Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 4
Perhaps Sarine had gotten some sense out of him. After all, she had been one of the Prophet’s companions during the war two hundred years ago. She had fought with him all the way to the Dark Prophet’s Palace. Darlan wasn’t aware of anyone alive closer to John than her.
“Briefly,” Sarine replied.
“In the time that you did get to speak with him did you get anything more out of him than what he told the rest of us?” Darlan asked.
Sarine hesitated before saying, “Not a great deal. He was in a foul temper, Dear.”
Darlan was certain there was more. “Go on.”
Sighing slightly, Sarine added, “He took time to chastise me again for not making things happen sooner. He reiterated that dark times would be coming and he wanted me to see that his motions were carried out.”
“You mean his instructions about easing the naming restrictions?” Darlan asked.
During the war, John had made a remark that restrictions for warriors should be relaxed. In the past, they had only been allowed to stand before the Bowl once in their lifetime. The result was that very few were brave enough to try for fear that they would lose their one chance and the number of named warriors in the lands had dwindled.
“Among other things,” Sarine replied. “But our conversation was cut short. He wouldn’t let me follow him any further than the outer gates. He flat-out commanded me to stay inside the grounds.” With a suspicious tone, the old wizardess added, “I think he was travelling with someone he didn’t want me to see.”
Kyrkon snorted from the stairs behind her. “Now-now, Begazzi. He was in as big a rush as I’ve ever seen him. If John was hiding someone it was probably just because he didn’t want to take the time for introductions.”
“Maybe,” Sarine conceded, but from the way the clicking of her needles paused, Darlan could tell she wasn’t convinced. “I think he had a rogue horse waiting in the trees. You know he rides them to get from place to place quickly.”
“No reason to go down that road, Begazzi,” Kyrkon said, using her former name. “You’ll just get yourself worked up.”
“Why do you think the Prophet would hide a rogue horse from you?” Darlan wondered.
“Because he knows I would bond to it and he’s afraid he’ll run out! There are only a handful of them left and he hoards them like the rarest of gemstones,” Sarine declared with an irritated grunt. “As if he were the only one that needed a swift ride.”
Darlan knew there was more to it than that. From what Justan had explained to her, a rogue horse was the ultimate bonded. Their bond gave their wizards long life, speed and agility, along with an enormous source of energy. Sarine had been quite irritated when she’d learned that Fist received a rogue horse of his own after being a bonding wizard for so short a time. She felt it an insult that John hadn’t given her one after two centuries of service.
In Darlan’s opinion, the Prophet probably figured that Sarine’s existing bonds already give her what she needed. After all, she received her long life from Kyrkon, her toughness from the dwarf, Bill, and her agility from Maryanne. Surely, anything else was just a luxury. But Darlan didn’t say so. Instead, she pressed on, hoping that Sarine’s desire to converse with her had been sated.
Sarine sped up, her needles clicking again. “Wait just a moment, Dear. I still haven’t mentioned the reason I wanted to speak with you in the first place.”
“No?” Darlan said. “Then what did you wish to speak to me about?”
“To be blunt, Dear, I was wondering why you haven’t been named yet,” Sarine replied.
Darlan’s foot caught on a step and she nearly stumbled forward. After a brief pause, she continued on as if nothing had happened. “That is a strange question. The Bowl names whom it will.”
“Don’t be disingenuous, Dear,” Sarine chastised, her needles clicking away. “The Bowl can’t name those who don’t approach it. I’ve seen the way you avoid going up to the Hall of Majesty. You don’t attend when students you know are being raised. From what I hear, you had Fist raised to apprentice without even taking him to the Bowl.”
“You know I don’t believe in using the Bowl for such ceremonies,” Darlan replied.
Having students dip their weapons into the Bowl of Souls while becoming apprentices or mages was a relatively recent addition to the Mage School’s practices. Darlan felt it neared sacrilege to include that holy relic in such an unintended way. She had said as much to the rest of the council on multiple occasions.
“You are trying to avoid the question,” Sarine pressed.
“That is nonsense. I’ve been at this school most of my life,” Darlan said, keeping her tone even despite the fact that her nerves were set on edge. “I have stood at the Bowl many times.”
“And when was the last time you placed your dagger in its waters?” Sarine pressed.
Darlan’s fists clenched. Nearly 100 years ago, but that was none of Sarine’s business. They came to a short landing and she turned to face her grandmother.
“Enough. Hundreds of wizards try every year and only a handful are named. Many powerful and experienced wizards fail. What makes you think I would be chosen? I . . . oh. I see,” Darlan said in sudden understanding. Her brow tightened. “That’s what John talked to you about before he left you at the front gate. He wanted you to convince me to stand before the Bowl again.”
Sarine didn’t bother to deny it. She glanced down at her knitting briefly as she picked up a thread from a different color of yarn before continuing her pattern. She cocked her head as she met Darlan’s eyes once again. “Why are you afraid of being named?”
“Afraid . . ?” Darlan’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about fear. It’s practicality. Tell me, Sarine. How would being named benefit me? To gain a bond to a ritual dagger I rarely use? To receive a rune on my left palm? Not very useful. Sure, it would assure that my hand can never be lopped off, but I’ve yet to come across a situation where I’ve needed that particular protection,” she pointed out. “Why would I want it?”
Sarine’s droll look did nothing to soothe Darlan’s irritation. The old woman’s voice was positively condescending as she replied, “I refuse to believe that you are so naive as to think those things are what naming is about.”
Darlan scowled. “I have yet to see any other benefits that come from it. I have no need for the additional fame and title. That’s for certain.” She swallowed back the surge of guilt that rose within her chest. “Besides, I have no desire to change my name once again. I am perfectly happy with my names as they are, thank you!” She cleared her throat. “Now, I believe we have wasted enough time with this conversation. It is time we hurried along. No doubt they are waiting for us.”
With that, she turned around and began climbing the steps once more.
“We are not finished with this conversation, Darlan!” Sarine snapped.
Darlan ignored her and continued up the winding staircase, increasing her speed once again. She felt a slight sense of relief when her grandmother didn’t immediately rush after her. That relief soured when she heard Sarine’s voice echoing up from behind her.
“Do you believe that display of childishness?” Sarine asked Kyrkon. “As if I would accept that she really thinks the importance of being named is about how it will benefit her!”
Darlan winced, glad that she couldn’t make out Kyrkon’s amused reply. Of course she knew better. If that’s what she believed, she would have been back to the Bowl long ago. Sarine had been right when she said that it was fear that kept Darlan away.
She let out a sigh of relief when she finally reached the door at the top of the staircase. It opened into a familiar extravagant hallway lined with the paintings of named warriors and wizards from the past. She walked past their sternly painted countenances, feeling their lifeless yet somehow accusing eyes on her as she entered the room at the end of the hall.
Sitting in the opulently decorated waiting room were the rest of the council, each of them wearing formal robes that best suited their position on the council.
“Good morning, Sherl,” said Wizard Beehn cheerfully. The wizard’s yellow robe looked far too large on his body. Ever since bonding to Alfred it seemed he got slimmer every day.
“Good morning,” she replied and nodded to the rest of them. “Mistress Sarine is not far behind me.”
“And what delayed you?” asked Wizard Spence, the council’s Earth Wizard. He was a spindly middle-aged man with red hair and a prominent widow’s peak. He was also a traditionalist and often on the opposing side of Darlan’s arguments. “Did you stop to help her ball some string?”
“Yarn, Spence,” said Wizard Windle, the council’s Air Wizard. He was a soft spoken but opinionated gentleman who looked uncomfortable without a pipe clenched in his teeth. “This morning is not the time to start a tiff.”
“I second that. Especially after last night,” said Master Barthas, the Fire Wizard. He had joined the High Council not long before Sarine, having come from the Mage School in Alberri. He was an old frail-looking man and the deep red of his robes made his face seem all the paler, but that did nothing to dull the confidence that blazed from his eyes. “I say we get this over with quickly.”
“I agree,” said Beehn. He was likely eager to get back to his experimental projects. Even without Wizard Locksher around, he was constantly coming up with ideas. “Shall we go inside, then?”
“We must wait for Mistress Sarine,” said Windle. “According to tradition, we must all enter the Hall of Majesty together.”
“I don’t know what’s keeping her,” Darlan said, looking over her shoulder towards the empty hallway. “She was right behind me.”
“Tell me, Darlan,” said Wizard Valtrek, who had been silent up until now. He had chosen not to wear the blue robes of his office as Water Wizard, but instead had gone with white ambassadorial attire. He was eying her with a calculating gaze. “Which of us do you think the Bowl will choose?”
Darlan blinked at him. She fully expected the job to go to either Master Barthas or Sarine. They were level-headed and already named. But she didn’t want to say that where either of them would hear. Instead, she said, “I do not wish to speculate. The Bowl will choose who it will.”
“It usually chooses the wizard with the most experience,” Windle offered mildly.
“If that’s the case, Mistress Sarine would be the obvious choice,” Beehn replied.
There were noncommittal shrugs from Master Barthas and Wizard Spence.
Valtrek smiled at their responses. “I beg to differ. The Bowl has many more factors to consider than age alone. Mistress Sarine has been away from the School for two hundred years. Spirit magic is new to most of us. Is the Mage School ready to be led by someone without elemental magic? Wizardess Sherl, on the other hand, is more qualified in many ways. Who among us could dispute her experience and power? Besides, she has spent more time at the school than any of us including her grandmother.”
Technically, it was true. Darlan had been a resident wizardess at the school for most of her long life. It was only in the last twenty years that she had finally gotten away.
Wizard Spence snorted. “There hasn’t been a female Head Wizard in over five hundred years.”
“Head Wizardess,” Darlan corrected, though her frown was directed at Valtrek. What was he playing at? “But it’s not happening. The only reason I accepted a position on the Council was because you needed an Academy Representative.” She couldn’t be Head Wizardess and live at the Academy with her husband.
“The Bowl will choose who it will,” Valtrek replied, his grin widening.
At that moment, the door to the stairwell opened and Sarine walked down the hallway towards them. She was alone, no knitting in her hands, and had a look of frustration on her face. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was having a . . . discussion with Sir Kyrkon.”
Valtrek stood. “Well, now that we’re all here . . .”
He beckoned towards the door and the Council prepared themselves. Moments later, they entered the Hall of Majesty single file and in order of seniority.
Darlan felt a chill as she looked up at the multiple tiers of chandeliers hanging from the domed ceiling high above her head. She always felt such a feeling of awe in this place. It seemed silly to her that she had avoided returning for so long. Then her eyes rested on the Bowl of Souls and she remembered why.
The Bowl was large and golden and sat atop a marble pedestal. It looked rather plain from a distance, but up close she knew that the underside of it was covered in a multitude of tiny runic carvings. It pulled at her. Beckoning.
Darlan first stood before the Bowl at age nineteen when she was raised to the position of apprentice, then again at 27 and 33 as she was raised to mage and wizardess respectively. Each time, she had felt an electric thrill as she plunged her dagger into its waters, secretly hoping that the Bowl would find her worthy and name her on the spot.
For years after that, she would return every six months and try again, eager for it to find her worthy. She wanted to prove to herself and everyone else that she was one of the greatest of her time. But each time the Bowl stood in silent rejection.
Darlan became the School’s most feared and respected Dark Wizard hunter. At first, she loved the job, but over time her feelings changed. Often times she was hunting down people she knew; students she had trained. A few of them had even turned to darkness while seeking a way to surpass her.
She grew weary of it all. As the decades went by, she felt more and more chained by her position. She considered retiring. A life away from the responsibilities placed on her by the school had sounded so wonderful, but the Council didn’t want to let her go. She was too valuable. Besides, her “auntie’s” olives were keeping her young and able to continue.
It was around this time that she learned the truth of the Bowl. Becoming named wasn’t just a validation of one’s prowess or a method to increase one’s power. It was a declaration of fealty to the Bowl and the Prophet, which meant it came with an accompanying set of responsibilities.
The next time she entered the Hall of Elements, the Bowl had called out to her. It urged her to plunge her dagger within its depths. Darlan knew that if she did so, she would be named. If that happened Darlan also knew that she would obey the requirements placed upon her. She would do so because if the Bowl requested something of her, it would be the right thing to do. She would have no choice but obey.
Darlan had run. She had never approached the Bowl again. Until now.
The High Council members surrounded the Bowl, spacing themselves evenly apart. Sarine raised her arms towards the Bowl and the rest of the Council did the same.
Darlan could instantly feel its pull. The Bowl wanted to name her.
“We approach the Bowl of Souls today as members of the High Council of the Mage School,” Sarine intoned. “We request that the next Head Wizard be chosen.”
The eight of them reached out with their magic, letting their powers rest on the rim of the bowl. A ring of soft white light rose from the Bowl in response. Whether the light was made up of elemental or spirit magic was unclear, but it did not have a color to their mage sight.
The ring of light settled on the threads of their magic as the Bowl searched them to make its decision. Darlan felt a strange sensation inside her mind as if her thoughts and desires were being read. No, it was more than that. It was as if her very being was being examined.
At that moment, a sudden certainty entered her mind. She was the best choice for the job. All she had to do was step forward. If she did so, the magic of the Bowl would take over. She would be named and become Head Wizardess. A quiet voice began a chant somewhere in the center of her mind.
Darlan’s fear spiked. She took a step back. The voice stopped.
The circle of light rose from the lip of the Bowl, becoming so bright that for a moment it was all Darlan could see. Then the moment passed. The circle of light dimmed as it settled on the Bowl’s choice.
Darlan’s jaw dropped as the light landed on Wizard Valtrek’s head and faded slowly into his body. His eyes were wide, his hands trembling until the glow faded. Valtrek had been chosen, but not named. The Council looked upon their new leader and Darlan knew that if this ended badly it would be her fault.
“I saw . . . I have been given instructions. I know what to do,” Valtrek said numbly. “It’s so clear to me now.”
“What is it?” asked Wizard Beehn,
Valtrek blinked and shook his head. He looked at them as if momentarily unsure why they were there. Then a smile appeared on his face. “We must contact the Academy Council. It’s time we went after that evil in the mountains.”
Chapter Three
Lenui Firegobbler paced back and forth outside of the newly-built Battle Academy Smithery, his face fixed with a scowl of anxiety and frustration. A low, but continuous, stream of curses tumbled from his lips. “Dag-gum bug-farmin’, dirt-sniffin’, tar-eatin’ . . !”
The streets around him echoed with the roar of the forges and the clang of hammers on metal within the building. This combination of sounds usually had the effect of calming Lenui; helping him put his thoughts in order. But this afternoon was an exception. He had trouble on his mind.
The workers and students that passed by kept their distance, greetings withering on their lips as the massive dwarf, five-feet-tall and nearly just as wide at the shoulders, stomped through the dust of the street, continuing his bitter stream of curses.
“ . . . Flea-ridden, brain-bitin’, corn jiggin’, log rippin’, nose-farmin’. . !”
Lenui should have gone inside and gotten his hands dirty. Crafting something would help him work out his frustrations. Thing was, Bettie was inside and she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. Lenui wasn’t quite ready to face his wife yet. Only other thing that helped this kind of mental state was fighting, but since there weren’t any monsters nearby to slay, he settled for pacing.
“ . . . Frog kissin’, hoop skirtin’, corpse raisin’, troll hum-!”
