The Heir of Jeragoth
The Jade Dragon

“Where are we going today, Uncle Illy?” Alana asked excitedly as she pulled her dark green velvet tunic over her white linen shirt.

“We’re going to visit the Novadi stronghold in the Great Forest,” he answered quietly.

“What are we going to do there?”

Iliard didn’t answer right away, but instead focused on helping her straighten her tunic. Finally he said, “We’re going to a ceremony.”

“Is that why we got these fancy clothes from Erienne?”

Iliard looked at his eleven-year-old niece with mock severity, “Yes, little Miss Questions. Now, go put on your belt.”

“Can I still wear my dagger?”

Iliard rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said with a chuckle, “Go put on your belt.” While Alana was getting her belt, Iliard went over to the full-length, mahogany framed mirror and checked his appearance for the third time. He tugged on his black velvet tunic even though it was already straight and brushed imaginary lint off his snow-white linen shirt and his jet-black breeches. He had polished his black, knee-high boots for an hour in preparation for the day’s event, but still he examined them for scuff marks. He adjusted his sword belt so that the buckle was perfectly centered and made sure his sword was resting nicely on his left hip.

“You look handsome, Uncle Illy,” Alana said from behind him.

He turned to her and smiled, “Thank you. You look very pretty yourself.”

Alana just smiled and looked down at the floor.

Iliard took one more glance in the mirror and then held out his hand to Alana and said, “Are you ready to go?”

Alana took his hand, “Yes.”

When they arrived at the Novadi Stronghold, Alana just stood and stared in open-mouthed wonder. The main stronghold, which rose a hundred feet into the air, looked like it had emerged fully formed from the mountain into which it was built. The buildings surrounding the main stronghold looked more like sculptures. The beauty of the complex was such that the buildings blended perfectly into the landscape as if they, like the trees that surrounded them, had grown up from the earth on the spot. One structure in particular seemed as though the slightest wind would shatter its delicate framework. Alana pointed at it and asked, “Uncle Illy, what’s that building for?”

Iliard looked to where Alana was pointing. “That’s the infirmary.” Responding to Alana’s confused look he explained, “It is where Novadi warriors are brought to be healed.”

As Alana continued to look around at the many people coming and going, she heard a voice say, “Welcome Terin Berinath.” Startled, Alana looked around for the speaker, but no one was nearby.

Iliard noticed her disquiet and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Somebody talked to me,” Alana said.

Iliard looked around. “What did they say?”

Alana’s brows drew into a frown of concentration. “He said, welcome Ter…Terin…Terina something. I’ve never heard that word before.”

Iliard’s brow drew together thoughtfully and then his eyes widened, “Terin Berinath?”

Alana nodded, “That was it. What does that mean?”

Iliard hesitated. “It’s…well…it’s another name for who you are.”

“You mean like Lady Candril?” she asked with a slight grimace.

“Something like that,” Iliard answered with a smile.

“Do you have a special name too?”

“I…”

“Actually, your uncle does have a special name.” They both turned at the sound of Philip’s voice. “And today he will be changing it.”

Alana looked at Iliard and said accusingly, “Is the ceremony for you?”

Iliard’s cheeks reddened slightly and he said, “Yes.”

Alana put her hands on her hips, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your uncle is a very modest man, Lady Candril. He does not wish to brag.” Philip put out his hand to her, “I am Grandmaster Philip. Welcome to the Novadi stronghold.”

Alana took Philip’s hand and shook it. “I am pleased to meet you, Grandmaster Philip,” she replied in her most grown-up voice.

Philip smiled and looked at Iliard, “You have taught her well, Iliard.”

“Thank you, Grandmaster Philip,” Iliard answered with a bow of his head.

“We should go in now. Terin Novar Arianna is waiting.”

Iliard and Alana followed Philip across the stone paved courtyard into the front entrance of the soaring stone stronghold. Despite its imposing edifice, it was light and airy on the inside. Philip led them up a curving stone staircase down a brightly lit hallway into a large room with a balcony. Arianna was standing on the balcony looking out over the grounds of the Novadi stronghold. When Philip came in with Iliard and Alana, Arianna turned and entered the room. Alana stared at her wide-eyed. She was used to seeing Grandma Kate dressed in breeches and wearing a sword, but somehow, Terin Novar Arianna was different. She seemed so much more commanding. As Arianna came closer, Alana’s attention shifted to the emerald amulet that the Novadi master wore around her neck. It was easily the largest emerald Alana had ever seen, and she had seen many. Tiny pinpoints of light shot through the gem like meteors. Alana couldn’t take her eyes off the amulet, she felt drawn to it.

Arianna smiled and said, “It is good to see you again, Iliard.”

Iliard bowed, “Thank you Terin Novar.” He put his hand on Alana’s shoulder and said, “Terin Novar Arianna, this is my niece, Lady Alana Candril.”

Alana tore her eyes away from the amulet and shot her uncle a dismayed look when she heard him announce her so formally. Arianna turned to Alana and said, “I am pleased to meet you at last, Lady Candril. We have heard much about you from your uncle.”

A slight frown creased Alana’s brow when she answered, “Thank you, Terin Novar Arianna.”

Arianna saw the look on Alana’s face and chuckled softly. “I’m getting the idea you don’t like to be called Lady Candril.”

Alana’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked quickly up at her uncle and then back at Arianna. “No, Ma’am,” she answered quietly.

“Why not?”

Alana shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it makes me sound…fussy—like an old lady or something.”

Arianna smiled at her. “I’ll make a bargain with you,” she said, her voice light with suppressed laughter, “I won’t call you Lady Candril if you don’t call me ma’am.” She leaned down and whispered, “It makes me feel old and fussy.”

Alana giggled and then put out her hand, “It’s a bargain,” she said as she shook Arianna’s hand. “But,” she added, “What should I call you? Terin Novar Arianna is awfully long.”

Arianna threw back her head and laughed aloud. “How well I know it, young one. You may call me Arianna.”

Iliard raised an eyebrow and said to his niece, “That’s quite an honor Alana.”

Alana’s cheeks reddened and she said shyly, “Thank you…Arianna.”

“You’re welcome, Alana.” She glanced over Alana’s head and said, “Our other guests have arrived.”

Iliard and Alana both turned at the same time and Alana exclaimed, “Papa!” Then her eyes went wide, “Bert! Grandma Kate!”

Iliard stared at his brother and nephew, a bemused look on his face. Bertrand went over to him and pulled him into a rough embrace. “You didn’t think I’d miss something like this, did you?”

Iliard returned his embrace enthusiastically, then pulled back and said with shining eyes, “I thought you two were on a drive.”

“We were,” Bertrand replied, “Mother came to get us.” With a slight smirk he commented, “She barely gave us time to bathe and change.”

“Your family should be here,” Kate said quietly to Iliard.

Iliard turned to his nephew and said, “Thank you for coming, Bertrand.”

“You’re very welcome, Uncle Iliard,” he answered formally. It was evident to Iliard that young Bertrand was excited and trying to hide it.

“But,” Alana chimed in, “Won’t Bert get in trouble? I mean…you know…Mother doesn’t like him doing things like this.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Bertrand growled. Young Bertrand looked at his father, his eyes filled with silent gratitude.

Iliard cleared his throat and said, “Terin Novar Arianna, Grandmaster Philip, this is my brother, Baron Bertrand Candril II and my nephew, Lord Bertrand Candril III.”

Both Arianna and Philip bowed. “I am honored to meet you both,” Arianna said. “Now,” she went on, “If you’ll excuse us, I need to speak to Iliard and Kate alone. Philip, would you please take our guests to their places in the Wielders Glade?”

Philip bowed his head, “Yes, Terin Novar.” He turned to leave the room and motioned for Alana, her father and brother to follow him. Just before the doors to the room shut behind them, Alana turned back and saw Grandma Kate put her arms around Uncle Iliard.

They followed Philip back down the curving staircase and out into the courtyard. He stopped just outside the entrance and turned to them. “We’re going to teleport to the Wielder’s Glade. That’s the only way to get there without climbing gear—or wings. So,” he went on as he placed his hand on Bertrand the Elder’s shoulder, “If you would please take hold of one another.” Alana grasped her brother’s hand and her father put his hand on young Bertrand’s shoulder. Alana felt Bert’s hand tighten reflexively around hers just before she felt the now-familiar pull in the center of her chest.

When the world came into focus again, they were in a large clearing surrounded on all sides by mountains. Alana looked around in wide-eyed wonder. They were standing at the base of a natural amphitheater that rose some fifty feet above them. Stone steps rose out of the ground around the clearing, smoothed by millennia of rain and wind and covered now by moss and short grass. The stone floor was completely smooth, as if some giant had placed a single slab in the center of the clearing and polished it by hand. Along the top edge of the stone steps, ancient trees stood majestically as guardians of this sacred place. They were spaced evenly around the grotto as if they had been planted there. At the head of the amphitheater was a stone dais about a foot high and thirty feet wide. Alana stared in opened mouthed wonder as adventurers of every kind appeared in the seats above her. Priests and Priestesses of all four noble gods mingled with Wizards, Warriors, Sorcerers and Mendari from every part of Ranwar and beyond.

As Philip guided them to their seats, Alana heard her brother gasp and whisper, “The White Mage.”

Alana looked around and asked, “Where?”

“Over there,” Bert said, pointing towards the opposite side of the dais. Alana followed his direction and saw an old man with white hair and pure white wizard’s robes standing next to a man with long black hair and jet-black robes. A woman with long red hair and white robes was standing next to the man in black. Alana frowned in confusion. “Which one is the White Mage? They’re both wearing white. And who’s the man with the black robes? I thought only Priests of Arnitath wore black robes.”

“The man in white robes is the White Mage of Ranwar, dimwit,” Bert replied scathingly. “The woman is the White Mage of Abrafal.”

Alana elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Stop calling me that, Bert,” she whispered angrily.

Bertrand the Elder stepped in before his son had a chance to retaliate. “All right you two, that’s enough.”

Philip chuckled, remembering similar spats between his own children. “You are right, young Lord Candril. That is Alaketh Maritanae, the White Mage of Ranwar and Trelia Windara, the White Mage of Abrafal. Can you tell your sister—nicely—who the man in black robes is?”

Bert flushed slightly at Philip’s polite rebuke. “I’m not sure, but I think he’s Tramore Jezrulian, the Grandmaster Sorcerer. He’s married to the White Mage Trelia.”

“That’s right,” Philip said approvingly. “You are well educated, young master.”

Bert’s face turned even redder at Philip’s compliment and he murmured, “Thank you, Grandmaster Philip.”

“You are most welcome, Lord Candril,” Philip replied. “After the ceremony, I will introduce you to all three of them. I’m sure they will be delighted to meet you.”

“That would be great,” young Bertrand said, his eyes gleaming with excitement, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Philip replied. “Now please follow me. The ceremony will begin soon.” Philip led them to the front row. After he made sure they were comfortably seated, Philip started to walk around the glade and greet the numerous dignitaries that had come. They saw Philip speak to the White Mage of Ranwar, who then turned to glance in their direction. Philip moved on to another group of people, two of whom Bert quietly identified as the Blue Mage and the High Priest of Taelerion. And so it went. As Philip moved around the grotto greeting the various important visitors, Bert would point out the ones he recognized. The High Priestess of Asaeria, the High Priest of Diasamon, the Brown Mage Aurora the Windwalker, and the High Priestess of Aniyatomei. Finally, Bertrand the Elder turned to him and asked, “How do you know all this?”

Bert flushed and said, “I spend a lot of time in the library…um…studying.”

Bertrand chuckled and put his arm around his son. “Good for you son.”

Alana gasped and pointed up. “Bert look! It’s three of those birdmen from Ker Deledia.”

Bert followed her gaze and saw the Borgantine flying into the clearing. When the twelve-foot-tall birdmen landed in the middle of the clearing, Philip went over to greet them. Bert focused intently on the Borgantine and finally said, “The one in the middle is the same one we saw in Ker Deledia. I recognize the markings on his feathers.”

“Wow,” Alana said, “He must really like Uncle Illy to come all this way to see him.”

Bert leaned over and murmured in her ear, “The Borgantine come from Ranwar, dimwit.”

“I heard that,” Bertrand said into his son’s ear. “Apologize to your sister.”

“Sorry,” young Bertrand mumbled grudgingly.

Grandmaster Philip stepped onto the dais and said in a voice magically raised above those of the hundreds of spectators, “Would everyone please take their seats. The ceremony is about to begin.”

The murmur of the crowd grew louder momentarily before it quieted to near silence. Philip stepped up onto the dais. “Honored guests, I extend my heartfelt thanks to you for joining us on this special day. Your presence here adds greatly to the significance of this event. Before we begin, I would like to introduce the members of the Novadi High Council.” He went on to introduce fifteen of the seventeen members of the High Council—which included himself. The Novadi High Council consisted of one Novadi representing twelve of the thirteen continents and the five Wielders of the Ancient Blades. Then he stepped back from the edge of the platform and stood silently.

A moment later, Terin Novar Arianna appeared with Iliard and Kate standing on either side of her. She had donned a long white tunic decorated with simple gold braid. Her large emerald pendant stood out prominently against the pure white background. At their appearance, three Novadi warriors who had been sitting among the members of the High Council, went up onto the platform and stood on either side of Kate and Iliard. Arianna stepped forward and said, “Today, the Wielder of the Jade Dragon, Master Katherine Candril, willingly yields possession of her sword to her son, Master Iliard Candril. It must be known that this is a great sacrifice on her part, for the Wielder and her sword are companions in peace as well as in battle.” Then Arianna drew her sword as did the four other Wielders. Without warning, the entire glade went dark, as if someone had blocked out the sun. Shadowy figures began to coalesce in front of each Wielder forming finally into five men in long flowing robes. The color of the robe of each man corresponded to the hue of each Wielder’s sword.

The man in the center, who stood in front of Terin Novar Arianna, stepped forward. His robes, like the blade of her sword, were shimmering silver. When he began to speak, Alana wasn’t sure whether she was hearing him all around her or from within herself. “I am Nylamanthus, Magi of the Ancient order, creator and guardian of the Silver Sun, chief blade of the five Nyla Blades. Two thousand years ago, the Silver Sun was created to combat the forces of darkness and evil. When it was found that one blade was not enough, four more were created. Each blade has its own strengths, its own special purpose, and its own guardian.” He gestured to the magus dressed in golden robes at the end of the row to his right, who stepped forward. “Ameridius, creator and guardian of the Golden Fox.” Then the magus next to him, who was dressed in crimson robes, stepped forward. “Aroshathma, creator and guardian of the Torch.” He turned to his left. A black robed magus bowed slightly, but otherwise remained stock still. “Hopotlotock, creator and guardian of the Breath of Night, bane of the undead. And lastly,” the green robed magus standing in front of Kate stepped forward, “Atomalanthalus, creator and protector of the Jade Dragon.”

Alana sat forward in her seat excitedly. Nylamanthus continued, “The Nyla Blades were forged to defend against the greatest evils. Their Wielders were carefully chosen from amongst the finest Novadi Warriors. Each sword was meant to be passed down from one generation to the next in the family line of the original Wielder. When the Black Riders came and scorched the skies, the Novadi order was dispersed. The Wielders were scattered over the face of Gorthus and the family lines fell into obscurity. All but one family stayed true to the values of the Novadi order, even through great trial and persecution. One line, however, failed and descended into evil. That line fell into ruin and was completely destroyed. Thus the Jade Dragon was lost and lay hidden for five hundred years under the ruins of a once great city.

When Terin Novar Arianna recovered the Jade Dragon, the new Novadi order was in its infancy. A suitable Wielder could not yet be chosen because there were too few from which to choose. For another century, Terin Novar Arianna safeguarded the Jade Dragon until Magus Atomalanthalus deemed that the Novadi Katherine had sufficiently mastered the skills of the Novadi Warrior. Now, she in her turn will yield possession of the Jade Dragon to her son Iliard, as is right and good. In this way, the former Wielder can tutor the new Wielder in the ways of the Nyla Blades. Thus a new line for the Jade Dragon has been created and will continue.”

Nylamanthus turned to face Kate and nodded. Kate shifted her sword in her hand so that the hilt rested on her palm and the blade lay flat along her arm. She extended her arm and offered the hilt to Nylamanthus. The Magus grasped the hilt of the sword and raised it high. He then, in the same fashion as Kate, offered the hilt the to Atomalanthalus, who took the hilt of the sword in both hands and held it high. The sword’s green-hued blade began to glow until it looked like it was on fire. The Magus turned toward Iliard, who stepped forward and turned to face Atomalanthalus. Kate came around and put her hand on Iliard’s shoulder as he held his hands out, palms upward. Atomalanthalus placed the blade of the sword across Iliard’s open palms and then placed his hands, palms down, on top of Iliard’s so that the sword was in between their hands. The fiery glow of the Jade Dragon spread from the Magus to Kate and then to Iliard, until all three of them were enveloped by its radiance.

Alana felt her heart pounding in her chest as she watched her uncle and her grandmother share in the extraordinary power that radiated from the Jade Dragon. She was sure she could feel the power pulsing through her, matching the beating of her heart. She wondered how they could stand it, being so close to such an incredible force.

Gradually, the glow receded from Kate until, at last, it only shone around Atomalanthalus and Iliard. Kate took her hand off her son’s shoulder, then turned and left the dais, escorted by Philip, who had come around in front of the platform. Alana dragged her eyes away from the spectacle on the platform to watch her grandmother. As Kate walked away from the dais, the remaining members of the Novadi High Council rose as one. Those around them took their cue until everyone in the Wielder’s Glade was standing silent tribute to the former Wielder. Kate paused in the center of the stone floor and bowed in acknowledgement. All bowed in return and then resumed their seats.

As she watched Kate walk toward them, Alana could tell that her grandmother was sad, her still-young face lined with a drawn expression Alana had never seen. When Kate reached her family, Alana scrambled down from her seat to give her grandmother a hug. “It’s all right, Grandma,” she whispered, “Uncle Illy will take good care of your sword.”

Kate let out a quiet chuckle and kissed Alana on the forehead. “I know he will,” she whispered back. Kate sat down next to her son and Alana sat on her other side. Bertrand reached over and gave his mother’s shoulder a light squeeze. Kate put her hand over his and held it there for a long while before letting it go.

Their attention was drawn back to the platform when Atomalanthalus grasped the hilt of the Jade Dragon and once more raised it high. He then set the still glowing blade across his arm as Kate and Nylamanthus had, and offered the hilt to Iliard. Iliard paused briefly and Alana saw him close his eyes and take a deep breath before he took hold of the hilt of the Jade Dragon and raised it high.

Nylamanthus stepped forward again, “The oath of a Novadi is sacrosanct, the oath of a Wielder even more so. Master Iliard will now recite the Wielder’s Oath. By this oath he is bound until he surrenders his sword or his life. No Nyla blade will suffer itself to be wielded by an oath breaker nor will the Novadi order suffer a fallen Wielder.”

Iliard got down on one knee and laid the Jade Dragon across his thigh. Alana let out a quiet gasp when she saw a seraph of Asaeria appear behind Iliard and place his hands on Iliard’s shoulders. “With all my strength and will,” Iliard began, his voice strong, “I vow to defend the honor of the Novadi order. With this sword, I vow to protect the helpless and battle the wicked. No injustice shall remain unanswered when the Jade Dragon is present. I will live my life as an example to those who follow me so that I may never shame the honor of the Wielders or the Novadi order. This vow I will keep until I relinquish the Jade Dragon to my successor or lose my life in the service of the Order.” The hands of the seraph glowed briefly. He lifted them and placed them on Iliard’s head, bowed his own head and then disappeared.

Iliard stood and faced the front of the platform. The other four Wielders joined him and all five raised their swords as one. The five Magi began to shimmer and fade. Their forms became columns of colored light that rose up and enveloped each of the Wielder’s swords. One by one each column shot skyward, beginning with the black column of the Breath of Night, followed by the Torch, the Golden Fox, the Jade Dragon and finally the Silver Sun. Each shaft of light wrapped around the other until they joined as one blazing pillar of bright white light. The light slowly spread throughout the Wielder’s Glade until the darkness that had fallen earlier was dissipated.

Arianna stepped forward. “Honored guests, the oath of the Wielder is not given to those upon whom it would weigh heavily. Master Iliard has been chosen—just as all Wielders are chosen—by the guardian of his Nyla Blade. He has been tested and found worthy to be the companion of the Jade Dragon and a champion for the Novadi order. As a Wielder he will also take his place on the Novadi High Council. Please rise and honor our newest Wielder, Master Iliard Candril.”

Everyone in the Glade rose once more, but this time with cheers and applause. Iliard bowed in acknowledgement of their praise. Alana wanted so much to run up to him and throw her arms around him.

Arianna raised her hands for silence. Once everyone was seated she said, “Now please join us for a celebration banquet back in the Novadi stronghold.” Arianna turned and shook Iliard’s hand and motioned for him to exit the platform ahead of her while the three remaining Wielders followed behind. She joined him on the ground and led him to the seats where the members of the Novadi High Council were sitting. Alana started to go towards him, but her grandmother lightly took hold of her arm and said quietly, “Not now, Alana. He will come to us.”

Disappointed, Alana started to wander around the area where they were sitting. As she made her way towards the platform, she spotted a small cluster of flowers growing at the base of the stone seats. Even before she bent down, their fragrance wafted up to her nostrils. Strong and sweet but not overpowering, the scent brought a smile to her lips. The five petals of the flower were sapphire blue and looked almost like velvet. The yellow center shone vividly on the dark blue background of the star-like petals. She knelt down and brought her face closer to the beautiful blooms.

“You’re very fortunate.”

Startled by the unknown woman’s voice, Alana fell back onto her heels and whipped her head around. Standing next to her was a slender young woman with short blonde hair and warm brown eyes.

“I apologize for startling you,” the woman said with a smile.

“That’s all right,” Alana replied. “But why did you say I was fortunate?”

The woman knelt down beside her and answered, “It is said that the Blue Telari only blooms once every five years. And this is the only place in the world that it grows. They say the first Terin Novar had them planted in honor of the first Wielder, Arinas.”

It was then that Alana noticed that the woman was wearing two swords, just like her uncle and her grandmother, so she asked, “Are you Novadi?”

“Yes,” she replied, “My name is Martea.”

Alana stood up and put out her hand, “I’m Alana Candril.”

Martea stood up as well and took Alana’s hand, “I know. I am pleased to meet you. Master Iliard asked me to find you. He’s waiting for you.”

Alana looked down at the deep blue flowers and asked tentatively, “Do you think it would be all right if I picked one and gave it to Uncle Illy?”

Martea’s eyes twinkled with amusement at hearing Alana’s nickname for her uncle, “I think that would be a most appropriate gift for a new Wielder.”

Alana knelt down beside the Blue Telari and carefully grasped the base of its stem. To her surprise, the single bloom separated quite easily from the rest of its fellows. A single slender, dark green leaf remained attached to the stem.

“It’s perfect,” Alana breathed in wonder.

“Now we should go to Master Iliard,” Martea said.

Iliard was standing amongst a small group of people that included Arianna and Philip as well as the two White Mages and the Grandmaster Sorcerer. Philip had just introduced Alana’s father and brother to the pair of mages. Bertrand the Younger was staring raptly at the mages as they spoke with his father. Iliard spotted Alana and Martea standing there and said, “Ah, here she is.” He motioned for Alana to join him and said, “This my niece, Alana Candril.” Indicating each person in turn he went on, “Alana, this is Grand Mage Alaketh Maritanae, Grand Mage Trelia Windara and Grandmaster Tramore Jezrulian.”

Alana greeted each of them politely. Her eyes then traveled around the circle of powerful people that surrounded her and she said, “And with Grandma Kate, that makes five Grands in one place. That’s lot of Grands.”

Alaketh Maritanae threw back his head and laughed heartily. “My friends, I believe we have just been put in our proper place.” He bowed his head and said, “I am honored to meet you, Lady Candril.”

Embarrassed at the White Mage’s response to her statement, she forgot her manners and blurted out, “Just call me Alana.” Then she blushed and added, “Please.”

Trelia Windara chuckled and said, “She reminds me a little of you, Arianna. You never did take much to titles.”

“Very true,” Arianna answered with a smile, “But I wasn’t born with one, either.” Then she fell silent when she spotted the flower that Alana was holding carefully in her left hand.

Alana saw the direction of Arianna’s gaze and looked at her hand. “Oh, I almost forgot. Uncle…Iliard,” she said as she turned to him and held out the dark blue bloom, “This is for you. I found it over there and Martea said it was all right to give it to you.” Iliard’s eyes widened slightly and he looked quickly over at Arianna. Alana misunderstood his silence and asked worriedly, “Was I wrong to pick it?”

Iliard hastened to reassure her. “No, not at all. It’s just…surprising.”

Seeing Alana’s confused look, Arianna said, “You see, Alana, the Blue Telari is a very special flower. It does not suffer itself to be separated from its roots very often. Only a very few people can take a single Blue Telari flower whole from the rest of the bunch—I happen to be one of them. It is customary for the Terin Novar to give one to each new Wielder.”

“Oh,” Alana said and held out the flower to her, “Then you should give it to him.”

Arianna shook her head, “You must give it to him. That’s how the magic works. The person who picks the flower must make a gift of it to a new Wielder. In this way the flower will stay forever fresh as the day you picked it. It is good fortune for the Wielder and the giver.”

Alana looked at her uncle and then at all the people who surrounded her, and for some strange reason felt like she was going cry. She held out the flower and said in a voice that trembled slightly, “I didn’t know it was so important. I just wanted to give it to you because it was pretty.”

Iliard took the flower and knelt down in front of Alana to shield her from curious eyes. “Thank you very much. I will treasure your gift always.”

Alana bit her bottom lip and nodded silently. Iliard put his arms around her and drew her into a hug. “I love you, Uncle Illy,” she whispered.

“I love you too, small one,” He whispered back.

#

“His Excellency is ready to see you now, Warder Meterius.”

Meterius checked his robes and did his best to hide his trembling hands. He walked past the white-robed acolyte, who closed the door behind him, leaving him alone in the dimly lit throne room of the High Priest of Arnitath. The white and black marble floor did nothing to reflect the low light from the occasional torches spread around the walls. Although it wasn’t particularly hot in Narsacalius this time of year, Meterius was still sweating profusely.

Sharantar Ventinimas, the High Priest of Arnitath on Ranwar, was seated on a throne carved from pure black onyx, which framed his deep crimson robes. His long thin fingers were draped over the arms of the throne. On the third finger of his right hand he wore a large ruby ring. His head was completely shaved and his snake tattoo wound from the right side of his face around the back of his head and ended just above his left eye.

Warder Meterius had no idea how old the High Priest was, but he had been the High Priest ever since Meterius had been a low order Priest. Normally, High Priests of Arnitath didn’t hold their office for very long before some lesser Priest killed them and took the throne for himself. Sharantar Ventinimas had certainly been the exception to that rule. His rule was absolute. The altars of Arnitath regularly ran with the blood of disobedient Priests.

Meterius had risen to the rank of Warder, one of only three, by careful observation of the High Priest’s rules. Now, as the second highest ranking Priest of Arnitath, he zealously guarded his status using the same tactics as the High Priest. It shamed him that he even felt the smallest amount of fear in his master’s presence. As he walked toward the throne, he held his head high and his body straight. When he reached the low dais, he fell to his knees, touched the hem of the High Priest’s robes to his lips, and waited for his master to speak.

“Warder Meterius, you may rise,” the High Priest said softly after several minutes.

Meterius could not help but feel a shiver run down his spine at the sound of the High Priest’s voice. He clenched his jaw in self-loathing and rose, careful to look only at his master’s feet. He bowed deeply and responded, “What is your will, Excellency?”

“Six years ago, our only temple in the barony of Candril was destroyed by two Novadi warriors and two Priests of Asaeria. Since that time, all attempts to build a temple in Candril have failed.” The high Priest paused and stared at Meterius for a moment.

“It has come to my attention that the Novadi High Council has set a priority on destroying our new temples wherever they can, but especially in Candril. They have set one Novadi warrior to head this task and he or she has been relentless in pursuing it. I suspect that this Novadi originally comes from Candril. I want you to find out who it is and kill them.”

Warder Meterius tried to hide his dismay. “Excellency, a Novadi warrior is almost impossible to scry. They seem to know when someone is trying to locate them and can shield themselves.”

“I am aware of this, Warder Meterius,” the High Priest answered. “This might have been easier six years ago. When a temple is destroyed, the Novadi leave no Priest or acolyte alive to tell the tale, nor do they leave bodies to be resurrected. All of the sacrifices are taken and set free.” His voice hardened ever so slightly as he went on, “The only living witness was caught by your guards and sacrificed on the altar of your temple six years ago after the temple in Candril was destroyed.”

Meterius swallowed hard, “Your Excellency, I had no idea. I was merely making him an example—a warning against future failures.”

“Yes, Warder Meterius, discipline is the key to order and obedience. However, sometimes it is prudent to mix discipline with patience. Had I not embraced this practice, you would have graced the altar of my temple six years ago.”

Meterius bowed low to hide his trembling. “I ask your forgiveness, Excellency. I was hasty in my punishment and therefore missed an opportunity to find and destroy this Novadi. I will not fail this time. I will find whoever it is and they will pay the price for their crimes.”

“See that it is done, Warder Meterius. I will not be patient with a second failure.”

“Yes, Excellency.” While still bowing, Meterius walked backwards off the dais. Once on the main floor, he straightened, turned and left the room.

When the doors had been closed behind him, the high Priest said to the open air, “Come kneel before me.”

A man in black armor stepped forward from the shadows, knelt down and looked up at Ventinimas, “What is your will Excellency?”

“Your task will be to see that Meterius does not survive his encounter with the Novadi. Do not engage the Novadi, only ascertain his identity. I will deal with him myself.”

“You believe Meterius will fail, Excellency?”

“Of course he will fail,” Sharantar Ventinimas sneered. “He is a fool. Just stay with him to make sure he finds the Novadi, then eliminate him, if the Novadi has not done so already.” Ventinimas held out his hand. “In the name of Arnitath rise and accept your quest.”

A red-orange symbol glowed briefly on the Anti-Paladin’s chest. He took his eyes briefly off the High Priest and looked to his left when he felt the presence of his demon quest guardian. The armored man bowed deeply, “My will is Arnitath’s, Excellency.” He followed the High Priest’s gaze to the closed doors through which Meterius had exited and smiled at the thought of killing the Warder. Then the Anti-Paladin and his quest guardian faded out and were gone.

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