Page 4

Sylvanna

T he Paladin is very trusting. He seems to have no idea that his weariness is due to the spell I laid on him using my Sleep Spool.

It appears to be a spool carved of ebon wood but the silvery thread wrapped around it is actually woven of dreams. To use it, I simply cut a length of dream-thread for as long as I wish my subject to sleep and whisper the Paladin’s name—which is Sir Alaric Brightsword, how very fitting—as I blow it into the wind.

Once the dream-thread finds its target, the spell takes effect. I stand over Sir Alaric and watch him sleep. He is divested of his armor—wearing only a long tunic which falls to his hips. He has spread his cloak on the grass beside the stream and he slumbers deeply.

He is a fine-looking man—if one likes the ruddy barbarian type.

We of the NightBorn favor pale skin and dark hair.

Sir Alaric is tanned all over—unsurprising, I suppose, since he spends so much time under the burning eye of the Sun.

I cannot see the color of his eyes but his hair is brown with golden streaks in it.

He has a straight nose and a sensuous mouth.

He also has surprisingly long lashes for a male.

I cannot help looking down below, where his linen tunic has ridden up to his flat, muscular belly, and I see that his shaft is absolutely immense .

Even in repose it’s much bigger than anything a NightBorn man would wield.

Well, well—I wonder how many bastards he’s sired for the Jewel of Knowing tells me that he has no wife.

I force my eyes above his waist again. His face in repose is troubled—as though his dreams are bad. A pity the thread I cut for him didn’t bring him sweeter sleep. But it could just be that he is anticipating battle with me.

The Paladin is well built—I estimate that he would stand at least a head and shoulders taller than a man of my own kind.

Indeed, if he was standing next to me instead of lying on the ground, I doubt the top of my head would even reach his shoulder.

He has the heavy muscles that can only be gained from swinging a sword day after day.

A Solarian barbarian indeed—he looks like a formidable opponent.

There’s something else that’s special about him as well.

I press the Jewel of Knowing which I wear at my temple and am surprised at what I learn.

Sir Alaric has magic! It’s very rare in Solaris now, because their GodKing did his best to stamp out anyone who has Power in their veins.

He has it himself, of course—it’s one reason he’s been able to rule for well over a century and still lives.

But he doesn’t like the idea of anyone besting him.

I am intrigued. I wonder why and how this Paladin has been allowed to thrive when he so clearly has magic coursing through him. Has he been able to hide it all these years?

The Jewel of Knowing can only tell me so much.

I’ll have to ask him or reach inside his thoughts and memories when he’s awake to learn more.

But should I let him wake? All my ravens told me that he seeks to kill me and take something from my collection.

The men of Solaris are not supposed to kill women, but of course he will justify it by saying I am a “wicked witch” or some such nonsense.

It might be wise to simply cut a longer length of dream thread—one that would last for say, twenty or thirty years—and let him sleep until he’s too old to bother me.

But I can’t help myself—I’m curious about the strangely beautiful barbarian lying on the ground at my feet.

I want to know what he’s seeking but more importantly, I want to know how he was allowed to grow and thrive with his power still intact while living in a land that views any kind of magic as blasphemy.

I decide that I will meet him in the ruined temple after all. The dream thread I gave him has almost expired. Soon he will wake and put on his armor to come and find me.

Then I’ll get my answers and decide what to do with him.