Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening (12 page)

As they walked through the hall toward the staircase leading to the roof, Vincent took off his cloak and fit himself through the straps of his baldric. His hated sword hung at his left side once again. He then put the cloak back on.

Though weary, he found himself asking his mentor a poignant question. “Why are we visiting the roof of the keep?”

“I’m still not entirely convinced that you won’t change your mind and then later decide to leave us anyway,” Arrendis began as he stepped along with his staff, making solid taps on the stone. “Change is difficult. Especially when it is a type of change we don’t like. You also seem to forget that I know you. You’re probably having second thoughts right now as we speak.” He paused to take a breath. “You’re always having second thoughts. What I told you could easily wear off in a matter of hours or days. It is easy to agree with something that sounds right but much harder to remember it always and apply it when needed.”

“I can assure you that I will not soon forget your words, master. They were…enlightening to say the least. It may take me some time to fully accept the meaning behind what you have tried to teach me, but I will try.”

“Even so,” Arrendis replied, “I still have some things that I would say to you.” Vincent said nothing and continued walking with him.

The roof of the fortress appeared like a single wide room large enough to cover almost the same area as the keep below it. There were stone supports for the shingled roof above it that protected those stationed here from rain, arrows, and unusually high-flung boulders. There were no windows along the outer edges, only a gap between the sheltering roof-edge above the parapets that provided cover. Together, the openings beneath the wide roof granted a panoramic view of the entire countryside from this height. It also granted defending troops the same full circle for shots fired back during a siege.

All around them as they strode toward the north side of the roof were rows of barrels upon barrels of arrows, their white fletching sticking from the top of the openings like a layer of white cloud. Along the north edge and all others, stood a row of men just behind the parapets. They each wore shiny metal helmets that came to the top in a point, long red tabards that hung low over their leather pants, and a full quiver over their backs. Each man carried a bow on his shoulder, and a few standing near the interior stone supports stood guard with swords. Those men wore armor, including shoulder plates, and the standing black lion crest was more easily seen on the front of their red tabards because of how they stood.

Near each stone support on either side of the outward edge were two men that formed the crew for the roof-mounted ballistae. The long, thick bolts were sitting face up within a few wider barrels to the side of the weapons. Each machine was currently not loaded or ready so as not to wear out the strength of the draw with unneeded tension. Though the men standing guard near the supports stood stolidly at their posts more or less the same way Vincent had stood at his, the archers and others were far more lax, and many appeared to be engaged in conversation, telling stories or jokes. Most threats to the keep would be noticed by those manning the towers and defensive wall surrounding the fortress; their role was merely to provide additional fire.

When they came closer, Arrendis politely asked the soldiers in question along the north stretch to clear out and stand guard elsewhere on the roof for the time being, saying that he would like to share a word alone with his pupil and that the two of them would watch that side for now. They looked curiously at Vincent, perhaps not thinking him a wizard because of what he wore, but said nothing and moved aside. After they did, Arrendis moved up closer to the crenulations and held steady his wooden staff while placing a hand on one of the stone protrusions and looking out at the vast expanse. Vincent stood to the right of him and leaned his right forearm on top of one, resting his left hand on his sword handle for lack of something better to do with it.

Arrendis took a few deep breaths of fresh air and then finally spoke. “Take a good look out there, Vincent. Look carefully at the campus, the city, and the farms. More importantly, think thoroughly about all the people involved in each.” Vincent did as told, looking at each part of the city in turn and the busy streets. He also gazed over at the farms, wondering what sort of lesson Arrendis was about to impart to him. “All of it, every person, thing, and place has something in common. What is it?”

Vincent kept looking out, trying to discern what it was that his teacher was hinting at, but could find nothing. “I don’t know, master. They all look pretty different,” he replied truthfully.

“Perhaps on the surface,” the wizard said. “The thing they all share in common is that they have a purpose. If you look there, you will see a baker, over there, a shoemaker, a weaver, a blacksmith. In the city, you might see a soldier patrolling the streets to enforce the law. Out in the country beyond, you will see a farmer growing crops. Each are different, yet each are an important part of the larger tapestry, and they are each good at what they do. They pursue whatever it is tenaciously and work toward their own betterment while at the same time providing stability and prosperity to the whole. It is the same with nature out in the wild: each plant, each animal, each bug has a purpose, even if it is not readily apparent. People are perhaps more flexible in what they choose to do, but even in people there are things that shape and determine what course their life will take.”

“You’re saying that I was meant to be here, doing what I do.”

“Precisely.”

“I’m not so sure about that, master. If you look around us up here, you will see that many other men can wield a sword. If you go downstairs or to any part of the campus, you will find that other people can wield magic, magic more powerful than mine. I find the idea that I’m particularly useful or special somewhat hard to believe.”

The old man looked over into his eyes with a crease on his brow. “That’s where you are wrong, my young friend. Your skills and abilities may not seem unique or useful to you, but they are important nonetheless. Could you go home and learn to be a farmer? Possibly. Could you learn another trade? Perhaps. Yet how many out there”-he waved his hand in a gesture toward the expanse-“could we grab and make them learn to do what you do?” Vincent sighed through his nose, starting to tire of this line of discussion; it seemed like just a handful of pitiful reassurances. Arrendis answered for him. “None, Vincent. The answer is none.”

“But master, I just said that…”

“Nevermind what you just said,” he cut him off. “You were wrong.” He started to give examples again. “You’ve never told me yourself, but in the past I did some asking, and I heard that you’re pretty good with a blade: fast, strong, clever, innovative, and unpredictable.”

“There could be someone better,” Vincent offered.

Arrendis pretended to be persuaded as if Vincent had brought something new to his attention. “Really?” He asked. “And if they were at least as good as you, perhaps even so much better as you claim, what do you suppose would happen if the two of you were forced to clash swords?”

Vincent was reluctantly
forced
to be objective. “He would probably die.”

“And why is that?” Arrendis coaxed.

This was one of his mentor’s ways of teaching him: trapping him with a series of questions, the answers to which left him no choice but to realize and admit to himself what should have been obvious. “Because all I would have to do is make the first swing. When he raised to block, I would cut right through his sword and right through him. If there was a danger where cutting his sword apart while he tried to strike at me would bring both of his broken ends down on me, I could either bide my time, or send magic into my blade to make it much lighter and faster than his. Speed often determines the victor in those bouts.”

“Aha, I see. And so someone who could potentially kill even the best swordsman alive with relative ease is not useful to Gadrale Keep? Someone who could cut through the hides of trolls and dragons, no doubt? We should replace him with any stable boy, you say?” Against his own will, Vincent let out a few small laughs. Arrendis joined him with a chuckle or two, and then continued. “We both know that you are also capable of other things, and I’ve yet to see you slay a troll or a dragon. What you should understand is that you are valuable to us here, and to all outside the keep whom you also serve, both because of your abilities and because of what you personally choose to pursue. Not many would take as seriously to heart the guarding of The Crafters’ Vault, for example. They would have seen it as no more important than shoveling dung and would have fallen asleep on the job or been less aware. Others have been in absent dereliction entirely.”

The last part of what Arrendis said made him think of something else. Since he was no longer in the vein of hiding things from his mentor out of shame or remorse, he decided to share it with him. “I should have seen that myself, but I lost touch with it. I’m too used to being looked down upon by others, seen as a lowly swordsman and not a wizard. Vault guard duty is not something assigned to the more favored; the more favored and more powerful have a wider range of choices. I guess I just felt that for so much toil, especially what I went through the other night, everyone, even you, could find someone else to be their fool.”

Vincent took a deep breath while he gazed out at the open countryside and slowly let it out, his mind finally returning to a state where he could focus on his current obligations. “I do realize the significance of everything you’ve told me. There is something else though, that I wish you to know. Something that could perhaps be detrimental to me if not shared in confidence.”

Arrendis looked back to him with a bewildered expression. Vincent leaned in closer to the side of Arrendis’ gray hood and kept his voice at a whisper. He told him everything about how he had been personally taking it upon himself to continue the investigation into the strange happenings surrounding the disappearances of people, and the occasional, bizarre piles of children’s bone remains that had been left behind. It was detrimental to Vincent if widely known because it had been forbidden due to safety reasons among other things. That Vincent had been looking into the affair, officially on behalf of Gadrale, when not authorized to do so was not a mere trifle either. Arrendis listened to each detail with rapt fascination and curiosity, somewhat surprised by the things he heard.

Vincent had much to tell, and kept going. “…I don’t know what kind of trouble this gets me into if I’m found out, but I will stand by my convictions and argue my point to the council if need be. There have also been two other developments that I think are worthy of attention. As you know, the attack a few nights ago was perpetrated by wizards who were not affiliated with the keep. All except one, that is. We had a traitor in our midst. They used a Seal of Cheated Light to conceal their entry. It is possible that they are partly responsible for at least some of the deaths and disappearances we’ve been seeing. Of course this now seems obvious to all since we were struck directly and since murder is a part of the spell’s conception. The other development is that the two young wizards who were supposed to relieve me that night claim to have been shadowing someone and to have seen something suspicious happening outside the city. It might turn out to be completely false, they have been untrustworthy before, but I still think I should go have a talk with the two of them.”

“Interesting…” Arrendis remarked, “…very interesting indeed. And this whole time you thought you served little or no purpose?”

Vincent guffawed at that. “I haven’t been able to find anything substantial during my entire investigation. It only fed into my despair. And now all I have is one small unreliable lead and maybe some meaningless speculation.”

A cool breeze began to blow across their faces. Arrendis looked off distantly toward the city and the sights again while he considered everything Vincent said. He seemed to also be able to read Vincent’s mind and the implied thing that he was asking him for. “I won’t be able to help you,” he said with regret. “I have too many youngsters and too many classes I need to teach. There is not enough free time, and I would be missed if absent.

“All I can offer you is a word of advice:”-he turned to look directly into Vincent’s eyes-“don’t pursue this by yourself any longer. Find some people you trust, even if it is only one other, and take them into your confidence as you have with me.” He looked back to the city. “I fear something else is at work here, something very dark. The theft was more than it seemed. I am certain of it.

“Unfortunately, I am not on the council of masters; I am not powerful or specialized enough, and I do not know what they currently plan to do about the recent attack. If they are continuing to disregard the events you described, more or less due to a lack of leads, for example, or a desire not to waste resources, or for whatever the reason, then we should all be terrified.” For a moment he said nothing. “Lions in a grass filled with snakes,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

He looked back at Vincent. “Feeling overly safe or sure of your dominance can be the death of you. Never forget that in your search. It seems that at least a few of us have.”

“I won’t forget, master.”

Arrendis glanced out once more. “Ah, looks like breakfast is here after all. We better step back a few paces to give Gracie some room.” Vincent looked too and saw a large bird in the distance flying toward them with something in its claws.