"As have we all!" Dalamar interjected sharply, the robe falling away from his scarred face. Seated to his right, Coryn had a view of the half of his face that had suffered the worst; it looked grotesque, yet oddly compelling.
"— and, indeed," she continued calmly, as if she had not been interrupted, "I emerged from that ordeal stronger than when I began. That, alone, you may all take as a sign of my worthiness. I have stood beside the two of you, mighty wizards both, and cast my own spells of might and power. I studied in my own way before the Test, and I continue to study; but the spells I needed during battle came to me when I needed them, even without study.
"Remember," she concluded, taking the time to meet every pair of eyes in the room. "I am the one who first learned the secret of the Tower's corruption, and it was that revelation that brought us here-first to cleanse the Tower, and then to gather in Conclave. I have seen the hostility and division between the Red Robes and the Black, firsthand, traveling with Jenna and Dalamar." She stared at the two of them, who eyed her stonily. "It is fitting that I should preside over the healing that will occupy us all, as Jenna states, for the foreseeable years."
"Hmm. The lass has a point," declared Rasilyss from the Red Robe section, her aged eyes sparkling. Jenna cast her a sharp look, but she didn't withdraw the comment.
"A point, but it is moot."
This was a new voice, a man's, and he spoke not unkindly.
Coryn whirled in surprise. The man came from the shadows around the edge of the hall. As he approached the circle, Coryn saw that he wore a red robe. He was tall, bearing himself with immense dignity as he pulled back the red hood so that all could see his handsome face. Murmurs of recognition, even awe, arose from the older members of the Conclave.
His eyes fell upon Coryn, and she noted the great depth of wisdom there. But she was not intimidated, nor would she be so easily denied.
"Why is it moot?" she shot back, trying to keep her tone even. "Why shouldn't I become Head of the Conclave?"
"Perhaps none more deserving. But that, too, is beside the point."
"Who are you anyway, old stranger?" snapped the young enchantress. But she had gone too far, and the others gasped at her disrespect.
"This would appear to be Justarius, one of the most renowned of the Red Robes. Once Head of the Conclave, himself," Jenna said. She smiled slightly, a wry look. "Though we older and more experienced mages happen to know that Justarius, like Par-Salian, is long dead."
For a moment the red-robed stranger's visage wavered, and Coryn saw the avuncular image of gray-bearded Par-Salian, as he had first welcomed her to the Tower. The image shifted again, and she gasped in surprise at the sight of a Black Robe, his bearded face looking at her with a look of pure, unadulterated hunger. These were all variations of the same figure.
"And dead, too, is Fistandantilus," Jenna said, explaining the black-robed image to Coryn. "May the gods of magic be praised."
The stranger settled back into the face and form of Justarius, but now Coryn knew him for who he was: the Master of the Tower.
"These fleshly incarnations wear on me," the Master admitted, sinking with obvious relief into one of the vacant chairs-a chair in the Black Robe section of the circle, Cory couldn't help but notice. "Indeed I am weary. And indeed I am grateful for this Conclave, grateful there will soon be a trusted mortal presiding over this hallowed place, as in times past."
"Yes, a mortal-but not me?" Coryn pressed. "Why?"
"Because there exists a reason-one reason, but one that is ultimately binding-that prevents you from ever becoming the Head of the Conclave."
All the wizards watched the Master with keen interest. Coryn felt a stab of apprehension-what did he know? What had she failed to do?
"Would you please describe for us your first experiences with magic?" he queried softly.
Hesitantly, she related the stories of her girlhood-her first experiments with wild magic, using the tundra's water in creative ways to help her fellow villagers, hunting and fishing with spells. And as she spoke, a light dawned in the eyes of some of the older mages.
"Thank you for your candor," the Master said. He turned to address the whole Conclave. "This young woman is undeniably powerful. She has earned the right not only to wear the white robe, but to sit as the head of that order. But she can never be selected as Head of the Conclave, in part-though only part-for the reasons you have just been told."
"Surely I am not the only one who dabbled in sorcery while the gods were gone?" the young White Robe argued.
"I know that Jenna and Dalamar, both, sought to draw magic from the fabric of the world. Is that not true?"
But the Master waved off any answer by either the Red or the Black Robe. "I said that is part of the reason."
"I have renounced that power!" Coryn insisted. "The true magic of the gods, of Solinari, is all the power I need now."
"To destroy Kalrakin, you employed wild magic here, in the Tower of High Sorcery. That is the other, more important part of the reason."
"But-I had to! It was the only way to save the Tower!" objected Coryn, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Yes, quite true. And we are grateful that you did so, to be sure. But the fact remains. And it is inviolable. The gods have spoken."
"You have come far from the wild magic you learned as a girl, before you knew of the three gods," Jenna said consolingly, and her voice, too, was unusually gentle. "But it is clear that the temptation remains within you. Renouncing wild magic is sacred to the mages of all three orders, while using that which you have renounced, violates that which is inviolable."
"I ask again: Where is this written?" Coryn demanded angrily.
Still, the red-robed sorceress spoke kindly, and this to the young woman was almost more painful than if Jenna had delivered a furious rebuke. "It does not have to be written… you know it yourself, Coryn, in your heart. And if you still doubt, you have only to ask the one who has guided you, has taught and sheltered you through this long ordeal."
Jenna nodded to the Master of the Tower.
Coryn's knees grew weak, and though she did not have the strength to ask the question, she nevertheless heard the answer through the fiber of her being. The Master's next words concluded the matter.
"You are great, White Robe, a promising leader of your order. And I predict you will rise to higher greatness. But you can never rule the Conclave."
One by one, the others nodded solemnly. Coryn, numb, sat down while trying to hold her head high. She was painfully aware of Jenna's sympathetic look. Dalamar, in contrast, was aloof, coolly arrogant as he surveyed the Conclave, turning his head so that all could observe the gory smudge that was the right side of his face. By Solinari, she hated him!
But there was nothing more to say. She could only wait, as the wizards settled in their chairs, preparing to resume the pressing business.
Dalamar then rose. "As for me, I have paid dearly for this chair. I have paid in pain and in blood. Long ago I paid dearly." He tore open his robe to reveal five holes, still moist and weeping, in his chest. He turned in a half circle to display the ghastly wounds, so that all could see his badges of honor. "This is the mark of my Shalafi, and it marks me forever."
His hands went to his hood, and he pulled back the cowl, turning his face so all could see. "Now, again, here in this place during this historic battle, I have paid, with this horrible wounding, this scar, that shall mark me for the rest of my days. But I have paid in pursuit of an honorable goal. If the consensus spell soon to be cast by you, my fellow wizards, installs me at your head, know that I will sequester myself in this tower for years, for the rest of my life if necessary, to restore the dignity and strength of our orders. I shall rebuild, with my own hands if necessary, this tower. I will erase the physical scars of the sorcerer's reign, for those are scars on stone and foundation. Those are scars that can be healed!"
There was silence as the wizards absorbed the impact of Dalamar's stirring words, even as some shrank from his s
carred countenance.
"But if the consensus should fall to me, instead," Jenna spoke, rising smoothly as Dalamar slowly took his seat, "know that I will send our agents, yourselves, into the world again-and I shall lead them. We will work to restore the Tower, of course-we must. But we will also see that the honor of our three orders is once more known, respected- and yes, feared-in the realms of man and elf and dwarf."
Her brief but impressive speech concluded, Jenna sat, and the consensus spell began. Coryn felt the choice probing at her mind, as she knew it probed all those gathered here. She made no conscious choice, but let her instincts guide her. Others sat quietly, undergoing the same process.
Finally a corona of light appeared around Jenna, outlining the Red Robe in a soft brilliance, like the trailing of a glorious sunset. She nodded her acceptance, and then stood and turned first to Dalamar, paying honor to him. The dark elf, though, glowered at them all from the depths of his black hood.
"You, my old… friend, please stay here and do the work you declared necessary. I beg this of you on behalf of all the orders. For though many of us will come and go into the world, one must stay here, keep the records and treasures, and supervise the efforts to restore this tower. Will you do so?"
"Aye," he said in a low mutter, after a time. As he said this, he grimaced-or perhaps smiled. It was hard to tell with that death's-head visage.
"And Coryn," Jenna continued her diplomacy, turning to the White Robe. "There is much you can do, my eager young friend, and much you have to learn. Studies and experiments in the Tower of Sorcery await you. But there will be time for that. The tower will always be here, when you return."
"Return?"
"I think there is a place you must go right away, is there not?"
The little hut was just as she remembered, though the grass had grown tall around it. The teleport spell had brought her just outside the small, familiar place, at the front door. She hesitated a moment, smelling the scent of the Icereach, listening to a vast flock of geese winging past overhead. Finally, she drew a breath and approached.
"Umma?" she asked softly, pushing open the door.
At first Coryn feared she had come too late. The old woman lay on her bed, still and pale, just as she had appeared during the Test. Only when the young enchantress sat beside her and took her frail hand, did Cory feel the flicker of a pulse. Her grandmother opened her eyes. She looked at Coryn carefully, her gaze lingering up and down on the beautiful white robe.
"You have made me very happy, and very proud, my child," Scharon whispered.
Then Coryn's grandmother smiled, closed her eyes, and drew her last breath.
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Wizards Conclave aom-5 Page 28
