“Sendar Üdessa.”
“Here.”
“Blalock Üdessa.”
“Behold me here.”
“Mirkhon Üdessa.”
“Behind you, lad.”
“Hemock Üdessa.”
“Present.”
“Demeclin Üdessa.”
“Returning from the latrine, but here I am.”
“Raigan Üdessa.”
“I am here.”
“Troikar Üdessa.”
“Right in front of your nose, lad.”
“Landos Üdessa.”
“Present.”
“Mathos Üdessa.”
“Here I am, Jairo.”
Jairo Ödessa, the student of magic who had been chosen to be the esquire of the mages during that week, rolled up the scroll with the names of the members of the Council of Mages. The young man wore a pale grey tunic, typical of the students who bore the title of Ödessa. The meetings were held in one of the great towers of the castle of Omen. The chamber, spacious and without much adornment, allowed the old men to deliberate and raise their voices at will. Sometimes these meetings became heated and the old men ended up shouting all kinds of obscenities.
“The rumors are true,” Ulfbar said. “Most of you had proof of them when you watched Elgahar casting spells.”
“Casting spells? Or blaspheming?” Landos said. He was a tall, fat, old man who (like all the other high-ranking mages) wore a proudly tended white beard. The only beardless one who kept his face clean-shaven was Sendar and, not surprisingly, he was the only mage who kept a trim figure.
“I think you’re being prejudiced,” Sendar said sharply. “That kind of attitude doesn’t allow you to see even a thumb’s length beyond what’s in front of your noses.”
The elders murmured among themselves in disagreement.
“You’re the only one who voted in favor of Elgahar and his rise to the level of Üdessa,” Ulfbar said. “You granted him the rank all by yourself. The rumors about his magic in Árath are legion. He managed to create spells of high energy and he even created what few have before: a symbiotic link. He’s a dangerous young man. We all know what poorly trained minds can do when they’re tempted by the dark side of magic. In times like these, we must fear great powers.”
The other elders, except Sendar, nodded. Several blue hats swayed in unison.
“Jairo!” Mathos cried. “Refreshments, man!” He was one of the fattest, barely able to walk under his weight. His knees were bowed with the excess.
The lad left with his face twisted into a frown and fury in his eyes. The task of being esquire for the elders was always one of the simplest chores the youths training in magic could be given. It was said that it was the duty where you got to rest the most and do the least. But nobody had imagined that the elders would be meeting daily since the death of Strangelus.
The elders started to pass around a platter of cheeses and fruits, several taking handfuls which they held over their blue togas as if they were squirrels getting ready for winter.
“The look in Elgahar’s eyes horrifies me,” said Troikar, the smallest of them all. It was said that his family had come from Doolm-Ondor and with ample reason since he looked like the short men of that nation with a beard as thick and muscles as well-developed as theirs. Short arms and legs, perhaps, but covered in various layers of muscle like an onion.
“It’s the look of someone who’s seen too much,” Mirkhon said.
“It’s the look of a man who’s deciphered the code of magic,” said another voice.
“That’s it exactly. Eh?”
They all turned toward the entrance to the chamber where the elders met. A young man with dark hair, black eyes, and pale skin who wore a blue toga and a pointed hat of the same color introduced himself. Nobody had heard him enter.
“I have come, just as you requested,” Elgahar said.
“It was you who asked for this meeting, master,” Ulfbar said. He was trying to make a joke of it but it did not work and the only thing he managed to do was to sow a seed in the minds of his colleagues suggesting that they were indeed in the presence of a master of magic.
Elgahar took off his blue hat, freeing his head with its covering of thick hair. The elders immediately felt slighted at the sight of someone so young and with so much hair leading the meeting so skillfully. And there was not even any hair on his face!
“The problem lies in the educational system, masters,” the mage began. “I gained wisdom through breaking the scheme of education, all thanks to having been exposed to great adversities that made me search within myself for the answer to the manipulation of matter—which is exactly what a mage does, isn’t that right?”
The elders listened as if this were an after-dinner speech, eyes open and hands grasped together. Although most of them detested the young man, they all respected him since the power which emanated from within him was undeniable. Only Sendar smiled openly, encouraging the young mage to proceed with his wonderful discovery.
“The current method of education is through books as old as the one written by the first great scientist of our Empire, the great Rummbold Fagraz. All the same, his books and thoughts are old-fashioned and this is something he admitted. For reasons that I don’t understand, we’ve decided to devote and anchor ourselves to the past and accept those findings as maxims and blind wisdom.
“But if you pay attention, Rummbold himself declared that his writings weren’t perennial. He realized that other discoveries were needed in the area of the transmutation of matter and the summoning of Nature’s powers. Who, up to the times of my late master Strangelus Üdessa, has made new discoveries in any area?
“The problem, masters, is engraved in the being of every man and woman of this planet. The name of the problem is complacency. Isn’t it easier to follow in someone else’s footsteps? Of course, it is! You save the effort that would be entailed by innovation. Isn’t it pleasanter to think that everything’s been discovered and that the search for further answers is unnecessary? Of course, because that way, you save your effort.”
Elgahar walked around the elders, turning a calculating gaze on each of them.
“When you break the pattern of education, just as I did, you allow yourself to walk not one but many paths to reach the same goal. If a path isn’t appropriate for you, then you need to feel comfortable about choosing another. The end and purpose isn’t the path itself. It’s attaining your goal. If we focus on the path, we’ll never get anywhere.
“Every individual, every being in this world, has a different way of seeing and learning, and therefore, every student must choose his own path; not one chosen for him by others who believe they know more. Difficult? Of course, it is. But necessary all the same.
“To expand the limits of magic, our sciences, and our powers, we must open the hidden ways of the powers which are stored in the matter around and within us. A hidden way can only be found by searching.”
“What on earth is this devil talking about?” Demeclin cried. “Heretic!”
“They said the same of Rummbold when he described the principles of the Conjuring Arts for the first time. And then? He wrote the basic texts of the science that you practice. Madman? Heretic? Blasphemer? Perhaps. I am called all those things by those who understand little,” Elgahar concluded. “Simple minds shouldn’t occupy positions as important as yours, masters, because all that closed minds in a position of leadership can do is to prevent the progress of wisdom.”
The reaction of the mages was intense, and several of them wanted to take a whip to the young man then and there. But they all calmed down when Sendar stood up and walked toward Elgahar.
“Masters,” he said. “Brothers in the art of spells, please forgive good Elgahar Üdessa, whose youthful mind follows the most daring paths. He’s a fitting replacement for his master and you know very well that Strangelus was the same: a man who spoke his thoughts at all times and because of this, the Council was balanced.”
“Banish him!”
“Don’t let him return to the Council!”
Elgahar smiled, his eyes shining with a gleam nobody understood.
“I accept your punishment and I’ll banish myself.”
All the mages turned to look at him, mouths agape. Elgahar’s attitude was incomprehensible. Had he lost his wits?
It was Sendar who said, “Are you mad? They haven’t even passed sentence and you’re punishing yourself?”
Elgahar smiled. “I wish to start my own school of magic.”
The silence was emphasized by the whistling of the wind hissing through the windows of the castle of Omen’s high towers. Even Jairo was flabbergasted.
“A school of magic?” Mirkhon repeated. “Is this a joke in poor taste, Elgahar? I thought you were cunning, not that you were half-witted.” The nine white beards around the table quivered as the heads they belonged to shook with disapproval.
“The Empire has been in existence for four hundred years,” Elgahar said. “Since then, thanks to the writings of Flamonia, a limited amount of knowledge about the manipulation of matter was inherited and with that, Rummbold Fagraz himself managed to expand what we now know as the Conjuring Arts. For centuries, the science behind magic hasn’t advanced at all. This demonstrates two things: complacency and the lack of need.”
Troikar pointed his staff at the young mage. “Complacency? Watch your tongue, lad.” Pointing a staff was a serious threat among mages. Elgahar, however, was untroubled. He continued to speak.
“Firstly, complacency. All those who practice the art are happy with the results of their magic and that’s why nobody has thought of expanding it.”
Elgahar placed his hands in front of his chest, fingers upward, as if praying. When his hands touched, a transparent bell rang and a spark of light emerged from them. From the floor came a staff made from the stone of the castle as though the floor had opened its mouth and spit it out. This spell was surrounded by blue energy that seemed to be vaporizing the stone itself as if it were able to mold it with a magical chisel.
The masters watched, their eyes wide. The same thing had happened when Elgahar had had to prove himself before the Council to earn his title of Üdessa.
Elgahar took the stone staff, which was undoubtedly heavy, and handed it to Sendar. The pleasant-featured old man spoke as he held the staff in both hands.
“My friends, this is no miracle. This is science.”
“Heretic!”
“Black Arts!”
“A betrayal of our doctrine!”
“Secondly,” Elgahar went on without losing the force of his argument. “You never needed to grow in the art and science of magic.”
His words silenced the elders and sent them into a tunnel of thought. It was true. After the Battle of Háztatlon, when great powers were exchanged and the God of Light himself appeared, it had become clear that the Mandrake Empire did not have powers enough to fight the forces of evil.
“The lad is right in that,” Blalock said. He was a mage with brown skin and wide shoulders. “If evil were to attack again, we wouldn’t have the strength to bring it down.”
Sendar was still standing beside the younger mage, amazed to be holding the stone staff in his hands. The weight of it would soon tire his muscles.
“That’s an irrefutable argument,” he said.
Ulfbar had turned red. “Sendar?”
“I support this young man’s ambitions,” the beardless mage said with a defiant glare.
“And where do you propose to open this school of magic?” Ulfbar asked. After such a convincing argument he was now more interested
“There are some cays near Doolm-Ondor called the Muënguen Isles. One of those is called Maggrath. That’s where I’m going to set up the school of magic, open to all kinds of talents.”
Ulfbar turned to look at the other mages. All of them had the same expression: hatred, charged with yet more hatred. Part of it was a loathing for the self-satisfied young mage who thought himself better than the others. The remaining hatred was the result of jealousy, given that his irrefutable argument was obliging them to accept his conditions. They all looked down after nodding their heads.
“So be it. Sendar, you are officially excluded from the Council of Mages. Elgahar is banished from Omen. Have a good journey and good luck to you.”
***
“Well,” Elgahar said as he came down from the tower with Sendar. “It was the expected reaction. The plan worked to perfection. Aren’t you amazed by how predictable the human mind can be?”
“You taunted them. Do you manipulate minds as well?” Sendar asked. The beardless mage was still impressed and did not know how to act beside Elgahar. He had left the stone staff behind so that the mages of the Council could pass it around and study it. They would almost certainly destroy the artifact. Sendar did not know how he could help this youth who had gained such mastery of magic and in any case, he had no option now. He had been expelled from the prestigious group and required a job and what he wanted most was to work with Elgahar. How could he hint at what he wanted? Luckily, he did not have much family; his only daughter had married the smith’s son and now they were living in Vásufeld where his son-in-law specialized in creating stylish candelabras. If Elgahar were to ask him to leave the Empire, he would do so without a second thought.
“The mind works on a basis of words,” Elgahar said, his gaze now clear. “Words represent thoughts. A combination of words, which is to say a combination of thoughts, generates an argument. And where are those words and thoughts generated?”
Sendar considered this. “In the mind.”
“And the mind is made of what?”
“Brain?”
“The brain is made of what?”
“Matter…”
“Exactly.
“Exactly?”
After descending the steps they crossed a corridor, avoiding passers-by, and watching the great training areas where the soldiers were being instructed in the armed forces. Omen was training thousands of thousands of soldiers daily in their different camps and training stations.
“If we agree that thoughts are formed in a mind which is made of matter, that means that you control matter with your thoughts. Am I right? And if you can control the matter in which thoughts occur, you can therefore, control the thoughts of others by controlling the matter that makes up their minds. Is that right?”
This conclusion left Sendar speechless.
“I’ve managed to prove a hypothesis, Sendar.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve managed to understand the nature of my enemies’ spells, then use that to intercept them and generate a powerful counterspell.”
“How?”
“In chess, for example, you win through predicting what your opponent will do, right? You don’t exactly know what he’ll do, but of course, you can read his eyes and gestures. Through the Conjuring Arts, I’ve managed to understand the code that my opponent uses to generate spells and intercept them that way.”
“Fascinating.”
Elgahar stopped in one of the corridors which were open to the elements. “Sendar, I’m going to need you to stay in Maggrath while the school is being built, so that you can help me to teach the students.”
The older man smiled at the offer of work. “What are you saying?”
“Maggrath has been under construction for several months. The king himself granted me the land.”
“Then why did you need the permission of the Council of Mages?”
“Part of the agreement with the king was that we don’t want to disturb or alienate the School of Mages and its Council. They can sit on their flatulent backsides if they want to, just as long as they don’t interrupt our progress or d
eclare war on us.”
“Elgahar, you scare me.”
“Ha, ha! Take it easy, Sendar. The king and others are involved in the creation of Maggrath. We’re interested because of the horrors to come. I’ll explain everything in detail. But I need you to go there as soon as possible and welcome the recruits.”
“I’ll do it with the greatest pleasure. Thank you for including me. What are you going to do in the meantime?”
“I’ll be on other worlds, recruiting armies,” the younger man replied with a smile.
“All this business of other worlds has turned the Empire upside-down. Since the giant insects and their masters came with that queen with the purple eyes, all the reality I thought I knew has been called into question. Our religion and our beliefs never told us of other planets and worlds. And now, out of the blue, here are all the inhabitants of a nation from a planet called Degoflórefor, settling in our land. By the Gods! What times we’re living in! And now you tell me you’re going to travel to other worlds to bring back more soldiers from foreign lands!” Sendar nearly fainted. Elgahar had to hold him up.
When the older man calmed down he said, “My apologies. Sometimes it’s all too much for me.”
“These are times of many changes. But those changes are necessary, Sendar. If we’d met the giant insects under other circumstances, I think we’d have reacted very differently. But as their nation needs to help us in the battle that’s coming, we’ve welcomed them with pleasure.”
“We’ll see whether it is with pleasure after all,” Sendar said.
“You mean the fact that the people disagree.”
Several towns and cities had not agreed with the coming of foreign culture. This was, above all, because they had been treated so well and with so many provisions and so much attention. The neediest and poorest towns were the most annoyed, for obvious reasons.
“The people will get used to it,” Elgahar said. “And if they don’t do that soon, they’ll be even more surprised when armies of other species and even stranger races set foot on our world.”
“Don’t even say it,” the older man said. “At least I’ll be in Maggrath, a long way from all these changes.”
Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale) Page 7
