Valmaxian passed through the door with his eyes down and brushed past someone in the corridor. He stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.
His eyes met the gaze of a young elf woman. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back and tied behind her head, her simple cotton blouse and breaches revealed a perfectly formed figure with slim hips and ample breasts, but her full lips were pressed into a tight line and her crystal blue eyes narrowed in accusation.
"You're Valmaxian," she said, her voice like music, though anger and resentment were plain.
For the second time that day, the second time in over six hundred years, Valmaxian was speechless.
The woman sighed and said, "What did you say to him?"
"I…" Valmaxian started. "Who are…?"
"Chasianna," she said, folding her arms across her chest and setting her jaw even tighter. "He's my grandfather. He asked for you. He's spoken of you. You broke his heart."
"We had a difference of opinion," Valmaxian said. "That was a long time ago."
"A long time ago, maybe," she said, "but there's not a long time left to go. He wanted to make peace with you. I have no idea what you did or what he did… what happened… but I will not have him Journey West without having made his peace."
Valmaxian realized he wasn't breathing. He felt strange: embarrassed, angry, and ashamed all at once. He shook his head and said, "Do you know who I am?"
"I don't care who you are," Chasianna said. "I love my grandfather."
Valmaxian drew in a breath to protest. Chasianna tipped her head to one side, widened her eyes, and seemed ready for any response.
"You can go back in," she said, her voice softer, hopeful. "It's not too late."
Valmaxian closed his mouth, and that made Chasianna smile. He found his lips curling up to return her smile, and he glanced back at the door to Kelserede's bedchamber. Without a word to Chasianna he turned around and went back to the door.
"Say anything," she said. "Just say anything to make it right for him, even if it isn't right for you."
Valmaxian went back into the room and walked to the side of the bed. For the first time since coming back to his former teacher's studio that day he knew what he wanted and had some idea how to get it.
"Kelaerede," he said.
The old elf looked up at him with eyes that seemed even more dull than they had only moments before.
"Kelaerede, you were right," Valmaxian said. "I wanted more than I should have had. I wanted a life I wasn't willing to earn. I should have stayed with you. I should have taken the decades, if you thought that's what I required. I should not have stolen the scroll. I should not have summoned the demon."
Kelaerede opened his mouth, but didn't say anything.
"Journey West, my teacher," Valmaxian said when he heard Chasianna step into the doorway behind him. "Journey West knowing that I will undo what I've done."
One corner of Kelaerede's dry lips lifted to indicate a smile then the life slipped away from his face.
Valmaxian sighed, satisfied that both Kelaerede and Chasianna had not only heard him but believed every insincere, lying syllable. Kelaerede was dead, leaving only one true master.
The 78th Year of the Tourmaline (-6962 DR)
Valmaxian had had traced out on the marble floor of the casting circle in dwarven mithral an inlay marking out a gentle arc. Spaced exactly fourteen feet, eleven inches apart were five circles. Lines extended from the centers of the first and fifth circles that met at a point precisely one hundred and eighty-nine feet, eleven inches from the farthest of the small circles in the center of the arc. In each of the five circles stood a single, inexpensive clay golem. He'd told the featureless humanoid forms to stand still, and since they possessed no minds of their own, that's exactly what they did.
Valmaxian surveyed the scene from the top of one of the pillars upon which was built a small platform with no railing. A narrow staircase of elven steel curved from the platform and wrapped around the pillar all the way to the white marble floor a thousand feet below. Valmaxian had to look through a complex series of lenses hung on golden frames to see what was happening on the floor and be seen from there.
An apprentice-Merellien was his name-stepped out onto the floor, the staff cradled in the crook of his arms. He walked with care and haste across the mithral-traced marble, glancing up only once at Valmaxian, who offered him a curt nod.
Valmaxian smelled chypre and heard footsteps at the top of the stairs. He smiled, like he always did in the presence of Chasianna. In the two years since the death of her grandfather, they'd become all but inseparable. He turned, still smiling, and her beautiful face beamed. She stepped onto the platform next to him, touching his elbow. She was nervous about the height and the lack of railings, even though she wore the feather falling ring he'd given her months before. Valmaxian found that nervousness, like everything about Chasianna, charming.
"The staff?" she asked.
Valmaxian nodded and turned back to watch Merellien step into the circle at the point of the cone.
"Should I shield my eyes?" Chasianna asked.
Valmaxian chuckled and said, "No, no. No lightning this time. Just a spray of magic missiles… I hope."
"You hope?"
The apprentice looked up at Valmaxian, who nodded once. Merellien faced the golems, raising the staff in both hands in front of him. He exhaled, then spoke a single command word. Three jagged-edged bolts of blue-white light shot out of one end of the staff and flashed unerringly to the middle three golems. The first missile exploded onto the chest of the second golem, the second missile into the middle golem, and the third bolt burst onto the midsection of the fourth golem. The creatures jerked back, but remained standing. "Damn it," Valmaxian sighed.
Chasianna said, "You can't expect a magic missile to kill a golem. Not just one."
Valmaxian rubbed his eyes, avoiding the expectant gaze of the apprentice so far below, and said, "That's not the point, though, is it? Only three of them came out."
"And it should have been five?" she asked.
"I know what you're going to say."
"You did it your way, didn't you?" she asked, though he knew she knew the answer. "You did it your fast way."
"My way works," he said then realized that she'd just seen it fail. "It has worked before. I'm just… it's…"
"Will you let me show you?" she asked.
He smiled at her and said, "You can't make it any worse."
Valmaxian held out his hand and mumbled a few syllables. The staff leaped from Merellien's light grip and soared up through the air and into Valmaxian's hand. He turned and handed the staff to Chasianna.
She took it with the respect Valmaxian felt the staff deserved. It was unfinished still, but it would prove to be his masterpiece. Chasianna placed it carefully on the floor of the platform and shooed Valmaxian back a couple steps.
She looked up at him and asked, "Magic missiles?"
He nodded, and she looked down at the staff, holding her left hand half an armslength above its smooth, polished surface. He watched her enchantment with enormous interest and unconcealed respect. An artist in her own right-certainly not as adept as he, but a capable mage-still, he doubted she'd be able to overcome whatever flaw it was in the staff that caused the enchantment to limit itself to the ability of the user. It should have been able to do what Valmaxian himself was capable of.
It took her a while, but Valmaxian watched her the whole time. When she was almost done she touched the staff and there was a flash of light that, even though he was expecting it, made Valmaxian flinch. The color drained from Chasianna's fine-boned face and her arm twitched.
Valmaxian stepped forward and fell to one knee. He touched her on the shoulder, and Chasianna twitched back. She looked up at him, and the dullness in her eyes made Valmaxian's flesh go cold. She was sweating, and she had a streak of gray in her hair where no such flaw existed before. Her hands shook, and when she spoke her voice was quiet and forced.