Dream II - Chapter 16

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Race: Saurian

Bloodline Powers: Improved Strength, Rending, Firebreath
Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 4, Wind (Noble) 2
Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Oxygen 4, Embers 4, Pressure 4, Current/Flow 4

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“Already you’ve learned the second level of wind!” Pothas exclaimed happily, clapping his hands together.  “I knew you were amongst the called but this is something else entirely.  Certainly an occasion warranting a celebration.”

“Very impressive,” Rose agreed, her hands clasped behind her stiff, perfectly straight back, “I am unsure if I have had another student move as quickly through the mysteries as Sam.”

He beamed back at the two of them.  It had only been a day since the altercation at the barracks, but the timing had synced up nicely with the weekly status check in Pothas had with all of his apprentices.

Samazzar, glanced at Rose’s stock still form as she stood in the back of the room across from where Percival and him sat in well made wooden chairs.  Well, he amended mentally, Pothas’ apprentices and Rose.  Technically upon becoming a magi she had graduated from her apprentice role, but she still worked closely with her master, taking on many of the teaching duties for the younger apprentices.

“You know,” Pothas continued mischievously.  “You just did Vereton a great service by investigating the bandit attacks to the North.  I know that you’ve been looking for more information on the monsters and alchemical reagents located in the wilds.  There still are more books in general circulation, but if you want to find truly in-depth studies, you will need to visit the forbidden archives.”

“Master,” Rose said, a warning tone to her voice.  “You know that the chancellor won’t like this.”

“Nonsense,” the air master replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Young Sam has been a diligent student and he has helped the City.  He hasn’t received a reward for his actions, and that is all I am doing.  I will enter the archives with him if that will quiet complaints, but I do not think that anyone will have any true concerns if he is simply going to read through some of the ancient histories and geographic studies of the North.”

“Can I come with?”  Percivial asked hopefully.  “I almost finished reading the first volume of Dominique Moorae’s Theory on the Origin of Magic the last time I was in the archives.  I would love having a chance to finish it.”

“Next time,” Pothas responded, walking over to a coat hanger to put on his formal robes.  “I believe you were going to set up the air tunnel and vacuum experiments for later this afternoon.  I know Rose has a class to teach before we are set to reconvene so there is no one else I can trust to set up the reagents.”

“But,” Percivial began, his young face twisting into a frown.

“But nothing,” Pothas said with a laugh as he slipped the robe on.  “Even though I will be the one performing the experiment, I suspect all three of you will benefit from it greatly.  It’s not every day that a student of the mystery of wind has an opportunity to be involved in an advanced study.  So long as you pay attention, all three of you have the potential to unlock insights years ahead of schedule.”

The other apprentice looked down sullenly.  Out of the corner of Samazzar’s eyes, he saw the young man’s hands ball into fists.

“Come now Sam,” Pothas called out as he began walking to the door, wind master robe practically floating on the air behind him.  “We will only have four or five hours in the archives before my experiment this afternoon, you’ll have to make the most of them.”

He stood up, glancing back at Percival.  The smaller man was glaring at him, brow furrowed.  It was almost as if he blamed Samazzar for Pothas’ decision, but that would be ludicrous.  The air master was mercurial, almost the opposite of Rose’s taciturn and rule-bound demeanor.  When the old man made decisions, there was rarely any rhyme or reason to them.  The world just needed to accept the choices for what they were.

Samazzar jogged to catch up with Pothas as the wind master made his way out of the tower and into the campus proper.  Walking with Pothas was a different experience.  Normally, Sam didn’t draw much attention.  A couple startled glances and the occasional frown from the scions of wealth and power, but he rarely warranted a second look.  After all, although saurians weren’t terribly common, there was nothing about a student of a noble mystery without political connections that warranted true scrutiny.

Pothas on the other hand, commanded respect.  People stood aside as he walked by.  All but the children of dukes and princes inclined their heads slightly in respect toward the practitioner.  It was a bit of an eye opening experience for Samazzar.  Intellectually, he knew that Pothas was powerful and well respected, but actually seeing the looks of awe on the other students’ faces really put the moment into perspective.

After about just under ten minutes of walking, the two of them came upon a squat building near the center of the campus.  Behind it was the tallest tower of the academy, reserved for the chancellor, a high level practitioner in the royal mysteries of life and necrosis; only the most promising advanced students were allowed inside.

Technically, Samazzar had access to the tower, but he had never actually been inside. Crone Tazzaera was sponsored by Pothas so her classroom was located near the base of his tower.  Even his dorms were close to the wind tower.

Pothas swept past the pair of guards in front of the archive.  Samazzar bit his tongue as he followed his master, noting the emblem of the knights on both of the soldiers’ gleaming armor.  Behind a counter inside the building sat a man and a woman, both wearing the robes of a full magi.  The man nodded respectfully to Pothas as the woman slid a large book filled with carefully scrawled names and a pen toward the wind master.

“Write your name down Sam,” Pothas said as he scrawled something illegible on the first open line of the log.  “The patrician wants a record of everyone that enters the archives and with good reason.  There are books in here that must never see the light of day.  I will be supervising you to ensure that you don’t happen across anything… too dangerous.”

Samazzar felt his throat bob, his mouth drying slightly at the warning tone in Pothas’ voice.  Deep down, the dragon in him scoffed at the idea of danger. He was meant to collect knowledge, to make it just as much a part of his hoard as precious items and metals.  At the same time, Pothas wasn’t the type to lie.  Sam wasn’t entirely sure how knowledge could harm him, but his master was convinced, and that was enough to slow the eager saurian’s step.

He wrote his name below the air master, careful to not let the ink to blot as the quill scratched against the paper.  Finished, Sam nodded to himself before blowing on the book, drying both of their signatures.

The woman accepted the book back, glancing once to ensure that both of their signatures were present before addressing Samazzar and Pothas.

“I am sure you know the rules wind master, but I am going to have to reiterate them for the new face.  Non-magi are not allowed into the deep archives.  You can read any book found in the normal archives, but it cannot leave this building.  Both of you will be assigned a reading room and any book you remove from a shelf should be left in that room.  The books you review will be noted.  If there are concerns of espionage or forbidden practices, you will be contacted by the patrician or one of his representatives.”

“Are there any questions?” She asked, finishing her brief speech.  Pothas shook his head and turned toward the large metal door that opened into the archive proper.  Samazzar bit his tongue.  He had plenty of questions, but he could save those for Pothas.  Obviously the older practitioner was in a hurry, and he didn’t want to be the reason why his master was delayed.

When neither of them replied, the woman got up from her seat and walked around the counter.  As she approached the large steel door, the male magus joined her, taking up a position on the left side of the door while she took up a spot on the right.

Each of them reached down the front of their shirts, removing a pendant on a chain.  The pendant itself was fairly simple, little more than a disc of silver with a golden cage in the center that held a small gem.  The gem glowed with a faint light of its own, and at the same time each of the magi pressed their jewelry into the frame of the door.

With a groan, the metal slid to the left revealing a staircase that led deep underground.  The two guardians stepped aside, both nodding respectfully to Pothas as he swept past them and began his descent into the bowels of the building.

The air master led the way, heading directly for a specific section of the library.  Sam couldn’t tell one of the racks of scrolls, books and stone tablets from another, but evidently there was some manner of markings on the bookcases that let the older man navigate the maze with ease.

They finally stopped in front of a shelf that looked like any other.  Pothas leaned forward, tapping a finger on his chin as he rapidly read through the names written on small placards screwed to the wooden shelves.  After five to six seconds of silence he began grabbing books, handing them to Samazzar without looking back.

Monsters of the North, Geography of the Dragon’s Teeth, Rocks and Resources: The North, and Herbology of the Dragon’s Teeth.  Sam’s eyes widened as he looked at each book passed his way.  Finally, Pothas stopped, shooting him a quick conspiratorial wink before he handed him a series of bronze plates with faint writing on them.  The metal sheets didn’t have a fancy title, simply the words “Godfall by Dominique Morae,” but they looked unimaginably old.  Someone had gone to great effort to ensure that the passing years didn’t tarnish or damage the writings, and Samazzar could almost feel a weight settling on his shoulders as the metal was added to the top of the books in his arms.

“Start with the work by Morae,” Pothas said.  “It isn’t exactly what you are looking for, but it will provide you with a foundation that you are missing as a self-taught scholar.  There is still much we don’t know about the nature of magic, but Morae founded Vereton Academy just after the fall.  He was a priest of life and death until Gaios was slain, and afterward he was one of the first to study the mysteries of life and death left in the god’s passing.”

Samazzar could almost feel himself salivating as he looked at the sheet of metal.

“You will be in study room 7-W,” Pothas continued.  “I will come and get you when it is time to return to our tower for the experiment.  Until then, spend your time wisely.  I might be a master of the Academy, but even I can’t take you too and from the archives unless you swear loyalty and service to the City.”

“I,” Sam began, pausing for a second to lick his lips.  “I have some questions about procedure.  The clerk said so much and I didn’t want to disturb you, but-”

“There will be time when we are done here,” Pothas replied, pointing toward a nondescript door with a sign that read “7-W” next to it.  “Rest assured that all of the works I’ve given you are relatively safe.”

“Well,” he amended wryly.  “Maybe not entirely.  The Academy keeps track of the individuals that read works by Dominique Morae, but one set of plates shouldn’t raise too many suspicions.  Plus, the content is too important.  I can’t leave an apprentice of mine completely in the dark about the true nature of the world and magic after all.”

Samazzar glanced down at the pile of writing in his hands once more, eyes tracing over the faded writing on the bronze tablets.  The handwriting was more tightly packed than he was used to seeing, carved directly into the metal by the magic.  The closer he inspected it, the more precision Sam saw.  Whoever had written the plates, and a level of control so fine over the bronze that there wasn’t a single eyelash out of place on any of the letters.

When he looked up, Pothas was almost out of sight, moving between the bookshelves as he walked with purpose toward whatever section of the archives he was looking for.  Sam watched him for a second before turning to the study room that he’d been assigned.

The room was small but comfortable.  There was a single table in the center with an enchanted metal disc built into it that controlled the room’s heat and light.  Sam had never looked too much into enchanting, it had never been a field of study that interested him the way magic, alchemy and bloodline enhancement, but at the same time he could recognize the effortless artistry that went into the device.

He toggled the lights up, nodding in satisfaction when quartz crystals in brass sconces around the room grew brighter in response.  The actual work to enchant the device must have cost a fortune.  Almost the entire Academy operated on simple lamps and candles, albeit usually with glass shields on them, but here in forbidden archives, even that small amount of flame wasn’t allowed.

Sam closed his eyes for a second, activating his flame sense.  Usually the ability wasn’t terribly useful due to how uncommon fire was.  By the time it could isolate a torch or campfire, usually Takkla had already noticed the firelight.

Nothing.

Only at the very extremes of his perception could Samazzar begin to find hearths and cooking flames from the rest of the Academy.  For hundreds of paces around the library, there was simply nothing.  Not even the faintest spark or a hot coal.

Satisfied, Samazzar sat in the room’s sole chair and set the four books aside.  Gently, almost reverently he placed the final five bronze sheets of Godfall to the side, before starting on the first one.

The words flowed by, at first a bit hard to read due to their cramped but perfect penmanship, but before long Sam found himself putting the final page of metal on the table and leaning back in his chair. Thoughts flickered through his mind as he tried to sort out the saga detailed in the book.

It only covered the final war and its major players.  There wasn’t any mention of how or why the gods came to blows.  Rather, the metal plates detailed the hundreds of major and minor gods leading tens of thousands of people on campaigns and sieges that inevitably ended in titanic battles between the deities.

Some of the major parties in the war killed multiple gods, and their names came up again and again: Vassa, goddess of water and lightning, Thollorn, god of war and blood, Kallass, god of fate, Saslow, goddess of time, Nyss, goddess of space and transportation.  The tales of their battles weren’t terribly in depth.  Samazzar suspected that the conflicts involved magic so intense that no mortal observers survived.

But Godfall kept a record of the largest battles.  Thollorn cast down Gaios, crushing his spine with the warhammer Era, an artifact carved from the spine of a primordial leviathan.  Nyss banished Forthol, god of muscle and bone to the deep where he was slain by Vassa.  Kallass and Saslow joined hands to guide Barva, goddess of gravity and magnetism into a trap where she was poisoned and slain by their servants in her slumber.

What stuck out the most was the battle that created the Dragon’s Teeth.  T’aanar, god of the primordial dragons and lord of wind and flame battled Jeorge, god of metal and light for ten days and ten nights.  Their conflict reshaped the very planet itself with Jeorge raising mountains to pull the iron from them for his war constructs while T’aanar ripped the stone apart, carving entire valleys with a single stroke of his claw.

Eventually both fell.  T’aanar with a lance of steel puncturing his heart let loose the last of the flames inside him, overwhelming Jeorge with an inferno that even a god could not withstand.  Both of their spilt blood sanctified the deep valleys and jagged peaks, creating a warren for monsters that no sane man would dare fight or challenge.

For some ten precious minutes, Sam just sat there, mulling over the spartan details of the battles.  The very description of the artifacts and battles sent a thrill through his blood, but the final struggle of T’aanar and Jeorge stuck with him.  The great dragon, a tyrant even amongst the gods, capable of unleashing enough magic to unmake everything Sam had ever known with a tap of his claw.  He had lived and fallen in the North.

Finally, he shook himself.  As eye opening as Godfall was, it wasn’t the main reason for him entering the forbidden archives.  He set the bronze plates aside and opened Rocks and Resources: The North.  Flipping to the first page, Samazzar began to read.

The book wasn’t as thrilling, but before long he lost himself once again.  He only stopped periodically to take notes when he found descriptions of rare resources that interested him.  It didn’t take all that long before he closed the tome, his small notebook filled with scribbled questions and diagrams.

He moved on to Monsters of the North, but Samazzar only made it ten to twenty pages in before there was a gentle knock at the door.  He jerked up to notice Pothas standing in the slightly ajar opening, a knowing smile on his face.

“Absorbed in study eh?” He asked with a wink.  “Unfortunately, it’ll have to wait for another time.  By now Percival should have prepared the experiment.  He was awfully cross earlier so it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.”

“I suppose,” Samazzar replied, reluctantly closing the book after taking careful note of where he had finished.  “It’s just that there is so much to read and learn.  Four hours simply isn’t enough time to absorb one tenth of the information in the books you selected for me.”

“I know,” Pothas replied cheerfully.  “One of Vereton Academy’s biggest draws to advanced practitioners is the forbidden archives.  Some of the grandmasters, recluses that have built their own bases of power away from civilization, might not need centers of learning, but everyone else could benefit from what the patrician and the chancellor have hidden away down here.”

“Think of it as an incentive to work hard and eventually pledge yourself to Vereton’s defense and welfare,” he continued amiably.  “Both the patrician and the chancellor like to reward service to the City with time inside the archives so long as your loyalty is beyond doubt.

Sam nodded slowly, wheels spinning in his mind.  He would prefer not to swear an oath of loyalty to the City if possible.  Vereton had been both a boon and a curse to him in his time there, but more than anything, he did not want to be shackled to the City.  It reminded him of his old tribe, full of false smiles and claws that were just waiting for him to turn his back long enough for them to slit his throat.

“Actually,” Samazzar began as the two of the ascended the stairs toward the guard rooms on the ground level.  “I meant to ask you a couple questions about how the library system worked.”

“Go on,” Pothas said with a nod.

“The lady at the front desk,” he began only for the wind master to cut in absently, a frown creasing his normally amiable features.

“Analise”

“Sure,” Sam continued, “she said that there might be punishments for espionage or forbidden practices.  I don’t have any idea what’s forbidden, and I would prefer not to accidentally find myself on the patrician’s bad side.”

“Just a moment Sam,” Pothas replied distractedly.  “Something is wrong.”

Then Samazzar heard it too, a voice shouting from past the door at the top of the staircase.  Pothas’ frown deepened, and Sam felt a surge of magic around the middle-aged man.

The wind flowed around Pothas, grasping him gently and lifting him off the ground.  A moment later, he zipped up the stairs, his feet held a bare handspan above the floor.

Pothas waved a hand, and a lever set in the wall just before the large steel door shifted upward, pushed by wind as solid as any rock and as strong as an ogre.  The slab of metal groaned, shifting to the side on unseen rollers to reveal the waiting area where Sam and Pothas had checked in some hours ago.

“You will let me-” a strident voice assaulted Samazzar’s ears from the ground floor as a robed man berated the two guards.

Both of them were standing.  The male magus had an aura of darkness thrumming around him that made Sam feel a bit sick just looking at it, and the woman had a number of red discs spinning rapidly about her head.

The robed man stood in the center of his room, dozens of vines covered in thorns sprouted from his body like hair, pawing the air restlessly as he spun around.

“Excuse me,” Pothas called out, the wind hardening into razor thin lines in front of him, creating a lattice of a hundred tiny blades that could shred rock and metal as easily as flesh.  “Does there appear to be an issue?”

The interloper’s hood fell back, revealing the golden eyes and pointed ears of an elf.  He squinted at Pothas for a second.  Without any visible cue, the vines pulled in tight in front of the man, creating a woven barrier between him and the air practitioner.

“A scholar of air,” the elf said, squinting at Pothas.  “Perhaps you have the authority to tell these rubes to stand down.  By the Treaty of Teneff I have the right to search these grounds for banned knowledge.  Tell your servants to stand down or I will destroy them where they stand.”

“You are a Seeker then?”  Pothas asked, toes finally touching the ground now that he was on the ground floor.  “What forest do you hail from, and on what grounds do you seek to access the archives.”

“Peton,” the elf replied, his vines growing in size until they transformed into branches, their thorns wickedly serrated daggers.  “And the Treaty of Teneff allows the Seekers to search any repository of knowledge for the lost knowledge that could be harmful to the world.  The godfall killed untold numbers.  It must not be allowed to happen again.”

“Harmful secrets as determined by the Seekers, eh?” Pothas said dryly.  “Vereton doesn’t have an active treaty with Peton, and even if it did, the Academy itself is neutral ground, exempt from any outside interference.”

“But,” he continued, raising a single eyebrow as lines of hardened wind began to appear behind the elf as well, “I suspect you knew that.  I doubt any Seeker would wander into Vereton ignorant of our rules and customs.”

Flowers bloomed along the outside edges of the spiked wooden shield hovering in front of the elf.  Sickly pinkish purple petals, heavy with pollen drooped toward the ground as four more vines sprang free, covered in thorns and coiled in the air like snakes ready to strike.

Samazzar’s breath caught in his throat and he pressed himself against the wall of the stairwell as he recognized the plants.  Sunset lily.  One of the few carnivorous plants from deep within the elven jungles, it hunted prey by releasing clouds of toxic pollen.  A quick breath was all it would take for the poison to stop a grown mana’s lungs, and then its creeping vines could feast on his corpse.

Other than Pothas, the entire world went tense.  Both of the magi took a half step back, red light and shadow weaving into shields around their face.  The intruder opened and closed his hands, closing them into fists as he stared at the wind master, as if daring him to make the first move.

The elf shuddered, closing his eyes for a moment.  When he reopened them, he was glaring daggers at Pothas’ calm form.  One by one, through a visible act of will the lilies closed, withering away into buds that disappeared as the man’s shield slithered into his sleeves, disappearing entirely.

“Fine,” the elf spat.  “Have it your way, human.  Peton will be in touch with your patrician.  Your little library must be searched, but we do not lead the frantic and hurried lives of your kind.  I will wait.  Be it a week or a year, I will get permission.  Then we will see what fell secrets you dare to hide from the Seekers.”

He spun on a heel, storming out of the building, leaving worried looks and cold sweat in his wake.