Shadows of the Soul

Chapter 7

Sederin leaned out of the Lesser Hall’s lone window, staring out onto the Gardens below. As always, the sight pleased him. A wonder, the Guild Gardens. Men travelled hundreds of miles just to marvel at the massive constructs of plant and stone and magic thriving within.

His creations. In a way, his children. He watched, unable to suppress a smile, as a huge bear made entirely of rose bushes scratched itself with a thorny forepaw, sprawled onto the thick green carpet of the garden floor, then curled into a flowery ball to sleep. Hundreds like it, in all shapes and sizes and colors, wandered the sprawling enclosure. For all the world as alive, as vibrant, as any flesh and blood creatures to be found roaming the forests of the wild.

As the founder of the Guild, Sederin had forged the scattered remnants of arcane knowledge and half-remembered powers left after the Fall into a thing of worth and value, a true force for balance in the world. Without the guild, the world itself would have long since fallen to the ceaseless dark. Yet even so, the Gardens were his true pride. His treasure. Even when the Gods still roamed the world and peace reigned for centuries at a time, there had never been their like. They were one creation that was his and his alone.

But even the savor of his greatest accomplishment was a thin balm tonight.

With a sigh he turned from the window, to the room, the people, he had been avoiding. The Lesser Hall was normally his favorite room within the entire Guild, excepting, perhaps, his own private quarters. Large enough for a small gathering, but not so large one had to shout. Intimate, yet stately. But today such an air of tension permeated the room he found it all but impossible to enjoy the rich tapestries hanging from the walls or the welcoming crackle of the fireplace.

He moved forward to the chair at the head of the long table and took his seat. To his left sat Belwin, gamely working his way through a tray full of refreshments. Beside him was his second, Aleure. Sederin caught her eye and gave her his best grandfatherly smile. She simply raised an eyebrow in response.

Sederin sighed yet again and looked away. An attractive young woman, he supposed. Likely well accustomed to catching men's attention. And Belwin being Belwin, he'd likely never even noticed. Yet she couldn't be more than...twenty, perhaps? Far too young to be wrapped up in the vile sort of business that brought them all together tonight. Those eyes, though...well, if Belwin was his usual oblivious self, she more than made up for it. She sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap, scarcely moving, and she watched the rest of them like a hawk.

To his right was an entirely different sort of animal. If Aleure was a hawk, then Trin was a hunting cat, lithe and exotic. A leopard, perhaps, or a panther. Something…dangerous. For all that he’d known her for centuries, for all that they'd trained together, warred together, done great deeds together...the mind behind those dark eyes was as much a mystery to him today as it ever had been. It was Belwin--fat, bald, bumbling Belwin--who'd tamed that lioness, once upon a time. Now the pair could barely stand the sight of one another. Or so they claimed.

"Surely he gave you some sort of timeframe, Sed," Trin said, absently toying with the food in front of her but eating nothing. "Even Doric was never so absentminded as to leave us all sitting on our hands for half the night." She shot a glance at Belwin, though the man seemed too transfixed with a pair of hard boiled eggs to notice. "Some of us, at least, have better things to be doing."

Sederin closed his eyes and resisted the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation. Trin had many positive traits, but patience did not rank among them.

The double-doors to the Lesser Hall crashed open as Doric strode inside, unannounced and unsmiling. Just as usual. In fact, though it had been long years, he was exactly as Sederin remembered him. Sederin himself was ancient by any reckoning, yet power and knowledge served to keep him only slightly wizened in appearance. The powers animating Doric afforded him no such aesthetic protection. He wore every year, right there to see. His hair was lanky grey down to his shoulders, and his face was a crisscrossed battlefield of wrinkles extensive enough to make a grandfather wince.