The Lords of Anavar

by Jim Greenfield

  "Good. Let them come to us," said Alec Endria. He patted his hand on the table as if he forgot something. He glanced quickly at his son, and then looked away. "Gerrand should pay respects to us. We are the hosts."

  "Father, this castle was presented to Gerrand and the Council generations ago. If anyone can claim ownership, it is Gerrand."

  "Nevertheless, this is Wierland, and we are the only two of the Mage Council born in Wierland. Besides, you were born here in Lathor, in this very castle."

  Artus sighed. His father enjoyed a fierce nationalism that few in the Council could fathom. Mages tended to keep to themselves, only aiding a crown when gold had been offered. That lessened the chance of outside influence on the Council or its members. Alec displayed his feelings often when the Council chose to follow a course in opposition to Queen Beatrice of Wierland. Most often, such decisions were delayed by the Council until Alec was absent and unable to complain.

  They sat in the library. A rare room of cherry wood tables and bookcases, its leather chairs became favorites for the entire Council although Alec Endria spent most of his time there and called it his study. Many private moments of reverie took place in those chairs. The smell of the wood and the leather brought comfort and the keg of cold ale brought relaxation. Rumors held that Gerrand wrote the twenty volume histories of Anavar in that room. The sunlight seeped through the narrow windows high in the ceilings and added warmth that relaxed the mind. The bookcases sagged under the weight of the volumes packed among them but few of the Councils ever read the books anymore. They did not learn from the past.

  "Why are you so preoccupied with this gamesmanship Father? It gnaws at you."

  "We have little influence in the Council. We must find a way to increase it. Why have the important assignments passed us by? Tyman Stile favors Richard Brox, or Doad Bess or even Yanor; two of them are sorcerers for daemon's sake! We must place our mark upon this place. We owe it to the generations to follow. We are not insubstantial; it is Tyman's pigheadedness that shuts us aside."

  Artus shook his head and sighed.

  A rap on the door drew their attention. Zae Pol and Techna Vole entered.

  "Is this a private party?" asked Zae Pol wearing a sheer blue gown powdered with stars that allowed more than hints of what they covered. She smiled at Artus, who blushed.

  "No, you are welcome," said Alec Endria. "We were just talking about this and that. Artus tells me that Gerrand and Faeya Ryr have arrived."

  "Yes," said Zae Pol. "Gerrand and Tyman were at it immediately. Tyman strives to win at being offensive since he cannot be more powerful."

  "Or smarter," interjected Artus.

  "He is of no use in his position. I cannot remember how he received enough votes. Why doesn't Gerrand remove Tyman from the Council and be done with him?" said Alec Endria.

  "For a simple reason," said Techna Vole. "If he removes Tyman then the Council has no reason to exist. Gerrand worked hard over the years to insure the stability and independence of the Council. He drafted all the constitution and built the Council bit by bit, until it stood alone without his help. This allows him greater personal freedom and the Council is not a tool for any individual. To Gerrand, the Council is more important than Tyman Stile."

  "Fairly spoken from a staunch supporter of Tyman," said Artus Endria. Techna Vole turned sharply to Artus. "You surprise me," added Artus Endria.

  Techna Vole nodded his head to Artus. "The continuation of the Council should take precedent over any personal power. I think Tyman realizes that. I hope he realizes that. His enthusiasm is what betrays him. The goals pull him and he becomes fixated on the problem. That is why there is an executive council and why Gerrand is always on it, although there are many who distrust Gerrand. He's lived so long and knew Macelan personally. Personally. Can any of you grasp the significance of that? Eight hundred years of knowledge plus the benefit of Macelan's personal instruction. Gerrand keeps many secrets but who can second-guess him? He's lived many times the life-spans of the rest of us."

  "Only Petyr Wolk comes close," said Alec.

  "Not that close - Wolk's only 250 or so, but let's not speak more of Wolk until he arrives. He has to answer some questions about his behavior."

  "Because he snubbed you?" asked Zae Pol. "He's never liked you, or you him. I don't see where your impartiality is, but someone other than yourself should ask him to explain himself. I care not for battles of magic, especially in the same room with me."

  "You think he would go that far?" asked Techna Vole.

  "He has a temper," said Artus.

  "And used his magic in anger," said Alec. "Remember two years ago? If Gerrand had not intervened, poor Hile Berbac would not be with us anymore."

  "I bet that irritated Gerrand," said Zae Pol, grinning. "To rescue Berbac must have been bitter."

  "Gerrand did scorch Wolk's ears for many minutes," said Alec, remembering. His mouth spread wide in a huge smile. His teeth were frighteningly white. "It proved to be a pleasure to listen."

  Zae Pol walked to the keg of ale near the window. Artus quickly moved over and drew a tankard for her. He spilled a little on his hand and wiped it dry on his shirt. She smiled at him, turning back to Alec.

  "Why are we here? Doesn't anybody know? The urgent message did not explain anything. Did anyone get an explanation? I asked Gerrand who admitted he knew but would not elaborate, telling me to wait until everyone gathered."

  The men chuckled.

  "That's Gerrand all right," said Techna Vole. "I have a glimmer of a reason, but nothing to back it up so I shall remain quiet."

  "Techna quiet? It's a miracle!" exclaimed Alec Endria to no one in particular. Techna Vole's eyes burned into the back of Alec's head.

  They sat around the large cherry wood table polished and reflecting the lights off its surface. Each found their thoughts and delved deep in silence. They did not hear the door open and Faeya Ryr and Gerrand slip into the room. Gerrand drew two tankards of ale and they sat along the wall, watching their comrades. Faeya Ryr watched them intently.

  "Greetings, friends," said Gerrand softly.

  They all turned toward the duo.

  "Gerrand!"

  "Faeya!"

  "Welcome!"

  "It's been so long!"

  "Good to be here," said Gerrand. "Imagine my surprise to find such a studious group. Hard at work and on the first night. You shame me. I planned to have a cool drink and go to bed."

  "Can't do that," said Zae Pol. "Tyman has a dinner planned."

  "I know. That's why I wanted to go to bed." He smiled.

  "We have a new cook," said Artus. "Would better food tempt you?"

  "Ah, the food I can take. It's the Governor of the Council that troubles my stomach."

  They looked sagely at each other and nodded. Gerrand shook his head.

  "Tonight your duties are to rest and be at your full strength tomorrow. You will need it, I assure you. There is nothing to discuss for this evening. All matters regarding this gathering are to wait until the meeting tomorrow following breakfast. Please don't waste everyone's time." He glanced at Zae Pol. "It helps not to begin before everyone is present."

  "Okay," said Artus. "Tomorrow it is. I know I can wait."

  "As the least important you shall wait," snapped Techna Vole.

  "Enough!" said Gerrand wearily. "I am sick of this bickering. It goes on every year and never ends. It does more harm than good. You should be considering the future of the Council and not your own status."

  The bell sounded, calling them to dinner. Gerrand stared at them until they all departed. He sighed and shuffled after them.

  The great hall, draped with musty tapestries, held the long table set for dinner. No one sat at the foot, but a large chair placed at the head of the table awaited Tyman Stile. Along one side sat Zae Pol, Techna Vole, Doad Bess, Hile Berbac and Lar Vokas. The other side had Yanor, Gerrand, Faeya Ryr, Richard Brox, Alec and Artus Endria. Two empty chairs waited for Petyr Wolk and Cehan
a. Tyman Stile glanced at the empty chairs as he seated himself. His raised his silver goblet.

  "Friends that have gathered, let us pool our minds and discover our answers. Welcome one and all to the Council meeting. We shall eat first, and then speak upon the topics that draw us here. Cehana shall be here by morning. However, of Petyr Wolk I have no word. We will see him when the time comes, I guess. Let us enjoy our food and save our speeches for afterward."

  The roast duck was superb. Wine flowed freely and the conversation amused Artus on several occasions although he refrained from joining the wordplay. He enjoyed just being there.

  He kept drinking water and watched Faeya Ryr drink several glasses of wine. Richard Brox spoke to her constantly, in a voice too faint for Artus to hear without sorcery. He decided he would not eavesdrop.

  He watched the others refraining from joining in conversation. He could not believe that the reason of the summons was unknown to the other Mages.

  "Gerrand? Did you hear me?" asked Faeya Ryr. "Richard asked me to walk around the castle with him. The grand tour. Do you mind?"

  Gerrand shook his head and sighed. Faeya Ryr leaned forward, kissed him and said, "Don't write me off yet. I can handle myself. Wait up for me."

  She winked and walked off on Richard Brox's arm.

  Gerrand laughed softly.

  "Gerrand?" Artus Endria stood before him. "May I have a moment of your time?"

  "Of course."

  "Not here. I need some advice about my position in the Council."

  "Ah, say no more. I understand completely. Friends, I shall bid you good night."

  "At first light in the morning," said Tyman Stile. "You, Techna and myself."

  "I shall be there. Come, Artus. Let us walk."

  Artus felt relieved to leave the table and the ever-increasing smoke from Yanor's long pipe.

  Yanor offered the notion that his smoke drifted him into an altered state where he saw visions. Gerrand knew better. The smoke dulled Yanor's mind until it was as bland as his personality. Artus shook his head. He wore his father's prejudices like a cloak. He admitted he was as guilty as the rest for the Council's ineffective performance. Most of the heads of state ignored the Council, except twice when Gerrand used his sorcery to intimidate them. Intimidation did not appeal to him and Artus would not do it unless the world depended upon it. Some monarchs now believed Gerrand could do anything and offered him money for various tasks that he felt were beneath him.

  Artus Endria and Gerrand slowly walked through the narrow corridors of the castle. The shadowy passages kept up the images in the minds of the outside world of the mystic castle where sage men and woman delved into the secrets of the night. Gerrand smiled to himself. Most of the Mages could perform the simplest, most routine spells; hardy the stuff the peasants dream of.

  Every fifty yards they saw a guard, stern and alert.

  "Why are the guards so ready for action?" asked Artus.

  "Tyman put them on alert. What we shall speak of tomorrow may tilt the world a bit."

  "What is it?"

  "I will not say more. Perhaps I misspoke. I thought you above petty gossip."

  "If you are speaking it, it is not gossip."

  "All right. Now is it you wanted to say about your situation?"

  Artus took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as he chose his words. As they walked, Gerrand kept an eye out for potential eavesdroppers.

  "I want to be of more use, to learn more, but I am ignored."

  "Even I can hear the bitterness in your voice, Artus. Patience is necessary. I know you believe you have waited as long as you can, but stay the course. The crisis we are about to encounter will tax all of Tyman's resources."

  "I hear your words, but they do not reach my passion. I feel I am left out and left to drift without guidance. I am becoming more powerful without knowing my limits. I could create chaos without meaning to."

  "You are correct. That is a very real danger. I must think on this."

  "Can you get Tyman to agree?"

  Gerrand looked at Artus. "My dear boy, Tyman does not have to agree to anything. I will obtain a mentor for you."

  "Thank you, Gerrand. I don't know what I'd do without your guidance."

  "You're too kind. Now, here's my room. I shall retire for the evening. Good night."

  "Good night, Gerrand."

  Artus walked through the corridors and out into the courtyards of the large castle. The evening air refreshed him as much as Gerrand's words. It had been so frustrating not to advance when he earned the placement. When he felt like this it was easy for his father to whip up his emotions to obtain his agreement to whatever scheme his father had concocted.

  He walked without knowing the passage of time as he gathered his thoughts to himself. He spent many days in the castle each year but he never felt the residue of magic permeate from the walls as this night. The castle nearly pulsed with magic. Perhaps Gerrand's presence increased the magic resonance, or it was the crisis of which Gerrand spoke. When he tried he could sense something different in the world. Not evil, not good, but something alive or waking up might be the better image. Still, the 'something' held great power and his pulse quickened.

  As he neared a darkened corner he heard voices. He slowed, not wanting to intrude but the words caught his ears. He recognized Richard Brox' and Faeya Ryr's voices. He wondered why she had left with Brox. Brox had a notorious reputation and Artus' opinion of Faeya Ryr was very high. She was a special friend of Gerrand's after all. It didn't take a genius to see the sparks between their glances. Against his better judgment he followed their voices to where they stood under an archway to the garden.

  "Leave me alone, Richard. I am going to bed."

  "Surely not with that old man."

  "You enjoyed too much wine. Keep your hands to yourself. Good night."

  "Wait Faeya, stay awhile."

  "You have not been a gentleman and I will not tolerate such behavior. Do not touch me again!"

  "All high and mighty, the favorite whore of Gerrand."

  Artus heard the slap and flinched.

  "You will pay for that!" His voice snarled. Artus heard scuffling and a muffled noise. The perfume Faeya Ryr wore seemed to surround him. He could think of nothing else but her. He began to loathe Richard Brox, hate Richard Brox. Brox had no right to be so close to her!

  Suddenly, a surge of energy washed through the corridor as Richard Brox pulled his power to him. Artus heard Faeya Ryr gasp, taken by surprise and unable to defend herself against the spell. The corridor now glowed with yellow light. Artus saw Faeya Ryr suspended in midair. He stood watching, his mouth moving without sound as his blood pounded in his chest and head. Without thinking he responded, pulling his own power into him and blasted Richard Brox with pure energy. Brox cried out briefly as his body smashed against the stone wall.

  Brox returned the Mage fire but Artus had surrounded himself with his power and Brox's fire spilled off the shield onto the walls and floor. Again and again Artus struck wildly and Brox stumbled in his terror. Artus finally caught Brox with his full force, driving him to the ground. Brox's image became blurry, blending in with the yellow light. Artus kept it up as long as possible, but felt faint, staggered for a step and passed out.

  When he came to, his father stood nearby, frowning at him. Gerrand and Tyman Stile argued in the corner where Richard Brox had been. Tyman shook his head as Gerrand gestured, Gerrand's face red with anger. Artus felt someone pat his hand. He turned to Faeya Ryr, smiling beside him.

  "Thank you for saving me." She looked as pretty as always; no sign of the fight with Brox remained in her expression. Artus smiled.

  "Brox?"

  "Dead."

  "I've killed him?" Artus' head throbbed.

  "More than that, you stupid fool," growled Alec Endria. "You used sorcery to attack another Mage in the castle. You will be expelled from the Council."

  "I did? Then it was necessary. Brox attacked Faeya Ryr."

 
"I don't argue that point, son. In fact, I am proud of you for your selfless action. But now, it is time to pay for that action. Before the night is over you will be expelled."

  "Gerrand will think of something," said Faeya Ryr.

  "It's his own damn rule. Tyman will be delighted to hold him to it."

  "How can I be reinstated?" His hands shook so he folded his arms so no one would notice.

  "After two years you may petition to become a member again. Two years!" Alec stomped off. Artus watched his father and sighed.

  "He loves you, you know," said Faeya Ryr.

  "I know. I just wish he didn't care so much about his status."

  "He is really thinking about your status. But he is right; Tyman will force you out. You must start thinking about where you will go and what you will do. Do not say anything until Gerrand talks to you. I believe he could give you ideas."

  Artus tried to stand but found himself unsteady. Faeya Ryr grasped his arm to steady him.

  "Okay?"

  He nodded. Gerrand approached wearing a somber face.

  "So I am out?"

  "I am sorry. At least Tyman agreed not to gloat over your father about this. Faeya told me what happened. I think you did the only thing you could."

  "But at what cost?"

  "You saved my life," said Faeya Ryr. "Is that worth less than membership in the Council?"

  Artus looked to her; his face flushed. "I did not mean it that way. You both have been so kind, but it is difficult to gather myself together so quickly."

  "You must," said Gerrand. He gripped Artus's shoulder. "You will leave at dawn. There are a number of tasks that you can attend to for me. Perhaps they will divert you and perhaps they will inspire you. I placed a spell on you when you were unconscious. In two days it will trigger and tell you everything you will miss at the council tomorrow. Be wary. Your road shall be no less perilous than ours. Trust no one. Now, get some rest. I shall see you off in the morning."