Chapter Sixteen #2
“An invisibility weave,” scoffed Tael vel Eilan, one of Tenn’s youngest cousins. “Any Spirit master here could do as much.”
“Could he?” Rain arched a brow. “Let’s put that to the test.” He cast a cool gaze over the assembly. “Which among you claim
a master’s level in Spirit?” Thousands of hands rose. “Excellent. Then among you, you should have no trouble discovering where
my two friends went.” He waited, but the warriors lowered their hands and glanced around in confusion, clearly unable to discern
where Tajik and Bel had gone. “You cannot find them? But invisibility is a simple weave. Any Spirit master should easily be
able to detect them.”
He let a full chime pass, giving the warriors ample time to find their prey, then pinned Tael with a challenging glance. “It seems this Spirit weave is not so simple after all. Perhaps you can tell me where my friends are? Nei? Shall I show you? Very well. My brothers, reveal yourselves.”
As quickly as they had shimmered into invisibility, the two warriors reappeared. Tajik was standing behind one of the Spirit
masters, Fey’cha held at his neck.
Bel was at Tael’s side, holding the younger Fey’s steel in his hands.
The young warrior clutched the empty space where his Fey’cha harnesses and meicha belts should have been. “How . . . ?”
Bel thrust Tael’s weapons belts back into his hands. “Arrogance is no substitute for experience, Fey. You might consider that
perhaps—just perhaps—a Fey who survived most of the last thousand years battling Eld along the Celierian border might have
a thing or two he could teach you about magic—and survival.”
Leaving the young warrior flushed red and fumbling to don his stripped weapons, Bel returned to stand at Gaelen’s side.
The former dahl’reisen cast Bel a sidelong glance and a faint smirk. “I’m touched, vel Jelani. I had no idea how much you cared.”
Bel grimaced and rolled his eyes, which made Gaelen laugh softly.
Rain raised his voice to address the gathered warriors. “That Spirit weave was a technique Gaelen taught these warriors in
less than a day. Can you imagine how such a skill might serve you on the battlefield?”
The lu’tan were nodding, but many of the gathered Fey still looked skeptical, and several outright hostile.
“Fancy weaves don’t change the fact that he walked the Shadowed Path,” one of the Fey called out. “His presence besmirches
the honor of all chatok who have taught within these walls.”
“Changed times call for changed attitudes,” Rain replied.
“War is coming. Our ancient enemy has risen again, and grown strong while we have grown weak. I will not turn away a Fey who was once counted among our swiftest and surest blades.” Rain let his gaze travel the length and breadth of the training ground.
“What punishment the gods passed upon him for his crimes has been paid, and he has been given new life so that he may serve the Fading Lands once more. The guardians of the Mists judged him worthy—even the Warriors’ Gate welcomed him as a blade brother and a champion of the Light. Will you do any less?”
He waited for his words to sink in, then said, “In a moment, the warriors’ gong will ring.” As was the custom for any training
day in the Academy, each of the Academy’s chatok would strike a blow to call the chadin to order.
“Those who refuse to learn from one who was once dahl’reisen may leave before Gaelen strikes his blow”—he turned to regard the gathered mentors of the Academy—“as may any chatok who refuses to accept him into their honored company.
I will not hold you in any less esteem for your decision. I know this
is a difficult thing I ask, and I know it will be troubling to many. If you choose to remain, that choice will serve as your
sworn and binding oath that you will give Gaelen vel Serranis the respect any other chatok commands.”
He saw numerous warriors and half a dozen chatok shift in their places and knew they were among the first few who would walk for the door after the first strike of the gong.
“Before you decide, my brothers, consider this. We are few. The enemy is many. Loris v’En Mahr will soon be traveling to Elvia
to meet with the Elf king, Galad Hawksheart. It is my hope the ancient alliance between our peoples can be renewed and Loris
can convince the Elves to join us in this fight; but no matter what comes of his mission, the Eld will strike, and the Fey
must be ready to stand against them.
“And before you decide, consider this also.” Rain’s hands went to the circlet of silver sword blades twined by golden vines
and Amarynth leaves perched on his brow, the non-ceremonial sign of his kingship. “I ask nothing of you that I do not first
ask of myself.” Lifting the crown from his head, he placed it gently on the gilded tairen’s chair, then stepped down into
the training field beside his brother Fey.
Jaren v’En Harad approached the warriors’ gong and struck the first blow.
Of those who had gathered on the field, only six thousand remained when Gaelen struck the final blow to the gong. A fourth
of those were Ellysetta’s lu’tans and the other rasa whose souls she had restored. Not the overwhelming numbers Rain had hoped for, but more than he’d truly believed would stay.
Half the chatok had departed as well. In a quiet ceremony of disapproval, each had waited for his time to ring the warriors’ gong, then made
a point of exiting in proud silence rather than striking a blow.
When it was over, Jaren nodded at the gathered Fey. “This is a good beginning. I had not expected so many to stay.”
“Nor I, but it’s still not nearly enough,” Rain said. “And I’ve cost you half your most skilled chatok.”
“You but winnowed out those who have made their pride a funeral shroud.” Jaren met Rain’s eyes. “Our world has changed, Feyreisen.
I have watched great Fey cities die, seen our forests fade back into desert, and listened to my shei’tani weep for the children her womb will not bear. It seems to me when the ways of the past lead only to death, then change is
the only hope for life.”
“What if that change leads only to more death?” Rain asked.
Jaren smiled sadly. “Great change always does. That’s why it’s so hard to embrace. But we are not a people born to hide from
danger.” He put a hand on Rain’s arm. “Lead with courage, my king. Make them remember what it is to be Fey.”
The chatok’s smile became a bold slash of white teeth, and his face lit with a fierce, proud light. In an instant, Jaren was transformed
from a man weighted with weary sadness to a proud, deadly warrior of the Fey, fearless and fierce. “‘We are the steel no enemy can shatter. We are the magic no Dark power can defeat. We are the rock upon which evil breaks like
waves.’ Keep reminding our brothers of that—make them believe it—and the Eld could outnumber us two hundred to one and still not defeat us.”
Ellysetta’s stomach curled in nervous knots as she approached the Hall of Truth and Healing, the serenely beautiful building
on Dharsa’s central mount where the shei’dalins gathered to work their magic and perfect their craft.
The air of the hall was filled with the soothing sounds of splashing fountains, and lush blossoms, hanging plants, and potted
greenery turned each room into a paradise of peace and beauty. Scores of shei’dalins—their devastating beauty unveiled, their unbound hair spilling down slender backs—laughed and smiled from every corner, chaise,
and chair.
Tiny, dark Jisera v’En Arran, Eimar’s mate, crossed the room, hands outstretched, to greet her warmly. “Feyreisa, welcome
to the Hall of Truth and Healing. Venarra is expecting you.”
She led Ellysetta through a series of connected rooms, and as they walked, Jisera whispered on a quiet weave of Spirit, ?I can feel your unease, little sister.?
Ellysetta gave her a startled look, but didn’t try to deny the truth.
The shei’dalin’s earnest expression was filled with compassion and understanding. ?I know Venarra can seem cold, but that is only because she feels things so strongly she must discipline her emotions like
a warrior. When you get to know her better, you will see her heart is fierce but full of love.?
They had reached a small sitting room filled with cushioned chairs. Jisera escorted Ellysetta inside, gave her an encouraging
smile, and departed. Ellie fought the urge to cling as she watched Jisera’s departing figure.
A sound behind made her turn.
Venarra stood in an arched doorway. She was clad in red silk from neck to toe, which set off her dark eyes, dark hair, and
pale skin to perfection. Ellysetta was glad for the silvery drape Rain had spun from her lu’tans’ steel, and the five blades of her quintet hanging at her hips over the violet velvet gown she wore beneath.
The steel gave her a measure of confidence, just as Bel’s dagger had back in Celieria when she’d faced Queen Annoura and the nobles of the Celierian court.
After several moments of silence, Venarra said, “Walk with me.” She led the way through a second, spiral-columned archway
to a small, private garden. Abundant flowers and blossoming trees filled the air with perfume. Birds and butterflies flitted
from branch and bloom. Faerilas burbled from wall fountains shaped like tairens’ heads.
“As the Shei’dalin, it is my duty to see that you are properly trained in the shei’dalin arts. I had thought—given the words that passed between us yesterday—that you might prefer to have someone other than me
instruct you, but Marissya tells me your power overwhelms even her.” She glanced at Ellysetta. “Marissya is our most gifted
shei’dalin, but I am stronger at seeing past the strength of a weaver’s threads to the actual pattern of a weave. She believes I am
the one best suited to train you and teach you the discipline you need to hold your power in check.”
Venarra bent her head and paused to pluck a spray of honeyblossom. A tinge of rose touched her pale cheeks. “Her faith may