'I forgive you,' she said.
'What'-his face twisted-'what will happen to you when you go?'
'How can I guess,' she whispered, straining to force the words out, 'when I no longer even know what manner of creature I am? I'm not afraid. Perhaps I'll be reborn into my former state. I was still a bit like an angel, wasn't I, at the end?'
He started to reply, but she never heard what he wanted to say. The darkness flowered into prismatic light, and she was elsewhere.
Reprisal
It's late, but I'm too excited to sleep, A young man like myself with little experience rarely gets such an opportunity. But I'm determined to make them proud. I'm determined to serve my nation honorably. And there's no telling where it might lead.
I grew up in the tiny village of Tyarel, some eighty miles outside Jornstad, the seat of power of Eastern Kjeldor. Although Tyarel was a small town, it was located along a major trade route. It was constantly busy, caravans and travelers arriving at all hours of the day, soldiers and diplomats faithfully executing the orders of the king, and merchants offering their wares to those who passed through.
My uncle was one such merchant. He was a successful jeweler and a man of deep wisdom. When my parents succumbed to the plague, it was he who took me in and raised me as his son. He taught me to think critically, and he taught me his trade.
We both knew I was not destined to be a jeweler. I wanted to be an historian, and my uncle graciously agreed to provide financial support. So the day after my eighteenth birthday, I left for Jornstad to pursue my studies at an institution of higher learning.
Although I was anxious to leave home, I did not relish the journey. By law, we were required to travel under armed escort. Dangerous creatures of both the two-legged and four-legged variety roamed the wilderness.
The Dominarian landscape had been changed forever by the Brothers' War. The fury unleashed by Urza and Mishra had caused massive climate shifts from which the land still had not recovered. The apocalyptic war ravaged the whole world, bringing with it colder weather and upsetting nature's balance. The lower temperatures caused terrible food shortages, and creatures that did not die outright became more aggressive hunters.
Some of the larger ones were notorious for harassing travelers. Giant insects, dog-headed serpents, beasts of every ilk ruled the wildlands. Of these, the most feared were the wurms: massive creatures that slithered upon the ground, similar in every respect to their dragon cousins but without wings or legs. One in particular was said to plague the city of Jornstad. Indeed the locals had named it Rhindle. He was enormous-even for a scaled wurm-with sparkling, orange eyes and the scars of a thousand battles, or so I was told.
Many a merchant's caravan was lost on the road between Tyarel and Jornstad. I don't know how many went down to Rhindle's wicked claws, but survivors told frightening tales. They told of a massive creature, as stealthy as a shadow that lurked just beyond torchlight and waited for the proper moment to strike. The beast was said to possess an unusual intelligence, and perhaps that was the most frightening thought of all. Few people ventured outside of town after dark.
Thankfully, my little party did not encounter any such horrors. There were no fantastic two-headed creatures or winged predators. The true wonders awaited me in Jornstad.
I was used to the hustle and bustle of a busy town, but Jornstad staggered my senses. During the day it was a swirl of color and sound like a perpetual carnival. Merchant and passenger caravans constantly came and went through the city's sturdy gates.
The main avenue was adorned with towering poplar trees and colorful banners, and it ran through the well- kept public gardens known as Rothchild Park. An exquisite marble fountain adorned Rothchild Park, where two stone lions wrestled amid the splashing water.
In the summer, short as it was, the park was alive with the buzzing of insects and flowers of a thousand hues. Musicians and theatrical performers sometimes offered free shows where crowds could enjoy a brief respite from the chill.
When the colder months came, and the trees had lost their leaves, the gardens were no less enchanting. The stillness wove a different kind of magic. It was a world of mute snows, punctuated only by the laughter of children building snowmen and throwing snowballs at each other.
Beyond the gardens was the huh of activity in Jornstad. Shops, pubs, and meeting houses lined both sides of the street. Tobacconists mingled with wizards, beggars, and sculptors. Preachers and blacksmiths walked alongside carpenters and scholars. Street performers with trained animals tried to impress passersby, as messengers rushed past delivering correspondence between businesses. The aroma of bread and fish cakes wafted through the air from the street vendors who were selling their wares to hungry travelers. It was a delightful mix of diversities.
My first introduction to Jornstad was an intoxicating experience. After attending the college for almost two years, I was at last beginning to feel comfortable with the city, and it was a place I was proud to call home.
The sun had just reached its zenith on a cold, cloudless day, and I was trying to work up the courage to ask Evara, the baker's daughter, to accompany me to the Snow Festival. I leaned on a tree some distance away, admiring her long blonde hair woven into a single braid. She'd enchanted me with her blue eyes and a teasing grin. I breathed deeply and prepared to make my move.
'My young Finroy, may I have your assistance?' a familiar voice called from behind me. I turned to see the schoolmaster, Jerod, a warm and affectionate man in his late fifties with hair as white as his smile.
He was kind to everyone, and I was his favorite. Rumor among the boys was that he was quite a warrior in his day, but I never really could believe it. His unassuming way made him an instant friend to one and all, and he seemed to know everyone in town.
'What is it?' I asked.
He breathed deeply, savoring the moment, I think.
'Duke Devareaux approached me this morning about finding a young man from the school for a special job in the royal court. I thought you might know someone from among the boys ready for such a challenge. He would have to be a bright boy with a hardy sense of adventure, able to think quickly on his feet.'
I shrugged, deeply disappointed. Had I even been considered? 'I'm not sure, sir,' I answered. 'Thaddeus, or Shaboo maybe? They're quite smart.'
A broad smile broke through his weathered features.
'I recommended you,' he said after a brief pause, shaking my hand. 'Congratulations, Finroy. The job's yours if you want it.'
After a stunned silence I regained my composure. In my excitement I almost forgot to ask, 'What job is this, exactly?'
'Well, Duke Devareaux didn't say, but he's a very powerful man, and if he said it was an important job, you can bet it's the opportunity of a lifetime. He said you may even have a chance to work under Lord Rothchild himself!'
Lord Rothchild. The region had had many good years under his reign. Farmers and merchants alike prospered under his rule. Men idolized him. Ladies swooned for him. Every child emulated him.
Peace with Balduvia, uneasy as it was, had begun to take root. Food was plentiful. Everything was going well, and Lord Rothchild got all the credit.
During the fifth year of his reign, a popular movement began to immortalize his likeness on the currency.
