone first.”

Azerick furrowed his brow in confusion. “How am I supposed to talk to stone?”

“I’m talking about communing with the primal forces that imbue all natural things like stone, fire, water, and air. Of course as a dwarf, I’m most familiar with and have the easiest time with earth and stone. I can hardly get them to shut up. Do you remember the first time you intentionally reached out and touched your Source?”

Azerick nodded that he did and was beginning to understand what Duncan was saying.

“You need to sit down and focus your mind into the elements and find the energy locked inside. They all have a spirit, just as you do, if a bit different.”

Azerick spent the next several days sitting and meditating upon the problem, locking himself away in a room devoid of all light, sound, and anything else that could cause distraction. For several hours each day he repeated the process and was about to give it up as futile when one morning he felt a tiny surge of energy in the stone around him. Instead of trying to grab onto it and force his will upon it, he relaxed even further and let himself slowly drift towards it as if he was trying to catch a soap bubble in his hands.

As he gently touched the tiny spark, he blew upon it with his consciousness and was astounded at the amount of power that suddenly flowed about him. The energy of the earth was subtle, unlike the raging torrent of the Source, but it was vast! The energy of the earth and air stretched out from horizon to horizon in a soft constant glow. If the Source was a raging river, these elemental energies were an ocean.

Much further down, he could sense the burning energy of the molten hot fires deep within the ground. Running through fissures in the hard rock, he could see and feel the rivulets and rivers of lava trickling and coursing through the stone like blood through his veins and arteries.

Azerick reached out, pinched a small measure of the ethereal energy with his mind, and attempted to guide it into one of his rune carvings. The energy felt slick and insubstantial, slipping between his fingers like so much smoke. When he came out of his trance, he looked upon the stone chit sitting on his crossed legs where he sat upon the floor. The sorcerer traced a finger over the rune and felt the slight tingle of energy that it contained. Elated at his discovery, he rushed out of his dark room and into Duncan’s workshop.

“Aye, I think you’re finally getting it, boy,” Duncan rumbled as he studied the rune Azerick handed him. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Ha, I’ll make a rune carver outta you yet!”

Over the next several weeks, Azerick continued to practice but with only minor improvements. He was able to touch the energy trapped within the elements almost easily though still not with the natural affinity that he could tap the Source. However, getting it to work his will was another matter entirely. Earth was stubborn and was loathe to do anything but what it wanted, which was to do nothing at all. Air was flighty and raced away like a startled bird the moment Azerick tried to catch it. Fire was openly hostile and fought him for control. Water was probably the most confusing and contentious and displayed the characteristics of all three depending on its mood.

Duncan judged most of his efforts passable but finally had to confess that Azerick would likely never become a true rune carver, at least not by dwarven standards, but he had a small talent and there was no such thing as a useless skill no matter how minor his ability.

“Well, I’ll tell you, lad, you’ve done well. Better than I expected from a human, and a young one at that. I told you that I’d put you up through the winter. I thought I’d let you know that the snows are clearing out of the passes and traveling ought not be too difficult in the coming days, but you’re a likable sort and you’re welcome to stick around a bit longer if you’ve a mind to.”

“I appreciate the offer and I have enjoyed my stay here. I have really learned a lot from you, but it is time for me to move on,” Azerick told him sincerely.

Duncan nodded his understanding. “I’ll help you get a bag packed that will see you well enough through your travels. Where will you be heading to if you don’t mind me asking?”