“Yes, Master Tessarion,” Alwyn said, wincing internally at the edge of eager hope in his voice. He swallowed before adding in a more neutral tone, “Failure is as unacceptable to me as it is to the Order. I intend to redeem myself through whatever opportunity you deem fit.”
The silent stare went on just a beat longer than Alwyn expected, and he knew it was an unspoken sign that his master was still cross with him. The even tone of his voice somehow felt cold and distant, though surely it had not outwardly changed.
“You will not work alone this time,” Tessarion said. It was matter-of-fact, but still Alwyn felt a sting that he couldn’t quite keep off his face. “A group of High Sorcerers from the Library, both within our Order and outside of it, will work with a group of orc spies sent by King Zorvut to quash the rebellion mounting in the northwest.”
Back into orc lands. Alwyn tried to suppress the fear that squeezed at his chest. Part of him would have been happy to never return to that place; but Aefraya was fighting tooth and nail to avoid another war from erupting with the rebel orcs, so of course all of its resources would be poured into the neighboring land. More importantly, he reminded himself, it wasn’t up to him: he was a weapon to be wielded by the Order, and weapons did not complain.
“This will be a critical mission, and you will have a unique goal,” Tessarion continued. “It is too important to fail. But I wish for you to prove yourself, Alwyn. And so, perhaps against my better judgment, I am assigning you the most crucial task.”
A flare of mixed emotions burned inside his chest. This was a sign of Tessarion’s favor, as close as the Mage Princeps could get to saying it outright. Despite the added pressure of the elf’s words, something in Alwyn was strangely comfortedby the barely disguised favoritism. It meant Tessarion still acknowledged his skills, and he might win back his respect.
“Yes,” Alwyn said firmly. “Tell me what I must do.”
Tessarion’s eyes briefly flickered away from Alwyn, back down to his desk. He carefully rolled the parchment he’d been writing on, placed it in a small scroll case meant for travel, and handed it across the desk to Alwyn, who took it without question.
“That scroll describes the mission as it will be explained to you, when you and the other elves assigned to this matter meet with the orc contingent led by Gorza Silvertongue,” he said. Alwyn looked down at the scroll, which fit neatly in his palm. “This mission is to find and capture Zesh, the leader of the rebels. He is to be brought to King Zorvut in Drol Kuggradh and receive the king’s justice.”
Alwyn nodded, but his mentor’s eyes grew cold. “You, however, will have a different mission. You will kill Zesh before he can be captured.”
At that, Alwyn hesitated. It was not his place to question orders—and assassination was what all Order mages were ultimately trained for—but he imagined that King Zorvut himself had ordered Zesh to be brought to him alive. King Ruven and the orc king were supposed to be working together, weren’t they?
His conflict must have somehow shown on his face—or perhaps Tessarion just knew him that well—because the older elf’s cool gaze softened for the briefest moment.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tessarion continued. “However, the purpose of the Order of Twilight is to do what weaker men cannot. King Zorvut may have believed the mercy he showed his half-brother in their duel was strength. You and I know it is not. I cannot, in good conscience, allow such weakness to be shown again, so Zesh must die before he is brought to Drol Kuggradh. Anything less will not end the rebellion, but will onlyallow it to continue festering. We must cut it off at its source, before this rebellion grows into open warfare.”
“Of course, Master Tessarion,” Alwyn said, bowing his head.
Some part of him still felt unsettled, wondering what King Ruven must have thought to make such an order against the orc king’s wishes; but he had to trust in Tessarion’s wisdom. Not even trust—only obey. That was what the Order of Twilight expected from its mages. Their whole purpose was to handle the difficult, dirty, but necessary work needed for the good of Aefraya. Besides, it would be easy to accept that during such a dangerous mission, some lone agent might find it necessary to end the rebel warlord’s life in defense of their own, or another’s. And in the aftermath, positive relations between the kings and their nations could be better preserved.
“Alwyn,” Tessarion said, and his head snapped up attentively once more. “I know you are capable of greatness. You just need toproveit. To me, and to yourself. That is why I am entrusting you with this. Because I want to believe your last mission was a fluke, and that you are capable of accomplishing a feat of the highest caliber. Success in this will mean the continued peace between Aefraya and the wildlands. Your name may not be known as that of a hero, but you and I will know what you have done.”
Alwyn swallowed hard, willing his racing heart to slow. He could hear the unspoken sentiment—that failure was not an option. More than anything, he wanted Tessarion to be proud of him again. His mentor’s cold disappointment these past weeks had been unbearable. Alwyn had never been out of his good graces for so long, and he intended to never experience that again.
“I understand,” he said, not quite able to stifle the burgeoning hope in his voice. “I appreciate your belief in me, sir, more than you know.”
The Mage Princeps regarded him silently for a moment, and Alwyn was sure he could see the barest hint of a smile in his lilac eyes. He recognized it readily now—it was the expression he had chased from the moment Tessarion first recruited him into the Order as a child.
He had been the first to trulyseeAlwyn—to recognize the deep well of magic in him and all the potential that came with it. The Mage Princeps had been not only a mentor, but a caretaker, giving Alwyn all the necessities and opportunities to find success by his side as a mage. Alwyn had never known what a parent was supposed to be, but he knew he would have followed any instructions out of respect and reverence for the man who had all but raised him.
“Good,” Tessarion finished simply. “Everything you need to know is in that scroll. You are dismissed for now.”
Alwyn bowed deeply before quietly stepping out of the Mage Princeps’ office. These things moved quickly, so he had to prepare.
Chapter Two
Alwyn
Irritation soon tempered some of Alwyn’s hope. When he’d arrived back in his dormitory, he opened the scroll and read through it quickly—only to realize that the elves joining the mission were set to depart from Castle Aefraya the very next morning. With less than one day of notice, he rushed through his preparations and was up late into the night, knowing he needed to pack for weeks, maybe months, of travel.
The worst part of missions, to him at least, was the restless boredom of getting from one place to the next. He knew he had space in his pack for two, maybe three books; and of course, he would need to bring the dense tome that he’d been studying for further practice. After a beat of hesitation, he added the new adventure book, still unopened, tucking it in behind the heavier book. Not that anyone else would be looking in his pack, but the thought of having it right on top felt somehow embarrassing. Besides, he didn’t know when he’d return. There might even be another installment in the series waiting for him, if Zesh proved elusive enough. He told himself that he just didn’t want to fall behind—that was all.
Once his things were packed, and re-packed, then packed a third time mostly out of nerves, he needed to leave his room lest he go entirely mad. Despite the late hour, the dining hall provided him with a fresh meal, which he tried to force down. His food gradually grew cold as he pushed it around the plate, despite knowing meals like this would be few and far between in the coming weeks.
In Tessarion’s office, he could think of nothing more than seizing the chance to redeem himself in his master’s eyes. Now, though, the reality of the mission was settling in. It was up to him, and him alone, to kill Zesh—the rebel leading the sedition against a unified Aefraya and the wildlands—to end a war before it could begin.
But Tessarion believed in him.You are capable of great things,he’d said. Whenever his heart began to race, struggling to carry the immense weight of this responsibility, Alwyn tried to focus on the memory of those words.
His master believed in him. He was Tessarion’s favored pupil. The fate of their nation was now in his hands. He would not fail. Hecouldnot fail.
