Paragon of Destruction

"Good to see you too, Rhea," Brightblade replied, her expression calm as she looked at the Matriarch. "And yes, that’s my apprentice you’re trying to steal."

The Matriarch’s surprised faded somewhat, though she still seemed more than a little puzzled. "When did you arrive in the Valley?"

Brightblade frowned briefly, then answered, "About a year ago."

"And you didn’t think to visit an old friend? Even in her own Valley?" The Matriarch spoke softly, her expression troubled.

"Are we still friends?" Brightblade’s tone held some sharpness as she asked the question, as if some old but unforgotten anger lurked just below the surface.

The Matriarch sighed. "I like to think so. What happened back then... I had no choice. I had to protect my Valley."

"Yet others answered the call," Brightblade said in a cold voice. "Others with their own Valleys to protect."

"They weren’t fighting a losing war at the time." The Matriarch clenched her jaw as she spoke, and her eyes showed a hint of anger. "You have no idea how close the Ninth Valley came to falling — none of you do. The Hunters... there were thousands of them, tens of thousands. Over half the Valley’s mages died in the wars."

Finally, Brightblade’s expression softened. "I suppose you had your own war to fight. And he got his revenge — even without your aid." Eyebrow slightly raised, she added, "Though I wonder at the price you paid for this peace of yours."

The Matriarch gave her a wry smile. "There was a price, but for the Valley’s survival, I had to pay it. Losing the borderlands was better than losing everything. You will understand once you have your own Valley to protect."

Brightblade made an ugly face. "I have no intention of becoming a Matriarch. Too much responsibility." With a shrug, she continued, "And even if I wanted to, I never had much talent for seals."

"I think we both know that’s a lie," the Matriarch responded flatly. "What you lack is training, not talent. If you want to, I could help you—"

"Absolutely not," Brightblade interrupted her. "It’s bad enough that you’ll be teaching my apprentice. I have no intention of joining him."

"You’ll allow it?" The Matriarch cast a surprised glance at Arran. "You’ll let me teach him?"

"That was always the plan," Brightblade replied. "Though I did not intend for him to catch your eye quite as soon." She rolled her eyes at Arran. "You couldn’t remain inconspicuous for just one day, could you?"

Arran had listened quietly as the two women spoke, but now, an indignant expression appeared on his face. "You told me to draw attention!" he said loudly. "You said I had to make a lasting impression!"

"I suppose I did, at that." Brightblade gave him a flat stare. "I didn’t expect you to take it this far, though."

She had stood at the edge of the clearing as she spoke with the Matriarch, but now, she walked toward its center, closing the distance between her and the other two.

Facing the Matriarch, she said, "So yes, I’ll allow it. But I do not intend to simply hand him over to you." She glanced at Arran and narrowed her eyes. "We’ll share him. He could do with two teachers — the heavens know he needs some proper study."

The Matriarch frowned, but after a moment’s hesitation, she gave Brightblade a nod. "Very well. But he’ll need a mansion near mine. I can’t have him waste his time traveling from House to House. And something needs to be done about his magical skills. It’s clear that he’s ignored his studies to a disgusting degree. I suggest we..."

The two women discussed Arran’s training for some time, making all sorts of plans — none of which they thought needed any input from Arran himself.

As he heard them speak, he gradually grew pale with worry. Just having what were likely the two most powerful women in the Valley was concerning enough by itself, but from what he could tell, they intended for him to spend every waking moment studying.

After half an hour, they had finished planning out every second of Arran’s training for the next year — a year he feared would involve precious little sleep — and they faced each other with satisfied smiles. Whatever their differences, planning apprentices’ lives was apparently something they agreed on.

"I’ll have Ghostblade shown to his new quarters," the Matriarch said to Brightblade. "But perhaps you could remain here a little longer? A long time has passed since we last spoke, after all."

"All right." Brightblade replied, then turned to Arran. "I suspect you have some questions for me, so I’ll visit you tonight."

Arran nodded silently. In truth, he had more than a few questions, the main one being who she actually was. Because from what he had heard, he very much doubted that she was a common Elder.

A moment later, a mage stepped into the clearing. He gave the Matriarch a respectful bow, then asked, "You called for me?"

"This is my new apprentice," the Matriarch said with a gesture at Arran. "He needs a place to stay — have him take the nearest mansion along the road to the city."

The man looked at her uncomfortably. "Matriarch," he said. "That mansion belongs to Elder Niklas."

"But this Valley belongs to me," she replied sharply. Yet after a brief sigh, she continued, "He’s been pestering me about getting one of the city’s towers for some time now. Give him one of those."

"Of course, Matriarch," the man said. "Young master Ghostblade, please come with me."

Arran followed the man along the path through the gardens, relieved to be away from the Matriarch and Brightblade. Between the two of them, he had little doubt they had the power to torch the entire Valley.

Halfway through the Matriarch’s gardens, the mage came to a sudden halt, turning to face his Arran.

"So you’re the Matriarch’s new apprentice," the man said, a thoughtful look on his face. "I don’t know whether to envy you or offer my sympathies."

"Your sympathies?" Arran looked at the man with a frown.

"It’s been a long time since she took an apprentice," the man replied. "But even now, the rumors persist."

"What rumors?"

The man hesitated, then answered, "She’s not known as a forgiving teacher. Effective, certainly. But kind..." He silently shook his head.

Without a further word, the mage set off again, Arran following behind him.

The man’s words caused Arran some small concern, but he didn’t worry too much. Even if the Matriarch was a harsh teacher, he was Brightblade’s apprentice as well, and she surely wouldn’t allow the Matriarch to be too hard on him.

After they passed through the gates of the Matriarch’s walled mansion, the mage guided Arran down the road, coming to a halt at a gate half a mile further. Two guards stood in front of the gate, and as the mage approached them, they gave him a questioning look.

"The Matriarch has business with the Elder?" one of them asked, his tone suggesting that this wasn’t a common occurrence.

"She does," the mage replied curtly. "Take us to him, please."

The guard did as told without any further questions, guiding both the mage and Arran past the gate and into the mansion’s walled gardens without hesitation.

The gardens were large and well-kept, Arran saw, but what immediately drew his attention was the mansion at their center. It was positively vast, almost like a small palace than a mere mansion, and although it wasn’t overly ornate, it had an air of elegance and refinement.

It barely took the guard a minute to lead them to the building, and once they stepped inside, Arran immediately saw that the interior matched the exterior. It was spacious and well-made, with a large entry hall from which numerous doorways led to smaller hallways.

The guard led them through one of these, and a few minutes later, they arrived at a large wooden door, which the man gave a polite knock.

"Enter!" a voice sounded from inside a few seconds later.

Inside, Arran found a roomy office with many bookshelves, all of them filled to the point of bursting. The office’s large windows showered the room in sunlight, and at its center stood a massive wooden desk, behind which sat a kindly-faced old man with a gray beard and bushy gray eyebrows.

The old man took a single glance at the mage who had brought Arran there, then asked, "The Matriarch has business with me?" His frown suggested that the news wasn’t exactly welcome.

"She does," the mage replied. "This is her new apprentice," he said, gesturing at Arran.

The old man gazed at Arran for some seconds. "You have my congratulations," he finally said, though his eyes showed pity rather than cheer. "But why did she send you here?"

"The young master requires accommodations," the mage explained. "And she has chosen your mansion for him."

"She wants her apprentice to stay with me?" The old man glanced at Arran again, obviously puzzled.

"She wants her apprentice to stay in this mansion," the mage corrected him. "But without you. You are expected to leave immediately."

"She what?!" The old man’s eyes held a mix of shock and fury at the unexpected news. "She’s throwing me out of my own home?!"

"Of course," the mage continued hurriedly, "she wouldn’t simply seize your mansion without offering a replacement. There is a tower available within the city, which is yours if you accept it."

"She—" The old man’s voice still held more than a little anger before the mage’s words sank in. But then, his anger melted away in an instant, a joyous look replacing it. "She did, did she? It’s about time. I—" He glanced at the mage, then swallowed whatever words he’d been about to say. "I am most grateful for her kindness. I’ll have my servants clear this place at once."

A pensive look crossed his face as he looked at Arran. "Young man, while my servants clear the mansion, perhaps you would enjoy a small tour of your new home?"

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