Celes Callistos smiled at the Stratega Healer, as he droned on about incoming freshman healers. She subtly adjusted her gown, and leaned towards him, enough so he could look her over, if he wanted. There was no sign so far that her glamor spell was working on him. Maddeningly, his pale blue eyes didn’t drop even once. What a challenge this pretty man was turning out to be, but there was still a chance she could get him back to her room tonight.
She was listening to his silly problems, but only for the sake of better understanding who Dorian Andreon was. This was her first Last Meal sitting at the Stratega table, having ascended to her position mere months ago, and with higher status come greater challenges.
She had made it her mission to have sex with the Stratega Healer. Tonight!
She had seduced a few Healers in her days as a Magister, but listening to this powerful man beg for release would be the ultimate exploit. She smiled and lightly asked a question, while she raised her glamor spell by 0.5%.
“Tell me Stratega Dorian, why is it that you allow the declining number of new healers to bother you? The number of mages we have enrolled today is lower than most years, but I don’t find that worrisome."
The man leaned in, engaged by her interest in his silly class of third-rate magic users. Healers were all wannabe mages.
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. It’s not the number of freshmen healers that I find concerning, Stratega Celes,” the blue-haired man spoke too softly for his station. “It’s the reluctance and overall quality of the incoming freshmen. I’ve spoken to many young Healers today, and none of them know the first thing about the Art of Healing.”
His voice was pitched at whisper level, which reminded her of the way a lover speaks to you from across the bed. Is he purposefully enticing her? She added a new challenge to her list; she would make him scream her name.
“Many of these young men come from families of traditionally proud Healers, but they don’t seem to carry that same pride. The first question I was asked today was ‘Are we going to have to touch girls to heal them?’”
“That does sound like an issue,” Celes replied with sympathy thick in her voice.
She increased her glamor again, this time by 1.5%. She saw a subtle twitch in his eyes, but he remained rooted next to her, still at arm’s length. She caught another whiff of his scent. The man must reek under those layers of robes, but why did she find the smell so alluring? It smelled like sex.
“I suppose you know more about the Art of Healing than anyone else. Tell me, Stratega Dorian, have you had much experience healing mages?”
She leaned in further, trying to catch another whiff, when she glanced over at Octavia. The Stratega Caster was also looking at Dorian. She was sitting up a little too straight, her ridiculously huge breasts heaving excitedly, and she was wearing her enchanted spectacles. Could she see through his robes with those things? She assumed so, by the way Octavia bit at her lower lip.
“Of course, I have…”
Dorian stopped in midsentence, looking over her shoulder. His pale eyes took on a look of interest, and he smiled for the first time since sitting down.
“I do believe there is a young Fighter who wishes to speak with you.”
Celes turned in her seat, to find that a boy, looking like he was barely old enough to wear that Academy uniform, was right behind her. He was standing very close to her and he was a Fighter.
She allowed her face to show her displeasure at this interruption. How dare this Fighter approach her, and how dare he threaten her with his proximity?
Even freshmen should know well enough that mages need space. Was he going to try something physical? He may be extremely young and beautiful, but as a rule she didn’t trust fighters. She shifted her glamor spell and adjusted her gown once more. The response was immediate.
He was standing and she was seated. His eyes, already looking downward at her, lowered further and locked onto her tits. His mouth, which had seemed poised to speak, froze. She could practically see his mind struggle to form a thought as he drooled over the sight of her chest. Now that was a satisfying reaction to her glamor.
“You must be very brave or very stupid to approach the table of Strategas at Last Meal, freshman,” she trilled in her high voice, which many past lovers had complimented her on. “Which one is it?”
The boy, his brain snapping back into action, grinned apologetically and replied, “Neither, I’m afraid. You see, I came here under oath that I would approach you with information on the Time Slip before I talk to anyone else about it.”
“What are you talking about… What do you mean Time Slip and under whose oath are you bound?” she demanded, feeling perturbed.
"Stratega Celes," he replied smoothly. His voice was too soft, too familiar. Not at all intimidated. "It was you who I swore this oath with."
She didn’t see it at first, but there was something strange about the boy’s eyes. Though they were a lovely shade of deep brown, they flashed to clear, just long enough for her to see her own image reflected back. But did she appear to be screaming in her reflection?
“I am a Mnemon,” the boy said, as if the word were very important. “After the Commanders give their speeches, could you please meet me in the Phoenix Room? I’ll be waiting for you by your bed. Only then will I share with you the secrets that I swore to share.”
A shiver ran up her spine. This strange boy wasn’t who he seemed to be. Was he wearing a disguise? A wizard possibly? While he spoke, she saw her reflected face in his eyes once more, though this time she had been crying out in pain.
He leaned in close and it took effort for her not to flinch away. She put her finger to his beautiful lips, silencing any potential spells he had prepared.
“Are you a wizard?” she asked, struggling to keep control of her voice as her nerves were rising and she mentally prepared her magic defenses and a strong counter-attack. She led with a mental shield and a truth spell, which would both be undetectable, even from this distance.
“No, and I never will be,” the boy answered quickly. Something angered him about the question. “I am a Mnemon, and it would be beneficial to meet with me right away after the speeches.”
She relaxed just a touch, knowing that a real wizard could not deny being one. Then she noticed a hole in the boy’s wording. She kept the truth spell up and asked, “Would our meeting be beneficial for me or for you?”
The boy smiled and another flash of strangeness crossed his eyes, too quick for her to make out.
“For both of us. If you don’t arrive by 10 bells, I’ll be free of my responsibility to you and you’ll never see me again. Do not tell anyone what I just said to you. It’s in your best interest that no one else knows.” He paused and then seemingly as an after-thought added, “Except for Stratega Octavia. If you can convince her to join us, things will… run smoothly. See you then.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond. Stepping quickly between the tables, he was gone in a moment.
Everything he had said was true, or at least he believed it to be true. She realized with a start that she had let her glamor spell end midway through that strange encounter. What a mistake on her part! She started it and felt her confidence in her beauty returning. Her physical appeal rose, but it would be some time until it reach a high enough level to influence Dorian. What a waste.
Turning back to the handsome healer, she saw that he was smiling at her. His smiling face was even more endearing than the the morose looks he'd been giving her all evening.
“Who was that, Stratega? I’ve never seen you talking with fighters before,” he said with a touch of humor. "Especially one so young and cute."
“No one that you know,” she replied simply, “he was delivering a message for my ears only.”
She would honor the boy's request and not talk about it, no matter how strange ‘it’ is. Looking across the table, she saw that Octavia’s eyes were on her as well, but this time with curiosity.
“I imagine you already know that boy, Octavia?” she asked innocently, wondering briefly what role she played in this situation. Why did he ask her to bring Octavia along?
The woman sighed and picked up her wineglass. “I have never seen him before in my life,” she replied flatly before drinking down the rest of her wine.
Celes watched her for a few moments, trying to decide how she wanted to involve her. They had a lot of history, the two of them. Octavia had never forgiven her for stealing her partner away from her, and she was constantly looking for signs of weakness. Celes grinned at the memory of Octavia walking in on her and the binder boy fucking on his double bed. They weren’t even dating, they were casting buddies at best.
Celes sighed as well and picked up her wineglass. What a ridiculous situation this was! There’s no way the boy could meet her in her room. Sure, he knew the passcode was ‘Phoenix,’ but he hadn't received an invitation to enter, and she wasn’t about to give him one.
A silence fell over the crowd and Celes put the meeting out of her mind as the Commanders began to talk.
One by one, each military leader gave their welcome speeches to the incoming freshmen. Commander Vexshield, the leader of the Royal Eryndorian Battle Mages, spoke on the pursuit of knowledge and power being just a small part of what it means to be a mage. That loyalty and service to Eryndor was the rest of it. Celes chuckled to herself.
That’s half the truth.
Celes knew that knowledge and power was only the first step in becoming a great mage. Ascending the Spire was a matter of hoarding knowledge and exerting power. She didn’t care about the good of the nation, or the war with the wizards. Celes didn’t care what the freshmen mages said or did. Hell, she’d be satisfied if there were no freshmen wizards at all. That’d cement her position at the top of the Spire. She knew every mage aspired for more control, well she’d taken control of the entire Mage Class and she wasn’t about to let some upstart students, or the Battle Mages, or the wizards for that matter, take it away from her.
A small warning sounded in her mind, bringing her train of thought to a stop. Her blood ran cold.
Someone had entered the Phoenix Room.
* * * * * * * * *
The rest of the evening was a rush of exposition, as Commander Warminister revealed the truth about the Time Slip. When the Commander called on anyone with information on the Mnemons to come forward, she had briefly considered doing so, but in the end she remembered that the Mnemon had come to her because he’d sworn an oath to do so.
“He must be working for me, in some way,” she muttered to herself.
“What’d you say?” Octavia demanded from across the table.
She had an intense look on her bookish face and she'd been overly talkative ever since the boy fighter had visited them. Was she really not aware of who he was?
“Not that it’s your concern, but I was asking how we would recognize a Mnemon if we saw one.”
Octavia looked at her through those enchanted glasses. Why did she look so amused? Did her also let her identify lies or omissions? She would love to have that function added to her magic robes.
Octavia sat up straight and quipped, “I suppose the only way to tell if someone is a Mnemon is if they can predict the future. Although anyone can pretend to know the future, a real Mnemon might know what you’re going to do, before you do it.”
“Hmm… That’s a good point,” Celes said, weighing the idea. On a whim, she added, “Octavia, would you like to meet someone who knows about the future?”
“Would I…? No I don’t think I would. I imagine it would be a lot like meeting a wizard, and you know better than most how terrible they are.”
Celes nodded and looked away. She didn’t like that Octavia knew about her history with the wizard Belfast. There’s no way that she could know, but Belfast had pulled some strings with the Academy when they were deciding on the new Stratega. She may now have gotten the position if not for him.
She stood up, resolved not to bring the meddling Binder with her to meet the boy. There were just too many secrets that Octavia, with her damned glasses, shouldn’t find out about.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Good evening Stratega Dorian, Stratega Octavia.”
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