Heir of Dust and Wind

Chapter 12 - The Librarian

From his makeshift bed by the door, Trygve watched the sorceress sleep.

After her bath she had collapsed on the bed and fallen asleep nearly instantly, not bothering to draw the curtains. Her relaxed face now was illuminated by the pale moonlight and she looked so very young and innocent.

He winced when his gaze travelled over the bruise on her arm.

She should've forbidden him to harm her in this way, but either she didn't understand what power she had over him or she wasn't comfortable using it. She'd stubbornly insisted to be treated like any other trainee. Finally, he had given in and promised her as much.

At least he had managed to stop her when she had suggested swapping beds every other night, so he wouldn't be too uncomfortable on the plank bed that he slept on - or tried to. Although he was more comfortable than he had been in centuries without the puckering pain of the fyrran crystals in his skull or the dull ache of the wounds on his back, sleep was still hard to come by.

He admired her decision to train with him and not Frode. Most sorcerers felt above practising with their Dracaeni, feeling superior to them, but since Frode had not offered her fighting lessons, he had felt compelled to at least try and give her a chance of an honourable death at the upcoming Council meeting.

Against men centuries, if not millennia her senior and therefore much superior in both skill and strength, she didn't stand a chance. There was no way the other Aldermen or even the Colonels would tolerate a woman in their ranks.

He sighed heavily at the thought of her inevitable defeat. Someone like her didn't deserve that kind of fate.

However admirable her choice of a training partner, she had clearly given herself a disadvantage. Dracaeni were stronger, faster, and harder to wound, let alone kill, than almost any other magical creature. Knowing that she would never be his match in a fair fight without using spells and enchantments, he felt bad for every groan, yelp and bruise his strikes in the sparring rink had caused her.

Yet, she hadn't complained once and always followed his instructions, never questioning his judgement. When she fell, she got up and tried again, if she made a mistake, she would correct her movements immediately.

And still, it wouldn't be enough, he thought. 

Sighing once more and turning to lie on his back, he stared at the ceiling.

While foreseeing the end of her path kept him from finding sleep most nights, tossing and turning in the narrow bed, today he was even more restless than usual.

He had been able to ignore the indecent remarks and suggestions quite easily when it came to him being with her. It was simply something that was never going to happen - for both of their sakes - and so he had paid them no mind. However, Ferris' words today had ripped open an old wound, which he had believed to be long closed.

Maybe it was the touch of her hand that had lured the feelings of sorrow, loss, and emptiness, which he had thought to be buried so deep that he would never have to feel them again, to the surface. He still felt the aftershocks of what had happened earlier. 

Somehow, she had felt it too, although he still didn't understand how.

There seemed to be something about their connection that went far beyond the oath of allegiance he had sworn her. It was not like anything he had ever encountered or even heard about between a sorcerer and a Dracaeni.

Maybe it was the seventh oath, he wondered, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes.

It was unusual to swear by more than six of the seven stars, which formed the sacred formation in the midnight sky that all magic was bound to. That was why all formal oaths were sworn by them. They were common ground for all magical species.