OoOoO
Arzai was no fool; she knew her earliest days as High Obad would not be easy. Traitor or no, Master Tomur's shoes were no small void to fill. She just didn't anticipate difficulties this soon after the fact.
Upon the morning of Arzai's official inauguration as head of Goran's Magicol, Ijireen flatly refused to come out of her room. Bvhoros asked, Davenir pleaded and Arzai threatened, all to no avail. Finally Arzai had all but demanded that the other two Obads find a bloody way to get the girl to the ceremony, come fire or frozen water. Somehow Davenir managed to coax Ijireen out in the end. That did nothing to erase the ferocious scowl carved onto the teenager's face all throughout the inauguration.
Opting to ignore Ijireen's silent tantrum, Arzai instead spoke to Bvhoros on the way back to the Tower of the Elements. Her frustration mounted when the Earth Obad had no answers to her questions, namely what was taking Frandel so long to return. Arzai wanted him back in Amenthere as soon as possible, not because she missed his arrogant strutting, but rather because she would sleep far better once Frandel received and more importantly accepted her ascension to High Obad.
"I know no more than you do, Arz...Master Arzai," Bvhoros said as they climbed the winding steps behind the Ovates. "Frandel was to scout eastern Goran for gifted children, and return within a turn of the moons."
"The moon was dark when he left, and now it waxes thin again. I'm half tempted to send a bird to look for him."
Once Bvhoros might have chuckled at the younger Obad's impatience, or even gently chided her. Now he only kept walking, his hands hidden deep within his wide green sleeves. Arzai wasn't sure if that was out of deference to her new rank, or something else. Forced to swallow her frustrations, Arzai brushed past the others once they reached the tower's rotunda.
Rather than deal with the mood of the Magicol, Arzai instead chose to confront what had once been Master Tomur's study. Set on the top floor of the tower, wooden scaffolds crisscrossed the ceiling and opened out onto the night sky for star-studies. Beneath the observatory, the High Obad's study was a wide space, with domed stone walls almost completely hidden behind hundreds of charts, maps and figures. Smaller tables ringed the room, sporting all manner of elemental exhibits. When she was a girl Arzai used to like trying to sneak in here whenever Mistress Lirien neglected the lock. To a child this room seemed to contain all the mysteries of the world, just waiting to be discovered.
Particularly fascinating were the crouching, hound-like skeletons in one corner, carefully reassembled and held together with wires and pegs. Before seeing those juvenile bones, Arzai had never completely believed in the legends about King Amenthis fighting dragons. As she passed by Arzai gave the tallest skull a gentle little pat, making it bob on its serpentine spine.
"I suppose you're mine now," she said aloud to the dragon skeletons and the study at large. When no one answered, she sighed aloud. "whether you like it or not."
OoOoO
That had been almost five hours ago. In the time since then, Arzai's respect for Master Tomur had experienced a begrudging renaissance. Traitor though the man may have been, even she couldn't deny his sheer intellect. Spread across the polished black desk in the center of the study were stacks upon stacks of paper delving into not one, not two, but all four of the elemental magics. Amenthis's beard, there was enough theory to deal with just for fire alone, and Arzai had been studying for fifteen years! She had no idea what half the projects assembled on the tables ringing the room were about, much less how to continue or conclude them. A glance at the notes next to each yielded only a collection of shorthand scribbles in Tomur's spidery pen.
Next to a two-sided tray of water with a pair of metal pegs;
Zn metal dissolves, Cu metal grows
Power flows through water? Or along the salt bridge?
And then, beside what looked like a wooden carving of a bird's wing;
Lift in air = (Speed x Wing Size) / Density
Attempt to lesson human bone density with earth magic?
Potential side-effects? (See the White Rose paper)
Whatever Tomur had been trying to do, it could not and would not concern Arzai in the present. For now, her first priority was to get the Magicol back to some semblance of normalcy. The training of the Ovates was primarily the responsibility of the High Obad, and what a heavy burden Arzai was coming to realize that was. Suddenly her own days as a student felt as close as yesterday.
Pushing away from the desk, Arzai slouched down the velvety cushions of the High Obad's chair in a most unprofessional manner. Her long black plait dug into her shoulder blades, deepening her scowl. Moments like this were when Arzai once would have gone looking for Margalee to pick her brains. Bright blue eyes flashed before her red ones, and she squeezed her eyes shut. When Arzai opened them again there was just the crowded yet empty study.
"How can one Obad teach four theories?" she demanded of the dragon skeletons. They just grinned toothily back at her.
"What an incredibly helpful suggestion. I so appreciate it."
Thank the stars, Tomur at least had had the wherewithal to plan lessons for the Ovates ahead of time. Even reading through his notes had done little to help Arzai though. With Roran being only a year or two away from Obad status, his lessons in earth magic were well beyond Arzai's comprehension. Brand's air lessons were only minimally less perplexing. The only Ovate whose subject material she could see herself confidently teaching was Ijireen. A look at the sundial in the window confirmed that the Ovates should have started their lessons hours ago. The silence downstairs was not exactly comforting. Bvhoros and Davenir must have sent the Ovates to their rooms.
That was when an idea seized her. Scraping the chair indelicately across the worn tapestry rugs, Arzai gathered up each stack of lesson plans and tucked them under her arms.
"Bvhoros, Davenir!" she called.
OoOoO
Tomur or Lirien may have been able to do better, but it was the best that Arzai could do at the moment. Summoning the two other Obads to her, she had thrust the scrolls of theory for their corresponding elements at each of them.
"Bvhoros, you've been working with Roran more and more lately as he approaches his initiation. I need you to continue on, now as his sole teacher. Davenir, you likewise must take up where Tomur left off with Brand."
"You're giving us authority to take over the Ovates' training?" Bvhoros sounded skeptical.
"Not all of them," Arzai corrected the eastern Green Obad. "I will be working with Ijireen."
"You know..." Davenir began a thought but trailed off, the feathery hairs on his chin moving with his unspoken words.
"Know what, Davenir?" asked Arzai.
"It's just that...well, it makes sense, you know? To have the Ovates working one-on-one with Obads of their element."
Arzai chewed the inside of her cheek, drawing the uncertain beginnings of an apology from Davenir. Training the Ovates was the firmest way of establishing authority for the High Obad. Students inevitably came to emulate their teachers, as Margalee and Tomur had just fatefully demonstrated. Giving Bvhoros and Davenir sole ownership over the training of Roran and Brand respectively was a rather large surrender on Arzai's part, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it at the moment.
Finally she interrupted Davenir's attempted apology. "No, you're right; it does make sense. Each of you know your elements far better than I could ever without another decade of study apiece."
With a snap Bvhoros opened one of the scrolls Arzai had given him. He studied it for a moment, head wrap bowed to the words. There were long black feathered with white speckles tucked into the side of his wrap today.
"And will you be turning Ijireen over to Frandel when he returns then?" Bvhoros asked after reading a short passage.
"...We will see."
Wisely Bvhoros decided not to pursue that line of inquiry any further.
We will see...based on how far the little chit decides to push me in her lessons, Arzai added to herself.
Less than thirty minutes into their first session together, Arzai was already seriously weighing the gains versus pitfalls of really letting Frandel take over Ijireen's training. The young Red Ovate flounced, pouted and sulked, and that was just upon hearing that she would be studying alone under Arzai. Now, cloistered together in a smaller chamber off the rotunda, it was a battle of wits, or rather a race to wits end.
"This is children's theory, Ijireen. Once again; what is the difference between a natural flame and a conjured flame?"
Rather than answer, Ijireen resumed balancing her quill on her fingertip. The sunlight through the stained glass window behind her made the girl's thick curls appear like a halo of fire. At the moment Arzai wouldn't have minded if Ijireen's hair really did 'accidentally' catch fire.
Instead Arzai snatched the quill from Ijireen's hand. "What is the difference, Ijireen?!"
With a huff Ijireen crossed her arms over her developing chest and leaned back so fast her chair nearly wobbled. An expression of pure disgust wrinkled her pert, capital nose, no doubt a trait inherited from her unknown paternity.
Arzai was just about to graduate from nagging to shouting when Ijireen finally spat out an answer.
"A natural fire needs heat, a fuel to burn, and air to breath. Conjured fire needs only heat, which our skin provides, and air." Before Arzai could triumphantly jump in and correct the Ovate she added "The magic we channel is all the fuel conjured fire needs."
"Correct," Arzai ground out. "Now we can finally move on to the next chapter on entropy."
"I read it last night."
"What?!"
With a shrug, Ijireen leaned even further back in her chair, lifting the front two legs up off the floor. "Master Tomur's study was unlocked, so I fetched my lessons and read ahead."
"Tomur is not 'Master' here anymore, you should not have been in my study, and how did you even find your lessons on that desk?"
Ijireen gave Arzai a thoroughly unimpressed look. "Is there a second Red Ovate in the Magicol that I haven't met yet?"
"Mind your manners, Ovate," hissed Arzai.
Ijireen shrugged.
Arzai was trying very, very hard not to say ill-advised things about Ijireen's unsavory origins in the bawdy houses of Utunma when a knock at the door saved them both.
"What?" Arzai called out somewhat more sharply than intended.
A rather perturbed looking Brand peeked around the edge of the door. Instantly Arzai felt guilty for shouting at the sweet-tempered little Grey Ovate.
"Begging your pardon for interruptin', Mistress Arzai..." Brand said, mush-mouthed and clutching the doorknocker "...but Davenir says that the king will be holdin' audience soon."
"By soon you mean now." Ijireen's smirk was audible. "It's well past mid-afternoon."
Kindle my star! Arzai cried out internally. She had almost completely forgotten that the High Obad was an expected presence when the king held his weekly audiences with the people. Instead she mustered as much rigid, icy dignity as she could.
"Ijireen, you will not go into my study again, is that understood? Since you've decided you're better than your set lesson plan, for tomorrow you can read the next three chapters in both 'Firebrand: Theory of a Red Obad' and 'Practical Knowledge of the Elements'."
Satisfied by the churlish look of surprise on Ijireen's face, Arzai all but dashed out of the Tower of the Elements. The journey between the tower and the Hall of Thrones was not a short one. What felt like fifty staircases and a hundred hallways later, Arzai skidded to a halt outside the hall's antechamber. Thankfully there was a side door by which she might make a stealthy entrance.
Taking a moment to compose herself, Arzai even went as far as to enter the first stages of a casting trance. Once her breath was sufficiently slow and even enough to produce a wisp of smoke from between her parted lips she roused herself. A few passes of the hand smoothed any flyaway hairs that had escaped her long plait. Once more deep breath steadied Arzai into a semblance of order. Time to make her first public appearance as High Obad.
OoOoO
To Arzai's immense relief, she found that Brand and Davenir had been correct; Mahir was only just settling in to his place at the head of the Hall of Thrones when she entered. Mahir turned to greet her with a nod, which she returned plus a quick bow. The king's split lip was barely visible beneath a generous layer of pigmented face cream and clay lip paint. Besides that, he looked by and large his usual self. The scorched dragon wing insignia stretched behind him like a shadow. Arzai wondered what had prompted Mahir to choose such a design for his throne.
She took a minute to appreciate the beauty of the golden tree with its glittering, ruby-red leaves. It was either sheer luck on Roran's part or genius on Bvhoros' part that the tree was just such a height as to not necessarily overshadow the monarch before it, but rather enhance him with its presence. No doubt it would grow with time though.
The first few parties to come before King Mahir were the usual; landowners with grievances vague enough to evade the Capital Courts, slighted lords and ladies demanding a royal annulment for their unhappy marriages, long-lost 'relatives' of the Amenthis family looking to have their claim to nobility legitimized. All-in-all, the usual crowd. She didn't envy the king having to handle them all like a parent corralling greedy children. There was one pair in particular toward the end that caught Arzai's attention though.
They were from Vaelona; that much was obvious just by looking at the lord. Only a Vaelonese man could have aged as well as he, or perhaps a northerner. Only a streak of distinguished silver at each of his temples betrayed the lord's age. Otherwise he stood as tall and well fitted by his fine black and cloth-of-gold doublet as any youth.
The lady however was another story. At first Arzai was inclined to guess she was the lord's mother. A quick canvassing of her memory turned up a particular rumor about the Saurivic family. Once arguably the most prestigious family in Vaelona, an illegitimate off-shoot from the Amenthis dynasty itself, the Saurivics had suffered something of a fall from grace in the past few decades. The lady looked like she wore all of her family's troubles on her face. Even her incredibly expensive looking grey gown, styled hair and diamond jewelry did nothing to distract from the fact that she was a withered crone.
"The Lord Jahaelis Saurivic and the Lady Rosarin Saurivic of Vaelona," the page announced. A soft, barely noticeable murmur passed through the crowd on either side of the hall, like the ripple from a falling leaf upon a pond.
As protocol dictated, the Saurivic lord and lady sank to a knee at the bottom of the stairs before Mahir's throne. Only when the king waved a hand did they rise and speak.
"Your Grace," Lord Jahaelis said.
"Jahaelis, it has been some time since we had the pleasure of hosting the Saurivics in Amenthere," replied Mahir. "It seems condolences and congratulations are both in order, for the loss of your father and your inheritance as Head of the Saurivic family respectively."
Jahaelis bowed his head, his aristocratic features troubled. "Thank you for your sentiments, my lord. On that note, it is about the line of succession that my wife and I have come before you today."
"Go on."
Arzai suppressed a smirk. Succession arguments were one of the favorite topics offered up for complaint before the king. Still for some reason she found herself engaged as the Vaelonese pair elaborated.
"We request that you forestall the official recognition of our nephew, Taevrin, as the heir to the Saurivic family. My sister Tyene has been petitioning the courts to have it done, and they informed us that only a royal order can halt the recognition."
Mahir frowned slightly, drumming his fingers on the arms of his throne. "And why would I give such an order, Lord and Lady Saurivic? Is Taevrin not the eldest grandchild of the late Lord Jalborn?"
"No, he is not."
When Rosarin spoke, Arzai had to repress the urge to shudder. It felt like someone was dragging their nails down the very bones of her spine with every word. Even a giant couldn't have had a more gravelly voice.
"Explain, Lady Rosarin?" Mahir pressed.
Seeming both aware and dismissive of all the stares upon her, Lady Rosarin stared unflinchingly up at the king.
"The eldest grandchild is our son, Jatheryn. He is Taevrin's senior by more than five years. And even after him, our daughter Awenis by rights is next in line as heir. What Tyene seeks is nothing less than subversion of Jahaelis's line in favor of her own!"
Now chatter really did break out across the Hall of Thrones in earnest. It took Mahir raising his hand to restore silence. His smile when he addressed the Saurivics was both sympathetic and vaguely impatient.
"Lady Rosarin, you are of course more aware than anyone present that young Lord Jatheryn and Lady Awenis were declared missing, presumed dead over a year ago. Two noble youths, frail and unworldly as they were, are unlikely to have survived this long without surfacing in some point of civilization. Even if they are alive, for no one to have seen two people as...distinctive as they are suggests that they do not wish to be found."
Arzai cleared her throat, drawing Mahir's attention. "With all due respect Your Grace..." When Mahir nodded, giving her the floor, she addressed the Saurivics. "Why are you only now seeking to preserve the integrity of your line of succession? Did you not search for your children immediately after they disappeared from Vaelona?"
At last something that might have been called chagrin crawled across Jahaelis's face. He looked down, and Rosarin answered instead.
"Jahaelis and I wanted to send out search parties, High Obad, but Lord Jalborn was still the Head of the family at the time and forbade it."
"Oh? Why would he forbid an effort to find his lost heirs?" Mahir leaned forward. The temperature of the hall seemed to have risen in anticipation. Arzai, knowing less than the king of the affairs of the nobility, watched and waited to see what he was driving at.
Jahaelis was still firmly focused on his perfectly brushed boots. When Rosarin went to answer for him again, Mahir raised his voice, startling everyone including Arzai.
"Look at your king and answer the question. Why did your father forbid you from retrieving your son and daughter?"
Jahaelis said something, too low for Arzai to hear.
"What was that, Lord Jahaelis?" Mahir demanded.
Jahaelis's composure seemed to hang by a thread when at last he dragged his gaze up to meet the king's piercing eyes. His jaw clenched, as did his hands at his sides.
"My father felt they were better off away from Vaelona."
"Away from Vaelona...or perhaps away from the people within it." Mahir was staring down at Jahaelis and Rosarin so sternly that even the proud, preening Vaelonese quailed. "By all reports from our courtiers, I have heard that your son Jatheryn Saurivic was one of the unhappiest youths in your entire city. I suspect he found little to no respite within the walls of his family compound either. If he and his sister Lady Awenis have found sanctuary from the pretentious ideals of Vaelona elsewhere within Goran, then I am happy for them. And if they are dead and lost in the wilds...then I pray that their stars shine brightly alongside those of Queen Gwynnis and our second son. Either way, it seems to me that Lord Jalborn was right; your children are better off now."
Silence fell like a hammer stroke upon the Hall of Thrones. A similar blow seemed to have fallen across the heads of both Lord Jahaelis and Lady Rosarin, who lowered their faces in shame. Mahir continued to stare at them atop his laced hands. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something.
"There will be no forestalling of the recognition. From this day forth, Taevrin Saurivic is now the official heir of the Saurivic family of Vaelona. May your days be long as Head, Lord Jahaelis, for once they end leadership of the Saurivics will pass to your sister Tyene's bloodline. That is my final word on the matter. You may go."
Like a pair of wooden marionettes, Rosarin and Jahaelis turned and stiffly departed from the hall. Arzai didn't imagine that either of them would return to Amenthere again anytime soon, if ever.
The page was announcing the last party seeking an audience. "The Lord Magistrate of Danitesk, Enidu LawKeeper."
The royal magistrate approached the throne and bowed, his dark complexion immediately identifying him as a southerner even if his name hadn't done as much already. He wore the standard red and blacks of a royal official, but no hair nor hat whatsoever upon his head. Bvhoros would have been absolutely appalled, Arzai imagined.
"Your Grace," the man said humbly.
"Rise, Lord Enidu." Mahir still sounded a little tense after the affair with the Saurivics. "What news from Danitesk?"
"Not good news I'm afraid, my lord." Enidu was shaking his head, looking distressed. "The fisherfolk have been caught smuggling correspondences for...for the Factionists!"
A gasp went up from the assembled nobility. Arzai herself was taken aback. Everyone knew that the south was having a problem with disobedient tendencies lately. There were even some in the capital with Factionist sympathies, as recent events had so devastatingly proved. Once again Arzai was prompted to think of Margalee, and had to grit her teeth.
"That's not all," the magistrate continued. "We've had an increase in stinting on taxes and incidents of civilians disrespecting town guards. Every time we arrest the offenders though, it seems we have to ward against attempted jailbreaks...with outside help! We are concerned that Factionist cells in Utunma are sending rabble-rousers and trouble-makers to Danitesk in an effort to spread their cause, initiated by the one they call 'Black Pearl'."
Mahir stood, immediately causing Enidu to fall quiet. The king stood tall beneath the red eves of Prince Hithon's tree, defying anyone to get excited about the news of Factionists.
"Rest assured, Lord Magistrate, the royal army will very soon be in a position to quell these miscreants once and for all. Recruiting is very successful as of late, and training proceeds apace. I will speak with you in private later this evening, but I give you my word as king that we will deal with these so called revolutionaries."
"Your Grace." Enidu bowed once again, gratitude and relief clear in his voice.
Mahir was not quite finished though. "Before I declare this royal audience over, there is once last order of business to attend to." He turned to the side of the dias and extended his hand.
Rising above the throng of nobility, Princess Ellorae ascended the steps to join her brother. She was dressed to impress in the finest shade of cream-colored silk Arzai had ever seen. It shimmered and clung to Ellorae's tiny waist in ways that were both daring and utterly devastating to effect. Tiny white hollyshocks flowers were stitched into the gown's belt and threaded through Ellorae's coppery curls. All that bodily beauty seemed somewhat wasted by the princess's small, impassive face, in Arzai's opinion.
"My sister Princess Ellorae departs on the morn for Derbesh, there to meet her intended, Lord Rhadu A'Khet. Their union will strengthen the bonds between west and east Goran, and bring many more years of peace to our great nation. I wish you and Lord Rhadu much happiness, sister."
The king bowed his head, lifting Ellorae's bony little hand to his lips. Ellorae smiled, and if the expression was wooden Arzai supposed she couldn't really begrudge the princess that. After all, if she were in the same position, on her way east of the mountains to wed a stranger, she doubted she'd be able to stomach that with even half as much grace.
Ellorae officially took her leave, and was sent off by the court with much fanfare and well-wishes. The day's excitement done, courtiers began to stream from the Hall of Thrones in a colorful, perfumed throng. Arzai lingered on the dias, knowing the Master Tomur had always been one of the last to leave after a royal audience. She was somewhat surprised when Mahir called her closer.
"You were very close to tardy today, High Obad," he observed, his wry half-smile pulling at the welt on his lip. The skylight shining through the leaves of the golden tree cast fiery rainbows across his brow.
Arzai dipped her chin. "I apologize, Your Grace, I-"
"You were trying to manage the Magicol which had suddenly landed in your lap, I understand. I remember High Obad Lirien once telling my father than leading Obads was like trying to herd cats."
"She said that?"
"Oh yes. As I recall, Mistress Lirien was an accomplished Obad who commanded a great deal of respect in her time."
"I aspire to be like her someday," Arzai admitted.
The king did not laugh at that. Instead he reached up to touch the golden crown upon his head before sending a meaningful look to the ring on Arzai's finger.
"As I aspire to be half the king that my father was, or that Hithon will be after me." His smile turned serious. "You have done much to show me where your loyalties lie in the past several days, Arzai, and I have marked it well. When Frandel returns from the east, many things will change for the Magicol. Know that you have my full support as High Obad. As long as you stand by my side, I will stand by yours."
"Thank you, Your Grace." Arzai's bow was full and heartfelt. Something Mahir had said caught her attention though. "What about Frandel and his return?"
The king only smiled. "Until tomorrow, High Obad," he said in a clear dismissal.
Arzai left the Hall of Thrones feeling both unsettled and reassured at the same time, if that were even possible. So many things had already changed, could the Magicol even stand for any more upheaval? She supposed they would have to. Even so, it felt good to know that the knife edge upon which they had stood was growing wider by the day. Perhaps there was hope for her career after all.
OoOoO