College Magic Chapter 2
Here's chapter 2. Nothing much to say here, really.
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Rhiannon's head swam as the pair of them emerged out of the woods into the outskirts of a small town. Built on a more human scale that was largely lost in modern America, the town was also notable for being of an entirely different architectural style from the glass, steel, and concrete that so characterize the post-industrial town or city. The buildings were clustered together and one didn't get the sense that there was much beyond a vague notion of planned development. The tallest building was a single tower, at least half again the height of the smaller towers that lay here and there. At the circular spire's peak was what seemed to be a great blue gem, shimmering with some sort of inner light, distinct from the reflected sunlight on the white stone that seemed to be the main building material in this area.
Two men approached them. Adding to Rhiannon's sense of surreality was the fact that one was nearly eight feet tall with two small horns, slightly pointed ears (but not to the exaggerated degree that Marlowe's were), and blue skin, an immense sword that was probably larger than she was slung behind him, while the other was shorter and quite feral looking with long, pointed ears and an air about him that sent chills down her spine. The taller of the pair seemed to be in charge. "Afternoon, hunter. I see you've found a changeling."
Marlowe chuckled. "Something like that. I rescued this little foundling from a wolf out in the woods."
The feral one snorted. "You should have let it have her." He leered openly at Rhiannon for a moment with a perverse and disgusting mix of lust and animal hunger, not entirely unlike the looks she'd gotten from that one guy who had tried to rape her one time. Unfortunately, she didn't have a can of mace on hand like last time. Hopefully, she wouldn't need it. "On the other hand, she might be fun to have around. I've not fed on a human in a while."
Rhiannon glared at him, as did the other two. "No, Baerion," Marlowe said firmly. "She's a changeling, not a human, and in any case, she's under my protection for the moment. Leave her be unless you wish to taste my sword," he added darkly.
The tall, blue fey growled low in his throat. "He's right, Baerion. You know the terms of your parole as well as I do." Rhiannon, confused and feeling slightly threatened, didn't ask, sensing intuitively that this was not a good time.
"Damn that oath," the fey muttered, sounding more than a tad put out by the entire situation. The others ignored him.
Marlowe gestured at Rhiannon. "We need to find a lore singer. She stumbled onto a trod without realizing it and doesn't know the way back."
The tall one frowned thoughtfully. "I can see the problem. It's not something I'd have expected, Christopher. Honestly, you're the only other changeling I've ever met who's done the same thing," he pointed out. Then, the giant fey turned to her and bowed politely. "Greetings, young lady, and welcome to the town of Blaycliff Tower. My name is Aureander."
Rhiannon smiled and did a graceful curtsey, remarkably impressive for someone in battered jeans, sneakers, and a Lord of the Rings T-shirt, all of it smudged with dirt from her head-first dive from the wolf earlier. "I'm Rhiannon Waters. I go to Gunther Brighton University, outside Rome, Georgia."
The giant smiled down at her. "A scholar, eh? I think you'll find you're well in hand, then, girl. The Tower is home to the White Tower Scholomance. It should be... interesting for you to visit."
Rhiannon frowned and shook her head. "I'm just trying to get home. I'm not interested in any sort of magical training."
Aureander nodded amicably. "Fair enough. There's an expert on finding trods at White Tower, too," he informed her pleasantly enough. "I'm sure he'll be able to help you find your way home."
"Thank you for your help, sir," Rhiannon replied, curtseying again. Aureander nodded and, rather forcefully ushering Baerion to follow him, continued on his way.
Rhiannon glanced at Marlowe. "Just what were they? And what are you?" she inquired, frowning.
Marlowe raised an eyebrow. "They were fey, just like I am. Well, not exactly," he indicated, gesturing faintly. "I'm a changeling, a fey born of human blood. I'm also a daanu, not a giant or a lycan like Auerander or Baerion."
Rhiannon frowned. "Giant I can understand. He's a big guy. But how is Baerion a lycan?" she asked, still trying to understand what exactly was going on. "Doesn't that word come from the same root as lycaon?"
Marlowe frowned. "Yes, it does. Baerion's nature is predatory and, furthermore, he's a shapeshifter. His natural form is a wolf. We mainly keep him here to prevent him from running amok on Earth. The last time he did, it took us over a year to hunt him down and he killed and ate several people in France."
Rhiannon paled slightly. "Then why didn't you execute him? It sounds like he would have deserved it." The college student's voice was a tad unsteady and Marlowe realized that what little trust she had in him was seriously imperiled by this revelation.
He sighed. "We took the case to the king. For some reason, Baerion was let free on an oath of parole." He sighed again. "I don't know why. Most of the hunters arrayed against him were changelings," he explained. "The only two who weren't were a blood wizard, mainly to counter his powers, and a sidhe knight. The sidhe was there expressly as the king's agent, to prevent us from killing the bastard outright. My best guess is that the damned beast has a patron in the court... maybe even a relative." Noticing Rhiannon's expression, he shrugged. "I'm not going to pretend that I like it, foundling. If I ever figure out who's protecting that miserable wolf, I just might kill the damned fool, noble or not."
Blood wizard? Rhiannon mouthed dubiously. I do not like the sound of that, she decided. Out loud, she asked, "Fine, then. What's a daanu?"
Marlowe smiled. "You might know us as elves. The daanu are one legacy of the elves. The sidhe are another. We're not exactly clans, more like cousins. The old Tuuatha de Daanan, the ancient high fey, like Oberon or Arthur, died out a long time ago. They were never particularly numerous and, unlike the other elves, they didn't really reproduce very much at all. The true high fey these days are sidhe, daanu, and other elves that have a touch of Tuuatha blood in them." He gestured to the city around them. "The elves are the most common of the Seelie. There are some Unseelie legacies that are more numerous but they don't match the average elf's power, longevity, or intelligence."
"Wait a minute. I thought you said that the Seelie Court was gone," Rhiannon asked, very confused.
"They are. The word Seelie is still used as a descriptor for the fey that stood together, that chose living with each other instead of wandering around in small bands." Marlowe shrugged. "The Unseelie are and have always been fairly splintered. They also tend to be much more dangerous for mortals to deal with. Don't get me wrong, Seelie can be damned dangerous and in fact, downright evil. The difference is mainly that Seelie aren't as aggressive or as offensive about it. Even creatures like Baerion or fey vampires aren't as unpleasant as your average Unseelie hag. Worst comes to worst, all a predatory Seelie is going to do is kill you and eat you. Not pleasant but hey, that's life." His dismissive shrug was rather cold-blooded in Rhiannon's opinion. Catching the look on her face, he continued. "An Unseelie wants to prey on a mortal's fear, their soul, or just destroy them for the amusement value, damning them in the process. Some of them actively hate all other life and want it destroyed or corrupted." He gestured back the way they'd come.
"Baerion really is among the worst of the Seelie. Unpleasant, certainly, but even he isn't as bad as some of the milder Unseelie. If you're not inclined to accept that kind of thing and you're an Unseelie you either leave, die, or are corrupted to the point that you do." Marlowe sighed a bit sadly. "It's not something we can really change. The Unseelie are very, very dangerous, very sneaky, and the main reason they haven't managed to just outright kill the Seelie is that evil, by its nature, turns on itself. Our one real edge is that a Seelie can be trusted to watch your back if he gives his word... and, against an Unseelie, he usually will." Marlowe gestured. "It's part of our nature. We can't break a properly sworn oath. If you do... let's not go there..." he suggested.
"If your resources are so limited, why help humans?" Rhiannon asked callously with more than a touch of suspicion in her voice.
Marlowe smiled slightly. "Good question. I'm glad to see you're paying attention." Once the proud teacher moment was over, he continued with the lecture. "Most Seelie, especially non-changelings, aren't humanity's allies out of the kindness of their hearts. The Unseelie are a mutual enemy. If they manage to really harm humanity, it just might be the catalyst that a large faction would need to gain enough power to strike us all down. The last time they pulled something like that off, Earth's native sentient races died and Camelot was devastated while packs of Unseelie rampaged through Arcadia. It took a long time for us to pull back from that brink, especially after the attempts by the last two kings to salvage the situation blew up as spectacularly as they did. We aren't interested in doing it again and, frankly, as much trouble as humans are, we'd rather have someone holding that ground, even if they're aren't well-suited to the job. Some of us need humans to survive, for that matter, and some appreciate human cultre. Like me," Marlowe pointed out, grinning a bit. "While some of the Unseelie need humans as prey, too, the ones that don't generally don't care if man lives or dies, assuming they aren't actively hostile to Adam's progeny. Some of the predators aren't smart enough to realize how dangerous overhunting really is, for that matter."
"So basically, you're watching your own interests? We're just pawns to you?" Rhiannon asked accusingly.
Marlowe nodded. "To some of us, at least. I'm not that cold-hearted, girl. Hell, I spend a fair bit of my time keeping the Unseelie off the trods, just to protect my fellow Englishmen. I'd rather see humanity whole and hale. Some of us don't care that much. I do." He paused for a moment before continuing. "In a way, the Seelie share another trait with the sons of Adam, foundling. We both don't know why we're here or where it is that we're going. Maybe, in a sense, that makes us brothers. Maybe that's why there are changelings; the scholars claim that it was only the hominids that ever birthed fey of their own accord." Marlowe glanced at his audience. "I've seen things that shouldn't be, that only exist to hate. I've seen an angel or two." He shrugged again, something that he seemed to do a lot. "My old friend John Dee once told me that the angels thought the Seelie and the humans were destined for something great, something we could only achieve with the other's help. I don't know what and I don't think he did either. I do know that angels aren't inclined to lying. There must be some sort of plan but the only angel I ever talked to told me that tragedy and triumph are two parts of destiny; without one, the other can't exist. Whatever's coming, there's going to be a storm preceding it." Marlowe looked her in the eye. "I'm trying to help people get ready to weather it."
Faintly disturbed at the implcations of Marlowe's speech, Rhiannon was silent for the rest of their walk to the central tower, apparently the eponymous White Tower that housed the school of magic named for it.
Inside, the tower was cool and dim, lit only by floating blue flames, like some sort of magical cross between a light bulb and a torch, but it was a comforting sort of darkness, like a moonlit night in one's own backyard. Apparently, Marlowe knew his way around and simply led Rhiannon up several flights of stairs (for some reason, even though she tried, she was unable to count exactly how many). Once on the desired floor, they walked up to a dark-colored wooden marked in a language Rhiannon didn't recognize. Marlowe smiled fainly and knocked.
She heard someone grumbling inside, too faintly for her to pick out the words, and stared as the door creaked open slowly. The person peeking around it was the single strangest man she had ever met. From the waist down, he had the body of a small billy goat, almost like a centaur. From the waist up, he was dressed in robes that were so ornate and fancy that they struck her as absolutely ridiculous. His dark-skinned face, weather-beaten and grave, had several intricate tattoos that reminded her of pictures she had seen of the Maori. Topping this entire spectacle off was the one-foot-tall conical wizard's hat, rather like the one that Merlin was usually pictured wearing, made out of purple felt and decorated with silver stars. To add to the sense of hilarity, even with the hat, he barely came more than midway up her chest.
Rhiannon made the only possible response on seeing a creature this hilarious for the first time and burst out laughing. The centaur-like creature glared at her. "Oh, very amusing, laugh at the little wizard," he grumbled, sounding rather put off.
Marlowe, a tolerant smile on his face, let her get it out of her system. "I think that's enough, Ms. Waters," he commented mildly after a bit. "This is the fellow we're looking for, Wizard... Telmaryn?" he trailed off, getting a curt nod. Privately, he agreed with Rhiannon's response. Telmaryn's over-blown sense of gravity and personal dignity was rather ridiculous, especially with that laughable hat on his head. At the same time, he had a bit more self-control and a rather greater sense of just how gauche that reaction was in Seelie culture.
Rhiannon finally stopped giggling after a minute or so and stood up holding her sides. She brushed a few tears out of the corner of her eyes and giggled a bit more. "I'm sorry," she wheezed. "I'm sorry. It's just... that outfit is so..." she trailed off, still giggling a bit, trying to get herself back under control.
Telmaryn's dirty look deepened and, as Rhiannon was finally calming down, Marlowe decided to intervene. "My apologies, Telmaryn. She's had a very difficult day, the poor changeling," he told the wizard soothingly. "First she wandered down a trod without realizing it, getting terribly lost, and then was attacked by a fey wolf out in the woods. I'm afraid the stress of it must have gotten to her a bit."
Telmaryn's glare softened slightly as he glanced over at Marlowe and then took a closer look at Rhiannon, noticing for the first time that she was in a human form and just how odd her clothing was for a fey. "Ah, well, that's rather a different matter," he said, frowning. "Hmm..." The little centaur turned around and paced back into his office. "Come in, come in, poor dear," he added, bustling about. Marlowe smiled faintly as Rhiannon tried to keep from giggling again. "I'll get some coffee made and we can see what we can do. Yes, yes, trying day indeed."
Following the wizard into his work area, Rhiannon grinned as she looked around. It looked more like a professor's office than anything else, just scaled for the little centaur who was currently hanging a small pot over what looked like a gas burner linked to a small tank. He looked up and caught her grin. "You like my rooms, dear?"
Rhiannon nodded. "It looks like the offices of professors back at GBU, especially one of the chemistry teachers."
Telmaryn smiled at her. "Well, I am a teacher, dear." Rhiannon smiled back at him. "Now, sit down, sit down! I know I've got a biped's chair around here somewhere," he mused, looking around frantically. She helped him clean some books out of a chair and settled into it. "Well, now, what seems to be your problem, dear?" he asked. "I didn't happen to catch your name, either."
Rhiannon started to stand back up before he waved at her to stay seated. "My name is Rhiannon Waters. I'm a student at Gunther Brighton University in Georgia," she explained. "The last thing I remember before I wound up here was walking out into the woods. I sort of got a chill down my spine and then that blasted wolf attacked me."
"Yes, that probably was a trod," Telmaryn told her, nodding before he grabbed a pad of paper from a nearby worktable and started scratching some notes on it using a mechanical pencil. "How far away was it?"
"A mile or two, I guess," Rhiannon hazarded, shrugging.
Marlowe nodded when Telmaryn looked over at him. "About a mile and a half or so, wizard," he answered. "Northeast of town."
"Very good, then," Telmaryn said affably. "Ah, yes, I've been wondering about that one," he mused, bustling over to one of the tables and looking down at a map. Intrigued, Rhiannon stood up and walked over to look down over his shoulder. While she was almost entirely unable to read the map, he was pointing at something.
"Is that the trod I followed?" she asked. Telmaryn jumped and spun around, looking startled. She reached over and seated his hat back on his head where it had come askew, carefully adjusting it to fit back over the small billy goat horns on his forehead.. "Sorry," she apologized. "Was that the trod I followed?"
"Don't do that!" Telmaryn snapped. "You nearly startled me out of my horns! Anyway, yes, that's it, almost certainly. That trod was basically closed and no one, not even the rangers like Marlowe here, could tell me where it went. It's probably a new trod since even the elders didn't remember it." He shrugged dismissively. "New trods, especially the unstable ones like that one, tend to act up a lot when they first open. You probably just got caught in it and followed it by accident. It happpens to foundlings, sometimes."
Marlowe spoke up from where he was leaning against a bookcase. "It happened to me, for that matter, Telmaryn, although Scarborough is neither unstable nor unknwon. You should have seen my surprise when I stumbled out of an alley in London into Tara," he recalled, chuckling. "I assure you, I reacted worse than our little foundling here."
"That makes me feel a little better," Rhiannon said dryly. "What's a foundling?"
Telmaryn clucked like an irritated mother hen. "You haven't told her anything, have you?" he said, annoyed. "Poor dear has a shock like that and you don't even bother to explain most of it!" The revelation of Telmaryn's grumpy grandmother side made Rhiannon smile while Marlowe tried to decide how he wanted to respond.
"I've answered a lot of her questions. She just hasn't asked that one. I told her that she's a changeling, just an unawakened one," Marlowe finally responded. "I don't even know what she is! That sort of thing comes at its own good time, Telmaryn."
Rhiannon frowned. "Before you two boys get to the chest-beating stage, would someone mind actually answering my question?"
Telmaryn, completely unfamiliar with the idea of a gorilla, gave her a blank look. He shrugged after a few moments and answered. "A foundling is a young changeling, like you, who hasn't come into their fey legacy yet." He cocked his head a bit. "Most changelings are located after they change, either by a nearby fey noticing the awakening, a mortal mage, or simply finding a trod on their own and following it."
"Okay..." Rhiannon trailed off, shrugging.
"In your case, though, you happened to 'trip' and follow a trod by accident," Telmaryn continued didactically. "This is quite rare, I assure you, and can be rather dangerous. Arcadia is not a place to wander unprepared," he pointed out, "as your own experience with our local wolf population shows, let alone if one should arrive in Unseelie lands. The Unseelie either love or despise changelings, for they have none of their own by birth," he explained. "This inspires either a jealous hatred or a desire to twist the changelings to an Unseelie mindset." He shook his head, a grave and sad expression on his small, dark face. "'Tis not a pleasant prospect, my dear, of that you may be assured."
Rhiannon shivered. "That sounds very painful," she finally answered.
"I assure you that it is," Telmaryn said gravely. "Now, then, since you've been warned not to travel unprepared, dear, let's get down to business." He smiled, a proud look on his face. "We need to find a way to get you home. Of course, we could simply try to follow the trod you came here by," he said, cutting off Rhiannon's suggestion of the same. "That would not be a good idea," he explained gently. "An unstable trod is often not easy to follow properly and is rather unpredictable. We might manage to follow it and take you back where you left from. We might wind up in, say..." Telmaryn trailed off, trying to find an analogy that she would understand.
"The Orient, such as China," Marlowe suggested mildly. "Or even Paris or Berlin, if I understood where you're from, my American friend."
"The Far East would probably be bad. There's some places over there that they really don't like Americans," Rhiannon replied.
"Right. And of course, there's a ruler's dislike of having a stranger wandering his lands," Marlowe added, getting an emphatic nod from Rhiannon. "So, naturally, we'd prefer to simply take another, more reliable road."
"Hmm... Are you from anywhere near Atlanta, dear?" Telmaryn asked, looking at another map. "There's a trod from Tara that's marked as leading to somewhere called Maranos, where there are several areas around a human city named Atlanta in Georgia," he explained when she nodded. "I've never been there, of course, but Maranos is supposed to be in eastern Kalmora."
"I've never heard of Kalmora," Rhiannon replied. "If you'd tell me where those trods lead, I might be able to help you a little more, though."
"Oh, I'm sure you'd be able to, dear," Telmaryn told her. "However, most of my charts are for Antara, Brell, and Torvane. I don't have the information you're looking for. I'm a wizard, not a cartographer," he reminded her, "and my specialty is in the magic related to trods, which is why I know so much about them. You'll have to find someone to guide you to Maranos from Tara and then a local to walk you down the trod you actually want to use. I'm afraid I'm of no further use to you."
Rhiannon's expression fell. "Thank you for your time, then," she told him sadly.
Telmaryn caught her disappointed look. "Now, now, dear, there's no reason to be worried. I'm sure that someone will help you. Kalmora has far more traffic with America than we do here in Antara but rest assured, you'll find your way home."
Rhiannon smiled bravely but as Marlowe watched her, he noticed that it didn't reach her eyes.
---
Rhiannon's head swam as the pair of them emerged out of the woods into the outskirts of a small town. Built on a more human scale that was largely lost in modern America, the town was also notable for being of an entirely different architectural style from the glass, steel, and concrete that so characterize the post-industrial town or city. The buildings were clustered together and one didn't get the sense that there was much beyond a vague notion of planned development. The tallest building was a single tower, at least half again the height of the smaller towers that lay here and there. At the circular spire's peak was what seemed to be a great blue gem, shimmering with some sort of inner light, distinct from the reflected sunlight on the white stone that seemed to be the main building material in this area.
Two men approached them. Adding to Rhiannon's sense of surreality was the fact that one was nearly eight feet tall with two small horns, slightly pointed ears (but not to the exaggerated degree that Marlowe's were), and blue skin, an immense sword that was probably larger than she was slung behind him, while the other was shorter and quite feral looking with long, pointed ears and an air about him that sent chills down her spine. The taller of the pair seemed to be in charge. "Afternoon, hunter. I see you've found a changeling."
Marlowe chuckled. "Something like that. I rescued this little foundling from a wolf out in the woods."
The feral one snorted. "You should have let it have her." He leered openly at Rhiannon for a moment with a perverse and disgusting mix of lust and animal hunger, not entirely unlike the looks she'd gotten from that one guy who had tried to rape her one time. Unfortunately, she didn't have a can of mace on hand like last time. Hopefully, she wouldn't need it. "On the other hand, she might be fun to have around. I've not fed on a human in a while."
Rhiannon glared at him, as did the other two. "No, Baerion," Marlowe said firmly. "She's a changeling, not a human, and in any case, she's under my protection for the moment. Leave her be unless you wish to taste my sword," he added darkly.
The tall, blue fey growled low in his throat. "He's right, Baerion. You know the terms of your parole as well as I do." Rhiannon, confused and feeling slightly threatened, didn't ask, sensing intuitively that this was not a good time.
"Damn that oath," the fey muttered, sounding more than a tad put out by the entire situation. The others ignored him.
Marlowe gestured at Rhiannon. "We need to find a lore singer. She stumbled onto a trod without realizing it and doesn't know the way back."
The tall one frowned thoughtfully. "I can see the problem. It's not something I'd have expected, Christopher. Honestly, you're the only other changeling I've ever met who's done the same thing," he pointed out. Then, the giant fey turned to her and bowed politely. "Greetings, young lady, and welcome to the town of Blaycliff Tower. My name is Aureander."
Rhiannon smiled and did a graceful curtsey, remarkably impressive for someone in battered jeans, sneakers, and a Lord of the Rings T-shirt, all of it smudged with dirt from her head-first dive from the wolf earlier. "I'm Rhiannon Waters. I go to Gunther Brighton University, outside Rome, Georgia."
The giant smiled down at her. "A scholar, eh? I think you'll find you're well in hand, then, girl. The Tower is home to the White Tower Scholomance. It should be... interesting for you to visit."
Rhiannon frowned and shook her head. "I'm just trying to get home. I'm not interested in any sort of magical training."
Aureander nodded amicably. "Fair enough. There's an expert on finding trods at White Tower, too," he informed her pleasantly enough. "I'm sure he'll be able to help you find your way home."
"Thank you for your help, sir," Rhiannon replied, curtseying again. Aureander nodded and, rather forcefully ushering Baerion to follow him, continued on his way.
Rhiannon glanced at Marlowe. "Just what were they? And what are you?" she inquired, frowning.
Marlowe raised an eyebrow. "They were fey, just like I am. Well, not exactly," he indicated, gesturing faintly. "I'm a changeling, a fey born of human blood. I'm also a daanu, not a giant or a lycan like Auerander or Baerion."
Rhiannon frowned. "Giant I can understand. He's a big guy. But how is Baerion a lycan?" she asked, still trying to understand what exactly was going on. "Doesn't that word come from the same root as lycaon?"
Marlowe frowned. "Yes, it does. Baerion's nature is predatory and, furthermore, he's a shapeshifter. His natural form is a wolf. We mainly keep him here to prevent him from running amok on Earth. The last time he did, it took us over a year to hunt him down and he killed and ate several people in France."
Rhiannon paled slightly. "Then why didn't you execute him? It sounds like he would have deserved it." The college student's voice was a tad unsteady and Marlowe realized that what little trust she had in him was seriously imperiled by this revelation.
He sighed. "We took the case to the king. For some reason, Baerion was let free on an oath of parole." He sighed again. "I don't know why. Most of the hunters arrayed against him were changelings," he explained. "The only two who weren't were a blood wizard, mainly to counter his powers, and a sidhe knight. The sidhe was there expressly as the king's agent, to prevent us from killing the bastard outright. My best guess is that the damned beast has a patron in the court... maybe even a relative." Noticing Rhiannon's expression, he shrugged. "I'm not going to pretend that I like it, foundling. If I ever figure out who's protecting that miserable wolf, I just might kill the damned fool, noble or not."
Blood wizard? Rhiannon mouthed dubiously. I do not like the sound of that, she decided. Out loud, she asked, "Fine, then. What's a daanu?"
Marlowe smiled. "You might know us as elves. The daanu are one legacy of the elves. The sidhe are another. We're not exactly clans, more like cousins. The old Tuuatha de Daanan, the ancient high fey, like Oberon or Arthur, died out a long time ago. They were never particularly numerous and, unlike the other elves, they didn't really reproduce very much at all. The true high fey these days are sidhe, daanu, and other elves that have a touch of Tuuatha blood in them." He gestured to the city around them. "The elves are the most common of the Seelie. There are some Unseelie legacies that are more numerous but they don't match the average elf's power, longevity, or intelligence."
"Wait a minute. I thought you said that the Seelie Court was gone," Rhiannon asked, very confused.
"They are. The word Seelie is still used as a descriptor for the fey that stood together, that chose living with each other instead of wandering around in small bands." Marlowe shrugged. "The Unseelie are and have always been fairly splintered. They also tend to be much more dangerous for mortals to deal with. Don't get me wrong, Seelie can be damned dangerous and in fact, downright evil. The difference is mainly that Seelie aren't as aggressive or as offensive about it. Even creatures like Baerion or fey vampires aren't as unpleasant as your average Unseelie hag. Worst comes to worst, all a predatory Seelie is going to do is kill you and eat you. Not pleasant but hey, that's life." His dismissive shrug was rather cold-blooded in Rhiannon's opinion. Catching the look on her face, he continued. "An Unseelie wants to prey on a mortal's fear, their soul, or just destroy them for the amusement value, damning them in the process. Some of them actively hate all other life and want it destroyed or corrupted." He gestured back the way they'd come.
"Baerion really is among the worst of the Seelie. Unpleasant, certainly, but even he isn't as bad as some of the milder Unseelie. If you're not inclined to accept that kind of thing and you're an Unseelie you either leave, die, or are corrupted to the point that you do." Marlowe sighed a bit sadly. "It's not something we can really change. The Unseelie are very, very dangerous, very sneaky, and the main reason they haven't managed to just outright kill the Seelie is that evil, by its nature, turns on itself. Our one real edge is that a Seelie can be trusted to watch your back if he gives his word... and, against an Unseelie, he usually will." Marlowe gestured. "It's part of our nature. We can't break a properly sworn oath. If you do... let's not go there..." he suggested.
"If your resources are so limited, why help humans?" Rhiannon asked callously with more than a touch of suspicion in her voice.
Marlowe smiled slightly. "Good question. I'm glad to see you're paying attention." Once the proud teacher moment was over, he continued with the lecture. "Most Seelie, especially non-changelings, aren't humanity's allies out of the kindness of their hearts. The Unseelie are a mutual enemy. If they manage to really harm humanity, it just might be the catalyst that a large faction would need to gain enough power to strike us all down. The last time they pulled something like that off, Earth's native sentient races died and Camelot was devastated while packs of Unseelie rampaged through Arcadia. It took a long time for us to pull back from that brink, especially after the attempts by the last two kings to salvage the situation blew up as spectacularly as they did. We aren't interested in doing it again and, frankly, as much trouble as humans are, we'd rather have someone holding that ground, even if they're aren't well-suited to the job. Some of us need humans to survive, for that matter, and some appreciate human cultre. Like me," Marlowe pointed out, grinning a bit. "While some of the Unseelie need humans as prey, too, the ones that don't generally don't care if man lives or dies, assuming they aren't actively hostile to Adam's progeny. Some of the predators aren't smart enough to realize how dangerous overhunting really is, for that matter."
"So basically, you're watching your own interests? We're just pawns to you?" Rhiannon asked accusingly.
Marlowe nodded. "To some of us, at least. I'm not that cold-hearted, girl. Hell, I spend a fair bit of my time keeping the Unseelie off the trods, just to protect my fellow Englishmen. I'd rather see humanity whole and hale. Some of us don't care that much. I do." He paused for a moment before continuing. "In a way, the Seelie share another trait with the sons of Adam, foundling. We both don't know why we're here or where it is that we're going. Maybe, in a sense, that makes us brothers. Maybe that's why there are changelings; the scholars claim that it was only the hominids that ever birthed fey of their own accord." Marlowe glanced at his audience. "I've seen things that shouldn't be, that only exist to hate. I've seen an angel or two." He shrugged again, something that he seemed to do a lot. "My old friend John Dee once told me that the angels thought the Seelie and the humans were destined for something great, something we could only achieve with the other's help. I don't know what and I don't think he did either. I do know that angels aren't inclined to lying. There must be some sort of plan but the only angel I ever talked to told me that tragedy and triumph are two parts of destiny; without one, the other can't exist. Whatever's coming, there's going to be a storm preceding it." Marlowe looked her in the eye. "I'm trying to help people get ready to weather it."
Faintly disturbed at the implcations of Marlowe's speech, Rhiannon was silent for the rest of their walk to the central tower, apparently the eponymous White Tower that housed the school of magic named for it.
Inside, the tower was cool and dim, lit only by floating blue flames, like some sort of magical cross between a light bulb and a torch, but it was a comforting sort of darkness, like a moonlit night in one's own backyard. Apparently, Marlowe knew his way around and simply led Rhiannon up several flights of stairs (for some reason, even though she tried, she was unable to count exactly how many). Once on the desired floor, they walked up to a dark-colored wooden marked in a language Rhiannon didn't recognize. Marlowe smiled fainly and knocked.
She heard someone grumbling inside, too faintly for her to pick out the words, and stared as the door creaked open slowly. The person peeking around it was the single strangest man she had ever met. From the waist down, he had the body of a small billy goat, almost like a centaur. From the waist up, he was dressed in robes that were so ornate and fancy that they struck her as absolutely ridiculous. His dark-skinned face, weather-beaten and grave, had several intricate tattoos that reminded her of pictures she had seen of the Maori. Topping this entire spectacle off was the one-foot-tall conical wizard's hat, rather like the one that Merlin was usually pictured wearing, made out of purple felt and decorated with silver stars. To add to the sense of hilarity, even with the hat, he barely came more than midway up her chest.
Rhiannon made the only possible response on seeing a creature this hilarious for the first time and burst out laughing. The centaur-like creature glared at her. "Oh, very amusing, laugh at the little wizard," he grumbled, sounding rather put off.
Marlowe, a tolerant smile on his face, let her get it out of her system. "I think that's enough, Ms. Waters," he commented mildly after a bit. "This is the fellow we're looking for, Wizard... Telmaryn?" he trailed off, getting a curt nod. Privately, he agreed with Rhiannon's response. Telmaryn's over-blown sense of gravity and personal dignity was rather ridiculous, especially with that laughable hat on his head. At the same time, he had a bit more self-control and a rather greater sense of just how gauche that reaction was in Seelie culture.
Rhiannon finally stopped giggling after a minute or so and stood up holding her sides. She brushed a few tears out of the corner of her eyes and giggled a bit more. "I'm sorry," she wheezed. "I'm sorry. It's just... that outfit is so..." she trailed off, still giggling a bit, trying to get herself back under control.
Telmaryn's dirty look deepened and, as Rhiannon was finally calming down, Marlowe decided to intervene. "My apologies, Telmaryn. She's had a very difficult day, the poor changeling," he told the wizard soothingly. "First she wandered down a trod without realizing it, getting terribly lost, and then was attacked by a fey wolf out in the woods. I'm afraid the stress of it must have gotten to her a bit."
Telmaryn's glare softened slightly as he glanced over at Marlowe and then took a closer look at Rhiannon, noticing for the first time that she was in a human form and just how odd her clothing was for a fey. "Ah, well, that's rather a different matter," he said, frowning. "Hmm..." The little centaur turned around and paced back into his office. "Come in, come in, poor dear," he added, bustling about. Marlowe smiled faintly as Rhiannon tried to keep from giggling again. "I'll get some coffee made and we can see what we can do. Yes, yes, trying day indeed."
Following the wizard into his work area, Rhiannon grinned as she looked around. It looked more like a professor's office than anything else, just scaled for the little centaur who was currently hanging a small pot over what looked like a gas burner linked to a small tank. He looked up and caught her grin. "You like my rooms, dear?"
Rhiannon nodded. "It looks like the offices of professors back at GBU, especially one of the chemistry teachers."
Telmaryn smiled at her. "Well, I am a teacher, dear." Rhiannon smiled back at him. "Now, sit down, sit down! I know I've got a biped's chair around here somewhere," he mused, looking around frantically. She helped him clean some books out of a chair and settled into it. "Well, now, what seems to be your problem, dear?" he asked. "I didn't happen to catch your name, either."
Rhiannon started to stand back up before he waved at her to stay seated. "My name is Rhiannon Waters. I'm a student at Gunther Brighton University in Georgia," she explained. "The last thing I remember before I wound up here was walking out into the woods. I sort of got a chill down my spine and then that blasted wolf attacked me."
"Yes, that probably was a trod," Telmaryn told her, nodding before he grabbed a pad of paper from a nearby worktable and started scratching some notes on it using a mechanical pencil. "How far away was it?"
"A mile or two, I guess," Rhiannon hazarded, shrugging.
Marlowe nodded when Telmaryn looked over at him. "About a mile and a half or so, wizard," he answered. "Northeast of town."
"Very good, then," Telmaryn said affably. "Ah, yes, I've been wondering about that one," he mused, bustling over to one of the tables and looking down at a map. Intrigued, Rhiannon stood up and walked over to look down over his shoulder. While she was almost entirely unable to read the map, he was pointing at something.
"Is that the trod I followed?" she asked. Telmaryn jumped and spun around, looking startled. She reached over and seated his hat back on his head where it had come askew, carefully adjusting it to fit back over the small billy goat horns on his forehead.. "Sorry," she apologized. "Was that the trod I followed?"
"Don't do that!" Telmaryn snapped. "You nearly startled me out of my horns! Anyway, yes, that's it, almost certainly. That trod was basically closed and no one, not even the rangers like Marlowe here, could tell me where it went. It's probably a new trod since even the elders didn't remember it." He shrugged dismissively. "New trods, especially the unstable ones like that one, tend to act up a lot when they first open. You probably just got caught in it and followed it by accident. It happpens to foundlings, sometimes."
Marlowe spoke up from where he was leaning against a bookcase. "It happened to me, for that matter, Telmaryn, although Scarborough is neither unstable nor unknwon. You should have seen my surprise when I stumbled out of an alley in London into Tara," he recalled, chuckling. "I assure you, I reacted worse than our little foundling here."
"That makes me feel a little better," Rhiannon said dryly. "What's a foundling?"
Telmaryn clucked like an irritated mother hen. "You haven't told her anything, have you?" he said, annoyed. "Poor dear has a shock like that and you don't even bother to explain most of it!" The revelation of Telmaryn's grumpy grandmother side made Rhiannon smile while Marlowe tried to decide how he wanted to respond.
"I've answered a lot of her questions. She just hasn't asked that one. I told her that she's a changeling, just an unawakened one," Marlowe finally responded. "I don't even know what she is! That sort of thing comes at its own good time, Telmaryn."
Rhiannon frowned. "Before you two boys get to the chest-beating stage, would someone mind actually answering my question?"
Telmaryn, completely unfamiliar with the idea of a gorilla, gave her a blank look. He shrugged after a few moments and answered. "A foundling is a young changeling, like you, who hasn't come into their fey legacy yet." He cocked his head a bit. "Most changelings are located after they change, either by a nearby fey noticing the awakening, a mortal mage, or simply finding a trod on their own and following it."
"Okay..." Rhiannon trailed off, shrugging.
"In your case, though, you happened to 'trip' and follow a trod by accident," Telmaryn continued didactically. "This is quite rare, I assure you, and can be rather dangerous. Arcadia is not a place to wander unprepared," he pointed out, "as your own experience with our local wolf population shows, let alone if one should arrive in Unseelie lands. The Unseelie either love or despise changelings, for they have none of their own by birth," he explained. "This inspires either a jealous hatred or a desire to twist the changelings to an Unseelie mindset." He shook his head, a grave and sad expression on his small, dark face. "'Tis not a pleasant prospect, my dear, of that you may be assured."
Rhiannon shivered. "That sounds very painful," she finally answered.
"I assure you that it is," Telmaryn said gravely. "Now, then, since you've been warned not to travel unprepared, dear, let's get down to business." He smiled, a proud look on his face. "We need to find a way to get you home. Of course, we could simply try to follow the trod you came here by," he said, cutting off Rhiannon's suggestion of the same. "That would not be a good idea," he explained gently. "An unstable trod is often not easy to follow properly and is rather unpredictable. We might manage to follow it and take you back where you left from. We might wind up in, say..." Telmaryn trailed off, trying to find an analogy that she would understand.
"The Orient, such as China," Marlowe suggested mildly. "Or even Paris or Berlin, if I understood where you're from, my American friend."
"The Far East would probably be bad. There's some places over there that they really don't like Americans," Rhiannon replied.
"Right. And of course, there's a ruler's dislike of having a stranger wandering his lands," Marlowe added, getting an emphatic nod from Rhiannon. "So, naturally, we'd prefer to simply take another, more reliable road."
"Hmm... Are you from anywhere near Atlanta, dear?" Telmaryn asked, looking at another map. "There's a trod from Tara that's marked as leading to somewhere called Maranos, where there are several areas around a human city named Atlanta in Georgia," he explained when she nodded. "I've never been there, of course, but Maranos is supposed to be in eastern Kalmora."
"I've never heard of Kalmora," Rhiannon replied. "If you'd tell me where those trods lead, I might be able to help you a little more, though."
"Oh, I'm sure you'd be able to, dear," Telmaryn told her. "However, most of my charts are for Antara, Brell, and Torvane. I don't have the information you're looking for. I'm a wizard, not a cartographer," he reminded her, "and my specialty is in the magic related to trods, which is why I know so much about them. You'll have to find someone to guide you to Maranos from Tara and then a local to walk you down the trod you actually want to use. I'm afraid I'm of no further use to you."
Rhiannon's expression fell. "Thank you for your time, then," she told him sadly.
Telmaryn caught her disappointed look. "Now, now, dear, there's no reason to be worried. I'm sure that someone will help you. Kalmora has far more traffic with America than we do here in Antara but rest assured, you'll find your way home."
Rhiannon smiled bravely but as Marlowe watched her, he noticed that it didn't reach her eyes.