A Storm of Shadows (Shatterborn Book One)

Chapter IX, Revelation

Emmaline placed her bardiche gently on the wall and slung the pack on the floor. Alandriel had already retreated into the kitchen and was rummaging through the cupboards.

            “I wouldn’t bother,” Lucian called to Alandriel. “I don’t usually buy food.”

Alandriel scowled. “You knew we were coming, and yet you still didn’t stock up?”

Emmaline watched curiously from the side of the doorway as the two had their exchange. Lucian, now leaning on the kitchen bench, turned and winked at her. She bit her lip to suppress a grin. Lucian turned back to Alandriel, still clad in his heavy golden plate. He stood so tall that he had to bow his head, lest he scrape it on the ceiling.

Looking around, Emmaline noticed that a lot had changed in the house that had been hers. Where there had once been stacks and stacks of books, Lucian had somehow brought in several racks of strange looking equipment. She recognized some of them as Marks, but others were completely foreign to her. Where there had been bulging armchairs that swallowed anyone who sat in them, low wooden seats now stood. Ornate carvings decorated the backs of them; Emmaline could make out pictures of men throwing fire and lightning, moving earth, and even, somehow, flying. It was all so odd to her, so inconsistent with her memories of the place. Worst of all, the house was tidy. Not only had the stacks of books in the lounge disappeared, but all across the first floor of the house as well, it seemed. It was unnerving. Emmaline almost went up the stairs then and there to see if the library was still there, but decided against it.

Lucian chuckled. “I sincerely apologize, Alandriel. Perhaps you could invoke your privileges as a Knight of the Nine and summon some food for us all?”

His back turned to Emmaline and Lucian, Alandriel sighed. “I’m not a Knight of the Nine, Silverhand, and you know that full well. I mean you were the one to convince me that I should abandon that calling.”

Lucian shrugged and pulled out a small pouch. Out of it, he took a steel coin and two coppers. He flexed his fingers momentarily and in a flash of light, they disappeared, to be replaced by a loaf of bread, a large chunk of cheese, cured ham and several pieces of fruit. Emmaline’s eyes widened in shock. “How did you…?”

“Deiomancy,” Lucian smiled. A knife twirled between his fingers. He began to cut the bread into slices.

Alandriel, giving up on his foraging through the cupboards, turned back to the two. His eyebrow twitched upwards slightly when he saw the food spread out on the bench. He looked questioningly at Lucian. “I hope you paid for this.”

Lucian scoffed. “Of course I paid for it. What do you take me for? A charlatan?”

Emmaline was still staring curiously at the food. “You didn’t conjure it, then?”

“Of course not,” Lucian replied. “I shifted it through reality.”

“Is that deiomancy?” Emmaline found herself even more confused.

Lucian frowned thoughtfully. “It’s an Aspect of it. Have you not been taught anything about deiomancy?”

Emmaline shook her head. “I didn’t even know it existed. I’ve only been taught the Art of Weaving.”

This brought a grimace to Lucian’s face. “Don’t call it that. That’s a surefire way of giving yourself away. Only monks of the Hidden Temple call thaumaturgy the Art. Oh, and ‘Ki’ is now élan vital. Hope you can keep up.”

Emmaline found she could not. Her confusion must have shown on her face, for Alandriel rolled his eyes. While his hands worked busily making a sandwich out of the bread, cheese and ham, he replied. “For all your brilliance, Lucian, you’re excellent at befuddling people. Try and be a little more concise if you’re going to explain things, would you? We’ve been walking too long to decipher your nonsense.”