Blood Ties

The vaulted ceiling, which was carved directly into the stone of a large cavern, loomed high overhead. Bookshelves taller than any building that Morwyn had ever seen towered like silent sentinels in neat rows running the length of the Grand Library. Glowing yellow crystals hung in iron sconces at the end of each row in place of torches while chandeliers hung on long chains from the ceiling. Braziers filled with the luminescent stones cast soft light over long tables matched with dark oaken chairs, wherein sat studious individuals browsing through thick tomes or scratching away at parchment with quills and ink. Various statues, sets of armor, weapon plaques, and a multitude of other displays littered the space and gave it an ancient and scholarly feel. Morwyn was relatively certain that the entirety of the Azurine College would fit within the expanse of the main chamber, to say nothing all of the side passageways that wandered away into the darkness beneath the earth. It took her breath away as she walked beside Rennock down the wide central walkway.

“I can see you are someone that appreciates a good book,” Rennock chuckled warmly. Realizing that she'd completely lost herself in gazing about in wonder, Morwyn blinked several times and turned to focus on him.

“That I am,” she replied, lengthening her stride a bit to keep up with the old man. “I had no idea there were so many books in the world, let alone in one place. Magister Hornwyn from the Azurine would faint if he could see all this. How many books are there? Is it even possible to keep count?”

Rennock grinned with pride and bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“If I may be permitted to boast, the Grand Library of the Vale is my greatest accomplishment. It contains a lifetime of scholarly pursuits which, might I remind you, is not an insignificant amount of time for an elderly dragon such as myself. Some of my kin hoard gold, Miss Shrike, others jewels and precious gems... but my passion, my hoard, is and has always been knowledge. Here you will find books and scrolls and stone tablets containing information that cannot be found elsewhere in the world. Believe me, I have checked quite thoroughly. As the Head Librarian even I no longer know just how many books the library contains.”

Before she could form a response he suddenly ushered her between two of the massive bookshelves and took one of the crystal torches from its bracket to light their way. There were no ladders running the length of the shelves, but they were built directly into them at intervals an arm's length apart. Morwyn found herself wondering just what sort of books were at the top, which at such a high angle that they were completely out of sight from floor level. She traced a reverent hand along those within her reach, relishing the various textures of their bindings. The space between the shelves smelled of leather and paper and parchment and dust and oiled wood. It was soothing and welcoming at once.

“Are we here for a particular book?” she asked, frowning as she tried to read the titles embossed into the spines. Some she knew must be in languages that she didn't understand, but even those with letters of the common tongue seemed to swim and shift before her eyes rendering them unintelligible. “I don't understand what's happening, but I can't even read the titles.”

“Well of course you cannot read them,” Rennock said with a wry smile. “You do not yet have your library card.”

Morwyn gave the wizard a skeptical look. He reached into a pocket inside his robes and produced a thin brass plate, rectangular in shape and blank except for the twisting vines engraved around the border and a small leather loop laced through a hole in one corner. He handed it to her and she accepted it curiously. As soon as the card touched her fingertips it warmed beneath them and an inscription blazed across it with a brief flash of fiery red light. The script was rather small and Morwyn had to squint to read it.

Grand Library of the Vermilion Vale

Name: Morwyn Shrike

Access: Second Rank and Below

Impressed and a little befuddled, Morwyn turned to Rennock with a raised brow.

“Second rank and below? What does that mean?”

“That you will have access to all of the volumes available to the public as well as restricted tomes up to the Second Rank. Typically those of your rank are the heads of guilds while the First Rank is limited to members of the Council of Five. However, you are a rather... special case. I believe it would be prudent to allow you to research all but the most privy of information without constantly asking for my permission. When you are finished using it you may secure it with Lady Elaura at the front desk.”

Morwyn admired the brass plate for another brief moment before slipping her hand through the leather loop to let it dangle from her wrist like a bracelet.

“Lady seems to have quite a few jobs around here,” she murmured as she turned her attention back to the books on the shelf. The dizzying distortion from earlier was gone and she could now make sense of those in languages she knew. Most that were close at hand appeared to be historical in nature though she didn't recognize any of the titles.

“Indeed she does! Such a talented and friendly young woman. I wish that I had half of her energy,” Rennock replied with sincerity, causing Morwyn to chuckle under her breath. “But enough about bureaucracy for now, we are indeed here for a particular book. You will find it on the ninth shelf up, left hand side, fifth from the end.”

Though it had been a number of years, Morwyn's training as an assistant librarian came back in a flash. She hopped to the task without question and scaled the ladder easily as she kept a silent count of shelves in mind. When she reached the ninth she spotted a small tome bound in dark red leather that immediately drew her eye and began to reach for it when she hesitated with a frown. It was the seventh in line from her, not the fifth- that one was of middling size and bound in dark brown. Unsure of why she'd reached for the wrong one, she made to grab for the proper book when another demanded her attention. Third in from the end, bound in green. Her fingers brushed the spine before she stopped again. Shaking her head and huffing in frustration, Morwyn reached for the fifth tome yet again and was, for the third time, distracted by another book. Perplexed, she withdrew her hand and gripped the rung of the ladder while scowling down at Rennock.

“Is this some sort of trick? I can't even lay a hand on it without... something happening, I'm not sure what.”

The old wizard gave her an innocent smile and raised one hand. The dark brown book, fifth from the end, lifted gently off the shelf and floated down to gently atop his open palm. He motioned for her to join him below and Morwyn began to descend, though not before muttering a few choice curses under her breath.

“Just a brief lesson. This book is restricted to First Rank. Most would not be able to even notice its existence let alone attempt to reach for it, which speaks to the power of your magical perception despite your lack of training. Gods help you if you did manage to touch it without the proper clearance.”

“What would've happened to me if I had?” Morwyn asked. She was more than a bit miffed by Rennock's little game. The old man grew suddenly serious as he replied.

“No need to worry, I would have stopped you. Best not to dwell on it. Come, let us retire to my office. I did not, regrettably, call you here to peruse the library for leisure.”

Realizing that the wizard's outstretched hand was another invitation to join him in teleportation, Morwyn took in a deep breath and held it before reaching out with her own and closing her eyes firmly. With a muted pop and a rush of wind they were gone. She quickly noticed that sunlight now warmed her face and she opened her eyes in a squint to take in her new surroundings.

The office was roomy yet sparsely furnished, far simpler in decoration than the breathtaking grandeur of the library itself. A sturdy wooden desk sat on a raised dais a step above the rest of the room with three adjacent windows letting in light behind it. Several bookshelves of normal proportion stood proud of the carved stone walls all around and a comfortable looking couch flanked by matching chairs sat at the center of the hexagonal room facing the desk. With a twinge of unease Morwyn realized that there were no visible doors to the room at all.

“Welcome to my office!” Rennock said merrily as he laid the book on his desk and stepped over to a cabinet built into one of the bookshelves. He opened the doors and retrieved a pair of crystal goblets and a decanter of some pale yellowish liquid which he poured into them. “Bring one of the chairs up here if you please, Miss Shrike. It feels so formal and impersonal to have a visitor sit so far away.”

Morwyn did as she was bidden and took the opportunity to look out the windows as she approached. Judging from how high up they were as well as the angle of the town far below, she surmised that they were somewhere in the side of the cliff directly above the library itself.

“You're in a much better mood, Ren. You were positively quaking with anxiety when you came to collect me. What changed?”

Rennock sighed as he stoppered the decanter and handed her one of the goblets, which smelled like some sort of brandy with a hint of peach. Morwyn savored the aroma as she took her seat and waited for Rennock to do the same but he merely began to pace back and forth in front of the windows as he withdrew his pipe and began to pack it.

“Privacy,” he murmured, snapping his fingers to ignite the lungwort. He puffed pensively for a moment and released a ring of smoke before he continued. “I regret that it has taken me so long to call you here but I have had to attend to other matters. My myriad responsibilities here highlight the simplicity of life on the road... but that is no matter. I have found it exceptionally difficult to excuse myself of my sister of late. We have always been very close but something feels rather different since our arrival. She is keeping a closer eye on me than is usual, far closer than I would like. It has made my work on your behalf quite difficult.”

“I have the feeling you didn't call me here to complain about family,” Morwyn said cautiously. She took a sip of the brandy and held it in her mouth for a moment as she savored the rich flavor and considered her next words carefully. “Could it be that she's discovered what I am and isn't too happy about it? I've seen the way she looks at me.”

Rennock paused in his pacing, shook his head, then continued his slow march.

“No, I do not believe so. The pendant I gave you is a powerful artifact. Even she, as gifted a mage as she is, would struggle to work past its enchantments. Not to mention the work we did to contain that part of you behind the frost-”

“Shivara knows,” Morwyn interrupted quietly, her heart thumping in her chest.

Rennock froze in his tracks with his pipe halfway to his mouth. His brows furrowed as his eyes darted quickly from side to side with a faraway look. His pipe ever so slowly completed its journey and he took a long pull before releasing a spiral of smoke that drifted to the ceiling and lingered there.

“That makes sense,” the old man said, nodding slowly.

“Not to me it doesn't,” Morwyn retorted before taking another sip of her drink. She gripped the arm of the chair with her other hand to keep it still. “I thought she was going to vaporize me, but instead she gave me some very wise and motherly advice. She did mention you as one of the reasons she decided to spare me though. If you're willing to tell me, I'd like to know why that is.”

Without looking at them, Rennock raised his free hand toward the windows which suddenly danced with the golden light she recognized as his warding magic. What she didn't expect was the ward to progressively darken until it was an angry shade of red that was positively humming with arcane power. A moment later the red light faded but the buzzing of the strengthened ward lingered in the background.

“Shivara knows what I did for your father. Though she was also quite young at the time, she helped me a great deal with keeping his existence a secret. Other than myself there are none more likely than her to have recognized your nature and even I was uncertain in the beginning. Shivara is quite a keen observer, I will give her that, but Hela does not have the same ties to the blood dragon lineage as we do.”

Morwyn downed the rest of her drink, not caring to savor it any longer, then reached into the pouch on her belt to retrieve her case of smokes. She hadn't had one in weeks- much to Hazel's delight- but she hadn't been able to commit to getting rid of them. Withdrawing one with a shaking hand, she shot Rennock a pleading look. The wizard frowned but snapped his fingers again and an ember glowed into life at the end of her smoke. Morwyn took a long drag and let the familiar buzz of the herb soothe her frantic thoughts. After she overcame the initial dizziness, she leaned forward with her elbows propped on her knees.

“You discovered me and let me live. Shivara found out and she also let me live,” Morwyn mused, staring out the window without seeing. She feared that she already knew the answer to her coming question but had to ask it anyway. “What exactly would your sister's reaction be if she knew the truth?”

Rennock gave a tired sigh and rubbed his eyes, a gesture that seemed to age him by a century. The old man finally sat down on his chair and downed his own drink in one swift motion before raising his weary eyes to meet hers.

“She would kill you without a second thought.”

Morwyn nodded slowly, puffing on her smoke as she looked away to hide the sudden emotion bringing moisture to her eyes.

“Wonderful. I don't suppose you and Shivara could put in a good word?”

“You must understand, Hela suffered greatly during the war,” Rennock explained with a pleading tone that was so foreign it caught Morwyn off guard. “She was hurt in ways that I do not wish to recount, both her body and her mind. I was able to recover from the dark deeds I performed in service to what I thought was right, but she... she carried that pain with her. She still carries it. After the last of the blood dragons was slain- excluding your father- Hela dedicated the next three hundred years to making absolutely certain that none had been left alive. It made keeping your father secret an immense challenge. She was single-minded in her determination.”

“And you brought me right to her, knowing that?” Morwyn asked incredulously, too shocked to even be angry at the fact. Rennock frowned at her and raised his hands defensively.

“I have had many centuries of experience at keeping a full-blooded member of your race hidden from her. I assure you, despite your doubts, through our efforts to contain it and the magic I have spent on your behalf, she cannot know.”

Morwyn finished her smoke and put it out in the small clay bowl on Rennock's desk that held ashes from his pipe. She flexed her left hand several times and rubbed the scale beneath her glove with her opposite thumb. The pliable leather now felt like an absurd and frivolous means of concealment.

“I trust you, Rennock, but forgive me if it still puts me on edge. I know you warned me of the danger but it's hard to feel at home with this hanging over my head...”

The old wizard leaned back in his chair and bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“It is a dangerous game we play but play it we must. As much as I wish we did not have to hide you as we do, Hela is not the only threat to your life. The rogue mage is still out there somewhere and I have come no closer to discovering their motivations.”

“Right. I'd almost forgotten,” Morwyn said dryly. She rubbed her temples to keep her building headache at bay. Rennock gave her a sad smile.

“One day I hope to have a conversation with you that is not of dire consequence,” he said kindly. “In the meantime all I can do is help you to learn, to grow, and to control your powers. That is why I called you here today, after all.”

Perking up from her doom-ridden sulking, Morwyn sat up straight and rubbed her hands together. She was anxious to move on from the discussion of her peril.

“Does it have anything to do with that book?” she said, gesturing toward the dark leather tome. Rennock chuckled and shook his head as he placed a hand on the cover.

“No, I'm afraid not. This is for my own studies. My recent efforts to contact your father have been unsuccessful, as they have been for many long years, and I intend to find another way. Your training will begin with something far simpler, that of...”

The sudden ringing in Morwyn's ears at the mention of her father drowned out the old wizard's words as questions exploded in her mind. Why was he trying to contact Krevadhur? Did he intend for them to meet? What was he like? Why had he abandoned her to be raised by a human family? How would she react when she finally saw-

“Miss Shrike?”

Rennock's words interrupted Morwyn's panicked inner monologue. She flinched and cleared her throat as she met his troubled gaze.

“I'm sorry, lost myself for a moment there,” she said quickly, brushing off his concern with a weak wave of her hand. “Please continue. I'll try to keep focused.”

Rennock stroked his beard contemplatively for a moment before continuing at a much more deliberate pace.

“We will begin with an attempt to focus the channeling of your magic in order to refine its application. As remarkable as the things you have managed to accomplish are, such instances have been crude and instinctual. Focusing the flow will allow you to be more precise and deliberate in the use of your power. We will not attempt to channel either the frost or your blood magic yet, as I am certain that would be an invitation to disaster and I rather like my office intact.”

The wizard pulled out several of the drawers in his desk and rummaged through them for a moment before placing a handful of long, slender objects in front of her. They looked to be made of wood with various adornments of bone, horn, or metal. Morwyn frowned at them for a moment before looking up to Rennock.

“Are those... magic wands?” she said skeptically. They were of beautiful craftsmanship but she was leery of the idea of waving a bit of fancy wood around and casting spells. Rennock drew in a very patient breath and steepled his fingers with his elbows resting on the desk.

“No, Miss Shrike, they are not magic wands. They are wands, but they contain no magic of their own as a scroll or an enchanted staff would. They are, however, constructed from materials that are particularly adept at allowing magic to flow through them. For example...”

Rennock held out an empty palm and conjured a small ball of fire that hovered several inches above it. The little flame was contained yet still had a wild feel to it, popping and hissing as if it sought to explode at any moment given the chance. The wizard clenched his fist and the miniature fireball disappeared in a puff of smoke before he selected one of the wands from the desk. It was made of straight, dark wood with silver spiraled inlays decorating the handle. He held it aloft toward the ceiling and the tip briefly glowed with orange light before a jet of fire leapt forth to splash against the red stone, the force of its impact shaking the room and causing Morwyn to recoil. Grinning mischievously, Rennock flicked the wand and the flames dissipated, though the ceiling was still scorched and warped from his demonstration.

“I see,” Morwyn murmured as she ran a hand over her hair to sweep back the errant strands from her face. “Though if magic is more powerful when cast through one of these, why have I not seen you use one before?”

Rennock smiled and held up the index finger of his right hand. Another stream of flame similar to that from the wand shot upward and splashed against the ceiling, causing Morwyn to jump once again. He chuckled to himself at her surprise and carefully laid his wand back on the desk as she collected herself and scowled at him.

“When you have mastered control over your magic you will no longer require a wand to focus it,” he explained. “You have channeled the frost into your weapons and your healing power directly into wounded bodies. Quite effectively might I add, and your control has greatly improved with time and use, but when you have completed this training your prior efforts will seem brutish in comparison. No offense intended.”

Morwyn huffed in resignation and gave him a wary look.

“I've shied away from accusations of witchcraft for most of my life yet here I am learning it... and from a dragon, no less. I've read more believable stories in books of fairy tales.”

“Witchcraft has been given a bad name by hags and cultists,” Rennock said dismissively with a wave of his hand, “of which you are neither. Witchcraft and wizardry are refined and noble arts. Please choose a wand so we can begin.”

Eyeing the array of wands dubiously, Morwyn wasn't quite certain which to choose. They all looked like jumped-up sticks to her. Not much of one for fancy ornamentation, she discounted several of the finer ones right away and her eyes lingered on the simplest of the wands for a moment. It stood out from the others from its lack of inlays or engravings. It wasn't crudely carved by any means but it showed the grain of the natural wood where the others were painted or lacquered. The handle was swelled slightly at the center and the rest of the wand tapered away at a slight angle as it narrowed to a smooth, round tip. Though it wasn't as straight as the others it looked to be comfortable in the hand, so she picked it up and looked back to Rennock for further instruction.

“Ah, the hawthorn. I might have guessed...” the old wizard said mysteriously with one bushy eyebrow raised.

“Does... does that mean something?”

“Well of course, and not at all,” he said with a smirk. “The wand itself does not matter, but the choice is telling about the mage. You chose one that is simple and straightforward, unrefined yet serviceable, a bit crooked but natural. A fitting selection.”

Unsure if she should be pleased or offended by the analysis, Morwyn turned the wand over between her fingers and felt the contours of the wood with those not covered by the leather of her gloves.

“So... uh... what do I do now?” she asked, feeling more than a little foolish. This wasn't quite as thrilling as unleashing her magic into her sword in the heat of battle.

“Channel your gift into the wand as you have done before, but only a thin stream,” Rennock instructed. “Focus on containing it at the tip of the wand rather than letting it flow freely as you would with a blade. Know what it is you wish for the magic to do before you release it and guide the magic with your intent. Let us begin by creating light. Eronir informed me that you have done so before.”

Shrugging to herself, Morwyn allowed a trickle of the Moonmother's gift into the wand and was startled to feel the simple wooden rod drink it in eagerly. She stared at it with a frown of concentration as she coaxed the magic toward the tip which began to glow a bright white. She held it there for a long moment until it became too bright to look at directly then glanced over to Rennock.

“Well done! Now give it a wave and release the magic from the wand. Remember, you must guide it-”

Morwyn flicked the wand and released her hold as she did so. A white orb shot from the end with incredible speed and detonated against one of the bookshelves with a loud crack and a blinding flash of light, scattering books and papers across the room. Blinking in pain with the afterimage of Rennock's look of horror burned into her vision, Morwyn cringed in embarrassment and shot the old wizard a contrite glance.

“With your intent...” he finished with a long-suffering sigh. “I can see that we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Several hours later, drained from her efforts and dizzy from expending so much of her magic, Morwyn carefully opened the door of her cabin to avoid making too much noise. Rennock's training had run through the early evening and into the night. They'd only paused to rest a handful of times, once to eat a quick dinner that was now a distant memory. Hearing no noise from inside the house, she tiptoed inside and quietly closed and locked the door behind her.

Morwyn lit the tip of her new wand with a minuscule amount of magic to illuminate her surroundings with a dull and subtle glow. She crept through the cabin in search of Hazel and Lys and found them curled up together in a nest of pillows and blankets at the center of the bed as they snoozed peacefully. Chuckling to herself, Morwyn slipped out of her clothes and sank onto the bed to join them. Hazel murmured softly in her sleep and Lys curled more tightly into the halfling's arms, though neither woke as Morwyn settled in and laid a gentle arm across them.

“Goodnight, my loves,” she whispered, extinguishing her wand and quickly drifting off to sleep with it still held loosely in one hand.