8.3 Transitive Oaths

General Summary

Day 78

Bran and Vaneili return late at night, with their faces painted with butterflies and carrying many festival prizes. Bran proudly presents me with a hairpin encrusted with green and blue semi-precious stones that make up a feather. Apparently he won it at a game involving timed puzzles for blacksmiths. I haven’t seen him this relaxed in a long time. Dreaming with Vaneili can wait - it is best for her to end the night with this joy and not whatever emotions surface from trying to see Thalien.  

Day 79

In the morning we are all well-rested and brighter than we have been before. Nishvalen has sent us an invitation to see the library at a certain time in the afternoon but until then, the day is ours.   Bran relays his findings from the previous day, when he was not busy winning festival games. The Trade district is the most industrial area in the city and many of the buildings are sort of ruinous. He tells us that the Smith’s Guild’s forge is enormous and that some of the students have clearly been learning from an elvish smith, though there is no elvish grandmaster.   Journeymen here also seem to be unintentionally working magic into their crafts. Back home, and indeed amongst elves in general, someone with a small, specific talent for magic would be taught to master it and then given a job that suited them, like Shei. Perhaps it is a quirk of our long lifespan, that mastering a highly specialized magic is worthwhile, but humans don’t do this at all. A small talent with magic is oft ignored, or written off as non magical talent. In this high magic city, we have crafters who weave magic into their creations without realizing what they are doing. This, I am eager to see.   Alder wishes to spend some time slinking about the city, so the rest of us follow Bran on a walking tour of the Trade district.

• A grandmaster stonecarver (Master Bodin) who is doing a public demonstration in his shop. I can see some innate magic in how easily the stone yields to him, and there is lingering transmutation in his work that preserves it. It is so subtle that if I weren’t looking for it, and if I weren’t an accomplished mage, I would miss it. His demonstration is being watched by several viewers wearing emblems of various houses, but I can’t tell which is which. We are also approached by a young journeyman who offers us a small carved figurine with a dragon’s head, which I take to be Master Bodin’s business token.
• A weavers’ store tended to by a journeyman making sales. Several of the cloths are magical in some way, whether being water repellant or charmed to keep the wearer warm. The clerk seems aware of the properties, but describes them as innate properties of the cloth due to its tight weave, or some such characteristic. I remark upon two pieces of cloth, one magical and one not, that turn out to have been woven by Grandmaster Jerin and Master Tommin respectively.
• A ceramics shop with more transmutation magic to preserve the wares.
• A knife shop with magic to preserve the sharp edges.

  In particular, Bran leads us down a sidestreet to introduce me to Petra, a remarkably short human woman peddling well-made utilitarian wares such as pots and horseshoes. Apparently she had upstaged her teacher too many times and was thrown out.   The magic in her work is specific and incredibly useful - horseshoes that would make a horse faster, a knife that warms itself, barrel hoops that would preserve the contents of the barrel. Back home, she would have been a valuable member of the military. Here, she has been thrown out of her master’s shop.   Bran’s intention, clearly, is that she could join us at the Keep to continue learning from our metalworkers who would better know how to hone her skill. A fine idea, and I am slightly surprised that she is so willing to travel so far for my patronage. We will collect her on our way back from the Crystal Spires, giving her time to finish up her work in the city before leaving.   And then we meet with Nishvalen, who has brought with him a young apprentice mystic who introduces himself as Dedrafel. Dedrafel has the same sort of magic as Fenir and he is encumbered with scroll tubes, paper, and ink. He eagerly shows us some charcoal rubbings he has taken from deep within the library and tells us of the carvings that have been damaged by “spitters'' and time.   The rubbing he shows us essentially warns against entry by anyone below a certain rank. The precise status indication is not present, and it occurs to me that this city predates the Empire, given that it might be 2000 years old. I wonder if my skill with magic alone will guarantee me access to wards that may not understand my title.   He also pulls out a rubbing that is far more interesting - a spell fragment in both elvish and Osyr which is remarkably similar to the one in the Shadowgate room at the Keep. Where the spell with the Shadowgate invokes the Empress’ shadows for swift travel, this one invokes darkness and asks for her strength to fight.   Not Hella, but Kadia, steps forward to examine this, and fills in gaps and new elements of the rubbings with a bit of charcoal that she struggled to find in Hella’s pockets.

• It asks each bonded person to offer something small, that will be matched fivefold by the Empress
• It would enable a city to be defended for days without rest, for soldiers to fight with the strength of five men
• There should also be fragments with invocations for raids, strikes, and shadow stepping at a far greater range
• She tells us that this city was once a nexus for raids during the war but was still vulnerable to upstream raids
• Deeper in the library, there should be a chamber that taps the magic deeply
• Sadly, she recognizes the handwriting in the rubbings. The author is long dead, but when he was alive he liked and respected the elves and stayed with the city to the end.
• She asks us to return with as many rubbings as possible, that she may be able to interpret

So far away from the forest, calling Kadia takes much of Hella’s energy, and we rest for a bit before continuing. A dwarf and an elf are tending the entrance desk and the elf signs us in. According to what Dedrafel writes, I am a historian interested in ancient history, and we will be working in the upper archives.   4th level I can still read the magic behind the worn carvings on this level. It is designed with concentric rings to channel magic towards the centre of the level, and the magic is very much intact and active. Dedrafel tells us that the hallway to the centre is impassable to him, like the air gets too thick to pass.   Nishvalen isn’t able to enter at all, and Dedrafel can only take ten paces in. Bran, Hella, and I continue all the way to the centre unabated. At the centre is a large carved spindle, multifaceted with runes and glowing with a soft yellow-green light. It is entirely elvish magic, and I recognize what it does. It is preservation magic, that takes energy that flows to it from the rings and protects anything in the campus that contains knowledge. It preserves the books and scrolls and carvings ten times longer than they would normally last, and this chamber in particular is an active place where things can be restored. Much like the forge that Bran and I worked at, there are workstations in the room that would have been used for specific purposes. One that looks newer than the rest seems to be for repairing gems or pearls. It must have been created for the Osyr’s libraries.   When we emerge and tell Dedrafel and Nishvalen, Dedrafel is puzzled at why he’s unable to enter. The carving that alludes to only certain people being allowed is worn and can’t be properly read, but the Osyr pearl shows me some of the rules being enforced by the magic here. I can enter not because of my talent or rank, but because I graduated from my Academy. Bran and Hella are my students and can enter with me, but not alone. Indeed, if Bran tries to walk down the hallway without me, he is stopped.   The magic here recognizes graduation from a sister campus that did not exist when this magic was created! Or does it recognize my own awareness of my history? This is the sort of magic Tira would love. And it makes me wish I were more of a book wizard than a war wizard, for a moment. As I once told Hella, things like this are why the wars are worth it. Complex, forward compatible magic designed to protect something whose purpose is preserving knowledge is...a worthy thing to protect in itself.   And this is only the beginning. We press onwards.     5th level Early on the fifth level we face some Spitters which Hella dispatches by herself. The rooms here are still purely elvish magic, and they seem to be chamber specifically for studying magic. Wards protect magic from spilling into other rooms, so you could cast in one room without disturbing anything else even if something went wrong.   The wards are strong...potentially strong enough to contain that radiant monster that we drew out of Nidrae. I’m about 70% confident that it would work...but I was also 90% confident we could defeat it initially and it was much stronger than I thought.   Another room seems to contain a local phenomenon that drains or amplifies magic seemingly randomly. Dedrafel tells us that he has spent several hours here conjuring a light and watching the influence of the phenomen brighten, dim, and change the light. Bran senses the pattern of the cycles and finds that it is predictable, but that some of the cycles are terribly short and others are very long. I had thought perhaps it could be used to drain power, but not if it is so finicky.   6th level This level comes with a warning: None who are unbound may enter here. Bran and Hella, bound to me, can enter under my oath.   This level is also newer than the others. I suppose it would be silly if the shallower levels were newer than the deeper levels as you would need to traverse the shallow ones to get to the deeper ones...something about that knowledge-preserving magic has made me feel momentarily more like an academic than a military figure. Still - the proportions of this level are larger, clearly designed for Osyr. The hall we enter into is lined with statues, well-preserved elves in recognizable military uniforms that even bear their rank. They are all common soldiers, save for one officer who is only a few steps up from Lael. They are wreathed in the same transmutation and motion magic as the aboveground statues, along with more than I don’t recognize.   The eerie details in their faces and the inscription, “Our lives in service eternal, our oaths unbreakable” make me think that these are not statues at all, but comrades who stand as ready to fight as they were in life. It would not be appropriate in front of Dedrafel and Nishvalen, who do not need to know the details of this place, but I make a note to pay my respects to them before we leave. Like with Kadia’s tree, I feel a ghost of my future here. It would not surprise me to wind up as a tree or a stone figure sworn to protect whatever remains long into the future.   The next chamber reminds me further than I am a Dread Lady, not a historian. It is a war room, with scrying crystals positioned to view the city, a wall with illusion magic for maps, and a tray of crystal markers. Several things are missing though, most particularly a way to communicate with the outside world. There is also a central wooden support for a sphere that seems spelled for magic similar to that of my bracers as an apprentice. I imagine it would enable the commander to cast through the scrying crystals. But whatever focal point should be here is gone, along with the gathering crystal that would have hung above it. Dedrafel tells me that no humans can enter this level and no elves have taken anything.   Beyond this war room are more wards that prevent any but soldiers from entering. Once again, Bran and Hella safely follow me through. I suppose the transitive nature of my position must stop at some point, or they could follow me anywhere.   We find ourselves in a room specifically constructed to cast shadows using tight pillars and crystals shining with bright light. There are inscriptions for various places with each crystal, mostly intact. One in particular is smashed, along with its inscription. Still, I can read “Lone Mountain Keep” along with glyphs that indicate danger and betrayal. This, we will need to repair, if we are able to restore the travel abilities of this chamber. A fast way home would be terribly useful.   From this chamber there are several other doors that lead to smaller meeting rooms, including one with piles of old paperwork and messages. There is also a briefing room - a place where I could see myself issuing orders and outlining the strategy of a skirmish. The chalk writing remains on the slate wall, “Waste no blood, spend your life with care. What cannot be saved, destroy,” and many faint chalk handprints. More ghosts. What will I destroy to prevent our enemies from capturing? What have I destroyed?   Yet another door leads to an infirmary. While the rest of the magic has been arcane, this magic is mystic in nature. It is spelled for sterility, healing, and to ward off infection. The sheer power of healing magic in place would be enough to save someone from the brink of death, if needed. It looks like the shelves have been ransacked as people left in a hurry.   Bran wonders aloud at the lack of disease preventative spells here. For a place with such strong healing magic, it seems like an oversight. This is an infirmary adjacent to a travel port and a war room - not a place for civilians. Someone being treated for a disease should not be in a space intended to heal soldiers who need to return to the frontlines and do their jobs. I have to assume that there would have been a different infirmary above ground for civilians.   As we ponder this, I feel my attention drawn as though someone is calling my name from far away. Not a particular name, but a call to who I know myself to be. I follow, and my people come with me, though Dedrafel and Nishvalen are left behind after a ways.   And I find myself at a door, “For all those called to take shelter in her shadow and fight at her side, here, find the shelter you seek,”   I have found the point at which my position is for me and me alone, as I walk through without Hella and Bran, and the door closes behind me. The air here feels fresh, and I can smell dew on morning flowers. Thalien flashes through my mind. Then, I see the throne ahead of me with a carved likeness of the Empress seated upon it. Before I have a chance to kneel and clear my mind, the room fades from around me and I am once again in a garden, in the cool shade of the Empress.   She touches my face, and my heart. I had despaired and hadn’t dared hope. Soon. Soon something will end and finally something can begin. You’ve almost healed, we’d almost lost you. Your heart still aches but it beats far more strongly than it did.   And she wraps all four of her arms around me, and releases some of my memories to me. Parts of my past return but it is not a flood so much as the seeping of more water through a sponge.   I feel her seeing the Twilight Garden through my eyes, and the other elves I’ve met. She touches each of them.   Before you leave this city, carry a piece of me to those above. In this place I will hear you, always, even if I cannot speak to you. You may come to me here at any time and be heard.   And she gives me a pendant that marks the wearer as someone who serves directly at the pleasure of the Empress herself. Whoever wears it (rightfully) will be able to enter this chamber. It is a gift that will mean a lot to the community above ground. I’m sure Nishvalen and Vaneili will be well-suited to managing this complexity without me because I...I just am not ready to face 300 elves who all see me as a direct line to home and the shade of the Empress. I miss my war rooms.