The Forsaken Hero

The next morning, I woke up earlier, excited for the day. I spent a lot of time the night before thinking about the Spar and found myself rather optimistic. Regardless of the demands of the church and slave crest, I had mastered an astonishing degree of magic and was becoming proficient in even fourth-circle spells. I felt the urge to begin studying fifth-circle fate magic, which was where divination truly came into play, but there were other things that demanded my attention first.

Throwing on a dress and sandals, I made off for the main hall. While I still the gazes of many, it was no longer significant. Anyone who hadn’t heard rumors was probably blind and deaf.

After a night’s rest, my soul was nearing peak condition, but even that wasn’t the cause behind the bounce in my step. Soltair was coming back! Although it had only been a few days, so many things had happened, and I yearned for his support. My tail waved excitedly as I thought of seeing his face again, and I stopped within the gardens, by the main gate.

”Are you the girl from yesterday?”

I looked over, catching the eye of a thin priest wearing the robes of the Earth God. Suppressing my excitement, I nodded cautiously, and he approached. I didn’t recognize him from the spar, but he might have been one of many I’d forgotten, or he simply heard the rumors.

I let out an internal sigh of relief when he didn’t appear hostile, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. His joy felt a little out of place on such a dry, warn face, but I found myself reciprocating some of his energy.

”Your Earthen Roots spell was simply incredible! I’ve never seen anyone use it to counter strong wind magic like that. The other priests couldn’t believe it when I told them! Ha, that’ll teach those stuck-up wind guys!”

”I’m grateful you enjoyed it,” I said, looking down humbly. ”I can only credit the fathomless knowledge of the Great Library for such ability and technique.”

”But of course! I was on my way to study it myself, but can you show it to me again?”

”Well...” I hesitantly looked around. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention again.

”Please! Just once will suffice. I simply have to see the way you sequenced those magic circles.”

”Most of it’s in the chant, anyway,” I said, scratching my cheek. I was totally unused to such requests, but I didn’t dislike the feeling of pride slowly filling my chest. ”But if you insist. Once shouldn’t hurt.”

He stepped back eagerly, watching my every move as I cast the spell. I took it slow, making sure to enunciate every word of the chant and provide him with the best view of the forming magic circles. With the Eyes of Fate, I could tell he himself was a respectable mage, and at least had the confidence to learn something from my casting without seeing the invisible mechanics behind the spell. His mana was around sixth level, dwarfing my own, and I had to focus to keep the nervous tremor from my voice. I felt far from qualified to instruct someone of his level.

When the spell was finally done, he clapped his hand with awe. ”Marvelous! I thank you for taking the time to instruct me. What was your name, girl?”

”Oh, uh, it’s Xiviyah,” I fumbled the unexpected question, looking down as I finally stammered my name.

”’Defeated,’ is it? Or, perhaps, ’broken?’” he said, a cunning light filling his eyes.

I nodded hesitantly, but he only laughed and went back to rambling about Earth Magic. Although the Pope meant my name as a symbol, only a few actually knew its meaning, meaning this priest was fairly knowledgeable. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, considering his power level, but I still found it uncomfortable anytime someone mentioned my name’s translation.

”Well, I’d best be going. Not often I get out in the big city like this, and I have plenty of sights to see. Probably ought to make a trip to the Shard as well,” he muttered, giving me a polite bow and trotting off.

I half-raised my hand in farewell, suddenly recalling I hadn’t ever gotten his name. Before I could think to ask, he was gone, disappearing into the crowds of pilgrims and priests saturating the gardens.

I relaxed, but jumped to my feet, tail stiffening as I recalled my reason for loitering about the gardens. I looked eagerly to the gates, absently running a hand along my horn as I waited. I had picked the habit up only recently and often did it when I was forced to wait. Something about the softness of my fingers against the rough yet sensitive horns was soothing, almost therapeutic. I hadn’t been able to discern any of the details of his mission, only that it took him beyond the walls of Roann for the first time. My hands tightened as Trithe’s grinning face came to mind. She better have not made any moves on him.

As the minutes passed, a few others greeted me, but none demanded anything like the thin, earth priest. Even so, the ambient friendliness was unusual. Was Selena’s goal actually accomplished? Before I could think about it more, the crowds parted to allow a squad a dozen mounted knights through. The sun glinted on the riders’ armor, nearly blinding me, but I hardly needed eyes to recognize the hero at their front.

Running up toward them, I raised my voice and called after him. ”Soltair!”

My quiet voice carried poorly amidst the clamor of the bustling gardens, and they must not have heard me and continued riding. Frustrated, I quickened my pace, slipping between groups of people and skirting around wagons. Being a demonkin, others instinctively made room for me, but today the crowds seemed exceptionally dense, hindering my progress. By the time I caught up, the company had already reached the stables.

Soltair dismounted and offered a hand to Trishe, helping her to the ground. Although their backs were to me, I could see the subtle slump of his shoulders, burdened by the exhaustion and stress he normally kept secret in public. Beyond him, the entire troop looked worn out and bloody, with many nursing small wounds. The two priests traveling with them were drained of mana, barely having the strength to get off their horses, meaning the injuries apparent now were likely only the small ones. Soltair looked safe, fortunately, as did Trishe.

I slowed to a stop, out of breath, and opened my mouth to call to him. But, before I could, he suddenly stiffened, hand falling on his sword. By the time he whipped his head around to look at me, his sword was halfway out of its sheath. The instant our eyes met, I took a step back, my tail twitching nervously at the intensity of his gaze.

I called out to Soltair, voice wavering with uncertainty. ”What’s going on? Where did you go?”

My voice seemed to break him from some spell, and he relaxed, hand slipping from his hilt. ”Oh, it’s just you.”

”Don’t sneak up on us like that,” Trishe snapped, tossing her hair behind her shoulder and shooting me a glare. I stammered out an apology, looking between her and Soltair. She often showed such hostility, but that was usually brought on by my proximity or relationship with Soltair. What had happened to put them both on edge?

Soltair eyes softened, and he took a long, shaky breath. ”Sorry, Xiviyah. I didn’t mean to treat you so coldly.”

He handed the reins of his horse to one of the soldiers and gave a short debrief to the soldiers. Holding back the impulse to go to him, I waited patiently to the side until he was done. Afterward, I joined the two as they headed back into the Divine Throne.

We walked silently for some time. Questions darted about my mind, lining up on the tip of my tongue by always retreating before I could ask. Where did they go? Why didn’t he invite me? What kind of battle did they fight? I felt like a dam waiting to burst and finally forced a question through my lips.

”Are you hurt?” I asked.

”No, we’re fine,” he said. ”The men took the worst of it. Someone on their level couldn’t scratch me even if I just stood there.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, but the tension didn’t lessen at all. If they weren’t physically hurt, that could only mean some other sort of trauma was binding them down. My heart shifted as it occurred to me Soltair had never killed before. Recalling my own experience, I realized the guilt must be gnawing at him. ”Who did you fight?”

I held my breath as he stopped, staring at the ground. His hands trembled, and I reached out to comfort him. My hand froze as Trithe moved in front of me, meeting my gaze with eyes colder than ice. ”Demonkin. We killed demonkin.”