It had been beyond three weeks--yet not quite a month--since Valon had motioned to back away from Howlengale. It was, as he saw it, the best for Ziafar, the best for him, and now the best for Tynan and his fellows in arms. It hurt him, however, when his gaze fell between Astrid and Zoey where his brother would loyally stand their guard, only to find blank space. It was for that reason that he had, for the most part, cancelled their office hours in Espergale for the week, leaving Valon and Ziafar to complete their visa work.
Still, his was being barred at the final level: Trustees of Mana Wielders. This attempt was different, however; and their hearing this day was to explain the phenomenon in Silverlake. All the same, restlessness had overcome the two elves, and Valon's first offer of a change of pace: "Let's spar, Ziafar," landed them in the chambers below the Marbletree amongst Valon's training equipment.
"How much is your mana still elevated," asked Ziafar, tying his hair behind his head.
"Eighty-five percent. And I heard you tell Astrid this morning you're retaining 88%. I envy your pace."
"I imagine I have the lapis to thank," he admitted, "though there's no telling after that brute-witch's torture."
"I suppose we're wasting time, losing more mana now. We need to be sharp for the trial today."
Ziafar smirked and took a stance. "For the trial." He nodded.
Chapter 3A: He Fights Like A Wildfire And Talks Like One, Too
It wasn’t lost on Valon that, as of three weeks ago, he’d been business partners and sparring partners with a true murderer; however, despite his politeness towards the issue (meaning Ziafar’s), neither had spoken of the incident since that morning on the edge of Howlengale. Only Valon’s stolen blade still told the tale, and to inquirers, he had passed it off as the blood of the primal god slain for their interest.
He was bent low, blades pulled unsheathed and ready at the cross. He dove into Ziafar’s frame and elicited flames about his body and blades, slicing immediately, only to meet empty air as the elf teleported away. Valon traced the scent and threw a blade towards the boxing ball, piercing Ziafar’s staff in a near-clean sunder.
“Point,” they confessed together. His blade was tossed back. Ziafar seemed to almost chuckle. “You know, your riposte game has gotten quite fierce, Valon! Almost as though you’re fighting for someone these days!”
“Quit the trash talk or I take lead again, bookkeeper.”
The smile vanished from Ziafar’s face. “I already have.” He pointed behind Valon, to a minefield of arcane bombs; and when Valon turned back, he was surrounded.
“Well damn, Ziafar…”
“Let me just read you off the budget reports while I have a captive audience...so you see, our expenditure to the Tomato Jungle was quite..er, low! But our trip to Howlengale was unaffordable and unforgivable. Displeased to say it, sir, but we’re broke, and I suggest we take up small jobs for quite some time before we go chasing gods again.” Ziafar looked up to find a missing Valon, who tapped him on the shoulder. “Well, hello. How’d you get back there?”
“My girlfriend’s a faerie,” he cut.
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Zoey, sitting with Astrid for tea at a bistro, suddenly sneezed. “Ah!”
“Bless you,” remarked Astrid.
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“I’ve learned a few tricks from her.”
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Zoey sneezed twice more, this time into her puffed sleeve.
“Perhaps you’re allergic to the tea, dear.”
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Ziafar’s eyes went wide as Valon shoved him into the arcane minefield he’d created for his foe, though quickly dispelled. Quickly on the assault, Valon crossed his sabers and let loose a radial explosion about the training room for a sure hit. Ziafar scrambled to his feet and held his staff out to nullify the blast before the smoke rose.
...and when it cleared, both were on their knees, tapped for mana, but undamaged. Valon ambled over to sit by Ziafar against the wall where they clasped their knuckles in camaraderie, then melted against the wall. Valon tied his hair back into a ponytail and unfastened his shirt. Ziafar elicited a cooling vapor from his staff to soak up the loose arcana in the room, fire and all, and the temperature dropped immensely.
“How long until the hearing, anyway?”
“I told Astrid and Zoey to meet us at the courthouse at 4 o’clock.”
“And it is currently…?”
“Time for us to get cleaned up, as we both smell like soot.”
It was not long before Valon was in his private chambers, soaking in a scalding bath of manatide they’d brought home from Silverlake. His mind wandered and ambled around his home, watching its winter’s grasp release into the natural spring waiting for it all along. He remembered that spring, and had left Howlengale long before the great Blizzard of Bellatrix took hold. The great northern pines. The needles underfoot. And all the beautiful days of training in the sun in the high fortress that was home. The unclaimable castle. And always flowing with eternal mana.
What a dream to dream that Espergale would’ve been given the same relief--but no. Their cynicism was the same. The drought, the same. And no sign of a primal god responsible.
A knock came at the door.
“Yes, Ziafar?”
The elf walked in dressed in his highest fashion. “If you do not soon don your garments, we will be late for our hearing and likely lose our chance to leave the droughtlands…though we’re nearly certainly entering others…”
Valon stood and donned his robe, taking note that his clock had ceased its function midways through his bath. Thumb raised beneath the candle that kept it running, he lit a jet of flame that corrected its time and pace. Then he peered out the Marbletree’s window to see Zoey and Astrid veering nearer to the door. “Why don’t you go with Astrid and Zoey? Take them to the courthouse while I come behind. I hate making you three late.”
Ziafar nodded and bowed, vanishing from the hallway with a spattering of stardust.
Valon ambled to his room and let his head dangle to the side as he peered at his Fire Knight garb. His best dress. Then, the alternative, the Starweave Coat, Leggings, and Tricorne. He equipped the gear picked up in the crumbling halls of The Rivenhold and donned it, and suddenly felt his power rise, eyes wide. Everyone who’d been there...they’d all taken a set of armor from the halls of the hold. Were they all missing out on this power?
He sheathed his swords and adjusted his hat, tugging finally on his matrix cube that aligned with a manalyth near the courthouse...if it were still active. In seconds, his body, mind, and spirit had translocated to meet with his friends, who greeted him with happy nods and inquisitive stares.
Zoey hugged him over-long, feeling the softness of his new armor. “This is luxurious, Valon. Why choose to premier it today?”
He smiled at everyone. “I think we’ll find out during the demonstrative hearing, yeah?”
“I’m certain we will, yes.”
Astrid shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve ever gotten anywhere bad by trusting your instincts,” she teased. “Just you.” A wink.
A young dark-skinned woman exited the courthouse and looked at her clipboard, calling over the crowd gathered outside. “Hearing Ein-82 Gamma; That of Valon Belassan. All may proceed to the Dominion of the Pontifex.”
Ziafar gathered his texts and notes and nodded. “Let’s hop to it, then. No one is to keep the Pontifex or Aerie Calloway waiting.”
The others nodded and followed through to the enormous building of marble.
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