The Arimensian Council of Warlocks met regularly throughout the next year, an unprecedented change from their usual habits. None of these meeting was I allowed to attend, and when I asked of Ynguinian what was spoken during them he refused to tell, for he was a man of Order and had spoken an oath of secrecy to the council and the regent. However, each time I did ask he would reassure me that it was nothing dire, and that he would tell me if it was.

If I were more patient and more like Ynguinian, I would not have continued to pester the man. I do not blame myself for my concern surrounding these meetings, as it was an anxious time for the city of Arimens and the empire of Moringia. The storm that Corindrian had shielded Arimens from had left terrible and permanent scars of ice and fire and pollution on the once-clean wilds surrounding the once-unaffected city. The war had continued to consume the safety of the lands as well. What were once safe trading roads and marketplaces were now filled with bandits, liars, and desperate men. The raucous play of youths in the streets was replaced by the sounds of hammering smithees forging the seeds of destiny for those young men lured by the war of greed and power. The temple to Urostrian was brimming with refugees who had lost their homes in the brutal squall.

One fateful day of my second year of study near the end of Autumn Cornidrian summoned his three apprentices to discuss an urgent matter. The weathermaster had just returned from a meeting of the council (Ornookian was forbidden from attending this time), and one could see the weight and tension of that conference had followed him to the tower. The words he spoke were heavy, like iron.

“Apprentices, horrid news has come from Harinia: Zuryne and his apprentices were branded and the master himself was slain by the forces of Junumianis. Yularelian’s apprentice, Ghalyne, has been elected to the council under the title of Master of Waters.”

Ornookian looked thunderstruck, as the master of weather appeared to address him alone momentarily.

“There were many strong choices, and I did not agree with Ghalyne’s appointment, but unfortunately I was outweighed and the regent’s mind was made up. This matter is not the only matter which I have to address. Jaryne, you are excused now.”

The weathermaster made sure our younger counterpart, Jaryne, was well out of earshot before he continued on with the next part of his address.

“Ornookian and Nayinian, the council and the regent have requested our presence within the Temini Barony to the northwest. We will leave in a week’s time, prepare spells of protection, and tell no-one. We will be gone for many months, but other than that I cannot tell you of our business in that region until our journey is underway. On the roads there are no prying ears coming and going.”

With orders given, Corindrian took his leave to prepare for the mission the council had given us. The next week I spent preparing several spells with which to protect myself with. The spell of unnoticing and the several variants I had crafted thereof had become natural and well-known to me, so little preparation I needed to use those. Therefore I spent most of my time crafting a spell of the sky, and a spell of the ice (with Corindrian’s assistance), and what little time I had during that week I spent with Ynguinian, for I knew I would not see him for many months.

It is the night before I journeyed to the Temini with Corindrian and Ornookian, that I look upon most fondly when I reflect on my short apprenticeship. Ynguinian and I had gone towards the top of the shelter-builder’s temple just as the twilight of the celestial sphere slipped over the horizon. The many strikes of Ghalstorin and the two great moons at their apex shone upon the small balcony at the top of the building’s dome as he and I looked out over the Arimens that had radically changed since our arrival.

Much like that night on the peaks of perpetual winter, quiet enveloped the landscape. No winds tarnished the impeccable scenery on that brisk night at the end of Autumn, no bells of the many temple were being struck, the forges had closed for the evening, and the usual marching of soldiers was absent, for they had been called in on curfew. Deep in conversation, the woes of that wretched war of greed and power were forgotten to us, the only life we knew then was the vast stretching city of Arimens; its remaining Beauty revealed to us by the double moon. We had spoken of our journey, of those cold nights in the Harinian mounts, of our families, and of our futures, but by then the conversation had lulled and quieted as we spent many minutes in a silence that the brave squire ended.

“I have heard news that you are headed to the Temini Barony tomorrow. Are you worried about what might happen there?” Ynguinian asked, hushed and low as to call upon guidance from the eleventh saint.

“I have many concerns. I do not know of my purpose there, nor of the dangers the road holds. This sort of worry is unusual for you as of late, what is causing you such concerns? Do you know of things I do not?” I implored the squire, fearing he may know future dangers that Corindrian had not been informed of.

“That is a way of putting it, Nayinian.”

He seemed less confident than his usual self, uncertain, and afraid.

I told him, “Ynguinian, if you can at all tell me what worries you, let me know. It is not like you to be uncertain and afraid,” for I thought it was his oaths of secrecy he had sworn that brought unease to him.

“I am afraid for you, that much is true,” he said, “but, that is not the only thing that gives me hesitancy. I know the power of mages is enough to protect from all but other practitioners of spellcraft, and I know that you are an exceptional warlock for Corindrian and Ornookian have spoken highly of you in conference. Excuse me as I do something foolish”

Ynguinian produced a small amulet of Mentillian hung in silver from his coin purse. It was made of no metal or stone that I had ever seen before. The amulet’s material was as if stone and light had merged and had been suffused with the deep red of the mouths of the tall fiery mounts of the Hunal Islands far to the south, where it is said that Order himself begat the legendary blades of the twelve saints. It was as the stone of Urostian’s grandest cathedral reflected the magmatic glow of the amulet did I realize what Ynguinian intended with it.

“If you are travelling far, I want to offer you protection even if I cannot defend you with my blade. Please take this amulet as a symbol of courtship. It would make me the world’s happiest man. If that is not something you wish, I apologize and hope you will accept this amulet as a symbol of my respect and admiration for you and the life you’ve allowed me to live away from my nameless town in the Harinian mounts.”

He stood stiff and nervous holding the amulet that glowed under the double moonlight outward in offering to me.

I accepted his proposal immediately, of course, for I truly loved him.

“When I return from Temini, we will talk about the ceremony, my betrothed.” I whispered to him, held in his embrace

We spent the rest of the evening in silence, and much like that night in the peaks of perpetual winter I forgot of the misfortunes that plagued myself and the land. Afterall, why worry? It had been many years since I had last touched yew, nightshade, or water hemlock. I had avoided necromancy, and I still possessed my fate: I was to marry Yngunian.

Corindrian, Ornookian, and I left Arimens with a small squadron of soldiers the next morning. The landscape outside of the city served as a reminder both of the disaster the weathermaster had averted, and of the raging war which had brought much ruin to the land. The first week we travelled, many of the stone fences belonging to farms along our path had been destroyed and upturned by the bizarre squall. Many trees had been turned to charcoal, or obliterated entirely except for their trunks. Long stripes of sharp magmatic rock coiled like vines over the road, for the fire and lightning of that storm had been so strong as to melt and warp the earth below it. What the storm had not touched had become desecrated by that war. The creeks and rivers ran black and foul, and much of the path was black with mud and polluted with the garbage left behind by soldiers who marched through Arimens towards the fort on the River Kalipaonin.

In the second week of travel the damage of the storm was no longer noticeable. We had not quite reached the coastal mountain range that the Temini Barony lay within, and for a brief moment one could still see the Beauty of the passing landscape, for Beauty and Nature had yet to begin their Decay as a result of that disgusting war. More alive colors were, and more lush the noises of birds and running children before the war reached its horrid zenith.

In the third week of travel, we were waylaid by desperate bandits. It was the middle of nighttime, and it was raining (for it was not quite cold enough to snow). I had stayed awake admiring the amulet of nearly-forgotten reds my betrothed had bestowed upon me, when I heard the sounds of footsteps through the heavy rain outside of the carriage. None of our guards had heard the footsteps, I could tell that much. They stood as if nothing was the matter, as they could barely see or hear anything in that storm. However I could hear such subtle things, for over the course of my apprenticeship I had mastered the spell of unnoticing and knew when things wanted to be left unheard or unseen.

I leaned my head into the rain, and alerted one of the guards, who did believe me until lightning struck upon a nearby hill, removing the cloak of night from the large contingent of stealthy intruders.

The first guard went to disturb Corindrian, but I grabbed his arm and forbade him, as to wake up the weather mage would be useless (and detrimental) here, for Corindrian was working on a masterful and intricate spell to present to the Temini Barony, among other “gifts.” My master, however, had tasked me and Ornookian to learn certain spells for protection.

I stepped out of the carriage into the downpour, and thought back to the moment many years ago on the thundered plains, when Raluros had protected me and Ynguinian. Then, imitating the demeanor of the paladin of the eleventh saint, I shouted with an enchanted voice through the rain towards the would-be assailants.

“Whoever you may be, heed my warning: We are three masters of spellcraft who have business to the northwest of these lands. Leave us be, or taste the storm you have used to cloak your misdoings.”

Lightning struck again, as I began to utter the words in the first language of a powerful spell of protection. The bandits had given pause, and it would be enough time to finish the spell I crafted.

The other guards near the carriage called out to the darkness, trying to scare them off, but with each strike of lightning they inched forward. I was fortunate it was raining so strong as to prevent the striking of arrows as I finished the utterance, and cast the spell I had played.

Branching lightning descended from a low cloud between us and the bandits. However, not quickly as natural lightning. No. Imagine golden honey dripping from a spoon, slow and steady. That is how the branching lightning came to the earth, illuminating the landscape with blinding light. The second portion of the spell I had yet to speak, and instead (wisely) I threatened them with my learned prowess, unless they leave.

They began to run towards me as I spread my fingers wide and my arms outward, causing the lightning to spread all along the muddy ground. The assailants were pinned to the ground with coursing shackles of lightning. There was a moment of only the sounds of torrent and grunting men, until tangible thunder struck them, causing great pain. I dismissed the shackles and the men who did not writhe on the ground ran off into the stormy night. I went back into the carriage, soaked, to see Ornookian and Corindrian had awoken.

“The problem is gone, I have taken care of it. The bandits will bother us no more.”

The two promptly fell back asleep, but sleep I would not find that evening, for in my haste I had cast the spell wrong and for the entire evening I heard deafening thunder when I was at the precipice of sleep. For weeks I would wake in the middle of the night, hearing the sound of thunder, but I had protected us from the threat as instructed, and that was all that mattered.

The rest of the third week bore no rain storms or desperate bandits. The sky was clear, and the air was brisk as we made our way towards Temini, passing leagues and leagues of forgotten Autumn colors. Yellows that have faded to time adorned now-decayed poplar trees, reds only known knights of Ralarusian adorned the smaller wild bushes that we passed on the road to the Temini Barony. It was in the fourth week of travel that we finally learned the nature of our visit to the Northwest region of Moringia.

***

Nayinis leaned towards the children of the village who were sitting cross-legged on the longhouse floor in front of her. Their eyes were wide, and several whispered to each other in wonderment over what a forgotten color might look like.

“It is true, the world used to hold many more colors. Many perished when the first yew came to this world, but those strange colors your parents often mourn can still be called upon by Memory, for now. Shameful it would be, for no children of this generation to witness the former colors of the peaks of perpetual winter, or of lightstone, by which the blades of the twelve saints were forged.”

The necromancer put her hand into her shirt, and lifted outwards the deep red amulet that Ynguinian had bestowed upon her and held it high above her head. The amulet, seeming almost ponderous, she set in the now-empty hearth, and whispered inwards to cold wood.

The hearth alighted once more, and then slowly like a smoke ascended moving ribbons of forgotten colors of the peaks of perpetual winter.

The children of the room saw Beauty in its fullest for the first time that evening, and from that moment on, Nayinis had their trust.

More outwardly now, she spoke to the disheartened residents of the nameless village at the bottom of the gray spine, for she knew she would need conviction in her speech if she was going to gain their trust once they learned of the crimes her hands had been branded for, and the horrid things that happened in the wake of that fateful day.