“Could this be the work of Sterling Lex?” asked Lord Marcello. “Has he already claimed the power of the Arch-mage.”
Breandan shook his head, “You misunderstand what it means to be Arch-mage. It would be impossible for him to use the power of that stewardship in this way. In fact, were he to take up the mantle it could very well cause him to correct these wrongs.”
“I think you over-estimate the effect the office can have on Lex’s mind,” said Valeria.
“And I think you covet the office for yourself, Valeria.” The rest of the Council got very quiet as the two wizards glared at each other.
Valeria broke off first. “My apologies Councilor Damianus. We are tired from our journey. That being said, there is another possibility we must consider. Only the Soulstone has such far reaching effect.”
“And as I said during our conversations since we left Cale Uriasz, I do not believe the Krenon would use the stone in this way,” said Breandan.
Valeria skewered him with an icy stare, “They clearly used it to control the Dragon Guard. If they dare go that far, who’s to say how much farther they would go? We must consider the possibility.”
“Suppose what you say is true,” Damianus interjected. “What can we do to counter the stone’s influence?”
“And that’s the rub, isn’t it?” said Breandan. “There is no answer to that. Not without the Chronicles and a new Arch-Mage.”
“We need fresh eyes,” said Valeria. “Darden, would you join me in a search of the Vaults? It may be that an answer can be found in the histories and writings stored there.”
Nodding, Darden rose, “Perhaps we should adjourn and come back to this discussion after Valeria and I have done as she suggests?”
“Of course, Master Darden,” said Damianus. “This council is adjourned.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
As soon as he was dismissed, Sebastian scurried out of the Aodhan Bret. While he was in no particular hurry to return to his station on the outer wall, he had even less inclination to stay in the uncomfortable silence the Wizard’s disagreement had generated. Leaving the chamber, he paused on the verge of the corridor leading to the hospital wing where Cenric lived during his rehabilitation.
“Hold a moment, young Squire,” Sebastian froze at the sound of that oily voice. Turning to face Master Breandan, he strained to settle the sick feeling rising in his belly. “I was wondering if you might show me the way to my residence? These halls confuse me, and I hoped we could chat you and I.”
Escorting him through the Dazhberg for a private conversation was the last thing Sebastian wanted, yet with no pages in sight he could see no way to avoid the task. “Of course, Master. This way.”
Sebastian tried to set a brisk pace through the halls, but the wizard laid a hand on his arm, slowing him to a leisurely stroll. “You have become quite famous and I am glad to speak with you privately, away from all the formality of the Council.” Sebastian could think of nothing to say, but his unease must have been plain to the wizard. “Now, pay no mind to that unpleasantness with Mistress Valeria just now. You should be aware, though, that the woman is ambitious. Yes, quite ambitious indeed.” His voice took on a sorrowful note, “I fear she has coveted the position of Arch-mage for many years now. Always she would petition for Magister Philon to either return to Cale Uriasz or give up the position. I don’t expect she mourned one whit when she learned he died. What do you think of that?”
“It wouldn’t be fit for me to comment, my Lord.”
“Tsk, tsk. No ‘my Lord’s’ for me. Call me Breandan, at least when we are in private. Now, I’m sure you have heard all manner of innuendo and story about Sterling Lex, have you not?”
“Yes, my…Breandan. Everyone knows the stories. How he rebelled and betrayed the King and Uriasz with his group of apprentices, inciting the Dragon Wars and causing all that destruction.”
“That is, of course, what we taught. What if I told you there was another side to that story?”
“Another side?”
“Every tale has two versions. You’ve merely listened to the one told by the victors. Did you know that before his so-called rebellion, Sterling Lex was to be raised as Arch-mage? Did you know jealousy of his power led the College of Wizards to denounce him and THAT led to his disillusionment with the status quo? Why from a certain point of view, Sterling Lex is the rightful Arch-mage!”
Sebastian pulled away. “You cannot mean you support him! After all the things he has done!”
Breandan continued down the corridor, looking back over his shoulder at the boy. “Did I say that I support him?” He shook his head. “No, that would be treasonous, would it not? I merely posited the existence of a different point of view from the one you have been led to assume. I never said I held that belief. I’m sure I can find my way from here. Reflect on what I’ve said.”
Sebastian stood there in the middle of the corridor until the wizard passed around the far corner. “You might not have said you believed it, but you never denied it either,” he said when he was sure Breandan was out of earshot. Turning to go back to the gates, he realized that he was just outside the hospital ward. He decided he had put off this visit long enough.
Making his way into the hospital ward, the smells hit Sebastian first. The odor of boiling herbs hung heavy in the air, laced with the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. In the days following the recovery of the Dazhberg, the gravest of the injured had died. Survivors of that first week were in various stages of rehabilitation. Bunks lined each side of the hospital ward, which was now only one third full. Many would return to service once recovered. A handful of brown-robed monks were scattered throughout the room, tending to the patients.
One approached Sebastian, “Yes, young master? Is there someone in the ward you wish to visit?”
Sebastian nodded, “Cenric?” he thought he needed to give more explanation. “He’s my…friend.”
“Ah, the one brought in from the islands?”
“Yes.”
“You can find your friend just there, in one of the private chambers.” He pointed towards a low arch at the far end of the ward. “It was decided he needed to be kept separate from the rest of the wounded. His ailment is…” he cast an appraising eye on Sebastian, judging how to say it, “…different,” he concluded.
Sebastian mumbled his thanks and turned toward the archway. The monk grabbed his arm, “Your friend’s injuries are to the mind and the spirit. Those take time to heal.”
“What do you mean? Should I not have come?”
“No, not that. It is good you have come to see your friend. It may help with his healing. Just remember, he may not be as you remember him. Be patient and do not take everything he says at face value. And do not linger over long.” Sebastian turned to stare at the archway. He wondered what he would find beyond that door and for a moment considered walking away before Cenric knew he had come.
He commanded his legs to go forward one step at a time, inching toward the archway. His stomach was a knot of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he felt responsible for putting Cenric in this position. On the other, he remembered the boy trying to kill him over and over again during their battle at Cale Uriasz. Which Cenric would he find?
Reaching the archway, he stopped right on the threshold. This was the point of no return. He could still turn back. “Sebastian?” a wheezy voice emanated from the next chamber. “Is that you?”
Forcing a smile on his face, he took the last step into the chamber and got his first look at Cenric since they’d placed him in the care of the monks. His face was grey and his hair, normally curly, was limp and flat. His cheeks had filled out some, but dark circles persisted under his haunted eyes. “Hello Cenric,” he said, his own voice but a whisper.
“It is good to see you Sebastian. I’m glad you came. Come in, sit down.”
Sitting, Sebastian found himself not sure what to say. The Cenric he remembered was full of life and carried most of both halves of th
e conversation. This Cenric regarded him with solemn eyes and allowed the silence between them to grow. Sebastian was not sure what to say. He grasped for anything, settling on, “You’re looking well.”
Cenric grimaced, “You’re not a very good liar. I look terrible and feel worse.”
Sebastian squirmed in his chair, “Well…yes, I suppose you do. You’ve been through so much…” he trailed off.
“I don’t hold it to your fault, Sebastian. You only did what you thought was right. What they told you was right. Tell me, what is the news. These monks are closed-mouthed, but something is going on in the fortress.”
Relieved to have something to talk about, Sebastian described the arrival of the two wizards and the confrontation in the Aodhan Bret. He concluded with the story of his encounter with Breandan. “It almost sounded as if he supported Sterling Lex as the Arch-mage!” he finished.
Cenric sat for a moment, head bowed, before responding. Bringing up his head, his eyes burned with intensity, “But don’t you understand yet? Sterling Lex IS the Arch-mage. He was always destined to be such. We have been lied to since the beginning. Gabirel and Uriasz conspired together against Lex. They stole what was rightfully his and, in their jealousy, ripped magic from the world!”
“Cenric, no, you don’t know what you’re saying. That’s HIS influence talking.”
“Is it? You’ve known the power of the Elven magic flowing through you, just as I’ve experienced human magic. I’m never more alive than when I’m using that power, it must be the same for you. Yet, the little we can access is but a pale shadow of our birthright. The birthright stolen from us due to the Ban. Admit it, Sebastian, the power makes you alive!”
Sebastian squirmed, knowing there was an element of truth to what Cenric was saying about magic. It was not something he liked to think about. “It doesn’t matter how it makes me feel. Sterling Lex is evil.”
“You believe that because that is what you were taught!”
“I believe it because that is what I’ve felt whenever I’ve encountered him.”
Cenric shook his head, “That’s the influence of the Ban. He’s fighting it and has been since it was instituted.”
“You’re wrong, Cenric. I know you are.”
“Watch and see, Sebastian. Gabirel is evil and corrupt and will show it soon enough. I say this because you were once my friend. Sterling Lex IS the Arch-mage, and the day is coming when you don’t want to be caught on the wrong side of things. You should go now, but remember what I’ve said here. Remember when Gabirel turns a traitor to the king.”
Sebastian hurried from the hospital ward, earning himself some stern looks from the taciturn monks. First Breandan, then Cenric. Both so convinced of what they were saying, yet so far afield of everything he believed to be true. Leaving the hospital ward he paid no attention to his direction, he just wanted to get away. Practically running, he rounded the next corner and had to pull up to avoid crashing into Mistress Valeria. “Ah, Sebastian,” she said in her crystal voice, “I am glad I’ve found you.”
“Mistress Valeria?” he said, panting to recover his breath.
“You left the Aodhan Bret so quickly, I had something to discuss with you.” She paused, taking stock of the boy, “Is everything all right, Sebastian?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I went to the hospital ward to visit Cenric.”
“Hmmm…and he was not as you had expected, was he?” Sebastian shook his head in the negative. “I fear the lad has been through quite a trauma. His mind is fractured. What did he say to you?”
Sebastian squirmed, not wanting to betray his friend. “I don’t know. None of it made any sense.”
“Tsk…that’s not true, now is it. Tell me.” Her voice took on an imperative he found irresistible.
“He said Sterling Lex is the rightful Arch-mage and Gabirel is the real evil. Master Breandan said much the same after the council meeting.”
“Did he now? Be wary of Master Breandan and your friend Cenric. I fear that Sterling Lex’s influence weighs strong on both their minds. Pay no heed to what your friend said. Given time, he will come back to himself.”
“I hope that is true.”
“Put it out of your mind. I’ll look in on your friend soon enough.” Sebastian inclined his head in gratitude. “Now, I want to talk to you about your magic.”
Sebastian looked to the floor, “I know I should not use magic, what with the Ban and all. But I’ve tried only to use it in the most dire of circumstances.”
Valeria’s laughter rang clear in the stillness. “You could no more stop using magic than you could cease breathing. It is part of who you are. Surely you know that by now?” Sebastian looked at her, bewildered. “Sebastian no matter what you’ve been taught, at its heart the Ban was never intended to forbid magic completely. That has been promulgated to the masses to prevent the indiscriminate and uninformed use of magic, but it was never the intent. We formed the Ban to restrict magic so that those, like Sterling Lex, who had lost sight of the higher purpose would be constrained. We had gone too far, too fast, and we needed to stop and consider the implications of power. That is why the Wizards retreated to Cale Uriasz to live in huts on a beach so we could study and contemplate in humility. You must learn to use your power wisely, Sebastian.”
“But I thought all that was done with now that I’m one of the Squires?”
Valeria smiled at him, “You are a squire because you asked to be one. This magic however, it is who you are. You’ve heard the rumors of your father’s heritage?”
“That he was descended from the elves? I’ve heard them, but I want nothing to do with him or his legacy.”
“Those rumors are true, Sebastian. Gerlach Pwyll was the scion of one of two great houses of Elven-kind. Whether you wish it or not, his heritage is yours. His bitterness came through his human mother, left behind when her Elven husband departed this world at the formation of the Ban. It corrupted Gerlach from an early age. She never understood why he had to leave her behind.”
“But what does any of that have to do with me? I never even knew Gerlach Pwyll.”
“It has everything to do with you, Sebastian. You are half an elf, and that means magic is part of who you are. It runs in your blood. Elves live in harmony with the natural world and their magic takes its strength from that harmony.”
“Can you teach me how to control it then?”
“Teach you? No, that is beyond my knowledge. I am familiar with the magic of Man. Spells and mental control. The elves never taught us their secrets, and only an elf can teach you what you want to know. I can advise you though, you must trust yourself and trust your heart. Only when you are at peace and in harmony with your world, will you find the control you desire. For now, learn what Gabirel can teach you, find discipline in your daily life and trust the rest will come. We will speak further that I can promise you.”
CHAPTER NINE
Sebastian returned to his squad in time for their late afternoon sessions on tactics and strategies in warfare. From what he understood of the passage, the author had never met an elf he liked. One particular passage stated elven commanders resist when placed under human commanders due to the restrictions of a disciplined march. It is advisable to preserve good military order, to make sure elven contingents are seconded to human commanders. From the little he remembered of elves, Sebastian did not expect that approach would work. Though, he was mostly distracted from the day’s events.
Returning to the shift barracks, he resisted Martino’s attempts to draw him into conversation with the rest of the squad. They had gathered around and curiosity concerning the two wizards shone in their eyes. Shrugging it off with an occasional noncommittal mutter, Sebastian stripped to his small-clothes and climbed into his bunk, rolling away from the rest.
As he dropped off to sleep, he heard Martino call off the cohort, “Looks as if we must wait for our stories for the morning. Leave the man be!” Bless him.
Sebastian found himse
lf in a cave again, but instead of the red-orange fire of the mountain, the corridor was lit with a strange green glow. It was too small for him to pass through. He was not sure how he fit in this small tunnel. He had no idea why he believed he should have trouble fitting. Everything was hazy to him.
He drifted along the corridor, drawn by something unidentifiable. As it curved around to the left, voices drifted toward him. He needed to find the owners of those voices. Swift as the wind he flew down the tunnel, streaks of green flashing past him. Swooping through, he joined two figures deep in conversation. One was a dwarven warrior outfitted in studded leather, the other of similar height but cloaked and hooded. The warrior was talking and Sebastian got the impression he had made his points more than once already.
“I still say ’tis dangerous to hold her this way. Finnguala, the treaty is clear on the treatment of official envoys with no contingency for imprisonment, no matter how well cared for she might be.”
Who was imprisoned? wondered Sebastian, and why did he need to find out so desperately?
The hooded figure responded in a crystalline voice, “’Tis not for you to question the directive of the council in this, Asegeirr. Gabriel holds that which belongs to the Dwarves and we will recover the stone.”
“But is this the best way? Do we make enemies of our closest allies?”
She spat back, venom in her voice. “Allies? Is that what they are? When have men ever been our allies? We made common cause during the Dragon Wars, but those days are over.”
“What has come over you, Finnguala? I’ve not known you to speak so of Gabirel!”
“You forget yourself, Door-warden. Get you back to your post and perhaps I will forget this affront.”
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