She dismissed such thoughts. There was no logic in that, just baseless acceptance. No, she had to know.
"How?"
"When you are worthy," he said.
There was the possibility of his words being a lie... She used that as a calming mantra. Do not accept, think, ponder, break down the words and mannerisms, and from them pull out the truth hidden from perception. Only then would she find the balanced truth.
That served its purpose.
"When I'm worthy," she repeated the words, watched the solid, white floor, and thought, The seduction of his words could be a deliberate thing. It's hard, but not impossible. The usage of impressions and words can create a strong enough thought. If I think it, I must surely believe it; that can be the tool he uses. Ivory forced herself to perceive this being as another—the leeches on her heel.
He seemed to move; Ivory noted this by the shifting direction of his voice. "I can give this to you—that wanted power."
For? she added within.
"For knowledge."
She froze—now that was unexpected. "Knowledge?"
"Yes," he said. "You are a brightCrown, and I am... encumbered. You will provide me with knowledge. When enough, I will grant you this wish."
Just like that? Ivory held onto her doubt. "What knowledge?"
"Any."
"What if I cannot provide it?"
"Then the time of your power remains distant." Finality in his tone.
Ivory found herself accepting his words; perhaps it was the familiar way he had said it. Knowledge—the universal weapon. What did he want with that? Of course, Ivory knew the possibility of this being a ploy by another clan. Such was common. In this, her only hope was the filtered data: information chosen and given for the reason of non-damage to the clan.
This required a certain awareness of details.
It could, if the reward were possible, reduce the time before power was gained. It mattered not in the end; the outcome remained the same. In that time, she would also glean knowledge from this being.
He said then, "First question."
Ivory perked up.
Argon enjoyed the solitary game. He was in the private chamber, a small arched room with a roof of similar sides. A triangle, when viewed from above. On the walls were darker grey hues. He found that color calming—Almighty above knew he needed the serenity.
Alone, slumped on an elastic foam seat, the black sun board hovered before him. Cast as such. He played it, shifted both disks. A mind-drifting exercise, accompanied by the room—it provided a distinct check of somberness.
He moved a piece, studied the movement, smiled, said, "What a game. Near infinite probabilities. Such a game against a high-ranking caster is damnation."
A voice sounded—through the invisible eiyas. "Do you require a partner for the game?"
Argon waited, then, "Where is Samara?"
The voice returned. "She's tweaking the nariel—fixing, perhaps."
He chuckled. "That woman—never one to allow a remark." He said, "Soon, she will rub the outcome on that castWarer."
"Miralin."
"Yes, Miralin." A final snort. "Ah, what of Ivory?"
"She is asleep." The origin unknown voice.
"Yes." Argon glanced to the side—at nothing in particular, just the dark grayish walls. "She sleeps well. Gladwell would have been so happy to see her."
"Maybe he does."
Argon smiled—that voice, name left unknown for protective reasons, was a friend of his. That allowed free rein to such a personal conversation. He moved a piece, regarded the walls. "She looks too much like Samara; one might think them sisters. Ah, what a joke." He knew it was an ill-formed quip but accepted no one had heard it—at least, no one that technically existed.
He paused, frowned.
"Now what is that?"
The room trembled!
Merrin was to pose a question, abruptly, a sense of intense danger came upon him. His flesh crawling with that intense chill of dread. Run! Run! Run! The warning screamed. He looked beyond the lowered woman—seeking, and found a stirring at the edge of the whiteness. Above, the world twisted, waxen colors blended like a finger stirring a river.
No time.
He marshaled his awesome force, pushed against that intrusion. To him, it felt like a new corroding identity spilling into the pool of his collective. Out! Out! The warning. That awareness must not form within; Merrin knew great terror in that. He would lose. With absolute surety, if that identity grew within, this world would be withdrawn from him. Like how the fallen had lost its castle, something was to be taken from him.
Merrin resisted—a battle that painted itself into the world. The skies sparked, and the ground cracked. Something was coming. His force surged out in queer waves of light.
No!
Two eyes opened in the sky—massive. He staggered back, met the floor. Surprised, he scanned and found his legs gone—nothing. There was no pain, just a distant tingling. His heart pounded. It had taken his legs!
The eyes above were dark—a metallic shade to them. A voice snapped into the world: "To return here again? What bravado you must have!" It reverberated through.
Just then, Merrin felt his tide of awesome force battered down, swallowed whole like a drop into the ocean. His eyes widened. I'm going to lose it!
The intrusion pressed on, drowning the connection between the castle. Disengage. Disengage. Disengage. The eyes expanded, casting a sense of inescapable terror. Even the young lady had fallen into frenetic motions, eyes darting through the white expanse.
Mist it!
He broke the dream and saw it shatter like shards of glass.
Ivory gasped awake and saw Argon beside her, scowling.
Mist this!
Ivory felt the hard gaze of the Highness—Argon of Valor, hands folded, head tilted down ever so slightly—not bowed, more demeaning. He was alone in her chamber, the door locked, ordered so by him, she imagined. After all, the dream proved an incompetence of defenses; naturally, her room should be swarmed with deadEyes, Excubitors, Casters, castWarers. None were there.
Just her and him. Or more like, Him. Here, his presence loomed, watching—an unmovable mountain. How would she escape this? Her still groggy mind saw no pathway.
Argon, dressed in a side-buttoned coat and trousers, now observed the walls. Ivory noted from his clothes the haste that brought him. From his perspective, she understood, he saw danger and rushed to counter it.
The dream!
She recalled now the fear in that blurred man—or woman, though his voice pointed at the latter. That dread painted itself into that world; the origin, she sensed, was the Highness. That, when superimposed with her original analysis of the stranger's identity, only gave relevance to the might of Argon. That power—utterly, the man was battered. No resistance, she saw; he was defeated by the Highness of Valor.
A difference of force? The man claims he's able to give caster power; Argon, with his might, cannot boast the same. Force was the universal dominator, but certain achievements are beyond it. Was this the same now? She observed Argon's restlessness, brief twitches in his brows. Did he know she could see it?
Argon, done with his inspection, turned to her and said, "Who was that?"
His tone gave the impression that Ivory knew prior to the meeting. Would he accuse me of treachery to the clan? she thought, then said, "I have never met him. But there is a chance his name is I Am."
"An obvious acronym meant to deceive."
I am not so sure, Ivory thought, hearing the tapping of Argon's fingers on his High ring—that trinket that marked one as Highness. He said, "Was he the same as before?"
Ivory maintained silence. She was unsure of that, partially at least. The one seen before bore a striking difference; hands aflame, this one was not. Chances were both were Avatars of a single being—the true I Am. Such seeing both as the same was both wrong and true. She wondered which was which.
Argon scowled at her silence. "Are you hiding his existence?"
"Why would I do so?"
Argon stepped forward, inches from the rim of her bed. She was still on it. "Within that space, you seemed subservient to him."
"And that aligns with my known personality?" Ivory chose to play mind games. "Why would I bow to some being? I, one to become the highest?" She knew Argon would have no problems against the blinding light of the Man; she, however, could not endure the same intensity. That was part of the deception.
Argon watched, silent, then, "How did he enter your room?"
"A failure in the defenses."
"Even after the modifications?"
"Even after that," Ivory said, leaning on the headboard. "As I proposed to Mother, extensive force could have broken through the defense."
Argon grew thoughtful. "That aligns with my observation. He does have tremendous force, though control is postulant. Something similar to that of a vested caster—no, likely an acolyte."
Did he plan that deception? Ivory dismissed the prospect revealed by Argon; that I Am was something of a vested caster. In that rank, the symbols he demonstrated would have destroyed his mind—he could have become a telemir.