Paragon of Destruction

The gray-haired Master guided Arran through the city at a calm but steady pace, moving through the crowds that filled the streets with the confidence of someone who expected others to make way for him.

He spoke little as they walked, his eyes focused on the path ahead. Occasionally, he would give small nods to people they passed, though more commonly others would give polite bows or nods when they saw the Master.

At least, Arran assumed he was a Master — so far, the man had not even introduced himself, much less revealed his rank.

Nor did the man show any interest in Arran’s identity, for that matter. Although he had studied Arran’s formations with great curiosity, he showed no sign of wanting to learn anything about their creator.

Perhaps he was content with whatever the novice had already told him, but even so, it caused Arran a vague feeling of unease. For a mage to encounter an unusually talented initiate and not be the least bit curious about his background was more than a little strange.

Still, Arran did not worry too much. He had followed Brightblade’s instructions in drawing attention, and if anything went awry, he was confident that she would intervene.

He did not ask any questions of the Master leading him through the city — if the man wanted to talk, he would doubtless do so without prompting. Instead, he looked around him, observing the city and its buildings.

While busy, the city wasn’t quite as crowded as the capital had been. And if the House of Seals held stores, restaurants, and taverns similar to those in the capital, they certainly weren’t nearly as vulgar in trying to draw attention to themselves.

There were no sparsely dressed women in front of the taverns here, nor merchants shouting about the supposed quality of their wares. The streets were calm and clean, peaceful despite the many people walking upon them.

This wasn’t too surprising, Arran thought. The House of Seals should hold plenty of powerful mages, more than a few of whom would likely take offense at anyone behaving badly with their House’s stronghold.

Barely a quarter-hour after they’d left the training building, Arran realized with some joy that they were heading toward the part of the city that held most of the large towers he had spotted from outside the stronghold’s walls.

That had to be a good sign, he thought. The people inhabiting these towers should be the House’s most powerful and influential mages. Grandmaster and Archmages, or perhaps even Elders.

The thought of gaining an Elder for a teacher brought a grin to his face which grew even wider when he imagined how Brightblade would react to such news.

She had told him to leave a lasting impression, but he very much doubted even she could have expected such an outcome. Brightblade was hard to impress, but if he won an Elder for a teacher on his first day in the House of Seals, even she should be surprised.

Yet his grin faded several minutes later, when he realized that the Master wasn’t guiding him to the towers but past them.

He sighed quietly, now feeling slightly foolish for his earlier thoughts. An Archmage for a teacher was too much to expect, much less an Elder.

Still, he was confident his performance would at least earn him a Master as an instructor, and that should be good enough — especially after only a single morning’s work.

He cast a regretful look at the towers as they passed them, but then, he turned back to the road ahead.

It wasn’t long before they left the dense inner city behind, moving into a neighborhood at the far end of it that was filled with large, walled mansions. Few people could be seen on the streets here, and if the city proper was peaceful, this area was positively quiet.

The walk was a long one, but finally, the gray-haired Master came to a halt in front of one of the walled mansions. A single mage was guarding the gate, and the Master approached the man calmly. "Is she in?"

"She is," the man replied. "But what business do you have with her?"

"I found an initiate with some unusual talents," the Master said. "I thought she might be interested in taking him as a student."

The guard cast a glance at Arran. "He doesn’t look all that special, to me. But all right — you can find her in the back gardens."

He opened the gate, and after a polite nod, the Master stepped past him, with Arran following close behind.

The first thing Arran noticed beyond the mansion’s walls was that the building was much smaller than he had expected. Perhaps half the size of Brightblade’s mansion in the House of Swords, it looked simple and comfortable — the kind of house the wealthier merchants of Riverbend had lived in.

The garden, however, was a different matter. Unexpectedly large and slightly wild, it almost looked more like a forest than a garden. Yet it didn’t look neglected, exactly — rather, it seemed like the wild appearance was a deliberate choice, made by someone who preferred the wilds over the city.

The Master guided Arran along a narrow dirt part through the garden that led around the mansion, and some moments later, they arrived at what resembled a wide forest clearing with tall grass and numerous flowers.

At the center of the clearing stood a woman. Gray-haired and clad in a slightly worn brown robe, she didn’t seem particularly remarkable. If Arran had seen her on the streets of the city, he barely would have noticed her.

The only thing about her that was at all unusual was the ageless look her face held. Though her hair made it clear she wasn’t young, her face alone could have belonged to either a thirty-year-old or an eighty-year-old, with no way to tell which it was.

She looked at them impassively when they stepped into the clearing, seeming not at all surprised at their arrival.

"Gavriel," she said, giving the Master a small nod. "What brings you here?"

The Master — Gavriel, apparently — responded with a short bow. "A student," he replied. "An initiate, actually, but one with remarkable talents. He arrived this morning..."

He spent several minutes detailing the morning’s events, telling her who Arran was — information he’d gotten from the novice, obviously — and explaining how Arran had first copied the novice’s formations, and then the ones he had created himself.

The woman listened with a calm expression that held only a hint of interest. "Most curious," she said when Master Gavriel finished speaking. "But these formations of yours, couldn’t he have studied them beforehand?"

"Impossible," the gray-haired man replied. "Several of them were ones I created myself, and haven’t yet shown to others. That he copied them was due to insight, not study."

"Interesting," she replied. "I suppose I’ll have to test his abilities for myself. You can return to your other students."

Master Gavriel moved to leave, but just as he was about to leave the clearing, he turned around with a grin on his face. "I told you there was gold hiding amid the mud."

"So you did," the woman replied, a small smile on her lips. "And I thank you for your efforts."

As the gray-haired Master left the clearing, the woman turned to face Arran. "Do you have any skill at destroying formations?"

"Some," Arran replied. "Why?"

"Creating formations relies largely on skill," she replied. "But destroying them is a better test of insight and raw talent. Now, I will create a series of formations for you to destroy. Don’t hold back, please — if you do, I will know."

Without any further words, she set to work crafting several formations within the clearing.

Immediately, Arran knew her skill exceeded that of Master Gavriel. She worked faster, and while her formations held various flaws, it was obvious that the weaknesses were placed there deliberately.

Arran briefly frowned, already impressed with what he saw, but then he set to work undoing her efforts.

The work was easy at first. Even if he did not know any of the formations, all of them held obvious flaws that could be exploited easily, and he destroyed the patterns one by one, removing them as quickly as the woman created them.

Yet it wasn’t long before the formations grew more complex and the flaws within them smaller. Though Arran still managed to destroy them, the task grew harder by the second, and each new formation took him longer to dismantle.

As he continued the work, he found himself relying more and more on his insights — something he would rather not fully reveal.

"Don’t hold back on using your insights," the woman said calmly, almost as if she’d heard his thoughts. "I want to see the full extent of your talent."

Arran froze up when he heard the words, but only for a second.

There was nothing he could do about it now. If he held back, the woman would certainly grow suspicious. With a quiet sigh, he did as she said, drawing fully upon his insights — or almost fully, as he still hid his true insight.

He continued destroying formations for what seemed like an eternity, each one he broke quickly replaced with a stronger one. Even using his insights the task steadily became more difficult, and after several hundreds of broken formations, he found his progress grinding to a halt.

"That’s enough, for now," the woman said.

Arran stood up and glanced at the sky, surprised to see that it was already late afternoon. He had spent hours breaking formations, and the realization brought a sudden wave of weariness to his mind and body.

"How did I do?" he asked, wiping away the sweat that covered his brow.

"I suspect you already know the answer to that question," the woman replied, a small smile on her lips. "But yes, you did well — well enough to become my apprentice. I suspect you’re lacking in knowledge, but your talent is unmistakable. With proper guidance, your path will be a bright one."

"Your apprentice?" Arran’s eyes widened in shock. An apprentice wasn’t a mere student. If he became the woman’s apprentice, he would have to move to the House of Seals. "I can’t accept that," he blurted out. "I already have a teacher."

"It wasn’t a request," the woman said calmly. "You will become my apprentice."

Arran shook his head, feeling a slight sense of panic. "My teacher," he said hurriedly, "she won’t accept it — and neither will the House of Swords."

"The choice isn’t theirs to make," the woman replied. "I won’t let talent like yours go to waste, and in this Valley, my word is law."

Arran’s mouth nearly fell open when he understood the meaning of her words. He had intended to make an impression, but this...

He stared at the woman in astonishment. "You... you’re the Matriarch?"

"Correct," she answered. "And from this day onward, you will be my apprentice."

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