The white-bearded wizard Exedo straightened the nape of his robe in the hallway mirror, as his fellow wizard happened to pass by.
“You know you don’t have to spend so much attention on your appearance. Not unless you want to impress a certain somebody.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“She’s too young for you. At least give her time to mourn.”
“Good night, Lenmar.”
Without another word, his compatriot departed through the hallway, and down the flight of stairs to the audience hall, into the night beyond.
With the nuisance gone, the figure in front of the mirror indulged his vanity, and let his disguise enchantment slip for a moment. The image of an aged, wrinkled human gave way to that of a handsome and young-looking uzruul elf, with darkly-smooth obsidian skin, and stark white hair, belonging to the name Egress Peloar of House Peloar, of the uzruul city of Chaledd, far below the ground in the bowels of the deepway.
Also with his disguise dropped, the green nail, the seal of the spell that kept him locked in service to his ancient and loathsome master, reappeared with stark visibility.
As it often did, the resentment of his situation came to Egress, which brought the longings of freedom. If he had his wish, he might travel to a mountain top, where, as the other wizards had told him, one could see countless more stars stretching over the dome of a limitless sky.
Of course, this world would have to remain intact for him to make such travels. And it would most likely not, given his master’s scheme.
At this moment, he had finished his personal time of stargazing. A good name, the Starlight Tower, since the night sky was so visible from the upper level of this, the citadel of the most powerful wizards of the Humboldt Bruit kingdom, in the capital city of Tisane. And it was an appropriate thing for a wizard to do, as he waited for all the others to retire for the night.
Funny it was, how this part of his act had become so pleasurable for him. Although he had been raised in the vast lightless caverns of the treacherous deepway – the dark and sinister world beneath the surface of the land – he had come to enjoy the chance to just look at the tiny but brilliant sparkles hanging in the cosmic emptiness above.
In all his years of forced servitude, he had not expected to find such a thing in the haven of his master’s victims. Despite its void, the night sky was a very different darkness than the deepway. Its depth was its beauty, and its stars bright points of mystery, where a soul could look in endless wonderment.
In light of these feelings, he often caught himself in moments of introspection. The notion of loving something in some true sense was so out of place, in light of how he had been raised, he wondered at times if he was still uzruul.
Vaow, the bitch of a matriarchic goddess who ruled the dark elves, often searched the hearts of her people through her wicked priestesses, to seek out those who might love or even harbor affection for one another. An uzruul woman, if she carried feelings of love for a male, might relax her obligations to the dark goddess, and therefore be less loyal. She who harbored such sentiment could either sacrifice the other party, or face Vaow’s wrath. Only by offering her lover’s heart on the altar, could she prove her devotion.
To be a male in the female-dominated social order meant servitude. To be a favorite beyond an object of pleasure, was death.
Despite his being shackled for so long, though, he had never let go of his pride as a superior creature. He knew he still had his sense of self, when the green nail sent little warning jabs up his arm, a reminder not to harbor rebellious thoughts. He had many years to get used to it, but the pain always brought him back to his reality.
Fate had smiled on him, when Maguleth had planted the seeds of invasion decades ago, by tasking him to infiltrate this stronghold of the magical guardians of mighty Humboldt. It had been a long process, but they had learned to trust him as he had learned much of their ways and weaknesses. And also after all these years, the sight of the stars still captured a part of him which he had not known prior.
His late-night habit had been accepted by his alter-ego’s fellows. And he had plenty of time all alone, to scry the kingdom’s defenders, their numbers and placement, and relay the information to other servants of the lich.
It was by pure chance one night, when he heard a commotion down the hall, in a room that should have been unoccupied.
He came upon the barely-conscious human woman lying in the sigil-circle, where she had unstably materialized from parts unknown. He could have easily slain her, but on the chance her presence might be expected, he decided to see what she was about.
As she struggled to shake off the dizzying effects of her magical transport, he cast one of the spells he often kept ready to cover his tracks, to manipulate the mind of another.
Placing her in thrall, and bending her perceptions, he heard her story, and her tragedy.
Opportunity beckoned.
He sent out word, and the other wizards were gathered in the western audience chamber with the dawn, to hear his proposal.
More than one objected to a stranger living in the tower. This was a headquarters for the kingdom’s strongest magical guardians, and a select few attendants. It was not open to outsiders.
Loray Vwerlon was a good woman from an allied territory, Exedo had argued. She had come from the violence their group was supposed to guard against. Her arrival was a good omen that despite the encroaching invasion on Humboldt’s borders, they could still do something for good peoples hundreds of miles away. She would be his laboratory assistant, and he would take responsibility for her.
Reluctantly, they agreed.
When he had started attuning Loray to the crystal ball, he told her it was for finding her son. She was the widow of a wizard, and knew the principles at work. Her concentration would allow her to see things, he had told her with utmost confidence.
Unfortunately for her, her concern for her lost Lucas left other parts of her mind vulnerable.
With conditioning, she served to give warning, in subtle ways, if someone was approaching. Therefore his espionage stayed safe, especially as he spent more time at it, increasing his chances of discovery as the war in Humboldt escalated.
Now he refreshed the magical disguise, and continued on toward his quarters.
She was at the little table, as scheduled, looking up at him with expectant eyes. As he sat down opposite the glass orb, he held out a little role of parchment – – the parchment sent by Maretto of Henbrace.
“A messenger bird brought this.”
Of course, it had arrived days before. He had just been waiting for the right moment.