One of the two dark-haired men introduced interrupted Kerric. Saleria belatedly identified him as the one named Migel. “Wait, please—I thought Guardian Tipa’thia was in charge of the Painted Temple. Who is this Pelai? How do we know she isn’t a usurper?”
“She’s not a usurper,” the elderly woman, Keleseth, retorted tartly. “She’s a duly appointed apprentice to Tipa’thia. I’ve already worked with young Pelai on several occasions, at Tipa’thia’s request. The girl is trustworthy, and has my respect.”
The woman they were talking about, the round-faced, tanned woman with strange markings inked in lines both subtle and bold on her face, throat, and what could be seen of her shoulders, shook her head. “It is right to doubt me; I am only an apprentice. But Tipa’thia . . . Guardian Tipa’thia is suffering from an ailment of the heart, and cannot withstand the rigors of her Guardianship at this time. The Healers reassure me she will recover within the week, but it is not the first time, and so I have been set to watch in her place. I am not sure of what help I can be, since I am not fully attuned. But what help I can give, I will.”
“You can be helpful, Pelai, because you are there in Mendhi where some of these invasions may take place,” Kerric asserted. “Back to the introductions, if we don’t mind?”
Saleria nodded, glad to get things back on track. With eighteen Guardians to keep track of—counting herself, which she could not see, as well as Kerric’s larger-than-the-rest image in the center of the mirror—that was still a lot of people.
“After Pelai is Kelezam of Charong, Mother Naima of Koral-tai—whom several of you know was a past Guardian and is standing in for the current Guardian Serina in the final weeks of her pregnancy—plus Ilaiea of the Moonlands, and Koro of the Scales . . .”
Kelezam . . . could have been either male or female. The eyes were brown, the brows dark, the skin lightly tanned, but the hair and the face from nose down were covered in a dark blue cloth that had been wrapped to conceal the Guardian’s identity. Mother Naima also had her hair covered, but only in a white wimple and head-veil, leaving her squarish, middle-aged face exposed. She had a kind smile and hazel eyes, and reminded Saleria of one of her early teachers in the Katani Church.
The woman after Naima was also clad in white, but Ilaiea had no head covering; instead, she had long, straight hair so pale, it looked cream, with odd, pale gold eyes. It took Saleria a moment to realize the woman’s pupils weren’t completely round, but were instead shaped more vertically, almost like a cat’s. Only the light golden tan to her skin kept her from looking like an odd albino. Guardian Koro, on the other hand, had darker tanned skin, jet-black brows, and strange, round viewing lenses perched on his nose. The large crystals were tinted a rich cerulean, deep enough that the exact color of his eyes remained hidden behind them, and his hair—undoubtedly black—was more or less hidden by a deep, dark brown cloak draped over his head and shoulders.
It was clear that not every Guardian wanted their physical identity known to the rest. Saleria herself had no reason to hide, but then this wasn’t a group of petitioners crowding around her in a marketplace. She shook off the thought of her earlier encounter as the Guardian of the Tower continued.
“And on the right, top to bottom, nearest column first . . . we have Daemon of Pasha, Alonnen of the Vortex . . . Marton of Fortune’s Hall, and Suela of Fortune’s Nave,” Kerric introduced, nodding to the scrying windows set to his immediate right, in between glancing downward, no doubt at whatever out-of-sight notes he had taken on who was who. Saleria couldn’t blame him; there were a lot of Guardians in this meeting.
The first, Daemon, was a man in his prime somewhere between Aradin’s and Teral’s ages, with short blond hair, blue eyes, and light skin. The second male was a more ruddy-faced man who wore green-tinted viewing lenses much like Guardian Koro’s, a soft woolen cap much like the head of a medium gray mushroom to conceal most of his hair, and a mouth-muffling scarf knitted from darker shades of gray. His nose was a bit sharp, sticking out above the muffler almost like a raptor’s beak, and his eyebrows an indeterminate shade of brown.
On the other hand, Guardian Marton had brown, curly hair and hazel eyes, his somewhat overweight face—unusual in a mage, where expending magic meant expending life-energy—looking a bit older than Daemon’s, unconcealed by anything that could impede identification. The woman in the image below his had sun-streaked light brown hair and light brown eyes, with similar facial features, sort of ovalish heads with pointed chins, high hairlines, and high cheekbones. They didn’t exactly look like siblings, but they did seem to be from the same nation, probably Fortuna, from what their titles suggested.