Eventually, the dark sky outside the hall’s high windows began to glow pale with sunlight.
When Alwyn arrived at the royal stables later that morning, he was unsurprised to see Fionia among the group of elves. Her eyes flickered over to him in silent acknowledgement before turning away once again.
He recognized Fionia and one other elf as part of the Order; the other three were familiar to him only as High Sorcerers of the Library. He wondered what skills they might possess tobe chosen for an infiltration mission such as this. They were probably powerful warriors in their own right, he supposed, maybe the best the Library could offer—but if they were not of the Order, he found it hard to believe that they would be of any true service to the stated mission, much less his own.
The Order of Twilight was more or less an open secret among the Library, though its existence was no more than a rumor outside the walls of the castle. Their ranks were few, as the need for such tools was infrequent, but their existence was crucial when the need arose. It seemed obvious to him that there would be a specialized group of mages, somewhere between soldiers and sorcerers, trained specifically as spies and assassins for the purposes of the kingdom—he had to assume that the three library mages suspected who their companions truly were.
Not that it mattered. Alwyn was only working with them as a means to an end. He didn’t need to know anything about them. He just needed to tolerate them until he had the chance to carry out his part of the mission.
To his surprise, Tessarion himself joined the group as they were being assigned horses.
“Good morning,” the Mage Princeps said evenly as he stepped toward them. The flurry of activity suddenly stilled at his words. “I wanted to see you all off myself, as thanks for this important duty you’ve all chosen to take on.”
“Thank you, Master Tessarion,” Fionia said, the first to reply; she bowed her head as the others murmured in agreement.
“I have the utmost faith in each and every one of you,” Tessarion continued. His eyes flickered between them in turn. When his gaze landed on Alwyn, he inclined his head just the tiniest amount, a secret acknowledgment. “When you return, you will have not only my commendation, but that of King Ruven himself, along with every citizen of Aefraya and the allied wildlands. Your motherland will be forever in your debt.”
“It is an honor to serve in this way, Master Tessarion,” one of the Library sorcerers said, bowing his head deeply.
“Best of luck to you all,” Tessarion continued, nodding. “I wish you safe travels. Don’t dally too long, now.” With that, he turned and left without waiting for any further reply.
“Your horse, High Sorcerer,” a stableboy murmured, pulling him from his thoughts. Alwyn accepted the reins of a paint gelding offered to him, its saddlebags full to the brim with supplies.
Soon, all six of them were on their horses, heading out the northern gate and onto the road. It would wind its way up through the deep forests of Aefraya and eventually to the rocky foothills of the orc wildlands, where they would meet their orcish counterparts. The air was cold, the morning chill biting at his ears. As the sun climbed higher, the chill would fade, but he knew as the days went on, the icy morning air would last longer. Winter loomed close now, and he could only hope that they would be done with their task and returning home before it truly took a foothold in the northern landscape.
Alwyn sighed, settling onto his horse. One more journey into the wildlands, and hopefully after that, he would never have to venture so far north again.
By the time their small group was making camp that night, much of the prim pretense had fallen away from their interactions. The three library mages—who had introduced themselves as Daine, Cithrel, and Myrra—seemed friendly enough. Myrra even hummed and sang as they prepared their camp, as if they weren’t setting out for likely the most important and dangerous mission of their lives.
Even Fionia seemed a little jovial with the others, chatting as they went about their evening tasks. Galred, the third mage of the Order, was older than the rest, and Alwyn knew him only as an instructor. He had the sort of exasperated undertone to all his interactions that gave Alwyn the impression of an annoyed older brother.
Alwyn had introduced himself along with the rest of the group as they first set out, but since then had mostly remained silent. They all sat around the fire as they ate their simple dinner of hard bread and vegetable soup. When he was done, and his dish was clean, Alwyn stood and stepped toward his tent.
“You don’t want to sit with us, Alwyn?” Myrra called to him. He froze, feeling too awkward to turn around. “It’s not so late yet. Telling stories by the fire is the best part of traveling, don’t you think?”
He didn’t know how to respond. All his experiences, from his earliest memories, were all wrapped up in the Order and could not be shared in mixed company; nor did he have any particular desire to listen to the others. Above all, he wondered how she could be so casual about all this.
“No thanks,” he mumbled, still not turning to meet Myrra’s eyes as he spoke. “I, uh, I’m going to get some rest.”
He hurried to his tent before anyone could reply. If they were smart, they would rest up, too.
“Well, forget about him. I want to hear the story, Myrra,” he could distantly hear Daine saying. Alwyn felt his face flush with irritation and embarrassment. Even as he settled into his bedroll, it sounded like everyone else was still around the fire. Myrra’s voice occasionally rose with excitement as she told a story about a grand unicorn hunt. Sometimes the others would interject or laugh, but the talk was often too hushed to entirely make out.
They were all becoming friends without him, he thought, as he lay silently in the darkness of his tent. If he had stayed, he might have been able to make friends, too.
But he’d never had any use for friends, and there was no reason that should change now. He was here to complete his mission and redeem himself.
It is better to be alone, Tessarion’s voice rang clearly in his head. It was a lesson his master had imparted on him many times.In our line of work, attachments can only be used against you.
His master’s wisdom would be his guide, as always. Fionia and Galred would do well to take that lesson to heart, he knew, though he was in no position to admonish them.
He lay silently in his bedroll, his ruminations occasionally interrupted by snippets of conversation that grew loud enough to reach him. When the sounds finally seemed to fade entirely, Alwyn quietly peeked out of his tent. The campfire had died down to softly smoldering embers, and no elves were in sight. He could see faint light coming from within two other tents, but the rest seemed to have fully retired for the evening.
Which meant he could finally read in peace. He settled back into his tent; snapped his fingers to create a small, glowing orb of cool light above his head; and pulled out the adventure book from where it was carefully hidden amongst his belongings.
Blythe Everwood’s Adventures: In the Sea Serpent’s Maw, this one was called. The title was emblazoned in blue, glossy text on a plain black clothbound cover. He gently opened it to the first page, which had an illustration of the titular human: a ruggedly handsome man with dark hair and muscular features, holding a sword in one hand, a beautiful woman in the other, brandishing his weapon against an approaching mob of pirates.
A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he flipped through the table of contents to the first chapter. The booksmight have been trash, but it was something small and indulgent just for him. Despite everything else going on, he could escape for just a little while—and maybe even dream of sailing on the open sea.
