Diffraction

Chapter Five: Obligations

Compassion toward the one in need, lift up the one brought low.

A spray of blue flame exploded over the heads of the gathered crowd. Six jets of fire flew out across the night, and fat snowflakes fluttered through the air in their wake. Lyllithe watched in wonder, her attention split between analyzing the spell as it happened and watching the Arcanist for the next display.

He stood on the wooden platform in the town square of Northridge, in front of the gathered officials of the town. His copper monocle glimmered in the light of torches and the bonfire nearby. Flecks of grey streaked the Arcanist's short black hair at the temples and made a stripe in his pointed goatee. His arms moved in sweeping graceful gestures, draped in crimson robes that signified some rank in the Hall. Light from his magic glinted off something like a bracelet of gold on his left wrist.

Lyllithe saw Josephine's father and her own among the leaders of the town. This Arcanist looks no older than my dad. So it cannot take too long to learn Refocusing magic.

The Arcanist's voice echoed in the night, smooth but firm. "Our allies in the north are locked in battle, caught in the bitter grasp of the Freostane." He waved an arm, and a chill wind cut through the crowd, scattering the flurries of snow in the air. People shivered and cringed. Lyllithe stared wide-eyed.

She looked back at the Arcanist and startled at finding his eyes locked with hers.

"The men of Glacierift have fought bravely, but they are so few against so many. How long can one stand against the very land itself?" The Arcanist's hands twisted and turned as he spoke, and snow piled up to his right on the platform in the town square. Features came into focus, massive arms with clawed hands, a face with dim sockets like eyes. The makeshift Freostanni loomed over the gathered townsfolk, threatening fingers outstretched.

Children wailed. Women and even some men blanched at the sight. The Arcanist's lip turned up in a hint of a smile. "Do you recall the ashen pillar that rose in the north last autumn? 'Twas the fall of Stalhanske you saw then, an eruption of lava and smoke from the ground beneath the capital. Devastation caused by the Freostane."

"And so Lord Mayor Tenegar is sending aid," he continued, "to bring order to the chaos, peace in the midst of such destruction. Together we shall crush the frozen foes, and restore Glacierift to its rightful place."

He stabbed his hand at the mock ice elemental, and an orb of fire blossomed in its chest. Caught up in the moment, the crowd cheered at the steaming hole and applauded the snow creature's collapse.

One voice called out above the din, and all else fell silent. "By 'together' you mean our young folk marching into Tenegar's battle, 'cause there sure aren't enough of you from Aulivar to do a lick of good."

An old man stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed. His weathered face and bushy brow locked eyes with the Arcanist. Stam, Lyllithe thought. Dad always comes home frustrated from meetings with the elders, and Stam's name has come up more than once.

"Those you brought look younger than my missing boy," Stam called out, "or older than myself. So you'll steal our youth away for your pointless war? You may wow my kinfolk here with your magic eyeglass and your tale. But I'm not impressed, unless you're here to do something about the marauders that plague our lands beyond the Woodwall."

The Arcanist glared for a moment, then forced a smile. "Good man, your plight is not forgotten. But how many of these bandits once marched beneath Glacierivan banners? Our work in the north may secure peace around Northridge. The militia is merely—"