Shifting Stars, page 10
“I know you have doubts,” Dreya replied, “but before this day is done, they will trouble you no longer, and your training will begin.”
By now, Xarnas was tired and had simply run out of patience. “Very well,” he said, “if you’re so interested in teleportation, let me show you how it’s done.”
With that, he wrote the highly complex spell in the air and sent young Dreya more than a hundred miles away to the heart of the nearest Faery woodland community. She would be safe enough there. The Faery would never hesitate to take care of a lost child, no matter how superior and irritating her attitude. Before he could close his door, however, the young girl reappeared in front of him.
“Thank you for the lesson,” said Dreya.
Xarnas was stunned. “How did you do that?”
“I spent the day on your doorstep, reading all I could about the magical theory behind teleportation, how it connects with other powers and the spell form required to activate it. Experiencing it from the inside was just the last piece I needed to do it myself.”
“Show me,” he demanded. “Prove to me you didn’t get someone else to teleport you back here. Prove you can truly do it yourself.”
And so, she did.
Dreya teleported herself all over the place in front of his eyes and Xarnas’ astonishment grew. To learn teleportation like that was incredible. At that moment, he knew his retirement was postponed. He had always enjoyed teaching even the most challenging of students, but this one would be a challenge of an entirely different order. One could search for ten human lifetimes and still never find a student as intelligent, gifted and talented as this one, and she had just turned up on his doorstep. This was an opportunity he could not refuse.
Moving aside, he said, “Please come in, Apprentice Dreya.”
Stepping inside, she bowed and replied, “Thank you, Master Xarnas.”
No sooner had the Red wizard closed his door than a sound drifted on the air: the sound of the town hall clock striking midnight. Listening to the chimes, he remembered Dreya’s prediction that he would accept her as his apprentice ‘before this day is done’ and he had – just before the stroke of midnight. He stared open-mouthed at the teen who now stood inside his home.
“Speaking of lessons,” said Dreya, “I trust you have also learned yours?”
“And that lesson would be…?”
“Never to underestimate me again.”
The Red wizard would indeed never again underestimate her, and he firmly believed that anyone who did so in the future would be lucky if they lived to regret it.
*****
It was about three years into Dreya’s training, and she continued to surpass Xarnas’ wildest expectations. From the very first day, he had made it widely known that Dreya was with him, thinking that her parents or guardians would claim her. No-one ever did, and Dreya herself flatly refused to talk about her past. Her claim that she was from one of the Faery woodland communities didn’t exactly narrow it down – there were a dozen such places on the continent of Elvaria alone. So, for those three years, he unofficially adopted her.
She never shied away from hard work, and she never complained when he assigned her tasks and puzzles that were apparently unrelated to magic, seeming to instantly grasp the lesson he was trying to teach her and how that would later apply to her magic. Her questions were astute and challenging, her aptitude unparalleled. She wanted to know everything about how magic worked, down to the smallest detail and she grasped it all, although she wasn’t afraid to question assumptions and challenge beliefs.
Through it all, however, there was a puzzle about Dreya that Xarnas simply could not work out. He could sense the Darkness growing within her nature, demonstrated not least by her interest in blood magic, which had been attempted by Dark mages past. It was more powerful but had proven impossible to stabilise. It had been banned by both White and Red mages, but the Black robes would never agree to anything that stood between a mage and power. Even between the other two orders, there was disagreement. For the White robes, it was a banned subject, while for the Red robes, there was no such thing as forbidden knowledge. So, while Xarnas could not demonstrate any aspect of blood magic, he would not withhold information, so he shared what he knew. Being aligned with the Balance, Dreya’s Darkness neither feared nor worried Xarnas, for both Light and Dark magic had a place in the world.
Still, he was curious about Dreya’s attitude towards it and so, one day, he came right out and asked her, “Why have you chosen to study and train as a Red robe instead of the Black?”
“You learn more this way,” she answered, “gaining control and discipline. Pulling from both sides of the spectrum while being beholden to neither. One day, perhaps, I may take on the Black robes, but I will do so at a time of my own choosing. Dark magic will serve me, not the other way around. That is the mistake Dark mages always make in the end – they lose control. I will not. I shall be mistress of my own destiny, dancing to no-one's tune but my own. I know I am only at the beginning of my journey, but one day, I will be the Greatest Mage Who Ever Lived.”
Xarnas did not doubt that at all. At this stage in her training, of course, he had any number of spells up his sleeve that Dreya could not counter and in a mock battle, there were any number of ways he could beat her, although that number was getting smaller almost daily. One thing he could not do, however, was break her control: not of herself and not of her magic. He agreed with her mature assessment of Dark mages: they did lose control until the power consumed them. If Dreya could truly break free of that fate, then her potential was virtually limitless.
I wonder, gentle reader, if Xarnas ever truly realised how far Aunt Dreya would go, just as I wonder if any of us now understand how far she may yet climb.
Dreya’s studies with Xarnas lasted a little under five years. She absorbed everything she was exposed to until one day, after a full twenty-four hours of tests, both practical and theoretical, followed by an intense mock battle, the master found that his student had finally surpassed him.
Picking himself up off the floor, where Dreya’s magic had left him, he told her, “Congratulations, Dreya. I have taught you all that I can. I have nothing left to give you.”
“In that case, Master Xarnas,” she said, in that calm, quiet voice of hers, “I see no reason for me to stay any longer. Thank you. You may now retire.”
With that, she gathered her red robes around herself and made to leave.
“Where will you go?” Xarnas called after her.
She did not turn around, but she did pause at the door to answer, “Oh, I have a destination in mind. I’ve known since before I came to you. Now I am ready.”
Then, without so much as a ‘farewell,’ she was gone.
Chapter 13
The Black Tower was situated in its own grounds on the border between the human port town of Gaggleswick, and Ainderbury – a province of the lands of the Faery known as Sylfrania. More than three hundred years ago, it had been the home of the infamous Black wizard, Ulvarius. Widely regarded as the most powerful and dangerous renegade in history, he terrorised the continent, humans and Faery alike, routinely abducting innocent people and subjecting them to the most horrific and torturous of magical experiments. Vast, powerful forces of might and magic assailed him, but he brushed them aside. His power consumed vast acres of land, burning whole towns if but one person defied his will.
It is even said, gentle reader, that Lake Quernhow was formed when a baby dared to cry in the middle of Ulvarius’ speech to the people of a town that existed there in his time. In response, he used his magic to make everybody cry.
Now, that may not sound so bad, but let me clarify: every human and Faery, every adult and child, every animal and plant within the boundaries of that town cried. Water poured out of every living creature until they were nothing but dried up husks and the ground sank under the weight of the water, forming the lake.
Whether that story is true or exaggerated, I can’t be sure. It’s another Temporal Black Spot, off-limits to even observation-only Time travel. Good thing, too, for if the legend is accurate, and I bore witness to it, then I fear that I too would cry and never stop. Except perhaps to tear apart the fabric of reality to stop the bastard that did it, plunging the universe into the maelstrom of chaos.
By the end of his time, Ulvarius’ influence had expanded until he had virtually the whole of Elvaria in his grasp, and it was only a matter of time before he conquered the world. That is, until one day he did the world a favour and took his own life by jumping off the roof of his tower. No-one knew – or cared – exactly why. Perhaps he was simply consumed by his own power, going the way of so many powerful Dark mages before and since. But there was another legend that said he had learned a prophecy saying that no matter how powerful he became, there would be one other, yet to be born, who would be more powerful still. That brought him both figuratively and literally to the edge, or so the story went.
Whatever the truth of it, in the process of taking his own life, even as he fell, he cast out his magic, cursing the tower and its land. All life within his grounds became twisted under his power, forming devastating defences against any future intruder and casting the Tower under a thick blanket of darkness that had never once abated in more than three centuries since.
Adventurers and knights, wizards and clerics tried to enter the grounds over the years, but none got very far before they were struck down and killed, or worse: absorbed into the very defences that had defeated them.
*****
The red-robed figure materialised in the centre of the town of Gaggleswick, teleporting from Xarnas’ home, and gazed at the Black Tower in the distance. It was an impressive, imposing sight. Enshrouded in her hood, Dreya breathed deeply and allowed herself a small smile at the sweet caress of magic all around her. All the power at her command, under her control.
She began to walk, unhurriedly, along the streets of the town, pausing along the way to buy a juicy red apple from a stall along the way. Eating it calmly, she threw away the core just as she reached the gate. Typically, people stayed well away from the border of the Black Tower’s gardens of torture, so the sight of this lone red-robed young woman heading for it with purpose and intent attracted a good deal of attention. Many called out to her, warning her, even begging her to go no further, not to throw her life away.
Her only response was, “If I die, I die in the magic. Magic is all.”
Taking one more breath, she opened the gate and entered the grounds.
Immediately, she was assailed by spells of fire, ice and lightning, but they bounced harmlessly off her shields. She was sprayed with poison and disease, but none of it could touch her. Animated skeletal warriors attacked her by the dozen, but they were soon dust beneath her feet as she walked. Her pace never wavered, as she encountered animated corpses containing the twisted, tortured souls of former champions who had tried and failed to approach the Black Tower. They wanted to drain her of life and magic, but instead, she drained them, restoring whatever power she had so far expended, freeing their souls in the process. And all the time she drew closer to the tower.
Hellhounds beset her with their teeth, werecats with their claws. A single piercing of her skin would mean the end of her life, but she held out a hand, and all cowered, whimpering before her. Demons that had been trapped there for three hundred years, came at her, desperately. Jealous of her sweet life, shining like a beacon, they sought to snuff it out. Half of them she destroyed, while the other half fled back to the lower planes in terror.
Ulvarius had been a master of the True Undead, in his day. Autonomous creatures with sufficient intelligence to follow complex instructions, yet still enslaved to their creator’s will and equiped with regenerative magic. Those that still guarded his tower were the most powerful ever created. Rather than waste her energy trying to kill them – most likely impossible without the use of Holy Water – she focussed her power on the control magic and wrested it from the long-deceased tyrant. From now on, they would serve her, instead.
None of Ulvarius’ defences could stop her or even slow her down until, finally, she reached the steps leading to the door of the tower itself. The ragged remains of a robe of black fluttered in the breeze, revealing the bones beneath it: the cursed, skeletal remains of Ulvarius himself. Remains that, the moment Dreya put one foot on the lowest step, picked themselves up off the railings, took on shadowy flesh, wrapped in that tattered old robe and drew itself up to a height of seven feet, looming over Dreya in the form of a lich.
A sibilant voice in Dreya’s mind said, ‘Long have I waited for thee. Faery blood, no less. Excellent! You see, Ulvarius planned this all along: Ulvarius achieved much before, but that shall be as nothing to what I can do with thy power and mine combined. Thy body and thy magic shall serve Ulvarius for a very long time to come. Now, kneel before Ulvarius and submit thyself!’
The horrific sound of the lich’s laughter carried for miles around. Dreya's hood fell from her head, seemingly blown back by the power of the lich, and the wind its laughter created.
Dreya sank slowly to one knee…
…and casually picked a single black rose, bringing it up to her face to smell, deeply.
Standing once more, she said, calmly, “Get out of my head, go to hell and take your pretentious speech with you. Referring to yourself in the third person is impressing no-one.
“Now is the time!” she declared. “I choose the Darkness.”
Her red robes darkened and lost their colour until they were the deepest, darkest black. Her Realignment complete, Dreya pricked her finger on one of the thorns on the rose’s stem. Watching her blood trickle down her hand, she allowed her magic to mingle with it and flow through her veins.
“You are weak, Ulvarius. This is now my home, and you have no place in it.”
The lich had now stopped gloating and begun to back away.
‘Blood magic? That’s impossible!’
Ignoring him, wasting no words, Dreya cast out a beam of dark energy, slamming into the lich, who began to disintegrate before her eyes.
‘But blood magic is unstable!’ it cried, even as it faded.
“It is perfectly stable,” Dreya countered, still never raising her voice. “It just…requires…” The lich exploded and vanished into nothingness, banished to the depths of hell. “…control,” Dreya concluded.
With nothing left to impede her, she climbed the remaining steps, opened the door with a look and stepped inside her new home.
*****
Over the next few days, Dreya was seen strolling through her grounds, re-examining Ulvarius’ defences, either changing them to better suit her, to ward and protect rather than maim and kill, or eradicating them. She even set the undead guards to work on tidying the gardens. The once perpetual dark sky was banished, giving way to a blazing sun amid high, fluffy clouds and Tempestria’s typical swirling vortex of energy.
Most of the people of Gaggleswick adapted, as people often do, and seeing no immediate danger, they continued with their lives, regardless. Once they learned the name of the new Mistress of the Black Tower, a nickname began to surface. When it reached the ears of the sorceress herself, she decided that, while not particularly imaginative, it did have a certain ring to it, and she found she rather liked it. From that day forward, then, it became her official name: Dreya the Dark.
However, the Squire and local assembly were not so content. They all knew the history of the Black Tower and Ulvarius’ reign of terror, and they feared that with this new occupant, the violence, horror and bloodshed might begin all over again. The squire filed an objection with the Council of Wizards, but his complaint was thrown out.
He received a reply:
Dear Sir,
Further to your complaint against Dreya the Dark, Black robe sorceress currently occupying the Black Tower.
After due consideration, we write to inform you that the Council of Wizards has ruled in her favour. She has broken no laws of magic, and as such, we cannot countenance any action against her. As for her claim of ownership of said Black Tower, the only former owner of the tower, Ulvarius, has been declared officially deceased for three centuries, so Dreya has merely chosen to make use of a vacant property. Border disputes are generally outside our jurisdiction; however, our research suggests the Black Tower was never officially part of the town of Gaggleswick, being instead its own private estate.
Therefore, on the matter of your complaint, we find there is no case to answer.
Yours in magic,
Laethyn, Justaria, Maia,
Council representatives.
*****
Given this ruling, the Gaggleswick Assembly resigned themselves to their new neighbour, but Squire Johanssen himself was not so easily swayed. He sent an envoy to the ruler of the neighbouring Faery Kingdom of Sylfrania, King Theodorus, to seek his views on the matter. Again, most Faery were inclined to let things be. A Balance-aligned Faery wizard had been a curiosity; a Dark-aligned one was a scandal, but no-one was interested in doing anything more than gossip about it.
Except for one.
The King’s youngest son, Prince Travarin of Ainderbury, the closest Sylfranian province to the Black Tower, was incensed by the ruling. He believed a Dark-aligned Faery was an affront to all that was good, and that Dreya the Dark was already having a corrupting influence on the purity of his daughter, Princess Zarinda, who seemed fascinated by her. The two leaders, then, agreed to launch an attack, before Dreya, having removed most of Ulvarius’ defences, had time to build her own.
*****
Three days later, a quad of the bravest holy Knights from Gaggleswick and a trio of the most devout White clerics from Ainderbury entered Dreya’s lands, intent on wiping out this dark stain on their community. To their surprise, no magic assailed them, no hellhounds tried to bite them, and the only things the undead warriors were interested in attacking were the weeds. It seemed to these righteous defenders that Dreya had made a grave mistake in leaving herself unguarded. They finally reached the Tower itself, where Dreya the Dark was sitting quietly in the sun, reading a book and sipping a glass of wine. As they cast their shadows over her, she finally looked up.
