The Runic Alchemist

"You are an exceptional mage… Your methods are very... unique. And that's saying something, considering I've worked with a spell master all my life. There are hardly any popular spells I don't know, yet the people who described the fight between the commander, you, and Moondancer had a harder time following you than the others," she said after a minute of quiet between them.

Damian had hoped she was just there to take a break and relax as well, but of course, that was a foolish thought. These nobles… they always wanted something, even from the simplest activities, like resting for a moment.

"Maybe it's because I'm small and unnoticeable," Damian joked, avoiding a serious reply.

"Haha, that might be part of it… but know this: after yesterday, there isn't a family in this kingdom who wouldn't want you in their ranks. You came to join the army and earn credits, right? Your path may not have been an easy or straightforward one, but you've achieved far more than your initial goal…"

"What are you getting at? Don't make my head hurt."

"Hmm, young people these days are so brash… All I'm saying is that we might not be the leaders you hoped to fight under. We might've shattered your ideal of what warriors and true nobles should be after everything you've gone through… but I can assure you, no other place can do better.

Eldoris isn't perfect—we have our own struggles, especially lately—but it's a hell of a lot better than the Empire or those Ashenvale bastards. Give us a chance if you can. Give the commander a chance to show you why she's worth following, just once."

Damian didn't respond, and she didn't say anything further. After waiting a minute, she rose and walked away into the cold wind.

A leader worth following? What a joke. She might be a legend to the people of Eldoris, but Damian saw her for what she was. It wasn't the people she, or any of them, fought for—it was their name, their honor, and the most useless of all, their pride. Vidalia, like every other noble here, was just fighting to keep her own house safe. It wasn't evil—Damian wouldn't even call it selfish.

Why shouldn't they fight for their own interests? What bothered him most, however, was the pretense. The veil of lies. The game they played with people's beliefs...

If she were truly the commander of the army and not just the head of the queen's guard dead set on protecting her queen, she would've told the masses the real reason for this fight long ago. Those who would still stay to fight for their queen… those, those select few, were the ones this war was really for. The rest?

They were oblivious to what was happening right in front of them, dying not even knowing why...

She was a great warrior, no doubt about that, but no, she was no leader.

Having had enough of the cold and seeing the last of the embers burn out before him, Damian stood up and returned to the room where his helpers had made many nine parchment rolls from the stack he'd given them. There were more, but considering their condition, he let them go. They'd done enough. With just these, he could create the wormhole to the wall and back, with some attacking spells as backup.

There was no such thing as "enough," but these would take him half the night to draw, so they'd have to do. He should also sleep to recover fully and be at his best for tomorrow.

Before he could get busy drawing the runes however, he heard footsteps approaching through the closed door. He was alone in the room, having dismissed everyone else. He knew who it was, but he hadn't expected her to come here.

"You're still not done?" Vidalia asked, walking in and gesturing for her guards to remain outside.

"It's not that easy… it has to be precise, or it won't work," Damian replied without looking up from the parchment he was drawing on.

"I know. You don't have to tell me," she said, coming up behind him and looking intently at the finished portion of his runic circle.

Damian realized who she was and felt foolish for his earlier comment. She was a spell master, a third-rank mage, one of the very few in the world. She obviously knew more about runes and magic scrolls than most, though probably less than a proper runesmith.

"Then you understand—it's not something I can rush," Damian said, not minding her close scrutiny of his runic spell. She already had many of his drawings; this one wouldn't make a difference. He had yet to see anyone else successfully draw and use his spells, so maybe they hadn't had much luck replicating them.

"A waygate spell can't be embedded in simple parchment, no matter how many you combine or how good the ink is. It requires too much mana, and the parchment can't handle it," she said, more to herself than as an actual question.

"The parchment starts to break down from where the spell lines are drawn. The big, complicated waygate runes that are commonly used are too much for it to handle," Damian explained, though he knew she already understood. He was just playing along.

"But your runic circles are so concise, smaller, and well-placed… it's not a runic language my family has ever known. And we have the whole history of this world," she said, finally meeting his eyes with her usual cold expression. This time, there was a clear "Explain this" tone in her voice.

"Is there a reason for this visit, or are you just here to make my life harder?" Damian chose to ignore the implied question.

'Sigh'

"Very well. I came to tell you that you should keep the link open during tomorrow's fight. It'll help us track both of their actions at once," she said, turning to leave.

"You're okay with digging around in each other's heads?" Damian was surprised—he hadn't expected her to suggest something like that.

"Surviving and completing the task tomorrow is all that matters. Besides, it seems foolish to distrust you after everything that's happened. It could give us an advantage," she said, leaving him alone in the room, surrounded by parchment rolls and with a shocked look on his face.