Trial of Intentions by Peter Orullian Page B

onto a landing overlooking a great hollow in the earth. A vaulted ceiling arced two hundred strides above; a floor lost in shadow below. The cavernous grotto measured easily three hundred strides across. And at its center, rising up like an island, stood the Naltus library.
    Countless sconces on the grotto walls offered light to the great hollow. More burned along the perimeter of the library, brightly lighting an encircling catwalk. Three narrow bridges spanned the emptiness between the outer wall and the library. Across those bridges moved no less than twenty Bar’dyn in charcoal-hued vestments. They didn’t rush, their attention fixed on several Far standing ready to meet them on the other side.
    But it wasn’t the Bar’dyn Vendanj searched for. He scanned the hollow again, peering through the dim light until he caught sight of movement on the flat library roof.
    No. Not today.
    He set down his lamp and stepped to the lip of the landing. Uttering a single word, “Suuthor,” he raised both his palms, summoning a wind. From the grotto depths, the air began to stir and whip. Soon it rushed like a sea storm. Vendanj threw his hands to the left. The storm whirled around the chamber, creating a crosswind over the several bridgeways.
    Caught off guard, a few Bar’dyn tumbled from the bridges into darkness. A few Bar’dyn crouched low, and pushed forward. Those closest to the other side leapt for the library catwalk, flattening themselves against walls to avoid the churning winds.
    Vendanj raised his arms again, higher this time, conducting the wind to furious speeds. It whistled over the walks and howled against the walls of the grotto. The last few Quiet still crossing to the library were pulled from the bridge and sent tumbling into the air. This time, the rushing wind muted the sound of them hitting the stone floor far below.
    â€œNow!” Vendanj yelled, and lowered his hands to still the wind.
    Bar’dyn already on the other side engaged the Far, as Grant and Mira raced across the middle bridge. Tahn began firing at Quiet. The sodalist leapt forward, crossing the nearest footpath on a dead run. Vendanj followed close, and had nearly reached the far side when two things happened: Mira went down, and he caught sight again of the dark shape on the roof of the library.
    â€œBraethen, get to Mira!” Vendanj called. Then, at full stride, he placed a foot on the downed body of a Bar’dyn and launched himself toward the top of the library wall. He crashed hard against it, slamming his forehead and tearing a gash that began to bleed.
    He ignored it—the blood thankfully not running into his eyes—and pulled himself up to the roof. Ahead twenty paces stood a Velle with its back to him. It concentrated on the shale roof underfoot as it gestured with its left hand. It’s rendering. But shale held little Forda—little energy—of its own. And this Velle has no vessel … is it willing …
    â€œHold!” Vendanj cried.
    The Velle turned, looking like an average physic blackcoat—someone a parent takes a sick child to see. It wore a wool coat over a threadbare vest. Familiarity flared for Vendanj, then was gone.
    The Velle strode casually to one side of the roof and looked down on the battle encircling the library. “You’re too late.” Its melodious voice carried above the din of swords and scuffling feet. “But the wind was clever.” Then it fixed him with a gaze. “You’re Vendanj. The skeptic … the heretic. Not exactly the kind of Sheason that commends your order to others, are you?”
    Vendanj ignored the rhetoric.
    The other smiled, and sauntered back to the center of the library roof. Vendanj caught a closer look at the face, pale and seamed. Do I know him? The Velle turned a circle, surveying the great hollow deep beneath Naltus. Smug satisfaction rose on its countenance as it slowly nodded to