I was immeasurably relieved to find the strength returning to my legs; I wasn’t about to appear before this Council leaning on Livak, however badly Planir might want me there. We walked slowly down to the hall, finding Shiv hovering anxiously in the archway.
“It’s this way,” he said unnecessarily, leading the way to a forbidding door banded with enough iron to stop a fully manned battering ram. This gave on to a short flight of stairs, topped by another grim portal, deep sigils carved into the wood, iron bolts tying in the metal reinforcements. I did not allow myself to be too overawed; I’ve stood before the Emperor’s throne in the Imperial audience chamber of Toremal more than once. My step faltered at that notion as I remembered the destruction I had seen the Elietimm visit upon the place, if only in augury.
The Council chamber itself was impressive, that I have to admit. It took me a moment to realize there were no windows, the illumination inside was so intense. It was not sunlight, but came from a ball of pure radiance hanging in the center of the vaulted ceiling, a visible display of the magic that had its focus here. The room was circular, dark oaken chairs of varying ages and styles arranged all around the walls, each with a niche molded into the soft yellow stonework. In the middle an empty circular dais was positioned directly under the ball of light and I wondered who would be standing there, every eye on him. Not me, that was for certain.
Mages of every age and appearance were filing into the great chamber: aged, youthful, ragged, prosperous, placid, alert, some moving swiftly, faces preoccupied, others more slowly, a couple looking frankly vague—and they were two of the younger ones. Some were dressed in finery fit for the Emperor’s court, some looked as they had just stepped out of a tisane house, with every style of dress between to be seen around the room. Not everyone took a seat at first; here and there knots of men and women stood in close conversation, heads close together, glances darting to either side as they exchanged opinions.
“Here.” Shiv led us to three plain seats to the immediate side of the great door. I leaned back in my chair, observing the scene, looking for any clues to which way the tides would be running. All conversation halted for a moment as Planir swept in, Otrick and Usara in his train, all dressed in formal robes of shining silk. I remembered the old wizard, Otrick, from our voyage back from the Ice Islands when he had looked no better than a pirate, braiding the winds in his hands to destroy the Elietimm ships pursuing us. Now he looked every measure the mage as he strode briskly across the yellow flagstones, an azure gown resplendent with embroidery, the sinuous shape of a dragon just apparent amid the design of clouds, if you knew to look it out.
Usara was wearing an amber robe rather than the undistinguished brown I had always seen him in previously. Silver thread was worked down the front to frame gemstones highlighting a complex pattern of angled lines. For a man who usually seemed so diffident there was no trace of hesitation in his step; he carried his head high, a fine rod of white gold in one hand. Planir reached his seat and turned in his heel to survey the waiting wizards, drawing all eyes irresistibly to him. He was all in black, the cut of his robe impeccable, discreet ebony embroidery on the darkness, a touch of sable at the collar for a hint of luxury, hair close-cropped and face clean-shaven, eyes bright and dangerous. He put me in mind of a raven, watching and waiting, ready to fly through a rainbow carrying tidings to the Eldritch Kin, their concerns beyond mortal ken. As their Archmage stood there, silent, expectant, the various mages rapidly found their places, the last to seat himself in a highly polished and canopied chair, a fat man in an overelaborate mantle of red velvet flames.
Planir raised a hand and I expected him to speak, but instead a metallic whisper at my side made me turn my head to the door. As I watched, the great straps of iron that bound the wood spread themselves, shimmering and running into each other and over the door jambs to seal the entrance with a solid sheet of metal. Livak and I exchanged a dubious glance.
“So, you have all had a report of what Mentor Tonin’s rites have discovered for us, through the D’Alsennin sword and the courage of Ryshad Tathel.” I kept my face impassive as Planir nodded a brief acknowledgment in my direction before continuing briskly. “I do not propose to reiterate this information; time is pressing, so I will open the floor to debate.”
Wizards on all sides looked at each other; this was clearly some departure from established practice. I was not surprised to see the fat man in red was the first on his feet, his expression eager.
“I think, Archmage, that these researches are now quite clearly complete. You have been telling us for several seasons now that your aim is to establish the fate of this colony, and now you have your answer. While it is always interesting to be able to put such a firm conclusion to a question of historical record and, I will allow, it is a rare achievement, there is now nothing more to be said on the subject. The colony failed, these people are lost and now we must turn our minds to more pressing matters.”
The wizard adopted a lordly pose, one plump and lavishly beringed hand resting on his chest. “It is time wizardry began to play an active role in the affairs of the mainland and I can see no more opportune time when we have clear evidence of such a threat causing such concern to the Princes of Tormalin. We have been keeping our peace at your insistence while Mentor Tonin and his scholars attempted to complete their researches, but now we must act. I know your modesty will not permit you to take all the credit, Planir, but this Council should know that you, in your office as Archmage, have taken considerable pains to locate and trace the movements of the envoys from these Ice Islands who are even now attempting to undermine the security of Tormalin and the ocean coast. The business of this Council must be to decide how we are to rid the mainland of these insidious vermin. In doing so, not only will we put paid to their schemes in short order but we will also demonstrate our undoubted right to participate in the decisions of the ruling classes, wherever they may be.”
“You are very confident of your ability to drive out these Elietimm, Kalion.” A sturdy woman in crimson with a no-nonsense expression spoke, rising from a chair on the far side of the sealed door from me. “May I ask how you propose to combat a magic we patently still fail to understand?”
“I remain to be convinced that this aetheric artifice is such a threat as has been suggested.” Kalion’s reply was patronizing enough to set my teeth on edge; he had barely sat long enough for his broad arse to dent his cushion before getting to his feet again. “The scholars who have been researching it for many seasons now have little more to show for their pains than festival tricks and curiosities.”
Livak stirred beside me and I knew she was remembering the savage sorcery that the Elietimm had wielded to such dire effect on our trip to their cursed islands. I blinked on a sudden memory that had to be Temar’s; of the ship, the Eagle, her rails lined with the mindless bodies of her crew, and I struggled to conceal a shiver of apprehension.
“I rather think you’re missing the point, Kalion.” The woman was unbothered by the big man’s superior attitude. “The question is not what we can achieve with this enchantment, it is rather what these Elietimm can do.”
“Surely the Archmage’s information makes such questions irrelevant?” Kalion flicked his hand in a throwaway gesture. “The basis for this magic was destroyed along with the Empire, if his conjectures are correct, as I am sure they are.”
“What about all this nonsense in the Archipelago, this cult of the Dark Queen or whatever it was?” objected a mage with a Lescari accent, looking up from a handful of notes. “Isn’t that a clear attempt by the Elietimm to create a focus of belief so as to provide themselves with a source of power?”
“You know, I’ve been wondering about that,” his neighbor said eagerly. “Do you think this means there is a limit on the distance over which they can draw on this aetheric potential? Are they in any sense cut off from the power vested in their home islands when they are on the mainland?”
I kept my face expressionless
as several others joined the discussion and Kalion seated himself reluctantly, still leaning forward, ready to be first to his feet again. If the Convocation ran their debates in Toremal like this, the great Houses would never have risen anew above the Chaos. Shouldn’t one of the Archmage’s roles be to conduct this Council? I looked at Planir as I was thinking this but, seeing the keenness in his eyes, concluded things were indeed taking just the course he wanted.
“I have a more pertinent question regarding the collapse of this aetheric magic.” A short but sturdy man in blue rose to his feet on the far side of the chamber. “This new tale takes us up to the loss of the colony but I still do not see how the Artifice, aetheric magic, call it what you will, was in fact destroyed. I thought the whole purpose of these highly risky proceedings was to discover this very thing? What progress has been made on this issue?”
“We have been giving the matter our closest attention, Rafrid,” Usara spoke up and walked swiftly to the center of the room, rod in hand. “We contend that it is all a matter of balance. I would remind you all that such concepts of harmony and symmetry were central to Ancient Tormalin religious practice, albeit those ideas have been largely obscured in later liturgy.” As he spoke, he lifted the rod to a level with his eyes and then removed his hand, leaving the gleaming metal bar hanging in the empty air. “The scholar Geris Armiger established, I think beyond argument, that this aetheric magic draws its power from the unconscious potential of the mind, a capacity greatly enhanced when those minds are focused on a common loyalty or belief. Forgive me, I know you will all have read the relevant dissertation.”
A glance around the room soon told me who had and who either had not or was a wizard to avoid meeting over a game of runes or Raven. I saw a faint smile in Usara’s eyes as he looked around the room, halting briefly at Planir, bowing slightly before continuing.
“Mentor Tonin’s researches suggest that this potential is a collective phenomenon, a reservoir of power without defined boundaries. I am sure he will be only too happy to go through the evidence if any of you wish to consult him later. For the moment, it is sufficient to say that two groups wielding aetheric magic may oppose each other absolutely, be convinced of radically different philosophies or ambitions, yet remain linked by the underlying principle.”
With a wave of his hand, Usara’s bar became the beam of a balance, a pan on either end heaped high, one with black crystals, one with white.
“The Lady Guinalle was certainly learned in the practical applications of her Artifice but I get no sense that she, or indeed any of her teachers, fully understood the fundamentals of the power they were using. Her youth alone suggests no lengthy period of study. Our contention is this: in removing such a large number of people from the equation, including a disproportionate element trained in focusing the aether or as they called it Artifice, Guinalle inadvertently unbalanced the entire supporting structure of that power.”
Usara snapped his fingers. The white crystals cascaded toward the floor to be followed by the black as the balance swung wildly up and down. He bowed at the faint ripple of applause and amusement running around the room and picked the rod out of the air, crystals and scale pans disappearing with a flash.
“That is all very interesting but we should address ourselves to the Tormalin—” The wizard Kalion was up in the next instant, struggling to hide a scowl as Usara’s theatrics diverted the attention of the gathering from his intended purpose for the debate.
“Kindly allow the rest of us to participate in this discussion, Hearth-Master.” A tiny, wrinkled woman in a crumpled leaf-green robe stood with some effort, leaning heavily on a carved, crooked stick. Nevertheless her voice cut through the room like a hot blade through wax. She fixed Usara with a glittering eye, keen as a dagger. “Young man, I find it very hard to believe that these people, with all the tradition of scholarship of which we have been told, had so little understanding of the fundamentals of their art that such a mistake could be made. No mage here would make such an error; few apprentices beyond their first season’s training could!”
One of the younger wizards in gray with a discreet scarlet trim to his tunic stood, his expression thoughtful and his manner assured despite his lack of years in such a company. “I think, Shannet, that it would be more accurate to say that no apprentice would have the opportunity to make such an error these days. Here in Hadrumal, we have twenty generations of research and scholarship to support us, a thorough understanding of the laws of magic as they pertain to the elements. Yet we have all read the diaries of those who first came to this island with the founding Archmage Trydek, have we not? Those early wizards were working with purely empirical knowledge, mere fragments of the understanding we now have. What little learning those mages came with was garnered from widely differing traditions, acquired in an entirely haphazard manner. The early history of Hadrumal is one of experimentation, trial and error, is it not? Magic was used extensively for many generations with a very imperfect understanding of its nature. I see no reason why these Ancients should not have been using their Artifice with as little basis on true wisdom.”
“Given they believed their power was god-given, why would they have felt the need to explain its origins anyway?” a wizard similar enough in age and appearance to the first to be his brother chipped in, not bothering to stand.
“Who’s to say it was an error, anyway?” A tall, spare man in ocher robes got briefly to his feet. “This girl may have known exactly what she was doing, killing two birds with the one stone as it were; saving her folk and striking at the enemy in the one enchantment.”
The immediate doubt in my mind at this proposal was unmistakably tinged with Temar’s reactions.
“But what of the effect on the Empire in Tormalin?” protested a motherly-looking woman. “Granted Nemith the Last’s misrule had seriously undermined Tormalin power by that point, but it was the collapse of the magic that precipitated the final downfall!”
“I think you will find all the writings on harmony and balance date from the generations immediately after the Chaos,” a nervous-looking young man near Usara bobbed up to speak. He looked as if he had more to say, but he lost his nerve and sat again.
I gritted my teeth and ignored the stray thoughts trying to hook my attention, concentrating hard on the increasingly wide-ranging debate as further wizards discussed the nature of the scholarship of magic. Most of it went completely over my head, so I watched Planir and Kalion instead, the former silent and poised like a waiting hawk, the latter visibly irritated at his inability to steer the meeting in his chosen direction. I can’t be sure but I think I saw a brief glance exchanged by Planir and the mage Rafrid before the latter rose to speak again.
“I think we can agree to accept Usara’s contention as a working hypothesis until more compelling evidence emerges to refute it, can’t we?” said Rafrid mildly. “Interesting though this debate has become, I would like to know what those scholars working with Mentor Tonin feel their next step should be?”
All eyes turned to Tonin, who got slowly to his feet, a sheaf of parchments in one hand betraying him with a faint fluttering. “Now that we have the Arimelin archive from Claithe to complement the records of the Dimaerion traditions in eastern Solura, I am hopeful that we could attempt to reunite the minds and persons of these ancient Tormalins, were we able to bring the artifacts and bodies together. We have increased our understanding of the lesser uses of the aetheric principles in recent seasons and I am hopeful that we have identified rites that would reunite that which Artifice presently keeps separate.”
My own surge of hope at Tonin’s quiet words was echoed by an answering desire ringing through the back of my mind. I was suddenly convinced Temar was as eager to be free of me as I was to be rid of him.
Rafrid stood patiently as a surge of speculation ran around the room, eventually subsiding as the assembled mages looked at each other and finally back at him. He looked around the room. “Should we consider doing this?”
“Of course,” said the woman who had first answered Kalion. “Think of the information they could give us, about this aetheric magic, about all the mysteries of the Ancients that were lost in the Chaos.” She shot a hard glance at the fat wizard. “Then we will know exactly what we are facing in these Elietimm and their peculiar magic.”
“These people have been lost for, what, twenty-five generations or more?” scoffed a balding man in brown, “and you are proposing to restore them to life again? Their families are long gone, any land or possessions scattered to the four winds, in every sense that matters, these people are as good as dead. I appreciate there are many scholars curious about the fall of the Tormalin Empire, but I hardly think it reasonable to thrust these unfortunates into our world, when so many changes have happened, when so little from their own age has survived, just to satisfy an intellectual curiosity. What’s done is done. These people should remain at rest. Nothing will be gained by such an attempt at rescue so long after the event.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” one of the younger mages spoke up, again without standing. “Read the primary sources, Galen. Look at the language and ideas. Consider the vast amount of knowledge lost in the Chaos. I’d say we of this generation have more in common with the people of the last days of the Empire than with almost any generation in between.”
“I don’t necessarily agree with that, Reis, but am I right in thinking the dreams that these artifacts have been provoking indicate these people are far from at rest.” A severe-looking man in his middle years looked at Tonin. “Is that not so?”
“I would certainly argue that the intensity and detail of the dreams reflects the desires of the subject to be free of the enchantment,” nodded Tonin, his voice confident. I could definitely confirm that, I thought grimly.
“Surely, now that we have this knowledge, we have a duty to rescue these individuals from this undeath?” a plain young woman in a modest rose dress spoke up suddenly, blushing at her own daring. “We cannot condemn them to an eternity in the shades, neither in this world or the other, at the mercy of Poldrion’s demons. Such a fate should only befall the worst of people, not innocents such as these.”
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