Ooh, that's pretty. She's very gentle when she scoops it out of her way to put it on a pile of papers.

The crystal feels faintly warm to the touch. It hums as she touches it, a clear perfect note more felt than heard. 

It feels almost as though it's alive, and something inside is reaching out to Mindtouch her - and then the room goes soft and hazy around her -

She puts it down SLIGHTLY FASTER.

It settles gently onto the (blurry) pile of papers, but the humming only gets louder, and the room seems to vanish into fog - 

- a brief feeling of disorientation, like stepping through a Gate - 

And then, suddenly, she is somewhere else entirely. 

It's night. The sky is clear and starry above her head, visible through denuded tree-branches in silhouette. The ground is crunchy, dead leaves and frost; the air is freezing. 

What the hell, Urtho.

Okay, does she recognize anything, are any minds she knows around -

The stars are at least sort of roughly the same as the ones she knows. 

The surroundings are completely unfamiliar, though it's hard to tell at night. The light from probably-a-campfire glows in the distance, near some humped shapes that might be huts or cottages; the scent of woodsmoke and pine trees hovers in the air. 

There are plenty of minds nearby but all of them are shielded and none of them are familiar at all. 

WELP. Okay. She will walk toward some minds.

Before she reaches them, there are running footsteps and minds drawing closer, and then suddenly a mage-light, blazingly bright. 

Someone shouts something, in a language that sounds completely unfamiliar. 

WOW that's too bright. She claps her hands over her eyes and replies in Tantaran, "I don't speak whatever that is!"

They try a couple of other languages – one of which at least sounds sort of vaguely familiar. Not like Tantaran, exactly, but – as though someone were speaking one of the dialects that the Kaled'a'in tribespeople around the Tower speak amongst themselves, except with marbles in their mouth and half the consonants different. 

And then a very polite Mindtouch taps gently at her shields. 

:Hi, I have no idea where I am:

:...How did you come to be here? I sensed magic, but - that was no Gate: 

The figures shuffles closer, and if Azabel looks up, she'll be able to see that it belongs to the most ancient-looking hertasi she's ever seen or imagined. He wears a hooded robe over an apron, leans heavily on a stick while a human girl supports his other withered arm. His eyes are milky-white. 

:You are at the White Winds school of mage-craft. You mean to say, you were not seeking us?: 

Wow, she didn't think hertasi had even been around that long to begin with. :I've never even heard of White Winds. I picked up an artifact that apparently should not have been left lying around and next thing I knew I was here:

:Fascinating!: The aged hertasi shuffles closer, mindvoice suddenly bursting over with curiosity and delight. :I must hear more–: He breaks off. :No, no, I am being quite rude – you are lost! And not dressed at all for this weather, either. You must be cold - would you come inside with us?: 

:I'd appreciate that:

He gestures for her to follow him, and then says something in the unfamiliar language to one of the people who first ran up, who dims the mage-light to a warm candlelight sort of glow. The elderly hertasi starts picking his way back between the trees, at a comfortably Azabel-friendly pace. 

:- You are a mage, though, yes?: he adds after a moment. :And...another Gift, I have not looked close enough to be sure what it is. How lucky you are, child: 

:Mage, Mindspeaker, and Mindhealer:

A trickle of pleased amusement leaks through in the overtones. :Goodness! Just like somebody else who I once knew. ...Ah, here we are. Do come in, here, have a seat -: 

The humped shapes prove to be long, low cabins, all unfinished logs and simple wooden-shingle roofs. The floor underfoot is hard-packed dirt, but clean and dry. 

The aged hertasi offers her a seat, and gestures at one of the accompanying mages, who gets to work on making tea. 

:So. My name is Gervase. Welcome to White Winds. And you are...?: 

:Azabel. Um, where is White Winds?:

:In the south of Rethwellan! We are not too far from the border with Jkatha. Where do you hail from, Azabel?: 

:Tantara. I don't know those places...:

The hertasi tilts his head to the side, scratches one withered foot against the dirt floor. :Tantara? I have never heard of that either. Is it very far south, or east?: 

:...from here? I couldn't say, I don't know where here is! It borders Predain?:

An equally baffled headshake. Gervase looks thoughtful. :Hmm. Do you know in what direction the Pelagirs lie, from Predain or Tantara? The changed lands, I mean, perhaps your people call them something different, but they are a landmark which is hard to miss: 

:I don't know where that is either:

Gervase shakes his head. :Well, I am at a loss! ...Are you by chance near a sea? I have never traveled so far as the eastern coast, though the south I have seen in my youth. Do your people know of the Eastern Empire?: 

:No and no! The Ceej Empire is south of it and they've got a coast, we've just got rivers...:

:Huh: 

The little hertasi falls silent for a while. 

:- Well. I am sure we will sort it out sooner or later. Tea?: 

:Tea sounds good:

Tea is offered. 

The two young mages who accompanied Gervase in chatter amongst themselves in their own tongue, while the aged hertasi stares thoughtfully into space. 

:Is there a map I could look at, maybe?:

Gervase twitches. :- What's that? ...Oh, yes, of course: He says something to one of the other mages. 

Shortly later a map arrives and is politely offered to Azabel. 

:...none of this looks very familiar. I guess maybe some of the rivers hereabouts look close but not that close:

:Hmm. I - am going to send for a map of the entire continent and its features. Perhaps that will help: 

Shortly later, a map arrives. 

:...bits of this look familiar like I said but if it were what it looks like Tantara would be here:

Gervase twitches back on his specially-designed stool. 

:What? But that...that does not make sense at all: A pause. :Are you perhaps from the other continent? We have heard legends of it, nothing more - I might find somebody who is a scholar of history and could tell you what they know...?: 

:Well, it sure doesn't look like I'm from THIS continent:

:I will spread the word: Gervase hesitates. :I - am very sorry, child, that I cannot help you find your way home. We will most certainly give you a place to sleep for tonight, though. Are you hungry?: 

:That would be great, I'd been going to have lunch soon:

Gervase gives her an even more baffled look. :It was not evening, when you left your home?: 

:No. Gates can do that, if you go a long way east or west - not by this much but if this is a different continent that probably does it:

:Hmm: 

Gervase seems to be barely paying attention, lost in thought. He does direct one of the mages with him, who also proves to be a Mindspeaker, to find Azabel a place to sleep. 

The young woman politely escorts her back out into the freezing night air – not for long, at least, the dormitory-building is nearby. She's shown the location of the outhouse, and provided with a spare woven mat on the floor and a scratchy wool blanket; this seems to be about the level of quality and comfort that the other sleeping figures in the room share. 

...well, she's not going to be rude about it but she is going to magically warm up the environs of her mat so she can skip the blanket qua blanket and use it as a pillow instead. Using some magic won't hurt for getting to sleep off schedule, either.

Just after dawn, a Gate is raised on the outskirts of the White Winds camp, about two hundred meters from Azabel's cabin. 

That's close enough to wake her up; she managed to sleep enough that she doesn't regret it horribly. Up she gets to see who's there; maybe Urtho followed her or something.

It's definitely not Urtho! Whoever is raising the Gate is very tightly shielded, but they feel...young. And female. 

The Gate is taken down very efficiently, within seconds. 

Huh. She can't think of any young females who would be sent on a rescue mission but she'll go out and have a look anyway as long as she's up.

Jisa is not paying any attention to Azabel at all! She takes down her Gate and frantically looks around for any familiar minds - which include Gervase and Alethra, and do not include Azabel. 

Okay, maybe she's here for some other reason altogether. Aza won't bother her; she watches the sunrise, yawning.

Within a couple of minutes, quite a number of other people are awake; stressed and hurried footsteps, and accompanying stressed and hurrying minds, are everywhere around the compound. 

And, shortly later:

:Azabel?: 

:Yes?: Maybe he is about to tell her where to find breakfast but quite possibly not.

:- We have a situation, it seems. I am sorry - you cannot possibly - and yet, the timing -: 

He breaks off the Mindspeech connection for a moment, and then reforms it. :...Do you know anything of the war in the north?: 

:I don't even know what's north of here, let alone if there's a war in it!:

:- I see. My apologies: And the Mindspeech link drops away again. 

A minute or so later, one of the mages hurriedly dressing in the dormitory-room seems to notice her. :Azabel, right? Our visitor? Sorry, we're, um, something's come up - do you need anything though -?: 

:Breakfast, but not urgently if there's an emergency - what is going on, do you guys need help with something here?:

:We, um, there's - an evil mage up north who just attacked the kingdom nearest there, apparently–: 

A pause. 

:....I don't think we know yet. Maybe. Reckon there's going to be a war: 

:Oh dear. Uh, I hope that all works out okay:

:Um, thank you....: The mage runs off. 

At some point a few minutes later, a different young man, apparently not a Mindspeaker, gestures and mimes her toward a trestle-table set up outside, with tea and a tureen of oat porridge and trays of toast and cheese. 

:Thank you!: Omnomnomonom.

A while later, the young woman who Gated in detaches herself from a huddle of others and wanders up. :Heya! I heard you're from the other continent and you got lost here somehow?: 

:That's the going theory, yeah. I hear you are from north of here and having a war?:

:We're, um– Yes. Probably. It's - complicated. But, er, yes. I was a student here before, I was sent to see if the school can lend us mages for it...:

She smiles at Azabel. :You're a mage, right? ...Oh, um, by the way my name is Herald Jisa: 

:I am a mage but the school is not entitled to lend me and I'm not a combatant anyway: Plus she has no idea which side of the war, if any, is the right one; guessing seems like a way to be wrong a lot. But she has those other reasons so she doesn't have to be all "you're probably not going to be able to convince me of the righteousness of your cause".

:Er, right, fair enough: Jisa sits down beside her, smiles tiredly at her. :Gervase said you ended up here in some sort of weird magical accident - you weren't even trying to find the school?:

:I didn't know it existed, I had a meeting and his office was cluttered and I moved something that sent me here, it was pretty weird:

:You moved something... Like an artifact? Who made it?: 

:I wouldn't expect you to have heard of him this far away... I guess unless he's been using it to take jaunts of is own, which is possible. Urtho?:

:Oh heck, what has he been doing over here -:

:He, I - that doesn't make any sense...: Jisa rubs her eyes. Her hand is shaking slightly. :I've heard of Urtho. I haven't met him. Because, um, he died almost two thousand years ago: 

:You know, I was wondering how the heck there was a hertasi that old:

:- Right! Hertasi would've been pretty new when, um, when you were -: Jisa breaks off with a little headshake. :...I was going to say 'when you were alive' but you're still alive! Anyway we should tell Gervase, maybe he'll know something about how this is possible: 

She scrambles up and dashes off. 

Aza cannot dash, but she follows Jisa (and when Jisa's out of sight her mind).

When she catches up, Gervase is with Jisa in the well-swept courtyard between two buildings, listening to her with a very grave expression. 

He turns to Azabel. :...I cannot see at all how this is possible, but - it seems perhaps you come, not from a different place, but from a different time - Urtho's time? It...would explain why the geography is familiar yet different, I suppose, if the land you knew was before the Cataclysm: 

:I guess! He really - really should not have time travel devices lying around in his office - what was the Cataclysm?:

Gervase glances over at Jisa. 

Jisa is not saying anything. Or looking at Azabel. She mostly seems incredibly alarmed and shaken. 

Gervase sighs, heavily. :...I am sorry, it is not a happy tale. There - was a terrible war, between mages of astonishing power, of which Urtho was one. Hardly anything survived - the land is still damaged to this day: 

Jisa starts to open her mouth and then snaps it shut, looking away. 

:That seems... a little out of character:

:Does it? I suppose you know more of him than anyone else. Very little is remembered of his time: 

Jisa, again, looks like someone who very very badly wants to say something and is holding herself back by sheer force of will. 

:Who's the other one, anybody I'd know?:

:It is not in the histories that I have heard. Simply - someone very powerful, and deeply evil: 

:- I know more: Jisa bursts out, suddenly. :It's - really complicated, gods - I don't - but I guess maybe there's no good reason not to tell you...: 

She takes a shuddering breath and lets it out. :Kiyamvir Ma'ar. He - was a student of Urtho's as well: 

:Ma'ar is not evil:

:I didn't say he was! I said it's complicated!: 

...Jisa stops, her eyes suddenly piercing. :...So you did know him: 

She was kissing him as recently as yesterday but this doesn't seem the time. :Yes, he's about my age:

Jisa peers intently at her. :You must be, what - fifteen or sixteen?: A shrug. :The war wouldn't be for another twenty years or so: 

:Neither of them seem like they'd start a war even twenty years on! I guess if Urtho leaves time travel artifacts lying around he could maybe cause a diplomatic incident that way??:

Jisa chokes back a nervous giggle. :Um. I could see that - though you'd think it'd've been in his journals, if that were why...: She glances around. :I, um, there's more, but...it's complicated. I - need to think: 

She grimaces. :And, er, please don't take this the wrong way, but - I shouldn't just assume we can trust you. We are at war right now. Can I– is it all right if I cast a Truth Spell and ask you to say some things?: 

:How's a Truth Spell work?:

:It summons air-elementals called vrondi, which aren't very smart but have an affinity for minds and can sense intent. I would only cast the first-stage version, which just shows whether or not what you're saying is honest, it won't force you to say anything you don't want to: 

:...yeah, okay:

The Truth Spell doesn't feel like anything; Jisa just concentrates visibly for ten seconds and then nods. 

:Right. Er, can you tell the short version of where you're from and how you got here, again?: 

:I live near and study at Urtho's tower, and I had a lunch meeting with him and a hertasi went off to find him and I was looking for somewhere to sit in his office, and moved an artifact, and then there were some weird effects but surprisingly few of them considering, and I was where Gervase found me:

Nod. :And what do you know about Ma'ar?: 

:What do you want, here, his favorite color? How would you explain how people you know do or don't seem like they'd start a war twenty years later?:

:I know it's a weird question! I...think I just want to know what your impression of him is, as a person? We, er, we found some of Urtho's personal journals, he wrote a bit about Ma'ar, but - well, he might be biased, and he was also way older, right. If you're the same age you probably know a different side of him: 

:I'm fond of him. He's, like, kind of weird, but less weird to me than to most people and it's mostly pretty explainable by how he had a lousy childhood? He's - I'm a Mindhealer, I've looked at his gears, but it's hard to describe -:

Unexpectedly, Jisa's face lights up. :Ooh, you're a Mindhealer too? So am I! Neat! Wow, you must've had pretty different training too, in Urtho's time, I'm so curious now -: 

:I have no idea what your training is like so I don't know how I'd compare! I guess if you're a Mindhealer you can - I have a structure sort of like one Ma'ar has if that helps, I don't know what it'd look like to you but I can try to highlight it -:

:That might help! Um, if you're comfortable showing me, obviously you don't have to. Your metaphor is gears, huh - mine is gardens, gears seems like it'd be really interesting for some things though: 

:I like it a lot! Okay, so I have this big central gear, no idea how it'd show up in a garden -: She tries to light it up.

:Whoa! That's so interesting - here, want me to show you...?: Jisa parts her shields a little further, offering Azabel a wider Mindspeech connection to borrow her Sight, but waiting for her to pick it up. 

:Sure!: Yoink.

To Jisa's Mindhealing Sight, Azabel's mind is a very tidy and well-organized garden; the plants are lush and vibrant, and varied, but perfectly contained to their places, and there's a clear sense of unity and careful design. 

There's something in the centre a bit like a spring-fed fountain, and from it spreads a...set of stone aqueducts? The irrigation channels stretch out from the metaphorical spring like the spokes of a wheel, symmetrical and clean, conveying the metaphorical water to exactly where it's needed. 

:Oh, cool! Yeah, that thing, he has one too:

:Huh: Jisa looks thoughtful, her eyes going distant. :That's interesting. Makes sense, I guess: 

She's silent for a long moment, then shakes herself a little. :Um, a couple more questions. If Ma'ar, er, did start a war, would you side with him?: 

:...does he hypothetically have a good reason?:

:Y...es? Hypothetically, he has a reason that he thinks is a good one, anyway: 

:I imagine we would talk about it and come to some sort of agreement, he's not unreasonable, but my biases to start out are pretty anti-war. Uh, why... do you ask? Is this, like, what, is your war a reignition of some lingering tensions created by the ostensible Urtho/Ma'ar thing thousands of years ago...?:

:Um. It's complicated: Jisa rubs her forehead. :I'll– damn it, really I probably should ask the other Heralds before I go explaining everything, but I can't Gate back until I've rested and this is important. I - just have a couple more questions. Have you, um, have you ever heard of someone called 'Leareth'?: 

:I think it means night sky but I haven't heard it used as a name:

:Mmm: Jisa nods. :I - hmm. I don't think this is actually a good explanation for anything, but the timing of you turning up here is, er, surprising - do you think there's any chance Ma'ar could have been responsible for the artifact being there and taking you here?: 

:No, I think Urtho just kind of leaves artifacts lying around and this one happened to do time travel. I don't believe Ma'ar's even been to his office recently:

Nod. 

Jisa presses her lips together in silence for a long time, then turns to Gervase. :I want to speak privately with Azabel - can we borrow the storage hut or something?: 

:Yes, of course: Gervase's snout twitches curiously, but he doesn't ask. 

Jisa nods briskly, and starts heading toward another of the buildings, beckoning for Azabel to follow her. 

Aza follows along, weighing in her head how likely it is Urtho left lying around a time travel artifact that would send people forward and then not bring them back.

Jisa bolts the door behind them, and drags out two crates to use as stools, offering one to Azabel. She sits, closes her eyes, and briefly raises one hand, casting a privacy-barrier around them; the shield-technique is quite different from the style taught at Urtho's Tower, but its purpose is recognizable to mage-sight. 

:So: she says, hands pressed to her knees. :I - sorry - this is going to be really awkward, if you were friends with Ma'ar. But, um, did he ever tell you about - plans to become immortal?: 

:Is he still around somewhere? I mean he didn't get particularly specific about it but it seems like a good idea if you can pull it off, how's it work -:

Jisa grits her teeth visibly. :We don't know exactly how it works but we're pretty sure he takes over people's bodies and murders them in the process: 

:...well that sounds like far less of a good idea!:

:It seems really terrible!: Jisa stares intently at her knees. :Also he's done a lot of incredibly horrible things and he's been raising an army in the far north to try to conquer our kingdom for complicated reasons he thinks make it worth it, and we think he's starting the invasion now except maybe not everything's really confusing–: 

:What horrible things - what complicated reasons -:

:Er, he kidnapped mage-gifted children from Valdemar probably to make them join his army, he, um, built a blood-magic trap spell that murdered an entire family to help a different horrible person conquer another country - he mind-controlled my, er, uncle's family priest to try to assassinate him...: 

:What the heck happened to him in the last two thousand years??:

:I don't know!: Jisa's expression is pained. :I mean, he did tell my uncle - Herald Vanyel - that he's trying to fight the gods and that They keep making all his plans not work so he has to be incredibly ruthless to do anything... We don't know if he's telling the truth though, er, the only reason he can talk to Vanyel is that they have this lucid shared Foresight dream: Jisa shrugs. :He claims he's trying to fix all the problems in the world, but he seems to be willing to cause a lot of other problems in the process!: 

:Ma'ar's really suspicious of gods but he's not at war with them! He was considering encouraging missionaries of the nicer ones in Predain to see if that would help!:

:I mean, maybe he wasn't at war with them yet when he was fifteen or sixteen! I don't know what happened later: 

Jisa closes her eyes, grimacing. :I - should get the worst part over with, I guess. The reason he wants to invade Valdemar is that he's trying to make his own better god and he needs to murder ten million people for blood-magic to get enough power: 

:We have had entire conversations about how while conventional taboos against blood magic are overstated it is still definitely bad to MURDER people:

Jisa doesn't say anything. 

:I guess two thousand years is a very long time but I don't know that I'm going to be very informative about the situation considering, uh, that:

:Vanyel thinks he's...someone who can be reasoned with. A lot of the other Heralds disagree, and, um, it's pretty relevant that until now the only information we had about him from an independent source - that he couldn't have faked himself - was Urtho's journals. And Urtho, er, ended up thinking he was evil, it's complicated again but... Basically what happened is he went back to Predain and was trying to fix things there - from what we know which isn't much it sounds like it needed fixing - and Urtho, I guess, got alarmed and thought he was going to take over the world? And. Um. We only learned this recently but Urtho is the one who attacked first and started the war. And...also the Cataclysm is basically Urtho's fault and we don't think Ma'ar could've known it was possible: 

:Uh, okay, I guess if Urtho randomly attacked him that would in fact totally start a war but pretty rich concluding he's evil from that, wow:

:For what it's worth, I read the journals too and I didn't come away from it thinking he was evil? He's...very ruthless, clearly, but even Urtho thought he was genuinely trying to help: 

Jisa shivers. :Urtho said something in one entry - when Ma'ar was still a young student - that if he ended up 'turning to darkness' it wouldn't be because he cared too little, it'd be because he cared too much. Does...that sound like him?: 

:Uh, I guess it sounds like something Urtho might say about him but 'turning to darkness' is again pretty rich if Urtho started it:

Nod. :I don't really know where to go with this either, but...it's information, right?: 

She squeezes her eyes shut. :Vanyel doesn't think he's evil. He just left Valdemar to travel north. To - try to talk to him, find out for sure whether he's the one who attacked us - he thought there might be another explanation somehow: 

:I mean, if he has already picked out your country as the source of his blood sacrifices - though, like, how big is your country, ten million is a lot! - then it is not totally ludicrous to imagine he might choose to attack you about that but I do not have all the details!:

:Vanyel thought he wouldn't. He's - been negotiating with Vanyel for the last few years, after he explained why he was invading, they were - trying to see if they could come to some other agreement that was better than war. And...well, Vanyel pointed out that the actual attacks don't totally make sense, strategically? There was a Changecreature that tried to kill the heir to the throne of Karse, who we're allied with, when they were visiting our capital, but it didn't actually work - we lost our most senior mage but Arven survived and if anything our alliance is stronger now. And then one of the Tayledras Vales was blown up and it's - actually kind of surprising that Leareth could pull that off. And then also now we're warned and getting all our allies together, you'd think the smart thing from Leareth's perspective would be to invade right away and not give us time to do that: 

:Well, uh, you mentioned he was at war with the gods, somehow:

:...Yes, I did: Jisa is staring curiously at her. 

:So if the effect was that you're warned and getting all your allies together, maybe the reasoning was specifically to get you to do that:

:I...did wonder about that. But - for k'Treva, the Vale, it would have to mean that the Star-Eyed Goddess murdered Her own people. Vanyel said he couldn't believe She would do that: 

:Gods are... very weird but it would in fact be out of character for her, she's high end of helpfulness as they go in my time to the Kaled'a'in which is what her people go by then:

:Hmm:

Jisa is quiet for another thirty seconds, then glances up at Azabel. :Anyway, if you don't know how to get home anyway, would - you be willing to come to Valdemar and talk to the other Heralds, at least? It could be dangerous, I guess, if Leareth really is planning to invade, but probably Haven would have some warning, and we've got a permanent Gate-terminus there now, someone could get you out fast...: 

:I don't know if people trying to find me would land in the same place but I guess maybe the people at the school could tell them where to look for me. I know how to Gate:

:Oh good! You can't Gate there, though, right, since you've never seen it before?: 

:Right, but I could get out:

Nod. :Well, I can bring us there once I've rested - I'd been planning to wait here until the White Winds mages were ready, but I think I'd better not, getting you to talk to the King seems more urgent. And maybe you can ask Gervase to keep an eye out for anyone looking for you, and we'll check in with him when we collect the mages they're lending us?: 

:Yeah. Uh, if Urtho or Ma'ar - either or both of them - come for me in person is that going to be an issue?:

:From Valdemar's perspective or White Winds?: Jisa frowns. :I...don't think so, unless they try to harm people here in the process of rescuing you. But I guess it's not just up to me: 

:I guess I should tell Gervase about that part then:

:Right, I guess you'd better. I, um, hadn't told him about the connection between Ma'ar and our war right now - or who Ma'ar was, even - but it sounds like maybe he needs to know now: 

:Do you want to tell him or should I?:

:Hmm - I think you should explain about Urtho and Ma'ar, you actually know them. Er, I really have to go talk to the other Adepts, but tell Gervase I'll come explain more about why this is related to our current war, when I'm done?: 

:Okay:

Where are you, not-so-implausibly-old hertasi.

Gervase is sitting by himself in a little clearing between two leafless apple trees, on a hertasi-shaped stool, with a blanket around him. 

:Hey. Could I have a word?:

:- Yes, of course, Azabel: His blind eyes turn toward her, nostrils sniffing the air. 

She wonders what she smells like to a hertasi nose. :Um, Jisa thinks that one of my school friends is immortal and involved in her war:

Gervase holds very still. :I...suppose that is not really very much stranger than your having come here from the past: he sends, finally, his mindvoice faint. :What - are the implications of this, if any?: 

:He has apparently changed a lot:

:I see: A pause. :Do you have any idea how to find your way home?: 

:I should have been noticed missing, and if this is - the kind of thing I can be rescued from - then I think they'd try. Jisa wants me to go with her so if they land in the same place I did you should ideally expect the possibility. My friend is Ma'ar and the guy who leaves his artifacts lying around is Urtho:

:Is your friend Ma'ar -: A delicate pause. :Will he be dangerous: 

:No. I mean, not unless he somehow comes by the impression that you hurt me or are going to hurt him or something. I can write a letter for him to leave with you:

:All right, I suppose you had better do that. He will not speak the language either, of course, that is a difficulty - is he a Mindspeaker also?: 

:Yes. Urtho isn't though:

:He and your friend Ma'ar would share a tongue though, no?: 

:Right, but I don't know if I'm expecting "Urtho notices I'm missing, undertakes a project to fetch me back without bringing anyone else" or "Ma'ar kicks up a fuss about it and insists on coming along" or what:

:Perhaps you could write a letter for Urtho as well, then, in a language he will be able to read?: 

:Sure, good plan: She has paper on her, of course. She gets started on that.

Gervase ends up being pulled away by another of the school mages for a discussion in the nearby building, but stays within easy Mindspeech range. 

When she's finished the letters she folds them up neatly and brings them to him.

He thanks her, absently, and tucks the letters away in the pocket of his apron-smock, before returning to his intent conversation. 

The mages of the school mostly seem too busy to pay her any attention, and Jisa is nowhere in sight and not findable by Mindspeech - presumably she's behind shields somewhere - but eventually one of the youngsters does politely inform her that lunch is being served in the main dining hall.  

Then Aza will go have lunch without worrying too much about Jisa's business.

A couple of candlemarks later, Jisa finally emerges from one of the shielded Work Rooms, helping Gervase hobble out. The aged hertasi seems worried and very preoccupied. 

:Azabel?: Jisa reaches out. :I, um, explained the part about Leareth to Gervase, though just so you know I did ask him not to spread it around the school. Er, if you're ready to go, I think I can Gate back now: 

:I don't exactly have anything to pack!:

:Let me just grab my things, then - it's not like I've unpacked anything yet, been busy -: 

And less than five minutes later, Jisa is raising a very tidy and efficient Gate on the stone archway clearly set aside for this purpose. A couple of the White Winds Adepts watch her go. 

...For some reason a white horse wearing saddlebags, with eerily intelligent-looking blue eyes that seem to face a lot more to the front than with most horses, trots after them. 

They emerge from tall bronze doors into a blizzard. 

:Oops! Sorry!: Jisa hastily takes down her Gate and then casts a barrier against the wind and a heat-spell. :Must be from when I Gated over this morning, I guess no one's available for the weatherwork: 

:I know weatherwork and if you can be - let's say convincing that this is a defensive war on your part - I don't mind doing it even if I'm not sure of taking sides altogether:

:That'd be very kind of you. Let's just get inside first - sounds like King Randale isn't up for meeting you, er, he's ill, but Herald Treven is the heir and he and Herald Dara, the King's Own, can talk to you in half a candlemark: 

She offers Azabel her arm and starts forging through the snow toward a long, low stone building just barely visible through the flurries. 

Aza takes the arm and tromps. :Slow down a little, I'm not steady on my feet. What's a King's Own? Or a Herald?:

:Oh, sorry: Jisa slows down. :A Herald is someone who was Chosen by a Companion - like Enara here: 

(The beautiful white horse, following alone with them, makes eye contact with Azabel and nods ponderously, in a very humanlike way.) 

:Companions are, um, magic and intelligent, they're people even though they look like horses, and they Choose people who're well suited to help lead Valdemar, plus usually people who have Gifts, and they bond to us. They were created miraculously when the first King of Valdemar, who founded the kingdom, prayed to the gods for a way to do better governance: 

:They... bond to you?:

:Yes! It's a bit like a lifebond except not as deep - oh, have you heard of lifebonds?: 

:I've heard of them but they're vanishingly rare:

:They're pretty rare here too but we have a weird concentration of them in the Heraldic Circle right now! I'm actually lifebonded and Chosen as well, you can have a look if you want. Vanyel is actually lifebonded for the second time! His partner died twenty years ago but then just recently he met someone new: 

:How did he survive it?: She has a look at Jisa's gears, checks out the driveshafts that, yep, are very prominent and there are two of them.

:I don't know if anyone's really sure. He got Chosen around the time when it happened, probably that helped? And he had a lot of Gifts and an important destiny, with the Foresight dream, so everyone really wanted him to survive. He was still really really sad for decades, though: 

The two driveshafts are similar but not quite identical; one of them is clearly more extrinsic, an add-on to Jisa's mind rather than emerging from the core of her. 

:These are really interesting to look at, thank you. Companions don't, uh, choose random foreign time-travelers, do they?:

:I don't know how their Choosing works, but they usually only Choose Valdemarans - um, and you can decline, if you don't want to be Chosen. My mother did: 

:Oh, okay, cool:

They reach the building, and Jisa shoves open the door and leads Azabel inside. :Welcome to Haven! I'm just going to grab us a meeting-room right away, so we have it - should I get you tea or something to warm up?: 

:I'd appreciate that:

Jisa delivers her to a smallish, reasonably cozy room with armchairs arrayed by a small round table. She lights the fireplace with magic, and shortly later delivers tea. 

:Sorry, I need to go talk to Dara - er, right, I forgot to explain her role. The King's Own is sort of the second-in-command to the monarch, and they're always chosen by the Groveborn Companion, who's a bit different from the other Companions, he's immortal: 

:Does he bodysnatch too?:

:Nnnnno...? He can die from injuries - he doesn't die from old age though - there seem to be a few different Groveborn, but they come back when one of them dies by just appearing in the middle of the Grove. ...I don't actually know how that works. I guess it's possibly they bodysnatch from normal horses but I doubt it, Companions are pretty different, a lot faster and stronger and things: 

:Okay, that's good then:

:Mmm: And Jisa nods to her and ducks out. 

Aza waits. Sips tea.

They leave her alone for a long time, at least another candlemark. 

Eventually, Jisa returns with a young woman, a bit older than herself and Azabel, with short-cropped brown hair and copious freckles. She looks underslept and strained, but pastes on a smile. :Welcome to Haven! I'm Herald Dara: 

:I'm Azabel, nice to meet you:

:Treven will be over soon, he's just finishing a different meeting:

Dara glances around, then sags into one of the armchairs, and unhooks a slate hung from her belt, retrieving a nubbin of chalk from her pocket. She's dressed entirely in white, in what's clearly a uniform of some kind. 

:Jisa says that you...come from the past, and you knew Leareth when he was a teenager at Urtho's Tower?: 

:If she's correct that they're the same person, yes:

:Huh. That's...really quite something. Weird and confusing: Dara screws up her face. :Honestly I would be suspicious, except I can't think who I'd be suspicious of: 

:Well, it's Urtho's fault but I don't think he had this result in mind:

:I don't see how he could have!: 

:...I'd be tempted to suspect a god of doing it. Maybe. Except even then I don't really see how. Or why:

:Search me:

:Might not be productive to keep dwelling on that part, it seems...hard to figure out and kind of crazymaking: Shrug. :I think we should figure out what makes sense to do from here: 

Jisa looks like she's about to say something, but she stops herself and glances at Azabel instead. 

:I am still hoping for a rescue from, uh, the past, but I suppose if that doesn't happen I... live here... now... and should figure out what that will look like:

:I mean, 'here' has the problem that Leareth is attacking our country. ...Or someone else is, maybe, but I don't know who else it could be and - if that's the case I'm not sure how much less dangerous it is: 

:Damn it, I really wish Vanyel hadn't left yet! It'd be so useful if you and him could talk: 

:If things get really bad I can gate down to where Jisa encountered me:

Nod. :Well, at least we've got a fallback. Hmm: Dara frowns, rubbing her chin. :...Do you think Leareth would remember you? From when he was Ma'ar, I mean? That - could be useful. Maybe: 

:He's a two thousand year old bodysnatcher, I'm not sure what he remembers at this point, but I will be pretty offended if he doesn't, I guess?:

:...He won't remember what you look like, for sure - he didn't with Urtho. And - he didn't remember Urtho had struck first in the war, or much at all about their relationship. Just that he'd cared about him very deeply. Vanyel...said he'd never seen him as emotional as he was after Van got back from Urtho's Tower and showed him an illusion of Urtho's face: 

:They're not even super close! I guess maybe they got that way later?:

:Oh, I don't think they were friends, exactly. But I think Urtho inspired him, maybe?: 

:I guess you could say that. Or, like, Urtho's achievements did:

Dara nods again. :Well, I know it'd be dangerous and too much to ask for you to actually go talk to him - and it might be a really terrible idea, if he's changed enough and isn't trustworthy - but, um, it's possible we can find a way to send a message. Risky for our messenger, but - worth it, maybe, for this: 

:I don't know what I'd say, I mean, it'd sound really implausible:

:I don't know what you'd say either, but...: 

:He'd want to know, right? If you could ask your friend Ma'ar, right now, whether if you ended up in the future and found out his immortal older self was there, he'd want you to tell him, I think?: 

:I think if I told Ma'ar 'hey, I time traveled, and your older self is here and he's a two thousand year old bodysnatching mass-murderer plotting to invade the country I'm in for blood-power, who will in no way believe that I am his childhood friend if I send him a letter about it', Ma'ar would be like 'have you considered not being anywhere near that guy, he sounds dangerous'!:

:...That's fair: 

:I feel like there has to be something useful we can do with this information! I just...don't know what. Maybe we need more time to think about it: 

:What even is the current status of your lines of communication with him?:

:Um. We have some agreements he made with Vanyel, that he'd give a messenger safe passage, though who knows how far we can trust that now. And of course Van's gone to try to find him. I suppose we could try getting a message out to him? He probably hasn't passed Waymeet yet. But we're, er, trying not to draw attention to his trip, and also Waymeet is a lot further north and would be one of the first targets if he invades, I don't think you'd better go there: 

:He has obviously changed a lot but I think I do in fact buy he'd give a messenger safe passage if he agreed to that, as long as you don't have reason to believe that's ludicrous on its face as a claim:

:- Tran would claim it's ludicrous. I...don't think it is? It seems like he really has stuck by the promises he made to Van, over the years, and - I don't know, I think someone can be ruthless and still keep their word: She shook her head. :Just, with what's been happening recently, I'm worried a lot of things might've changed now: 

:We should probably catch Azabel up properly on all that?: 

:Wouldn't hurt:

:And maybe we should give you a summary of what's happened in the last two thousand years. But we'll start with Valdemar and Vanyel, I guess. Jisa, do you want to...?: 

:Sure. Um, Vanyel had - a tragic thing happen, a magical accident - it's when his lifebonded died - and he ended up with nine active Gifts, and a mage-gift about ten times as powerful as a normal Adept. And the Foresight dream about fighting Leareth. Then he found out they could talk in it. That was twenty years ago: 

:I'm sure you know that's all very weird:

:...Yes, we know. It gets weirder: Jisa rubs her neck. :Anyway, Leareth - was basically teaching Vanyel for the first ten years? Recommending books to him, talking about history and ethical dilemmas, mostly hypotheticals because they were both being really cautious about revealing any information. But it seems like from pretty early on, Leareth wanted to not be his enemy. Just, not badly enough to - to give up on his god plan, I guess: 

She frowns, thinking. :...Anyway, Vanyel kept talking to him, and didn't tell any of the Heralds - they told Taver, the last Groveborn, and he said to keep it secret, but then he died in the Karsite war. And Yfandes never told Rolan, he's the new Groveborn. I'll skip ahead, I guess; they'd been talking for fifteen years when he told Vanyel the entire plan. At which point Van's Companion - had some sort of fight with him over it. Van wasn't even agreeing, he just wanted to give it a proper think, but she reacted really badly and ran off for five days. She came back, but in the meantime Vanyel was kind of having a breakdown over it, and couldn't hide it, so all the senior Heralds found out. And found out he'd been hiding it for over a decade. People were really upset: 

:Who's Yfandes?:

:Oh, sorry, right - she's Vanyel's Companion: Jisa's brow furrows. :Van said that it - seemed like she had a lot of difficulty thinking about the gods being bad? And then especially about the part where Leareth wanted to make a new one to fight the others. It was weird: 

:Wow, that's, uh, gross. Does yours have that problem?:

:....Huh. I'm - not sure? Not to the same extent, definitely, but I guess we don't talk about it that much. I only found out less than a year ago anyway, and I would usually talk about it with Van: 

Dara is looking vaguely uneasy. :Rolan is kind of weird about it too. He doesn't get mad at me, but he's frustrating, so I usually don't bother: 

:They're 'miraculous'? Who made 'em?:

:We don't know. The history just says he prayed to 'all the gods he knew of', and then I guess Someone answered - maybe more than one - but They didn't introduce Themselves: 

:Well, I guess they installed some extra junk, that's gross of them, I have my issues with how Urtho and the hertasi guy went about inventing species but they didn't do that:

Dara is giving her a VERY odd look. 

:Er, right. Anyway, the thing that happened after that is Van and Dara went off on a fact-finding mission, to try to learn more about Leareth's background. And found some recorded-history tapestries with the Shin'a'in, who used to be Kaled'a'in and have a pact with the Star-Eyed to guard the Dhorisha Plains. And then it turns out that some of Urtho's Tower survived being blown up when he Final Striked it, and they got in and explored it. Which is when they found the journals: 

:And also a really disturbing number of possibly-world-destroying weapons he invented for some reason! They were all still there in the basement!: 

:Well, I guess if this place gets too fucked up I can gate there, then! And then immediately leave!:

:I have no idea what he was thinking!: Sigh. :Anyway, they had some difficulties - Urtho left a different dangerous artifact lying around and Vanyel got hurt - but they made it back, and then Vanyel unblocked the Foresight dream and kept talking to Leareth, and they were negotiating. While Valdemar was sort of slowly preparing in case we had a war, but Leareth knew about that, he agreed it was pretty reasonable of us - it shouldn't've startled him into attacking us or anything. But Van hasn't had the dream in months, and then last week the fish-Changecreature attack happened, and k'Treva Vale must've gotten blown up at almost exactly the same time. Vanyel said it'd've had to be done by an insider, who could access their Heartstone: 

:Urtho should REALLY cut it out with leaving dangerous artifacts around, geez...:

:I figured maybe it wasn't his fault if it was his own secure basement and he didn't know he was going to die in a war, but if he left the time travel one in his office where students visited him, that seems pretty inexcusable!: 

:Anyway, um, do you have questions?: 

:Not... especially? I mean I'm bewildered of course but I don't feel like I'm on the verge of special Ma'ar-derived insights that would be helpful here or anything:

:I guess that's fair: 

:I'm a bit less worried about Van having gone north. But I guess we don't know how much what you remember about Ma'ar is evidence one way or another for what Leareth is like now...: 

:Did Ma'ar seem like someone who would come up with 'build a better god' as a solution to problems?: 

:Leaving aside the blood magic part? Yeah. I mean, it seems like a fine idea up until the point where you start plotting murder, the existing gods are not good at all the things you might want one for:

:Van told me once that Leareth said he hoped he could bring all the people back, after. Once he had a helpful god. We know some things about what happens to people's spirits when they die, doesn't seem impossible he could do that: 

:Does not seem like the sort of thing you wanna ideally gamble millions of lives on but I suppose it's better than, uh, not planning to give that a shot:

:Think I'm with you on that on: Dara shakes her head. :He told Van he wants to make everyone immortal, if he can. Can't say he's not ambitious: 

There's a polite knock on the meeting-room door. 

Dara hops up. "Treven!" She lets him in.

:Treven, this is Azabel. Azabel, this is Herald Treven, heir to the throne: 

Treven is tall and blond and handsome, dressed in the same white uniform as Dara. He looks tired and stressed as well, but smiles warmly at Azabel. :It's a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Haven; I'm sorry about the circumstances, this must not be how you were hoping to spend today at all: 

:Arguably I had no plans for 'today' at all, since when I was last making plans it was two thousand years ago:

Jisa snickers slightly under her breath. 

Treven gives her a look, then turns back to Azabel. :It sounds like Dara's already caught you up on the basics, here. Is there anything you need right now?: 

:Change of clothes, maybe?:

:Right, of course, we can get you that. And a guest room here in the Palace: 

:What's your Mindspeech range? You don't speak the language so you won't be able to ask for things from any of the Palace staff, but you're welcome to Mindspeak me anytime:

:A few miles, less if the other person isn't a Mindspeaker:

:You can talk to un-Gifted people too? That's kind of rare here, except for very strongly Gifted Mindspeakers - is there some special technique they taught you?: 

:It didn't seem very special at the time but you do need some oomph for it. I wanted to be able to Mindspeak to my parents and one of my friends:

Dara nods. :Neat. All right, I'll walk you over to a guest room and we'll deliver you some extra clothes there - sound good?: 

Aza nods.

Treven stands as well. :Oh! You're not dressed for the weather, are you? Here, let me lend you my cloak -:

Jisa gives him a fond and slightly exasperated look. 

:You don't have to, I'm a mage, but that's very kind of you:

:He gets all gallant when he's nervous: Jisa sends privately. :Just let him: 

And Dara hustles her out of the meeting-room and back outside for a brief jaunt across a path to another building. The path, at least, is mostly cleared of snow. 

Aza lets Treven loan her his cloak. It's a nice cloak. She slips on ice but catches herself with magic before she hits the ground and manages to right herself all right.

Dara offers Azabel her arm after this. They reach the building without further incident. 

Dara flags down a random Palace servant, who unlocks a door. :Here you go. Bathhouse is at the end of the hall. Should be paper in the desk drawer and extra blankets in the wardrobe:

The room is furnished with a bed and desk and washstand. It feels small and somewhat dingy, definitely not as nice as the rooms in Urtho's Tower. 

Things should have gotten... better... in two thousand years, though Aza's not sure what in particular she was expecting. When she's handed back the cloak she puts a blanket over her shoulders and notebooks till someone comes by.

She's left alone all afternoon. Eventually Jisa knocks on her door. :Azabel? Wondered if you wanted to come have supper with us at the dining hall: 

:Sure: Out she comes.

The dining hall is crowded with other white-clad Heralds. All of them looked stressed and underslept; many are absorbed in quietly-muttered conversations, or clearly Mindspeaking each other. 

Jisa seems preoccupied, and doesn't say much, just points out the table at one end where Azabel can collect her food. 

Aza collects food. She is not really clear on how long they are planning to feed and house her just because she was school chums with their enemy two thousand years ago. She'd consider going back to White Winds but they have some kind of unpleasant asceticism going on there. She should be scoping out places to go make a living if she needs to but she is not sure how since she can't read, which is really unpleasant.

The food isn't as good as the fare at Urtho's Tower, though it seems likely this is partly about the season; there's a minimum of fresh fruits and greens available, it's mostly beans and root vegetables plus a meat stew. 

Shortly after she sits down, Dara strolls in; she's arm in arm with a dark-haired man who looks like he could well be twenty years older than her. :Azabel! This is Herald Tantras, he wanted to meet you: 

Herald Tantras nods with a tight smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes, which look vaguely suspicious. 

:Um, hello, it's nice to meet you:

:Nice to meet you too: He sits. :Dara tells me you knew Ma'ar and he didn't seem evil: 

:Yeah: She doesn't like the past tense, but, well, it was two thousand years ago.

:Has anyone told you what he got up to later on, after he went back to Predain, and then during the war?: 

:I assume some things that occurred in the intervening two millennia were left out:

:Seems relevant for you to know: 

Dara straightens up suddenly from her plate. :Oh! You probably read ancient Kaled'a'in, right? I think Van has some of Urtho's journals in the original script: 

:Sure, I even have practice reading his handwriting:

:It's really bad! He wrote so damned much, you'd've thought he'd get better at it eventually: 

Tran is still staring thoughtfully at Azabel. :...What do you think could have happened?: he says, finally. :To Ma'ar, I mean, for him to end up - so different from the person you knew...: 

:I don't know. I mean, I'd hope it wasn't that, uh, I vanished and never reappeared, but it didn't sound like it was obviously about me in any way from what I have heard so far:

:You'd think Urtho would have mentioned something in his journals about messing up with an artifact and disappearing a student! We could be missing some I guess, but we found entries from around the right time period: 

:It would be a pretty major omission but you wouldn't have to be missing very many, I guess:

:And it's not like very much of the Tower survived. Who knows, he could've just kept them in a different room: Dara rubs her shoulder, tiredly. :I'll get you the journals we have in Kaled'a'in. ...Oh, and by the way, Jisa said you might be up for helping out with weather-magic? We're really short on mages right now, since Savil died and Van, er, isn't here: 

:I know how. I don't really feel up for taking sides in the war but I don't specifically want you to be having blizzards or anything so I'm up for it when I feel sure that you're just defending yourselves and didn't, like, start it:

:What exactly do you want to know, to be more sure of that?: 

:Could you teach me to do that truth spell?:

He glances at Dara, then back to her. :...Maybe? I'm not sure if only Heralds can do it: 

:Van taught Shavri, that time. But she's...complicated: Dara looks back over at Azabel. :I think we'll have to discuss it amongst ourselves first: 

Aza nods. She has her own way to do the same thing but whether they'll teach her will be very informative.

:It might be good for you to catch up on some of Leareth's other history - after the Cataclysm - but we know less, and only what he told Van. So who knows if we can trust him to be telling the truth about any of it: 

:Pretty sure he wasn't lying about which treatises on economics he wrote. You can tell it's him, once you know the connection, and, well, why would he bother to lie: She looks at Azabel again. :He spent some time conquering countries and building empires, but - maybe even more time being a scholar. Does that sound in-character for Ma'ar?: 

:Yes, he's very smart and academic:

Nod. :I should go, I have a meeting - any other questions? Or anything else you need?: 

:Where are the journals, can I see them?:

:In our archives. I'll bring them over after the meeting - or, hmm, I can send someone else...: 

:If you wouldn't mind. I don't have much to do at the moment:

:Of course:

And Dara escorts her back to her room, without saying anything, before rushing off.

Where Aza parks, writing to herself, waiting for the journal delivery.

Which arrive about half a candlemark later, delivered by another stressed and preoccupied-looking Herald who introduces herself as Keiran. 

:Thank you:

:You're welcome: And Keiran hurries off again. 

The journals are carefully packaged in a box, divided up in chronological order into various folders. They're written on the more expensive and very durable rag-paper sometimes used in Urtho's Tower; there are recent preservation-spells on them, done in a different style than the one Azabel learned but skillful enough, and also traces of much, much older magic. 

They're dated, in a familiar calendar. The first one is from a couple of years earlier than her sudden departure; the year she Ma'ar and began her mage-classes. 

Well, she might as well begin at the beginning. She will apologize to Urtho if there turns out to be a sense in which he has not been dead for two thousand years.

It is not often that I meet a student who leaves me both awed and frightened. 

This time, his name is Kiyamvir Ma’ar. He is a boy of fourteen, old to be only starting his training in mage-craft, and he does not speak the Tantaran or the Kata’shin’a’in languages, we have only trade-pidgin in common. Two challenges that I face. He is of Predain, to the north, born to one of their nomadic tribes. They are not much like my peaceful Kaled’a’in; his are a violent people, and I fear he has seen much horror and heartbreak in his short life. 

He will not speak of it to me. I suppose I have not yet earned his trust. I am not sure that anyone has his trust, and it is a sad thing to observe. He seems the most entirely self-reliant child I have ever encountered, and I am not sure that he calls anybody friend. 

It is not true that he has had no training. Despite his youth, he served a mage-warlord in his travels before he came to us. His skills and potential were sadly under-utilized; he tells me he was a petty clerk, and helped with the ledgers. I am sure he was very good at the job, but nonetheless, what a terrible waste of a brilliant mind. 

He is intelligent, that much is clear, and I have rarely seen such drive. I think he will catch up with his classmates with no trouble, and perhaps far exceed them. There is a spark in him, a strength of ambition I have missed in so many others. He will let nothing hold him back. 

Perhaps there is a desperation in it. A thirst, not only for knowledge, but for power. Control. This is what frightens me. We know from our past that this thirst for power is what leads so inexorably down the path of darkness. 

He seeks to protect others who are vulnerable, and this does assuage my worry somewhat, though I hope he will learn to do it in a way that does not violate our customs so. I will not tolerate fights amongst my students. 

He does not feel safe here, and it pains me. No one need sleep with a weapon under their pillow, here in Ka’venusho, and yet I suppose he is not yet ready to believe that. 

Yet he did seek me out, and ask if I would be his teacher. I will not turn any student away, and I will do my best to guide him down the path of light. 

It seems to Aza that if you are Urtho writing in your diary about how you are concerned about your new student Ma'ar you might want to bother to write down that you suggested to your other student Azabel that she go make friends, but apparently he skipped it. The rest is characteristic vague ethics rambling, classic Urtho. Next?

In the same sheaf of ancient papers, held together with a clip, are a few pages of purely rambling about gryphons and his various travails with their complicated medical problems. Urtho's pride and delight comes across clearly. 

The next excerpted entry is from three years later, nearly a year after the day Aza walked into Urtho's office and touched an artifact that should absolutely not have been left sitting around. 

...

Young Ma’ar is my pride and joy, and yet I swear that he will be the death of me. 

He considers nothing sacred. One might think this uncharitable of me, but I asked him and he agreed! He will say it is a concept that does not make sense, that there is only the world, the cold logic and laws on which it turns, and the lives of the people in it. He has no respect for the gods. I do not know what to say to him on this; I am no shaman, to counsel youngsters in theology. Perhaps I ought send him to one of the shamans, that they might offer the advice I cannot, but I fear he might offend them deeply. 

We spoke in our seminar today of compulsions, and why this is dark magic. Ma’ar, as always, is of the opinion that ‘dark’ and ‘light’ are not coherent concepts, and that we must look only to results. He listed twenty ways that one might use a compulsion, in and off the battlefield, to save lives and improve the situation of people. As usual, his fellow students struggle to find the flaws in his logic, though the conclusions are monstrous, and so it devolves into name-calling from which I must rescue him. 

At least it is not so bad as the incident of the blood-magic debate. I encourage debate among the young scholars, it is a way to stretch our minds, but Ma’ar debates as though he is fighting for his life. I thought it might be an interesting exercise to debate the potential merits of blood-magic, in the abstract of course; I should have predicted that Ma’ar would take it entirely too seriously. 

And then, of course, there is the search for immortality. Ma’ar is hardly the first youngster to seek out a fountain of youth, and perhaps his naivety will fade with the years – and yet, there is something different in his approach. Others have told me that he speaks to them of dark magics that prolong life. There is still a desperation in him, it seems, and for more than power alone. Death is a part of the natural order, and yet he would defy it, and I know him well; he would call that defiance good and right. 

Nonetheless, it is a pleasure when he comes to my office. His mind is so quick, and he places no limits on his thoughts. It has been a very long time since I have felt challenged by one so young. 

I would like to invite Ma’ar to my next salon, though he is not yet eighteen years old; he is the equal of many of my Adepts already, though he falls behind in concert-work. Trusting in others is still such a struggle for him. A weakness that I hope I may help him remedy. After all, Great Workings are the most transformative innovation of our recent age. 

I hope also that he will learn to make friends. He spends little effort on those small courtesies that would smooth his way, and it will not make his life easy if he continues to baffle and offend his classmates as he does now. I think he is coming to understand this, and perhaps making efforts in this direction, but of course he thinks of it in his usual frame, in terms of allies and power. I wish he would see the value, not simply in trading favours, but in loyal friends. There is a wound in him still, I think. I look at him, and I see a young man who is desperately lonely, and yet does not know there is any other way to live. 

She doesn't remember Ma'ar having a particular deficit in concert-work. Or... ever visiting Urtho's office. Is Urtho not aware that he has a friend? Maybe he thinks he should have more of them.
But perhaps he fell behind later, picked up the habit later, never got over Aza and found another friend. Or these journals were falsified by someone seeking to narrativize the Cataclysm better, maybe, though they're pretty good at the handwriting mimicry.

This entry, too, comes along with an additional several pages about gryphons. 

There is absolutely no mention of granting them the right to control their own reproduction; in fact, half a page is dedicated to fussing over two lovestruck gryphons who Urtho thinks are a poor choice for mating purposes. 

...that's very weird.

She flips back through what she's already read and makes a note of everything that seems wrong.

(It's hard to tell if anything in the earlier gryphon section is wrong, since it's from well before she first had a conversation with him about it.) 

The entry at the start of the next folder is dated a full six years after she would have disappeared. 

...

I will not ask any to stay in my Tower who is not willing, and so young Adept Kiyamvir Ma’ar has left us today, and returned to his homeland.

He would be happier here, I think, among his fellow scholars, those who see and respect his mind for what it is, but he has always been ambitious. Learning is not enough for him; he wishes to take it out into the world, and transform it. 

An admirable desire, and a dangerous one. I worry less for him now than I did once; there is a darkness in him, but there is great light as well, and in the end none of us can claim to be free of darkness and base desires. 

Nonetheless, out in the world, he will be tempted. Unscrupulous men will offer him great reward in exchange for his power. The desire for power and control over so much more than just magic is a weakness in his spirit, and one that I was never able to convince him was a flaw. 

I will miss him dearly. He has been a pleasure in my advanced classes and seminars, in recent years – he speaks so well, he is relentlessly curious, and he has learned to be attentive to the feelings of others. I thought the day would never come! Occasionally he will say something shocking, but we are all used to it by now; we know it is his way, and part of his charm. I would not describe him as popular, exactly, but he is respected. It would be difficult not to respect his skill, when he exceeds many Adepts three times his age. 

I remember the last conversation that we shared, here in this office. I told him yet again that it would please me for him to stay, continue his studies, and teach as he was taught. I reminded him of all we have to offer here in Ka’venusho, and he said that is why he must leave. Because Tantara flourishes, and so that is not where he is needed. 

He tells me that these are dark times outside of my Kingdom, and I cannot say he is wrong. There has been trouble on our borders for a long time. I know this, and yet, I am Archmage to Tantara, not to the world. I would not wish it to be otherwise; it would be entirely too much power to risk placing in the hands of one man. 

I think that Ma’ar looks down on me for this, and I cannot yet explain why that is a mistake; he is still too young, too full of fire, he is not yet tempered by failure and defeat. Some things cannot be taught, only learned for oneself. Someday, perhaps, we will sit down for a drink together, as equals, and he will tell me he understands what I have tried to say to him all along. 

This bit seems totally uninformed by classroom discussions she attended about mages having power... again is sort of weird in not mentioning her...

There are a few more entries in a similar vein, detailing an ongoing exchange of letters that Urtho apparently shared with Ma'ar over many years. Urtho's tone continues to be somewhere between fond and disapproving, but as the entries go on, the disapproval and even alarm start to dominate. 

There is still not one single mention of Azabel. 

...

Sixteen years after Azabel's unintended departure: 

Ma’ar has done well for himself, that is certain; he is first advisor to a King, at the tender age of thirty-three, when I myself did not become Archmage until eighty. 

He is not shy to use this influence. It is not announced which policies are his, of course, yet I would recognize his touch anywhere. The use of compulsion-spells within the armies of Predain is now standard. They say it is for purposes of coordination, that men might work smoothly together with less need of drilling, but I see a darker purpose there. 

It displeases me greatly, but this newest change is worst. They have declared blood-magic to be legal, taking the lives of convicts to fuel their public workings. Only those who volunteer, and they are promised a painless death and posthumous recognition for their service, a hero’s funeral; this is what Ma’ar writes to me in defence; but nonetheless it is not and cannot be a free choice. Ma’ar would say that these are men who would have been hanged anyway, and that the power bound in their blood might as well not go to waste. It is exactly his cold logic, and I do not like it any better now than I did before, but he is no longer my young pupil, that I might lecture on such matters. The time that Ma’ar might have listened is long past.

Perhaps he is too far lost to the darkness. Perhaps he was from the very beginning. 

And yet, he writes to me still, and in the words he pens, I see the light he carries as well. It is with pride that he offers the census-tallies on his Kingdom, year by year – and so like him, to share his tale in tables of dry figures, but he is right that they tell a story. Fewer soldiers have died in border defence since his policies were enacted. Three new Healers’ compounds were built by mages using the death-energy of sentenced murderers, their names marked on plaques by the doors, and he offers a calculation of how many lives might have been saved as a result. Few infants die each year; fewer mothers perish in childbirth. The cold logic of numbers, still, but there is a kind of heart in that also. 

...

More entries. Less and less fondness; growing alarm. Apparently, though, Urtho and Ma'ar continue to be on speaking terms.

More mentions of gryphons incidentally attached. There's still no sign that Urtho is giving them any say whatsoever in their choice of mates or timing of children. 

... 

And, another five years later: 

Ma’ar is building an empire. 

I might have seen the signs of this a decade ago, had I been looking. His meteoric rise to power and influence with the King of Predain, who they say now only listens to him. 

He has built their army into a fighting machine, well-oiled by the darkest of compulsions. He requested the aid of my gryphons, and when I would not offer it, attempted his own Great Working, creating the makaar. It was hasty, of course, and ill-done – it could not be otherwise, when I took thirty years on my Working and he completed his in three – yet surprisingly effective for it, and he now has flying creatures on his side. His combat mages are trained in the use of blood-power. They say it is for use in exceptional circumstances only, but that is a thin excuse. 

Kingdoms fall on either side, to be absorbed and taken into this monstrosity of his making, and I fear the day that he might see nothing left to the east or west or north, and will march south on Tantara. 

In his last letter to me, he told me that he would not. Tantara is a Kingdom more prosperous and well-run than most, he wrote, and he does not wish for us to be enemies. In his private letters to me, he has floated the prospect of a formal alliance. 

King Leodhan will not stand for it. He is afraid, and seeks my reassurance, which I cannot give. Ma’ar knows no limits, no scruples; he would not hesitate to march on us and tear down everything I have built in seventy years. The fact that I once took him in and taught him would not stay his hand. He claims to have great respect for me, and yet he does not heed my advice, and I am not sure what paths he leaves but for us to be enemies. 

I do not feel as though Ma’ar is my enemy. And yet, perhaps by remembering the boy with fondness, I have blinded myself to the man he has become. Or it could be that all along, I saw only what I wished to see. His clever mind. His noble words. 

Words are cheap. Actions speak louder. 

She has the regrettably inactionable desire to march all these papers into Urtho's office and plop them on his desk and ask him what in the world is wrong with him.

Not long after that: 

I have spoken to King Leodhan, and his decision is made. We will not wait for Ma’ar’s armies to move in on us. 

I cannot blame Leodhan for this choice. The advantage is always to the first mover, and we cannot afford to wait. The risk is too high. Ma’ar’s empire is growing too quickly, and I shudder to think what he will do with more power. 

It is my advice that led Leodhan to this conclusion. I have spoken to him of my once-student’s ambition, of the callousness I saw in him, the cold disregard for all that is sacred – and also of his warmth, and how once he risked punishment, fighting to defend another child. 

I tell Leodhan that perhaps Ma’ar cares too much, and it blinds him. He tries to impose his vision of how things ought to be, and does not consider the cost inherent in power and control, in overriding the wishes of his fellow man. I feared for his path twenty-five years ago, and I was unable to guide him to the light, and so now there is no choice but to stop him. 

And yet, I wonder if it something I will come to regret. I am not sure. 

In his heart, does Ma’ar still call me friend? If I betray him, it will surely be too late for that.

...

The entries, after this point, grow sparser and more rushed, the handwriting even harder to decipher.

Not long after Tantara invades Predain, Ma'ar plans a counterattack, and takes the capital and the Palace. Almost without bloodshed, apparently; he uses some sort of obscure mind-controlling artifact, one that gradually generates more and more fear and panic in anyone within the spell's range. Overnight, every unshielded person in the Palace flees; with no one left in authority, the rest of the city offers little resistance when Ma'ar's troops are Gated in. 

Urtho is absolutely horrified; he sees this as proof that Ma'ar is truly too far lost in the darkness for anything to be salvaged. He describes agonizing over whether to explosively disable the permanent Gate-terminus in the Palace, releasing its energies and blowing up Ma'ar's prize before he can find any use in it. He decides against, it would only be matching one atrocity for another; he shuts it down, before Ma'ar can figure out the keys to use it, but non-destructively. 

Only a handful of months later, when a different Gate-terminus is captured, this one he does use to trigger an explosion and kill everyone within ten miles. 

It isn't enough. The war is moving fast, now, and going very badly for Urtho. 

He mentions that Ma'ar is still trying to send messages, to propose talks, to de-escalate the war he claims never to have wanted. Urtho is apparently not answering them. He writes that they must be some kind of ruse, and that in any case it doesn't matter; Ma'ar is too far gone, monsters cannot be bargained with. 

Ma'ar's army draws nearer to the Tower itself. Urtho plans a frantic evacuation. (The entry describing this is very short, hurried.) 

In the final note, his handwriting wanders up and down the page, barely legible at all. 

...

I wish there were magics that might let one take back the past, and do it over. 

There is no such spell; this is my bed, I have made it and I must lie in it. 

I think now it was a mistake to let Leodhan push for war. Perhaps it would have ended so all the same, and with Tantara in a weaker position as the unprepared defender – and yet, I sometimes think that if it had, it might have been over more quickly, mercifully, and with less bloodshed on either side. 

What is wrong with me? War has left me so weary, I catch myself wishing that my worst enemy might have won sooner. 

I never wished to call Ma’ar my enemy. 

Perhaps I made a wrong turn sooner, and in some other world I might have salvaged my young student, and guided him to a kinder and less destructive path. Perhaps in some other world, we work together now, as allies and friends. I long to step out of this world and into that, and of course I cannot. 

I am a sentimental old man, it seems, and unsuited to commanding an army. 

This is not how I wished it to end, and I am sure Ma’ar did not wish for it either. Even now, he sends letters, and tries to broker an alliance that I can no longer offer him. He has strayed too far. The atrocities of this war are unforgivable. 

No matter what comes, he must not take the Tower, and the powers that lie within my sanctum. I am glad beyond measure that I never spoke of this to him, though I revealed far more than I should have. I trusted him more than I should have. 

And so it will end as it ends, as we tear apart each other’s armies in fiery destruction, and perhaps history will remember a foolish old man who misjudged his greatest enemy. 

I wish it were otherwise. 

WHAT THE HELL, URTHO.

Urtho's journals do not have any further answers on the question of what the hell he was thinking. 

A few minutes later, Dara reaches out with Mindspeech. :I'm headed to bed. Do you need anything else first?: