CHAPTER 119 – Not Arcanum, but Arcana

“Master Saphienne. Do you recognise the authority of this seal?”

Seven days after the festival had ended, when most visitors had left the Eastern Vale, Saphienne had been contacted by the Luminary Vale. She’d sensed a translocation early in the morning, and had come down from where she’d been curled around Laelansa to find an envelope waiting for her on her mother’s kitchen table. Succinct and formal, the message had surprised her by setting the interview at her house; she’d expected to be summoned to the home of her former master, Almon.

She’d been given three days to make ready.

Dressed in her ordinary robes of dim blue draped upon forest green, Saphienne bowed to the figures on her doorstep. “I acknowledge the representatives of the High Masters, and place myself and my sanctum at your disposal.” She remained bowed as she opened wide the repainted door – vivid green – and stepped aside.

There were five investigators, or so she initially thought. Two stepped within immediately, while the remainder set about other business in the grove — one conjuring what Saphienne guessed was salt as he strode around the perimeter of her dwelling.

“The sitting room will suffice,” declared the man who had addressed her, nodding approvingly at the furnishings as he slipped his credentials into his indigo sleeve. “Come in and be seated, Master Saphienne.”

She crossed to her chair, which was new, as were the second chair and couch that replaced Taerelle’s furniture. Saphienne had gone through everything with Laelansa and put what they hadn’t wanted into storage, reorganising to make the house her own. Gone too were the shelves and the chalkboard, moved upstairs to clear space. Laelansa had proposed green and yellow would brighten the interior, and Saphienne had agreed, inviting Thessa to sketch pastoral scenes that would eventually decorate the walls.

Those finishing touches would have to wait. “Before I sit,” Saphienne proposed, “might I offer you refreshments, Masters…?”

The woman who’d entered with the man smiled politely, maintaining her distance as she went over to the couch and set down the backpack she was carrying. “While we appreciate your hospitality, this isn’t a social call.” She perched on the edge with intentional poise, her scarlet robes clashing with the emerald fabric. “We won’t be introducing ourselves, for we aren’t here as individuals.”

“Today,” declared the man, “we are the Luminary Vale.”

As though underscoring their point, powerful magic raised goosebumps on the back of Saphienne’s neck. An Abjuration spell had been cast, doubtlessly to ward the location against surveillance or intrusion…

The woman in scarlet read her contemplation. “Fifth Degree: we will have privacy.”

A third magician came into the sitting room and shut the front door. “Apologies; inquisitive spirits.” He was dressed in daytime yellow that tinged orange about the edges of his sleeves and hem, and unlike his peers he was not wearing outer robes, but carried a threadbare satchel over his shoulder that he unslung as he sat on the furthest end of the couch.

“All three of us have attained the Fifth Degree,” confirmed the man in indigo, brushing his loose hair behind his ear. “We understand you have attained the Second Degree, in wizardry and sorcery both. Is this the full extent of your mastery?”

Now wasn’t the time for Saphienne to quibble; she seated herself. “Yes.”

“We also understand,” the woman in scarlet continued, “that you haven’t been interviewed before.” Her hair was styled in a tight, intricate braid that piled upon her crown and fanned behind her neck in a blonde halo, and she interlinked all but her index and middle fingers – which she steepled – as she sat forward, her amber gaze on Saphienne. “You will answer our questions truthfully. You may not cast spells without our explicit consent. All that transpires here falls under Luminary Privilege, and you may not repeat it to others without obtaining dispensation.”

“However,” the man in indigo added, “you are not accused of wrongdoing. This investigation seeks to understand events objectively, following a standard of scrutiny established long ago. Should you require intermissions for comfort, such will be granted, so long as the timing is reasonable. Do you consent to proceed, and for our discussion to be recorded?”

Saphienne let herself seem more intimidated than she was. “…Yes.”

Noticing her hesitation, the man in yellow paused where he was in the middle of readying his calligraphy kit. “Learned Masters, if I may…?” Once they assented, he spoke to Saphienne. “You haven’t yet been admitted to the Luminary Vale, and so by custom you can request the attendance of a member under whom you studied. Do you wish either of your old friends to join us?”

She’d wondered whether she would be informed of that right; she showed consideration for the suggestion. “This should be simple, so I don’t think I need an advocate… do I?”

He accepted without passing comment. “In that case…”

Weaving his hands, the man in yellow deftly conjured, creating a small writing board of pale wood as he lay his ankle atop his knee. He settled with the surface braced against his bent leg, setting paper upon it as he lifted a pen.

“…I’m ready to proceed, Masters.”

The woman in scarlet clasped her hands in her lap. “As am I.”

Her peer in indigo inclined his head to Saphienne. “And you? Are you prepared?”

That was an excellent question.

 

* * *

 

Previously, Saphienne had gone out to the woods west of the village. She knew Vestaele was as habitual as any other elf, and so she was contriving to appear as though she’d been out for a stroll when she heard the happy bark for which she’d been waiting.

“Calamity!”

Saphienne grinned and crouched as the drake bolted through the undergrowth to bound over–

And skid to a halt as he neared, his bulging eyes panicking as he fell over himself.

Saphienne blinked. “What’s wrong, boy?”

At the sound of her voice, Calamity sat up and shook himself off, wary as he sniffed her outstretched hand. His frilled ears were pinned back against his head, and while his tail scythed in quick arcs through the grass, the pet was unsure about the magician he was usually excited to see.

Vestaele was exasperated as she caught sight of Saphienne. “…I should have guessed. He only runs off like that for wolves, foxes, and you — and he’ll listen if he’s chasing canines.”

Saphienne canted her head. “He seems anxious.”

Approaching, Vestaele folded her arms. “How odd; he’s been fine until now. You aren’t wearing perfume? He’s sensitive to scents.”

“No.” Did she smell different? Her diet hadn’t changed, and she hadn’t been intimate with Laelansa since bathing; even then, such things would be strange for an animal to care about.

Calamity tentatively licked her fingers, his forked tongue flicking. He gave her a confused growl, as though bewildered by himself.

His owner tutted. “Calamity, heel.”

He ignored the command, pondering Saphienne.

“No change there.” Vestaele tapped a finger on her elbow. “Related to the dragon?”

“I don’t see how I could…” Saphienne faintly flushed as she realised she’d misunderstood. “…You may be right. Can he smell the dragon’s fire?”

This made Vestaele cease tapping; the sorcerer uncrossed her arms as she sank down to drag her nails over his scales. “He was very interested in me when I came back from investigating the island, and was curious about the samples I brought home. Drakes and wyverns have an instinctual affinity for dragons.”

Ah.

“Strange, that he still smells it on you a week later. You’re amused?”

Saphienne couldn’t have stopped smiling if she’d wanted to. “What a foolish little drake he is…” She switched to the tongue of dragons, guttural in speech as she scratched Calamity behind his ear. “You behold a dragon before you, little wyrmling! You are unsure of my intent. Heed me: we are at peace, and at peace we will remain.”

Whether or not he understood, he responded well to her tone, and panted as he leaned into her touch, lifting his rear leg to mime scratching himself as she raked imagined claws over his hide.

Vestaele grinned. “You do speak their tongue with skill. One might imagine even a dragon would be moved…”

Provided a segue into what she needed, Saphienne didn’t immediately grasp it as she switched back to Elfish. “…Is my encounter with the dragon to become a preoccupation, Master Vestaele?”

The fascinator rose. “That depends: is my young friend out here because she’s been told the day of her interview, or am I mistaken?”

Her motives for their meeting looked transparent. She patted Calamity with a sigh. “What do you think, boy? Did your dragon friend fly off with all my subtlety? I think she may well have.”

“This morning, I was informed that the investigation has progressed beyond my direct involvement.” Vestaele offered her hand. “I inferred from your presence that you’ve received word. If you wish to practice guile, I could pretend–”

“I think not.” Saphienne let herself be helped up. “If you’d show charity to your former apprentice, how should I have approached you?”

Vestaele let go as she resumed walking. “There wasn’t a better way. Your sole mistake was conceding that you’d been found out — you gave me the upper hand when I hadn’t shown offense.” She beckoned Calamity. “Next time, profess innocence, and see if your audience will play along.”

“Noted.” Saphienne patted her thigh, inviting the drake to follow. “So, you know what I want today…”

“Advice on how to present yourself.”

Partially, that was true. Mostly, Saphienne wanted to test where, specifically, the wizards and sorcerers would probe her narrative — and to sow assumptions among them, when Vestaele inevitably passed on what she said. “I’m unfamiliar with the format, and the wizard in me prefers to be overprepared.”

“That is hardly a preference unique to wizards.” Vestaele wasn’t irked by Saphienne, rather by prejudices toward sorcerers. “I can tell you about the structure of the interview, what to expect, and your entitlements. Since you haven’t yet been welcomed into the vale, you would ordinarily be able to request my attendance as your former master.”

Had Vestaele deliberately been brought into the investigation to preclude that?

“Whatever,” Saphienne wondered aloud, “could repay your sage guidance?”

“Our promise to share knowledge after the investigation is sufficient.”

There were many reasons Vestaele supported her young friend, and not all of them were driven by self-interest. “…You would’ve advised me regardless.”

Vestaele raised her eyebrows in mock indignity. “Why, never!”

Saphienne appreciated dry humour. “Then I’ll grant my old friend a courtesy: tell me what you’re most curious about, and I’ll repeat whichever parts of my quarrel with the dragon are in the public record and pertinent.”

Her proposal – that she imply to Vestaele what shouldn’t be shared before the investigation concluded – met thoughtful review. “…Three questions: how did the dragon come to be here, how were you able to drive it off, and – frankly – how are you still alive?”

She foresaw a winding path ahead. “I see. As Faylar recounted …”

Calamity trotted between them as she rambled.

 

* * *

 

Saphienne smiled pleasantly. “I believe so. Ask away.”

At once the man in yellow started writing — and he would continue throughout what followed. On the opposite end of the couch, the woman in scarlet cast a spell, strands of pale, violet light laced between her fingers as she brought them to her face, where her pupils were transfigured into forbidding white ringed in purple.

Saphienne coughed as the compulsion to be forthright sputtered out. “Excuse me,” she said to the man in indigo, “but I should make you aware that I’m very resistant to fascinations. If you’re concerned I’m going to be evasive, a more advanced spell than Stern Inquisition will be necessary.”

Her admission didn’t dissuade the unblinking woman. “The divinatory component remains effective.”

The man to whom Saphienne had spoken was less dismissive. “Your candour is appreciated, but our use of the spell is obliged by precedent.” He crossed his arms loosely and began to pace back and forth, sedate and unhurried as he began his inquiry. “Let us start by establishing the facts…”

Saphienne squared her shoulders. “Gladly. I tried to tell the regional consensus that I’m not the hero they–”

He waved her to silence. “We will come to that. Set the scene for us. Why had you gone to the lake, and what were you doing there?”

She reclined. “I went there to meet my girlfriend – Laelansa – and our friends. She and I had been invited to visit the lake by Apprentice Iolas, and I’d told them to go without me. When I arrived, Laelansa was communing with the spirit who guides her novitiate – Mother Marigold – and Apprentice Iolas was busy with his sister, Thessa, so I sat to meditate in the shade.”

“Why did you tell them to go on ahead?”

“I wanted to see another friend — one of my masters, from before I studied the Great Art. She’s antisocial, so I knew she’d be staying home.”

Curious, the man in indigo hummed. “Was this a prior appointment? No? Then why visit her then?”

“She made the jewellery I was wearing–” Saphienne remembered the finger rings and bangle on her left hand. “Excuse me. She made most of the jewellery I was wearing: I fashioned this enchantment to help with my impairment, and I don’t regard it as jewellery. I’d been thinking about what a joyful occasion it was, and it made me want to speak to her.”

The man in yellow raised his head. “Learned Master, is this relevant?”

“Perhaps it might have been,” admitted the pacing man. “For the sake of completeness, why didn’t you approach Apprentice Iolas and Thessa?”

Her eyes flitted to the written record. “May I ask a question?”

He stopped. “…Interesting. Yes.”

“Are my answers likely to be made available for general consumption?”

His lips curled up at their corners. “You have concerns?”

“About hurting someone’s feelings.”

All three investigators chuckled.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The man in indigo returned to his measured stride. “Anything extraneous will not be included in the report, and only a High Master will have access to the notes.”

That suggested Lenitha. “They were standing next to the statue on the island,” she confessed, “and I dislike it. My master in the art of sculpture – well, former master, but I’m still studying with them – made it, and I try to avoid occasion to comment.”

The woman in scarlet spoke up. “‘Them’?”

“In the singular. Gaeleath hasn’t settled on their gender.”

The man in yellow interjected. “Gaeleath was formerly an apprentice wizard. They’ve been interviewed, and are uninvolved.”

Saphienne let her consternation show. “You’ve been speaking to my associates?”

“Several of them, yesterday.” He continued writing.

She’d only anticipated witnesses being queried. “Forgive my naivety; I should have expected thoroughness.”

Refocusing, the man in indigo summarised the scene. “So you had gone up to the lake to meet your lover and friends, and seeing they were occupied, you chose to meditate on the edge of the beach.”

“I was on the grass.”

“We are led to understand you were seated there when a dragon flew down from the sky and landed in the lake.” He exercised notable, mild scepticism, not assuming the narrative was factual yet not discounting its possibility. “Is this accurate?”

“As far as I know. I’m reasonably confident my memory hasn’t been tampered with, and my experience suggests the dragon wasn’t a hallucination.”

“And you and Apprentice Iolas were the only magicians present?”

“I don’t know for certain, but that’s my understanding. A tournament of spellcraft was underway to the south of the village–”

The woman in scarlet cut her off. “Why weren’t you participating?”

Saphienne faced her questioner with calm conviction. “I would have won. That would have been unfair on the magicians in my division.”

The man in yellow laughed to himself, then murmured an apology.

His amusement wasn’t shared by the woman beside him. “You seem convinced.”

“My arcana is well suited to counterspelling. I shouldn’t compete where I have an advantage that exceeds the assumptions of the game — I’ve got nothing to prove.”

“Commendable,” the man in indigo observed. “Do you know why Apprentice Iolas was not in attendance?”

“No… but my guess is that it’s because he’s having difficulties with his studies, and wanted to take his mind off them.”

His next question was quick. “When did you first become aware of the dragon?”

“Later than everyone else, I think.” She leant forward. “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, and I didn’t catch that there was a disturbance until she was overhead–”

The man in yellow glanced up. “She?”

“I asked her name before she departed, and she gave it in gendered form: Parthenos. Were the suffix ‘-or’ I would have inferred she was male–”

“We all speak the tongue of dragons.” The woman in scarlet rose. “That’s very unusual: dragons don’t typically use the gendered forms of their names unless they’re seeking a mate. They care little for gender outside of reproduction…”

Her peer in yellow lifted his pen. “Learned Master, forgive me: wouldn’t it be more correct to say that they only associate gender with reproductive role?”

She bowed to him. “Yes; I was preoccupied by the novelty.” Her attention shifted back to Saphienne as he resumed writing. “Why did the dragon announce herself so? Did you make an assertion she was refuting?”

Her colleague in indigo frowned, and his gaze swung from her to the man who’d sought clarification. “…I believe we are jumping ahead.”