Laromendis shook his head as he thrust a small water skin through the bars of the cage. ‘Drink slowly,’ he warned. ‘I’m faring better than you, by all appearances. What happened?’
‘Our master, the Regent Lord, became most vexed by the news that we had lost the outpost at Starwell and turned his wrath upon me. He already held me in the dungeon, and since he couldn’t kill me and keep your service, he decided a little torment might serve to show his wrath,’ Gulamendis said. He glanced at the sun, which was now lowering towards the keep. ‘In an hour the shadows will cover me and I’ll be all right.’
Pointing to the skin, Laromendis said, ‘Hide that; it should last for a few days.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the distant guard. ‘I don’t think they’ll completely forget to give you food and water, but they may decide to let you suffer for a while. It’s the mood of the times.’
‘Not a lot of joy to be found,’ agreed the Demon Master. Gulamendis moved the stale straw that was his bedding and hid the remaining water. ‘I’m better than I look. I send Choyal into the kitchen at night to fetch me extra food and drink.’ He chuckled but it came out dry and rasping. ‘But imps are so stupid. One night he delivers me a delicacy from the Regent Lord’s own larder, another night it will be rotten vegetables.’
‘I’ll do what I can to get you out.’ He paused, looked his brother in the eyes and said, ‘I found Home.’
His brother’s expression stilled. The resemblance between them was staggering, but Gulamendis was slightly shorter, a little thinner, and had lighter, almost orange, red hair.
‘What?’ asked Laromendis.
‘If you have found Home, what need has the Regent Lord for us?’
‘There are problems,’ said Laromendis, standing. ‘I must leave as the guard is returning and I can’t be here if a true officer arrives. The Regent Lord needs me for a while longer, and because of that you will be safe, if not comfortable.
‘And I have a plan.’
The younger brother smiled. ‘You always do.’
‘We need to get you to Home, because not only will you be safer there, the People will also have need of your knowledge.’
‘Demons?’
‘Perhaps, I can say no more. If you are questioned, ignorance is your best ally.’
He turned and hurried away from the cage, nodding once at the guard who returned to watch over Gulamendis. Leaving the courtyard as quickly as he could, he made his way to his quarters. The Regent Lord had grudgingly admitted to the Conjurer’s usefulness by providing him with a modest suite of two rooms, one for sleeping and the other for his study.
Laromendis kept little of value here, save for a volume of notes he had prepared before departing on his latest exploration, the journey that had taken him to Home. He sat on his bed and thumbed through the journal. Reaching the last page, he reached over to a small table, expecting to find his quill and ink. They had been moved. Someone had been in his quarters and they had read his journal.
He withheld a smile, as he expected nothing less from the Regent Lord. He wrestled with what he had heard of his distant kin on Midkemia and what his own people had become. There was much to admire about the achievements of the taredhel, but in truth, there was much apparently lost as well.
A trapper from Yabon had told Laromendis long stories about the elven forests to the west of his home, so long as the stranger paid for the ale in the tavern in Hawk’s Hollow. The stories he told painted a picture of a people at one with the forest, content if not happy with their lives, and able to come and go effortlessly through the woodland. He spoke a little about elven magic, but his small amount of knowledge revealed volumes to Laromendis: The great Spellweavers and the older eldar endured!
He had left that fact out of his report to the Regent Lord, for two reasons. First he had no proof that the trapper’s tale was remotely accurate, even if he felt in his bones that it was. Second, he needed to discover for himself how many of the magic users of Elvandar there were and what capabilities they possessed. A great deal of their ancient lore had been lost at the crossing of the Starbridge.
So much of it had been rooted in their spiritual links to the very soil of Home, the energies that rose from the heart and soul of the planet had been coaxed and finessed into serving the edhel, the People. Their new world had held different magic, and it had been difficult to blend that which had been brought with them and that which they found already here. The seven great trees, the Seven Stars, had been their anchor to the old magic from Home. But their new soil had been alien soil, from a world with its own rules and nature, and from the blending had come the majestic force that the taredhel had first struggled to control, but eventually had come to master.
The taredhel Spellmasters were most likely the equal of all but the very best human and elven magic users on Midkemia, but there were so few of them left; many had paid for the survival of the People with their blood. They were honoured and remembered in the annals, but each loss weakened the People beyond measure.
More students were sent to fight the Demon Legion every year, each class less ready, less practised, and less able to withstand demon magic. If there had been any other way for the Regent Lord to find Home without utilizing ‘outlaw’ magic users like Laromendis and Gulamendis, he would have put them to death years ago.
The relationship between magic users in the Star Guild, the legatees of the original Spellweavers who fled from Home, and those outside that organization, had always been strained at best, and outright hostile at worse. Wild magic, broken magic, or any number of other terms had been used to describe those who came into their power without the training of the Star Guild.
The Star Guild had tended the Seven Stars for generations, seeking to bring the wild magic of Andcardia under control, and to prevent the destruction of the People. Their labour had earned them a place at the tables of power, and the most gifted among them – the Chief Magister of the Guild – sat second only to the Regent Lord in prestige and power.
In times past those like Laromendis and his brother were hunted down and murdered, or captured and indentured to the guild as ‘dirt magicians’ or some other demeaning epithet. But now ‘dirt magicians’, like Laromendis, and ‘demon lovers’, like his brother, were too valuable to be squandered away by bigotry. This Regent Lord wasn’t a great deal more forgiving of deviant practices than his forebears, but he was a great deal more pragmatic about using talent whatever its origins.
Laromendis put away his journal, certain it would be read as soon as he left the city. He had made sure that nothing he had written would be found to be inconsistent with his report to the Regent Lord.
He stood up and looked out of the window. He was unable to see the portion of the courtyard where his brother sat imprisoned, but knew that by now the shadows covered the cage. Just a while longer, little brother. The Regent will be reading my journal within an hour after I depart, and no matter what he may think of our arts and us, he needs us. You will be free soon, he said, silently.
Putting away his pen and ink, he placed the journal on the small table and sat back on the bed thinking. He should try to rest, but his mind was racing.
There was so much that he hadn’t told the Regent Lord, so much he had wished to share with Gulamendis and a handful of others; for this world was Home. Moreover, every fibre of his being sensed that somewhere to the north of that valley lay all of the answers that the People sought; if they were proved wise enough to recognize their salvation.
Though Laromendis believed that he was as dedicated to saving the People as the Regent Lord, he was aware that Undalyn suspected him of having a different agenda. Glancing at the journal once again he resisted the urge to smile; let the Regent Lord and the High Magister, and the other members of the Regent’s Meeting suspect him. Let them believe