“Is something bothering you, Devol?” the older man asked as he bound the cloth in place with a bandage. “You’ve seemed rather quiet since we returned.”
“He could simply be tired,” Asla interjected grumpily.
“It’s not that,” the boy admitted and slumped on one of the beds. “Well, I suppose I am, but I overheard the guards bickering when we left them. One of them said something that got to me.”
“And what was that?” Vaust asked. “If it was a generic insult, don’t mind it. Many guards are rather foul-mouthed in this realm—at least that has been my experience.”
“It was, but it wasn’t about me. It was about you,” he replied.
“Something to do with the evil mori?” The Templar chuckled and stretched his arm. “You should have been around a couple of hundred years ago. Almost everyone believed those rumors. In fact, much of your superstitious lore comes from early run-ins with mori before the realms were widely known—”
“It was more about the Templars,” he said quickly. “They said Templars always bring curses with them.”
Vaust tensed slightly, Asla looked away, and Jazai merely shrugged and flopped onto his back on the other bed. “If you stick around, you’ll get used to that.” The apprentice yawned. “Or simply lie. I mostly tell people I’m a busboy in a brothel. I get fewer angry looks that way.”
The mori sighed as he took a red silk shirt out of his pack and put it on. “He is right—a smartass but a correct one.”
“It balances things,” the diviner quipped.
Devol recalled his first day at the order. “I remember Wulfsun telling me that the Templar had a dark past. It seems my life in Monleans was rather sheltered.”
Vaust regarded him curiously. “What makes you say that?”
He sighed and gestured with a mixture of frustration and impatience. “All these things I’m unaware of. Like the malefic Koli wielded. Jazai and Asla knew what it was. Even the guards seemed to understand that it’s important.”
“Most try to suppress the knowledge of those objects,” Asla pointed out. “It would not be too surprising for you to not know of them.”
“Still, things get out,” Jazai countered. “They may not exactly be taught about in most academies and schools, but malefic were a big deal several centuries ago. That information doesn’t disappear as long as someone knows about it.”
“And there are quite a few who know,” Vaust muttered and sat beside the young swordsman. “Wulfsun is better at things like this than I am, but I’ll give you the summary. You deserve that much after today.”
Devol turned to examine the mori. He was still learning how to read him but even with what little he did know, he showed signs of remorse and sorrow.
“The malefics are based on majestics. You could probably tell that much,” the Templar began and glanced at his kama where it rested against his bag. “Majestics weren’t invented—not in the way we usually think of such things. There are many legends that try to reveal where they come from.”
“Some say they were divine weapons of the Astrals, if you believe in them,” Jazai interjected. “Others say they were a physical manifestation of the Mana or souls of legendary Magi, while some claim they were legendary weapons that became majestic over time after completing great tasks—like many heroes you hear about in stories.” Vaust cast the apprentice an irritated look but the boy simply shrugged and shifted a little to get more comfortable. “Hey, I’ve heard this spiel from both my pops and Zier enough times to make it a paragraph rather than a two-hour lecture. I thought I’d help.”
The mori relaxed and chuckled. “Fair enough. But no one is able to say for certain which of these tales, if any, are true. You would perhaps find scholars and archeologists who swear up and down that they could, but that’s pride speaking.”
“You have them in your realm as well, correct?” Devol asked.
Vaust nodded. “Indeed, all realms have majestics and their stories of what they are and where they came from. But your realm is rather unique, not only for having a plethora of them in comparison but quite a number of suitable wielders. Majestics are typically more hallowed in other realms and often with elaborate legends to the effect that those who can wield them are destined for greatness.” He chuckled darkly. “We mori found out rather quickly that greatness is a personally defined term.”
“I’m getting more familiar with majestics,” Devol noted. “But what does this have to do with the malefics?”
The Templar sighed again and grimaced. “Right. I suppose I’m delaying. As I said, majestics cannot be made. Over the centuries, we have found ways to modify and even repair them but no one has been able to successfully make a weapon or object that compares to a majestic, although some good has come from trying.”
“Like the exotics,” he ventured.
“Correct,” Vaust agreed. “But the idea of creating a majestic is something I’m sure a great number of people have been fascinated with ever since they learned about them all that time ago. That included a large number of Templars roughly five hundred and forty years ago, and they came the closest to success.”
Asla perched on top of a dresser at the window of the room and gazed out as the mori continued his explanation.
“These Templars were able to craft magical weapons and items that could indeed match a majestic in power, but they were not equal. Majestics can only be wielded by certain people for various reasons, but malefics can be wielded by anyone regardless of their skill or power.”
“Truly?” Devol asked. “But then they succeeded, in a way. They are more powerful if more people can use them.”
“It’s true that people don’t like
