Shadow's Rising - Chapter IV

Chapter IV
The Academy’s Council

“...to use my powers not in violation of the Academy’s codex, to further the Balance, the ultimate objective, to obey the rulings of the archmagi, follow the decisions of the council of Elders without question...”
––The oath of the magi initiates at Carenath

“My fellow members, the meeting is called to order.” There was a slight unilateral whisper of acknowledgement, and a rustle as everyone present took up the parchment that had been mass-duplicated for them. It was a short sheet, and nearly half full. All the Elders should have been relieved about this because it implied a short meeting – some of these sessions could literally last a whole day, or even several days. However, there was hardly a breath to be heard inside the room, and where Derlen looked, he saw grave faces. Graver than usual, that was.
A meeting with a brief agenda might take little time, but it needed a reason, especially when called on short notice. And this one had a good reason. If you could call it good.
“The agenda for today’s session has hereby been made known. Is everyone present in agreement with the proceedings?” around forty hands rose obediently to agree.
“Then we can move on to the points to discussion.” Derlen hated the days he had to preside over the council. Get out a few well-rehearsed, dusty phrases and read from a small parchment, and everyone thinks you’re the Canæ-sent solution to all the problems. Indeed, the Elders were looking at him quite expectantly already. And not just because they were waiting for him to announce the first point on the agenda, he could see that as clearly as if he was reading minds.
“There are only three points for which the meeting has been called. I have proposed to advance on these in order of increasing priority.” Again, nodding. Like dolls, not like wise and learned men and women. The horror of committees.
“Our first concern is the stance of our Academy with regard to the current situation in the southern reaches. The Kingdom has officially requested us to lend support to the royal troops in quelling the rebellion – several times. Our current course of action has been based on ignoring the affair. Are there any comments?”
Muriel, the Archmagus of the First, raised her hand. “This war has no purpose, not for either side. While it is a minor problem, it has little chance of affecting our fate negatively. To send in support to either side now would merely unbalance the conflict and escalate it.”
“I agree.” Vorlud Denvaris, acknowledged as the one in charge of the Academy’s ‘foreign politics’ if you will. “Yet, we must be careful at this time to maintain diplomatic ties with the royal court. You know the current state of affairs—“ a few members familiar with them groaned. Oh and how. “— and we are all aware of the kind of decisions being made by the dulgran and his advisors now. Any kind of harsh, outspoken rejection might provoke them.” Dulgran Monkey was a term that had gradually won popularity as an insult to the monarch of Atharellia. Dulgrani, named after their place of origin, the infamous desert isles of Dulgra beyond the Southwestern tip of the continent, were a diminutive breed of monkeys who were most known for their astonishing ability to imitate the speech of humans – and because their little part of wits allowed them to form simple, but usually nonsensical sentences, they were an attraction on every fair in the big towns. Still, asking any mage of Carenath (and some of the less timid citizens of the city of Thara, but only out of earshot of anyone who might be eavesdropping), the Dulgrani was widely acknowledged as significantly brighter than His Majesty King Taral.
Another member of the council – of the Fourth, Derlen saw from the blue-green robes that indicated the element of water, but did not recognize him – rose.
“And so?”, his question filled the room confidently, almost arrogantly, like a challenge. “What is it to us if the King should decide to commit hostilities toward us? His armies are insignificant and for the most part caught up in the rebellion he brought on himself with his foolish decisions. Even the Royal Wizards, though powerful, are under our higher command. He cannot use them against us; they would not obey.
“Why should we bend down to the worldly, to those whose only goal is the power and influence among humankind?” A murmur of approval went through the council; the mage had hit a nerve. “Why should we follow the commands of such a one, when they will only bring trouble, and there is no benefit to us or to the world we are guarding? What can the King do if we refuse?” he sat back down, his rhetorical question concluding his argument.
Derlen sighed.
“They cannot harm us directly, but you are familiar with history. You know what happened before this institution was even allowed to exist, before mages could walk in daylight and not fear banishment, or worse, torture and execution. You know what it took even after the necessity became clear.” The challenger knew, yes. Everyone present knew. “If the King is sufficiently displeased with us, he does not need to make an attack on our Citadel. He can outlaw the practice of wizardry within his realm, and see where it gets us.” He nearly rose out of his seat and began to pace as he was wont to do under pressure, but managed to remain seated.
“Do you propose to accede to his request then?" The tone was kept barely credulous.
"By all means, no!" Derlen hastened to assure, "But we must maintain diplomatic ties with the crown; we cannot reject them openly. Let us defer a direct response."
Tarla Inares, the councilor in charge of court relations, rose at this point.
"If I may add my professional opinion, that tactic will aid us for a very limited time. How much longer that will be, the gods alone know. The couriers arriving from the city of Thara is becoming more frequent, their requests more direct. They grow impatient. To maintain vagueness may soon be taken no differently than to actually deny them support."
"Then we have an impasse. We cannot send aid for fear it will bring chaos to the world, we cannot deny aid for fear our kind will be retaliated against, yet we must do one or the other, and do it soon." Derlen was ready to break down in tears. Muriel spoke again.
“We might send a token of support. This token would take some time in arriving, and then not severely imbalance the fight. Besides, we shall demand our forces to be placed under no military command, but be allowed to operate independently. That way, we will be able to keep from doing more manipulation in this fight than necessary.
“We must decide what our true objective is. Do we try to deliberately show the King our independence? That will enrage him. Do we want to conserve our forces for the times ahead? This is the way to do it.”
“And how do you propose to convince the King to be satisfied with that token? Would it not rather appear to him that we are toying with his patience, attempting to delay our decision?”
“Not if our priorities lie elsewhere, and if they do so with justification.”
“You do not actually intend to tell him of—“ they had all read the agenda, and the address. It wasn’t as if Derlen had written ‘concerning the apocalypse at hand’ in big letters as the third point in the plan, but everyone knew what was at stake.
“If the matter becomes more dire, yes I do. What difficulty do you see in that?” there was a collective snort.
“He will not believe a bit of it. And if he did, it would unnecessarily jeopardize everything. Our hope there lies in secrecy. We are where we started.” In any discussion, Derlen had long found – especially when he was first speaker – that to play devil’s advocate and the diehard pessimist was not a very thankful role, but the best way to bring the debate forward.
In the far end of the room, another man rose. He was robed in black, and his long raven hair tumbled down to his shoulders in a way that attracted somewhat envious looks from the wizards around him – following tradition there was hardly anyone in the room below fifty, and nearly all of their hair had long faded to gray. That of the men, leastways: female mages didn’t hold with showing age when it was not necessary to do so – and it was never necessary if you were skilled with magic. But this one did not need a spell to look young – he was barely in his thirties. The dark-haired wizard spoke.
“There is a time for honesty, and a time for deceit.”
Ayin Selten was the Archmagus of the Sixth; his was the magic of the Shadow. Naturally, an Order like Carenath had to maintain balance; there were towers of all the elements, which had to work to ensure an equilibrium betwen the opposites: Air (which those of the tower themselves always preferred to call Wind) and Earth, Fire and Water, Light and Shadow. The supreme order of the magi could not afford to discriminate between the tiers; chaos would result. Still, most of the mages were somewhat suspicious of the Sixth, perceiving it like an ingrown toenail, a corruption. A necessary evil to have around, but still an evil nonetheless. Those dressed in the black were accordingly looked at from the side by any but the most progressive of apprentices; you could never know when one of those scheming warlocks was up to something. Ayin Selten was one of the mages concerned who noticed this attitude toward him, but ignored it.
“Would you care to elaborate, Ayin?” Cryptic comments were Ayin’s strong point, much to the irritation of those of the council. As was his archaic way of speaking, that the older mages scoffed at as youthful romanticism.
“Not for nothing do the people of Atharellia call us the Weavers of Fate, do they? I have heard it said that this war concerns us not, that we must let it run its course. But I say that this war truly does concern the fate of the world and the academy of Carenath.
“Truly, if what our Raven has brought us is true, we are in dire danger, as is the Kingdom. Soon, it shall be ravaged by the forces of the dark, and the armies of the King shall be unable to fend them off as they are locked up in the civil war. The rebellious lands and the Kingdom alike will be swept aside by the tide from the nether, and we shall have a second Breaking indeed, a Breaking that is no less disastrous for failing to reshape these lands and cast them below the waters, for it shall lay all to waste nonetheless.
“There is only one way to avert this: We must put a stop to this foolish war. We must quite plainly force these warmongers to make peace and instead ally themselves against the darkness to come. And it shall come, I have gazed in the Darkwell and seen a time of dread, days of battle, of grief.”
“And again, how do you propose to convince them? We are running in a circle here. We cannot tell the moogs of the true threat, and we cannot convince them any other way.” Derlen was growing exasperated.
“Who speaks of convincing? Who speaks of persuading? I spoke of forcing! Ramon was quite right when he said that the armies of the King are powerless against us. He cannot hope to defeat us in an open conflict, he can only harm us slowly by persecuting mages in his realm, over a long time. If we act quickly and surely, there will be no time for that.”
“You don’t actually mean we should depose His Majesty?”
“Impeachment, I believe the term is for such a thing. No, I do not mean that, though the idea bears thought if the conflict should escalate. For now, I simply meant we would promise to send a strong force to restore peace.
“We send this force, wait until the time is right, then bloodlessly incapacitate both sides of the struggle and force peace terms down their throat.”
For a few seconds, there was silence, as the other Elders contemplated this. Then, for a brief seconds, they all looked as if they would break out in applause. Instead, they politely started knocking the heavy oaken table in respect, as was traditional.
"I dare say this represents truly what we, what the academy, and what our Order has always stood for. Long live the cause of neutrality, and the Keeping of the Balance!" Derlen was glad that his continual bickering had at last stimulated the committee into coming up with a good idea. "So we shall hold the customary referendum now."
He did not even have to speak the traditional question before nearly all hands were raised in unison.
"I would say that is enough of an answer." Derlen said happily. "We can leave the exact composition of that force and its plan of action to the Battle mages of the Third, that's their job.
"Meanwhile, we should dispatch an operative to Lendra." There was a bit of a silence at that. "She's the leader of the rebels. A countess of the southern provinces, who is rather fed up with the current tax rates to the sovereign. If we negotiate with them covertly, we will be able to make this a lot smoother than otherwise."
Tarla was unimpressed. "Balance, Derlen? Why do you want to send an emissary to the rebels, but not to the King?"
"Because they are the underdogs in this conflict." Ayin answered before Derlen could reply. "To aid them will help restoring the balance, not destroy it. Besides, the rebels have no choice but to work with us. This is their only chance at swift victory, and they will jump on it. Whereas Taral shall be Greatly Displeased indeed if he finds we are pursuing any goal but his own victory in this war." He paused.
"I sympathize with them." Grinned. "And Canae knows they have reason for doing what they are, with such a King. Besides, I like rebels."

* * *

"I believe this concludes the matter. Then let us move on to the next point." This one will be easy.
"The traders are requesting discounted prices for wizard escorts through rebellion country."
"Would this be unifiable with our plan of action concerning the rebels? After all, to help the merchants refuse their toll requests might put a dint into our negotiations before they begin." Ayin was a practical man with practical morals, as were most of the Dark tower, Derlen remembered. Yes, aid the rebels in their pilfering, so they will work with us in ensuring peace.
"No, I don't believe this will be a problem. The merchant's anger is not directed at the Lendranians. By the letter from the chief of the merchant guild, it seems like brigands have taken it upon themselves to take their own toll on top of Lendra's one, using the time when that country is not being watched by the King too closely anyway."
"Parasites." Ramon, the water mage Derlen had failed to identify earlier, uttered.
"Yes, the letter is very clear on that point. It is asking for support against the brigands only, not the populists. In fact, the merchants are quite happy that the land is currently under Lendranian control, because as a matter of fact, the rebels demand a rather substantially lower wayfare than the King's collectors did." Total fool, that King, yes. The taxes back then were simply outrageous, I remember.
"How heartwarming." Muriel commented again. Derlen suddenly noticed she was one of the five— no, six with him, only people to have spoken today, out of the forty three that were present. Just goes to prove it again; these Things are useless.
"I move we accede to their request. It is not much asked, we do not need the tithing money that terribly anyway, and it also offers a show of support for the King." Tarla was clear on that. The Order of Magi was funded from the tithing of its members, a percentage tax they had to pay out of all money they earned with selling their magical services. The percentage rates themselves varied, and even the prices were regulated. No mage was allowed to charge more than a fixed price rate for healing within the entire kingdom, for instance, while at the same time most of the other areas were regulated by a minimum price to put a stop to excessive competition, which might have damaged the Order's coffers.
"I shall arrange with our funding department to order all mercenary wizards in this respect. Limit the fees taken from merchants by fifteen percent off the usual rates for the time that their journey leads through rebel-controlled country. Oh, and see to it that the hired wizard mercenaries do not follow any demands to fight the rebels, and that they make that clear when they are hired; simply notify the merchants that this is the result of our negotiation with the guild. Are we in agreement as to that?” A lot of the wizards present raised their hands, but not all; some looked dubious at the not insignificant amount of money this would cost them.

“That would then conclude the second point. Shall we presently move on to the third?” A slight groaning was heard from a few of the Elders; this was the point that had been the real reason for the assembly.
“Theodore has sent a report again. To summarize, he has kept his ear on the ground a little and it seems like there is trouble brewing. The rogue mages a little more daring than usual. The local wildlife around the place concerned very skittish. The weather patterns acting up lately.
"He also mentioned the Stargazer Tower down South. Seems like the astronomers have at last found a pattern in the information they’ve got. They established the period of the cycle to within a year, which is quite good when you consider the period is around a millennium. Needless to say, the year they have come up with is this one.”
Ayin Selten stood again. “I myself have gazed into the eye, and found strange goings on in the swirl of the Storm.” The storm was the name by which most mages in Carenath referred to the Chaos rift, the astral plane through whence all nether creatures came and went to and from Kerran. The Eye was a crystal, one of the last Seeing Stones, that was tuned to the plane. “Seems like all those buggers are a bit excited right now. One of their bosses returning from exile, or some such, as closely as I could make out.”
The other Elders were staring at him again, some with amazement, but most with outright hard suspicion. It ain’t easy being a demonologist, it suddenly hit Derlen. Ayin appeared to be oblivious to it however, and why should he not? No matter how they looked at him or what they called him, they needed such as him; he and they both knew that.
“Indeed, if there were a mortal learned in this tier of the Art, who knew what they were doing and willing to do it... if such a one were to be present at the stone and perform the proper rituals, the creature concerned could be freed. Whether the creature will then decide to fulfill its part of the bargain and stay on this plane, or simply return to the nether, glad to be free and turn its back on our world, is another question. That is its own choice. The question now is—“ he paused. “Is there such a demonologist, who is not known by our circle, who is roaming free right now, and who would risk the total annihilation of his or her own soul for a chance at power?”
“There are ever those,” Derlen replied. “The question, rather, is, do they know of the coming event? After all, we ourselves have learned of it but recently, and surely no one would be better informed than the order of Carenath?”
“You can be assured they are, Derlen. The mages that oppose Carenath, it is said, have their own order, their own tower and their own agents.” Incredulous stares at that.
“Traitors to the order and all it represents, of all our kind they hate those of the Sixth most of all. To them, it is us who are renegades, who throw in our lot with the loathed Order rather than with the Guild of Mal’Xyr, to whose banner flocks most wickedness of this realm.” He realized he had said rather more than he had meant to, and was silent.
“How do you know of this?” Ramon, who had been staring most distrustfully, wanted to know.
“We do not speak often of it, but we know. Ever so often, we catch one of them. And ever so often, no matter how carefully we guard ourselves, they catch one of ours – what becomes of these is a matter better not thought about. And ever so often...” he paused again, for dramatic effect “... one of our kind flees, and joins them. They forsake all they are, and if we ever find them, their life is forfeit. But they still risk it, for some hint of the power gotten from exercising their skills and knowledge freely, without regard to the code of the Order.”
“Does Theodore know this?” Derlen demanded. “If there was anyone who needed this knowledge, it would be him!”
“I made sure he does, and I still make sure he is always kept on top of all the news we find of it. What he finds of it, he gives on to us directly, before he reports back, so that we may first counsel him on the matter. Erstwhile, he asked us concerning the entrapment of a powerful... creature, and the ways it could be freed.”
“He reported back on this, saying that your tower had been in agreement with his theories.”
“Yes, and so we were. Such binding spells may indeed be woven into the very star cycles themselves, thus that they cannot be undone before the same constellation comes to pass again. Of course, it is rather difficult to find such a pattern that will make the spell last longer than a few years.” But Baltazar did. Entrapping his own uncle inside the focus he had built for him, he could be sure he would be avenged when the time came.
“And when the constellation returns, the spell falls apart? Like a lock that has been opened by a mystical key?”
“No. Rather it is like a lock that turns thus that the key will fit again. It shall still require a magic-knowing person to perform the proper ritual; and I am quite certain this ritual is not commonly known. I myself have no idea what it could be, and I doubt it can be found in any but the most ancient, incomprehensible and dangerous tomes in the library of the Sixth. In fact, I doubt even those of the Guild know it. It would take one person to be sure of what they were looking for – and with a half-garbled folktale to go from, not many would be sufficiently enthusiastic, to be obsessed to the point of insanity by accomplishing this goal, in order to have the right motivation that would be required for seeking through all these old scripts. It may take a cycle, it may take ten, and all the while they would not be sure there time is not wasted. Demonologists grow old, like all others, and to waste more than a tenth of their life on a mere tale is not appealing.” He looked glum as he spoke, because inside, he knew there were mages that insane, who would risk everything on a mad chance. “Nevertheless, there is grave danger; for the texts of sorcery from that time have not all been accounted for. We do not know who might have found them, who might at this moment be reading them.”
Mora Nowin, archmagus of the Third, the tower of fire, rose, her red robe shining oddly in the light of the candles, as always. She spoke. “Then I move that we send a guard of highly trained wizards, of the Third and Fifth both, skilled in battle and in the sorcery of light, to guard the pike for the next few months, perhaps for the next year.” A stunned silence. Muriel raised her voice again.
“Mora, are you aware of what this would mean? There is no habitation, human or otherwise, within easily a hundred miles from the stone. To establish and maintain a camp in that Tar-forsaken wilderness, especially during this cold season, would be madness! Mages are hardy, but they are no soldiers. Who would you send, to take on this mission?”
“No less than those of the Phoenix, as far as my tower is concerned. The Draconic Order will be more than enough for the force intervening in the Lendranian war, if we can get the support of your Gwayhîrians as well,” Mora answered proudly. The Aelomancers had only one batallion of war mages, who they called after the great Eagle of legend, Gwayhîr. The Pyromancer’s tower was responsible for most of Carenath’s militaristic organization, but the Gwayhîrians were as powerful as the mightiest wizards of the flame, or more so. They could raise storms, it was said, that were so magnificent they shook the very earth.
“You will, though I doubt you will require them. Still, there will likely be less blood spilt if we advance more firepower – we Aelomancers can shackle our opponents and hold them motionless, as you know.” So that took care of that.
“The Draconic and Gwayhîric Order it is. The Council has decided.” Derlen Lightweaver said, scratching a point off his list. “And the Order of the Phoenix will leave to guard the stone.” The Draconians might be more powerful, but those of the Phoenix were renowned for their stamina, hardy even among soldiers, let alone mages.
“Oh, and send word to all mages under our command that the rebellion is not to be interfered with on either side. That includes the Royal Wizards.”
“Will the King not be angry about that?”
“He will, but he will do nothing before he knows the reason. And that will take some time yet, should Canae grant it.”
“That leaves only a single matter,” Derlen spoke with all the satisfaction of having finished with another of these pesky meetings.
“The covert envoy to be sent to the rebels,” Tarla commented.
Derlen nodded. “Yes. We need one who is an experienced scout as well as a powerful wizard. I suggest an Aventer.” Aventer was the title of a mage who had attained the ninth of the twelve circles. They were known for cunning, most of them were known for prowess and power, and some for wisdom. “I know just the man. Morinan-Wo.” There was a silence, then an excited whisper. Morinan-Wo! If half the stories were to be true...
“Morinan-Wo? The one they call the Nightbird?” Mora was incredulous. Morinan-Wo, the Nightbird of the Sixth. He walks here and there they say, seen and unseen, his path uncrossable, his enemies sure to be dead ere the moon has cycled.
“Exactly the one, Mora. Ayin, I shall require you to contact him and summon him to the tower. Bid him to come swiftly, as swiftly as his art can contrive.” Ayin raised his eyebrows, raising his hand to the side of his forehead questioningly. “No, not right now. Tell him to make it another two hours at least.”

“I suggest you send two.” The naturally soft voice came quietly over the table, but it met with absolute silence. When Ana spoke, she was usually saying something important. Moreover, when she spoke quietly, the importance of what she was saying was inversely related to the volume of her voice. The voice of the archmagus of the Fifth rarely went unheard; and she whose name in the Ancient was Light had never had need to raise it.

“Are you sure of this, Ana?” Mina asked. “To call Morinan-Wo competent would be an understatement; he is known for his excellence in stealth missions.”
“I know, Mina. Nonetheless, I see failure, should we send the Nightbird alone. I could not imagine how, but I see he shall have need of a companion. I have rarely seen wrong, as you well know.”
‘Never’, she should have said, the wind sorceress corrected in her mind.
“A healer, of the Fourth, I believe...” Ana was talking to herself, and, “A Terkian, but I do not know her name.” Mina replied, without even pausing, that it seemed as if one, not two, had spoken. A far-off look had entered her eyes, and she gazed off into space. Those of the light and of the wind were both gifted with the perception the Goddess’ thoughts, and thus were on occasion granted brief, vague glimpses of the future.
“I do.” Derlen retorted before he even knew what he was saying. “I have talked to her this morning.”

And with that, the Thing of the Elders was over. It was over as if by some pre-arranged signal, and all at once all of the Elders were shuffling their agenda together in the manner of every member of every council that had ever existed in the world, who was just preparing to leave a meeting.
“Fellow members of our Order, Wise and Learned Elders, our conference is adjourned,” Derlen added, uselessly, for the mages were already standing up and moving for the door. “May the Balance forever be kept in this world, and the Light shield us all.” The customary phrases for the adjournment of any meeting of the Magi.

He waited for them to file out of the great hall, then sat there for a long time, after he was alone at the end of the long oaken table, sitting alone in the murky stone hall of the center tower.

“Light shield us all...”, he repeated softly, remaining seated. He buried his forehead in his palm, one elbow resting on the table.

“Us all...”

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