Highwater and Glass

The Passage of Crows, Chapter 2 - Oran

In the early morning hours, just as the sun was rising, the Archmage, Oran Highwater arrived in Port Shorishal. It was a brisk winter day; the frigid wind tossed Oran's deep green cloak behind him as he crossed the drawbridge to the gate house of the castle. In an ox blood cloak of his own, Horus Morningshire followed distantly, like a shadow. The behavior of Oran's former peer had become increasingly hot and cold over the season, but heeding the words of the wyrd woman, Miranna, Oran opted to keep him close.

It had been an unusual few months, living in the hearh tree and training with Miranna. In some ways, the ordeal felt like a lifetime, in others it felt as though hardly a moment had gone by. Time behaved differently in the hearh, and when Oran emerged he felt dizzied, as though the world were spinning too fast and he had to plant his feet firmly for fear of tipping over. After the sensation passed, he was left with a heightened sense of focus and a more intuitive relationship with his magical acumen. It was a boon that, Oran worried, had come at a cost. His relationship with humanity felt more distant. True, passion and empathy still existed within him, but they felt somehow lesser to temperance, reason, and analysis. He wondered if the all-consuming love expressed in the sonnets of poets was a sensation his tepid heart could ever know. Was impassioned love intrinsic to the human experience, or was he better off without it?

His inner monologue quieted as a page approached him, crossing the lower bailey with the telltale misery of a boy awakened too early for his chores. He greeted them both with a bow, his sandy hair was a mop of curls and his lips were chapped and blue from the cold. He couldn't have been older than twelve.

"Greetings Archmage," said the boy. "The good king is pleased to receive you. He has prepared a room for you where you may rest until he summons you. We have a cot for your charge as well," he added quickly, eyeing Horus nervously.

"Watch your tongue, boy," Horus snapped, raising the back of his hand suddenly as if to strike him.

The boy flinched. He had been struck before. Oran held his arm between them.

"Please," said Oran, more to Horus than the boy. "Mage Morningshire is not my charge. He is my advisor. Please address him as such and correct others in our absence. We wouldn't want the staff to mislabel him."

The page nodded vigorously.

"And thank me for my mercy," said Horus, "Lest I warm my windchilled hands o'er your ashen bones."

Oran glared at him.

"Th-Thank you, Mage Advisor Morningshire."

Horus raised his eyebrows at the boy, though not completely satisfied. He never would be.

"If we're all finished with our bullying, perhaps this kind page can lead us out of the cold," suggested Oran.

The page turned without a moment's hesitation and guided them to the grand arched entrance of the famed Blue Keep. Great banners flashing Iron Fen's colors flanked the doors; a golden sky of fine silk over deep blue waves embroidered with beaded thread and delicate silver wire. The main hall was bypassed in favor of a spiral stair leading to an adjacent spire that overlooked the chapel courtyard. It was the standard tower for housing the Archmage; it was, in fact, nicknamed The Archmage's Tower. The chambers were adorned with the heraldry of the acting mage's hometown. Thus, upon approach, Oran noticed the seal of Alindal removed from the wooden door and replaced with the seal of Highwater; a freshwater dolphin and a river otter beside a collection of spears and nets.

"Here we are," said the page. "The staff has set a breakfast for you both at the side table. The king should summon you before noon. Is there anything else you need from me?"