Authors: Sevastian
“Where am I?” Kiara asked, her hand moving for her sword.
“In a cloister of the Sisterhood,” replied her robed companion, whose hood fell back to reveal an aging woman of medium build, her weathered face handsome, whose blue eyes sparkled with amusement at Kiara’s confusion.
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“In Dhasson?” Kiara asked, looking around her. “But that’s where I sent Carina—it’s over two months’ ride away!”
The robed woman smiled indulgently. “We are still in Isencroft. The Sisterhood has many cloisters. The one you speak of is one of the few we permit outsiders to recognize. There have been too many over the years who sought to destroy us. This is one of those secret places.”
Kiara looked around in silence, reaching up to stroke Jae’s talons as the gyregon, shrieking its alarm, clenched painfully on her shoulder. With an unconvinced hiss, the little dragon settled down, gazing balefully at their host.
With a smile, the woman looked at the frightened little dragon and spoke a word that to Kiara sounded like the rush of water on rock. To Kiara’s astonishment, the gyregon calmed immediately.
“What did you say to him?”
“Merely that neither he, nor you, had cause for fear,” the Sister replied.
“You can talk to Jae?”
“You have much to learn, Goddess‐blessed,” the sorceress replied. “Come.”
Kiara followed the woman down a maze of corridors, carved deep within the rock. The air was fresh and cool, and the pathway was worn smooth. Chambers with heavy wooden doors branched off from their path. Finally, the corridor opened into a great hall. Magelight sparkled from the crystals that coated the rock pillars of the chamber, and in the massive hearth, a mage-216
fire gave warmth without smoke.
Four Sisters sat behind a massive oval table wrought from the rock itself. The women wore no ornamentation and were clad in the same plain brown robe as her hostess. Even so, Kiara could sense their power.
“Come closer, Kiara of the House Sharsequin,” one of the Sisters said, in a voice that crackled like fire in dry leaves. Kiara was later unsure she heard the voice at all, or whether it sounded, unspoken, in her mind.
“You petitioned the Goddess for the health of the king and the safety of Isencroft. She has told you the source of the bane,” the woman continued. “Would you undo this spell to save your kingdom?”
Without hesitation, Kiara nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Would you give up your privilege, your position if that is what the Lady requires?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“What of your life, Kiara Sharsequin? This spell was not mortal‐made. Would you risk your life?”
Kiara swallowed, but nodded once more. “If that is the will of the Goddess,” she whispered through a dry throat.
“It may be so, my child,” the sorceress replied, blue eyes glinting in the magelight. “Step closer.”
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Kiara took a deep breath and stepped nearer to the dais. Jae sat like a statue on her shoulder.
The speaker stared at her, and she felt a fleeting presence inside her mind. The Sister crossed her arms and leaned back, looking satisfied.
“Chenne has chosen well,” the woman said. “Tonight, you begin your Journey.”
Kiara nodded silently. The sense she felt at the palace, of following a pathway she could not clearly see, became even stronger, frightening and yet right.
“In the Library at Westmarch, you will indeed find all that is required to break this spell,” the sorceress continued. “But a great evil must be cast down before that can happen.”
“Your Grace, I do not know where to find the Library at Westmarch,” Kiara replied. “I thought it was only a legend.”
The Sister nodded, and looked to her fellows. Once again, Kiara sensed other presences, as if a conversation were taking place just on the verge of her hearing, and assumed the four were in conference. Finally, the Speaker leaned back once more. “Your Journey is part of a much larger story, one that began long ago,” she said.
“Years ago, a great war was fought among the mages of the Winter Kingdoms, between those who would nurture the currents of magic for the good of all, and those who sought to bend its course for their own gain. In a conflict that nearly destroyed everything, the darkness was driven back, but not defeated. When the Great War ended, the mages of the Light were too spent to pursue the Dark Ones further, and it was our hope that they were damaged even more than we.
We were mistaken.”. Her expression hardened. “They have returned. This time, we must stop them before they rise once more, or there will be no reprieve. Neither we nor the world itself can bear another great conflict.”
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“But I am not a true mage,” Kiara protested weakly. “I have only the blood‐line magic of Isencroft’s kings. I can do so little. How can it help?”
The sorceress smiled, her eyes distant, as if remembering something from long ago. “There are magicks that have been forgotten, my princess, perhaps even by‐the Dark Ones themselves.”
She paused, and once again looked at Kiara as if taking the measure of her soul. “Now, it is time to ready you for your journey. At dawn, you must set out for Westmarch.”
Before Kiara could ask the questions that filled her mind, her guide touched her arm. “Come with me,” the brown‐robed woman said. When Kiara looked back, the speaker and her companions were gone. Weak in the knees, Kiara allowed herself to be led from the audience hall.
She was clearly expected. A stack of new garments lay on the bed—rugged travel clothing that Kiara knew without checking was exactly her size. A worn‐looking leather and light mail breastplate lay with them. A sizable purse of gold lay to one side, and on top lay a parchment map, yellowed with years. Next to these, a plain but beautifully worked dagger glittered beside a small velvet pouch and an unremarkable clay oval on a thong, pressed with runes Kiara did not recognize.
Kiara looked to her guide for explanation. The woman nodded toward the provisions. “Here is your first lesson in judgment, princess,” her guide said. “What do you see?”
Kiara shook her head. “Ample provisions, more than I would have expected.”
“Guard them well,” her guide replied. “That riding cloak will hide your magic from those who scry for your power,” she said, gesturing with a long, thin finger to the woolen cloak. “Replace your breastplate with the one on the bed.” She held up a hand as Kiara began to protest. “It will lessen the impact of magic weapons, such as spelled daggers and arrows, but cannot turn them altogether. And its power can be exhausted, so do not offer yourself foolishly as a target.”
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Kiara turned the dagger in her hand, admiring its workmanship. “Guard it well, princess,” her host said from behind her. “In the hands of a mortal, it will turn the undead. In the hands of a mage, it can destroy the soul.”
“Undead?” Kiara whispered.
“You have much to learn,” the guide said. “There are some who walk among us neither living nor dead. Some are wizards, who sought such power for themselves. Some are changelings, who by birth or accident lost their mortality. Yet others serve the Dark Lady as vayash moru.”
Kiara’s eyes widened. “But vampires are only in children’s tales.”
“Believing in them is beside the point.” She reached past Kiara for the clay oval and handed it to the princess, who accepted it in cupped hands. “Guard this carefully, Kiara,” she said gravely.
“Use it only in a moment of dire need.” As the woman turned it to the light, Kiara could see a pattern embossed in its surface. But as Kiara looked closer to examine the pattern, the lines blurred, as if in motion.
“This wafer is spelled with the magic of the Sisterhood,” the sorceress said. “Snapped in two, it will transport the bearer and those in immediate contact to the place chosen in the bearer’s mind.” She replaced it carefully in the bag. “It may only be used once.” She anticipated Kiara’s objections. “You need not be a mage yourself to use these things. We know your gift, and its limits.”
She gestured toward the coin purse that lay on the bed. “There is gold enough for your travels.”
She gave an unexpected, mischievous smile. “That, at least, is as it seems.” She paused, noting that Kiara remained silent. “There is more you do not say, Goddess‐blessed.”
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“It’s just… I sent my closest kinswoman to the Sisterhood in Dhasson. We were told that the Sisterhood’s best healers were there. If you were so close, why—”
“Why didn’t we just pop in with potions to help?” the Sister finished her sentence with gentle humor. Kiara nodded.
“We are aware of your father’s sickness,” the sister replied carefully. “And as much as I wish it were so, we do not have a ‘magic potion’ that can undo the spell. We sent word to our sisters in the Winter Kingdoms to see if any elixir might be found that could help prolong your father’s life while you and others destroy the sender of the curse.” She paused. “Word travels slowly, even among the Sisterhood. And such marvelous transportation as you experienced can be used only sparingly, for short distances, and at great cost. Otherwise, we are just as constrained by distance and the speed of a horse as non‐mages,” she said with a sad smile. “As for our cloister here, it is just a small hiding place. We have no healers here.”
“But the Sisterhood has the most powerful mages alive,” Kiara marveled. “Why would you need to hide?”
The Sister’s eyes took on a sad, distant look. “What people do not understand, they either destroy or worship,” she said quietly.
“Throughout our history, we have, unfortunately, encountered both. We neither seek worship nor martyrdom. And there is fear among our Sisters—well‐founded fear—that now that Jared Drayke rules in Margolan, we may once again be targets.”
“Why?”
The sister looked away. “Jared Drayke’s mage, Foor Arontala, is well known to us. Now that he controls a king and the resources of a kingdom, his ambition will grow. He will see us as a threat, and rightly so, because his blood magic is the dark stain Bava K’aa and others gave their lives to 221
wipe out.”
“Can’t you just… tounce him or something?”
The Sister chuckled. “I wish it were so easy. Perhaps no one since the Obsidian King so deserves to be ‘trounced’ as you put it. But the Sisterhood does not, cannot, intervene directly in the rule of kingdoms. To do so would bring about our destruction. We, too, would be seduced by power, and it would be our ruin. And so, we work behind the scenes. We enable, we guide, we arrange fortuitous coincidences,” she said with a knowing smile. “But we cannot become kingmakers.
We would be presuming the role of the Lady. Instead, we make it possible for Her will to work.”
Kiara considered for a few moments. “If the Sisterhood does not have a potion, Carina’s journey is in vain.”
The sister shook her head. “We do not know that. Our sisters throughout the kingdoms will search their records and send us word if help can be found.” she said. “You are correct that the healers in Dhasson are among our finest. It may well take the length of your kinswoman’s journey for them to exhaust their resources and find something that can help. But I do not believe the journey is wasted,” she said, meeting Kiara’s eyes. “I believe their path is in the hands of the Lady Herself.”
A knock at the door startled Kiara but her hostess brightened, expecting the interruption.
“Come,” she said, and the door opened to admit another robed woman carrying a tray full of food. Kiara’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was nearly morning. “You must be hungry by now,” the guide remarked, and while she did not completely lose her reserve, by comparison, she was now almost friendly. “Please eat well, and take your rest. You have a long journey ahead of you.”
“What happens after I wake up?”
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“When you awaken you can be on your way,” the Sister replied, turning to go.
“Wait!” Kiara called after her. “How am I going to know what to seek at the Library?”
“What you need will come to you.” Without additional comment she turned, leaving Kiara and Jae alone.
Kiara watched the door close, then dropped onto the bed as Jae flew a small circle in the room, hissing skeptically.
“I know, I know,” she moaned to her companion. “I feel the same way. It’s bad enough leaving in the middle of the night and getting assigned a Journey, but, Goddess, we’re in a Citadel of the Sisterhood!” she exclaimed while the gyregon gurgled his reply. “We’re in the thick of it now, and there’s no going back,” she said. “Even stopping a dark mage sounds better than marrying Jared!”
With a sigh, Kiara sat up, stirred by the smell of warm biscuits and hot tea. A thick potage simmered under a silver lid. She was delighted to find a bowl filled with bits of meat for a gyregon meal, and Jae settled down across from her on the table to feast, gurgling contentedly as he gulped his bounty. Between mouthfuls, she thought aloud to the little dragon.
“I remember a legend about Westmarch,” she murmured. “I think it was supposed to be near the borders of Dhasson and Eastmark, upriver on the Nu,” she recalled, spreading out the map between herself and the gyregon.
She frowned. “Cam and Carina went toward the Sisterhood’s cloister in Valiquet, the palace city in Dhasson. I’m more than a month behind them.” Her finger traced the most likely routes.
“Westmarch is almost two months’ ride from here,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s if I take the 223
quick route, right across the top of Margolan, through the Borderlands just below the sea. And pray for good weather.” She grimaced. “I don’t know which is more dangerous—taking my chances with bandits in the Borderlands or hoping that Jared doesn’t notice that I’m sneaking across his kingdom.” She thought for a few minutes and looked up at the gyregon, who had finished his meal and rocked back and forth on his hind claws, burbling contentedly.
“That route is still at least three weeks north of Margolan’s palace at its closest point,” she mused. “And Jared has to suspect I’m there to look for me. The closer we get to Westmarch, the longer it will take his guards to catch up to me, even if he does hear.”
She set the map aside and cradled a hot cup of tea. “Maybe Carina will find what she needs from the Sisterhood, and be on the way back to Isencroft before I return,” she mused. “Or maybe, the Sisterhood will send her to the Library, too. I don’t understand how wizards think! Why can’t anything be simple!”