The hidden island city of Hadrumal,

30th of For-Summer

I was dying. I was suffocating; pressure tight as an iron hand was crushing my chest. As I struggled in a futile effort to draw a last breath, eyes blind, my hearing somehow still clinging to life, I struggled to make sense of the words echoing over my head.

“Push some air into him, Otrick, curse you. ’Sar, warm his blood before we lose him completely.”

The constriction slackened a little and the spiraling dizziness abated somewhat, just enough for me to feel a damp, shaking hand on my forehead. I tried to toss it off, but found I could not move my head. Worse, I could not move my arms or legs; any effort dissolved in confusion. I tried to speak, to swear at these people, whoever they might be, but I could not even raise a groan. At least I could hear; that had to mean I wasn’t dead yet, didn’t it?

“Planir, I think we have it now, let me—”

A jumble of nonsense words in another voice that I vaguely registered as unfamiliar rang inside my head, scattering the unremembered nightmares that were trying to shred my sanity. Just as I realized this, I managed to move my hand, although with no more control than a day-old babe. Exhaustion overwhelmed me and I let myself drift into the welcoming embrace of helpless stupor.

“No! Don’t let him go, don’t let him go!”

Some bastard stuck something sharp into my hand and I managed a feeble moan of protest, only wanting all this confusion to go away, to sleep and to sleep again, more deeply.

“Breathe, curse you, Ryshad, breathe!” Now the swine was slapping my face, and I forced my eyes open to look up at a blurred face, all angles and confusing movement. It gradually coalesced into a man of middle years, close cropped brown hair surrounding a plump face with dark eyes too close set above a sharp nose. A gleam of silver on his hand caught my feeble curiosity for a moment, but identifying it was simply too much effort, so I just closed my eyes again.

“Ryshad!” That voice was familiar, that one I recognized and that notion distracted me from the seductive lure of slumber. Who was she, I wondered drowsily? She sounded upset. That roused me a little. Whoever she was, she was upset with me. What had I done wrong?

“Wake up, Ryshad, come back to us.” The first voice was getting distinctly annoyed, so I opened my eyes again and a face slowly swam into focus, hair the color of autumn, eyes of summer leaves. This was the face of the familiar voice, I decided somehow. I coughed and found my breathing easier, my wits slowly piecing themselves back together.

“Livak?” That was her name, I remembered now; I tried to speak but my mind seemed somehow disconnected from my voice. Trying again, I managed a faint croak but was rewarded by a squeeze to my numb hand, a welcome sensation even if it felt as if I were wearing three thicknesses of winter gloves.

“Ryshad, are you with us?” That was the first voice and, after a little effort, I placed it. Planir; it was that bastard Archmage, the one who had landed me in this in the first place. The surge of hot anger that followed on the heels of that thought must have set my wits alight and, in an instant, I knew who and where I was.

I coughed again and smelled the distinctive reek of thassin. “I said no narcotics, mage.” I rolled my head to glare at him accusingly, still unable to lift it to my intense frustration.

“We found we needed them.” Planir was unapologetic, which came as no real surprise. “Tonin found your defenses against his ritual were simply too strong to break down without it.”

“I’m sorry, I know what I said, but you have to remember this is all untested ground.” This voice did sound genuinely contrite and, with its Soluran lilt, I remembered hearing it moments before. Tonin, that was his name, the scholar and mentor from the University of Vanam who was in Hadrumal, along with his students, to study the few enchantments of aetheric magic so far discovered.

“Did you get what you needed, mage?” I demanded hoarsely, not daring to try to remember for myself in case I fell into that smothering turmoil of sorcery again.

“Oh yes, Ryshad, most certainly.” My wits were still woolly, I realized; the exultation in the Archmage’s voice didn’t fill me with nearly the dread that my reason told me it should.

“Thank you, thank you very much indeed,” continued the wizard, pulling a plain black robe over his shirt sleeves as he spoke. “You have been more help than you can possibly imagine. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a great deal to do and you will need time to recover. Otrick, Usara—with me, if you please.”

The three mages swept out of the room without further courtesy and I found myself alone with Tonin and Livak. I managed to get myself onto my side, propped on one elbow, trembling with an exhaustion that for the life of me I couldn’t understand. Livak was sitting on a stool by the bed where I lay, rubbing her hands, which I could see had been crushed white and numb in a fierce grip. An angry red line betrayed the bite of a broad ring band into her finger.

“Did I do that?” I asked, aghast.

“You or that D’Alsennin, I’m not sure,” she replied, a faint smile doing nothing to lighten the shock in her eyes, green as deep water and about as revealing.

“Was it very bad?” I managed to keep my voice level, which was some achievement, given the circumstances.

Livak shuddered involuntarily. “It was so strange,” she said slowly after a long moment’s silence. “It simply wasn’t you. There was nothing of you, of Ryshad, in what you said, how you acted, how you moved even. It was all that lad, the D’Alsennin boy, wearing your skin and looking out of your eyes.” She clasped her hands to her face in remembered shock. “Your eyes, Rysh, they went completely blue, pale as ice and less alive. Arimelin save me, but it was foul!”

I reached for her hand and after a hesitation, a breath only but unmistakably reluctant, she gave it to me. I clung to her like a drowning man as we shared a look and remembered Aiten’s death together.

“I’m so very sorry we had to put you through that,” Tonin began hesitantly, plucking absently at the slashed sleeves of his purple jerkin, the latest Ensaimin style from the north, which he wore with none of the required bravado. “I’ll admit I was hoping for a rather more revealing contact than we have had with other subjects, given the extraordinary sympathy you’ve established with the D’Alsennin sword, but that turned out to be dramatic beyond anything I expected. I certainly had no idea it would be quite so dangerous. I cannot explain it, though I’ll address myself to the question at once, obviously.”

The shock in his voice made me realize I had been through something even more traumatic than I had realized, still dazed as I was. I looked at Livak again. “At least it’s all over now. No more dreams, no more voices in my head.”

She looked over at Tonin and I followed her gaze to see him looking first startled then guilty. “It is over, isn’t it?” she demanded in a dangerous tone.

“Well…” Tonin clasped his notes nervously to his barrel of a chest and I remembered thinking before that he was somewhat overtimid, both for a man of his size and of such standing in his learned community. His hands were soft too, never toughened by anything more demanding than paper or pen.

“Has Planir lied to me?” I managed to sit up and looked around instinctively for my sword. Still reasoning too slowly, I was thinking I might be using it on the Archmage, before remembering the cursed blade was what had run me into his snares in the first place.

“No one has told you untruths, not deliberately anyway.” Tonin moved closer, his voice more confident. “It’s just that we didn’t realize what we were dealing with. We have all been misled by only having such partial information. We all thought these dreams were echoes of the past, carried by the artifacts. Now we know better, it’s clear the actual consciousness of the original owner is held in the item and communicating with the unconscious mind of whoever possesses it in the present. That can never have been foreseen, or intended, for that matter.”

“Temar’s been doing a cursed sight more than communicate with my unconscious mind,” I just managed not to snarl. “Are you telling me I still have him lurking in the back of my head?”

“For the moment, I’m afraid so,” sighed Tonin with unfeigned regret. “I’ll set to work at once, go through all the references and that Arimelin archive, see what I can do for you.”

I was tempted to let my mounting fury find its target in him for an instant, but simple justice held me back. It wasn’t Tonin’s fault and, if he could be believed, it wasn’t even Planir’s, not really. Besides, I was starting to think that the uncharacteristic rages I had been feeling were not my own, but Temar’s. A wave of black depression swept over me as I managed to swing my feet to the floor, my legs feeling as weak as if I’d been lying abed with a four-day fever. “So I risked my life and my sanity for no purpose?”

“Not at all!” Tonin looked most concerned. “Now we know what happened to the colonists in Kel Ar’Ayen—”

As he spoke the image of the great cavern full of silent figures came sweeping over me. I gasped and clutched at the bed, hearing the linen rip beneath my fingers as my heart raced, blood pulsing in my head until I managed to slam a door shut on the vision.

“Ryshad?” I hated to hear the uncertainty in Livak’s tone.

“Yes.” I managed to open my eyes and squint at her, attempting a reassuring smile and evidently failing miserably.

“Saedrin save us, I hate this!” she burst out, the fury in her voice a dim echo on my own wrath. I clung to that bright anger in a vain attempt to ward off the dark surges of despair that threatened me on all sides.

The door opened. “Is he all right?”

“Come in, Shiv,” I said wearily. “I’m upright and conscious, which is about as good as it’s going to get for the moment.”

Whatever Shiv saw in my face evidently shook him, which perversely cheered me up a little. He looked guiltily at Livak, who glared at him, expression fierce.

“I came to see if you wanted to come home with me, if you feel ready,” Shiv glanced at Tonin, “but if you need to stay here—”

“I’ll come.” I got unsteadily to my feet and Livak tucked herself under my arm to give me what support she could.

“It might be better if you waited a while…” protested Tonin weakly as we made our way toward the door.

“No, thank you.” I drew a deep breath and gripped the door handle as much for support as to open it. “Just find a way to throw Temar D’Alsennin out of my head once and for all.”

Outside I was startled to realize the noonday sun was riding high in the cloud-strewn sky. Hadn’t we started this nonsense just after breakfast? I’d sent Shiv with a message, telling Planir to be ready at the second chime of the day and duly I arrived to sit and concentrate obediently on Tonin’s incomprehensible, archaic chants. I had certainly been expecting an unpleasant experience, but never to lose myself so completely as I evidently had. If young D’Alsennin had had the run of my head for that amount of time, no wonder I was feeling so peculiar.

“Come on.” Shiv took my other arm. Leaning heavily on the pair of them, I stumbled along toward the dubious sanctuary of Shiv’s little house. Given the dramatic events still echoing around in my memory, it was rather incongruous to see women with their market baskets, men delivering faggots of firewood, children skipping through a rope tied to a horse-rail, normal life going on all around me. We certainly attracted some curious glances; people must have thought I was a drunk making an early start, but that was the least of my concerns as I struggled with Temar’s increasingly intrusive recollections. I kept seeing Avila trying to hold up Guinalle when she fainted on the boat, Den Fellaemion leaning on Guinalle at a meeting in the settlement, Vahil supporting a wounded man in the frantic flight from the Elietimm invasion. The summer sun was warm on my back but the chill of that distant and long forgotten cavern seemed to have bitten deep into my bones, gnawing at me despite the heat of Hadrumal. By the time Pered opened the door to us, I was shaking again, and not just from fatigue.

Pered took one look at me and shot an accusing glance at Shiv. “I hope Planir’s good and satisfied now,” he said curtly. “Bring him into the kitchen.”

Half lying, half sitting on a settle padded with blankets, I began to feel a little better, a process speedily aided by a large measure of white brandy. As the warmth of the liquor spread through me I wondered for a moment whether this was entirely wise, but I honestly couldn’t see how it could make anything worse by this stage. Forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths, I reminded myself how tedious convalescence from any fever or wound can be. It was all a matter of finding the right attitude, wasn’t it? This was simply a different kind of injury, and I would deal with it. Losing my temper was pointless when there was no gain to be had from it; hadn’t I learned that long ago? Enough; I had sworn to myself that I would be taking the tiller to control the direction of my life from now on, and this was as good a place to start as any. Brave words, as long as there was only me to hear them. I shut my eyes and set my jaw against any hint of memory.

Shiv vanished upstairs for a while, reappearing in a formal robe of green broadcloth over close-tailored breeches and clean linen. Pered straightened the collar for him with brisk hands, but his eyes were still unforgiving, even as they shared a brief embrace.

“So what happens now, Shiv?” demanded Livak, her eyes like a stormy sea.

“Planir is calling a full session of the Council for this afternoon,” replied Shiv, which effectively silenced us all. “He wants you there, Ryshad.”

“He’s in no condition to speak,” Pered objected heatedly.

“Not to speak, just to listen, to comment if he wants to,” said Shiv placatingly. “To learn what Planir intends. It’s just that you’re so deeply involved in all of this, Rysh, that Planir feels it’s only right you should have the chance to participate in any decision-making.”

“What do you think?” I looked at Livak.

“I hate it,” she said simply. “I don’t trust wizards, I’m sorry, Shiv, but I never have.”

“I have to see this through,” I reminded her, “if I’m to be able to hand back my oath with any measure of honor left to me.”

Livak gritted her teeth audibly. “I know, but it still makes my skin crawl.”

“Believe me, I understand.” I closed my eyes wearily.

“Does anyone want something to eat?” asked Pered, more for something to say than anything else.

We ate a desultory meal, largely in silence, Shiv awkward in his finery. I picked at some bread, but found I was still somewhat nauseous, shoving it away with relief when a great bell tolled out over the city and Shiv jumped to his feet.

“That’s the Council summons,” he said tensely. “Come on.”

Livak and I exchanged a glance and followed Shiv to the door.

“I’ll see you soon.” Pered waved after us, his expression one of concern warring with irritation as he looked after his partner, already a way down the street ahead of us.

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.”

From the expressions around the room, I gathered traditional religious beliefs were not common among the wizardry. The girl sat down again, ducking her head and clutching a shawl to her. I realized I remembered her from a brief meeting the previous year—Allin, I recalled her name was.

“You say this restoration is something you could attempt?” A petite woman in an expensively cut turquoise gown stood, fine-boned hands clasped together, head tilted, birdlike as she looked at Tonin. “You are not certain of your rites, as I understand it; rather you have been piecing them together from various traditions and sources of lore?”

“I am confident that we have sufficient reason to make the attempt,” replied Tonin carefully. “I would argue that our priority should be the woman Guinalle. Her skills would then supplement our own knowledge and aid us in reviving the remaining colonists.”

“But what if there is some flaw in your ritual, some vital piece of information missing?” persisted the elegant mage. “What will happen then? Does failure risk the irretrievable loss of this suspended mind? Are you prepared for such consequences?”

“Ely has a point. Have all the potential sources of information been exhausted?” inquired a nearby wizard thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should wait a season or so, make sure all the knowledge available has been gathered?”

“We have already sent word to Bremilayne,” the scholar interjected hastily, “to see what can be learned from the Shrine of Ostrin, since D’Alsennin’s tale makes such significant mention of it.”

“What about that girl whom you still can’t revive, Mentor Tonin? What of her fate?” demanded a voice from somewhere. I saw Tonin flush miserably.

“May I make a point?” A mage in a workaday jerkin of no significant color and buff breeches raised a hand. “If this rite requires both the body and the artifact, any discussion of whether we should do this remains entirely academic until we have located the cave in question. This discussion is irrelevant until we have some idea of where to look. Are you proposing that we cross the ocean in search of this unknown land, Archmage?”

Planir remained seated as he looked at the wizard posing the question. “Clearly that would be essential, Herion, should the Council decide to pursue this. However, that is not such a startling proposal as it might seem. With the assistance of the House of D’Olbriot, we have found copies of the original charts made by Den Fellaemion’s early expeditions. Given we sailed deep into the ocean last year to rescue Messire D’Olbriot’s man over there from the Ice Islands, Cloud-Master Otrick is now well acquainted with the currents and wind systems prevailing in the eastern waters. Moreover, now that the tale of this colony has been uncovered, albeit in part, both Messire D’Olbriot and the Emperor Tadriol himself have expressed an interest in finding the lands in question and offered all aid at their disposal.”

I saw the fat wizard Kalion’s eyes grow shrewd as he worked that fact into his calculations.

A burly man of middle height stood, waving one hand in an urgent demand for attention. “In which case, we should wait until these Tormalins have made the attempt and see what they discover. What is to be gained by running such risks ourselves when for all we know these bodies may have rotted away entirely, been crushed in a rock fall, been eaten by wild beasts?”

“Mentor Tonin tells us that the ability of the artifact to promote dreams is linked to the continued existence of the body itself!” An untidily dressed female of uncertain age sprang to her feet, her tone scornful. “As you would know had you read his submission properly, Edlow.”

This exchange sparked a more heated debate on a wider front. The noise grew as several separate arguments raged, the flames fanned by discourtesy on all sides, from those supporting the rescue of the colonists as well as from those dismissing the whole idea.

“What happens now?” I asked Shiv, leaning close to make myself heard over the hubbub.

“Watch Planir,” he advised, a smile in his eyes, if not on his carefully neutral face.

As I looked, the Archmage exchanged a few words with both Otrick and Usara and then walked swiftly to the dais in the center of the room. Silence fell and Planir swept a low bow to the assembled wizards, his back to me.

“The wizard Viltred Sern wishes to speak. I would ask that you give his words serious consideration.” Unmistakable authority rang through the Archmage’s voice as Viltred, whom I had not even noticed sitting quietly on the far side of the room, made his way to the central dais. The old wizard was leaning on a slim cane but his color was better than I remembered it, his clothes no longer threadbare but newly made of stout gentian broadcloth. When he spoke, his voice was calm and assured, the old man seeming to gain in stature as he surveyed the gathering.

“You are debating whether you should or should not attempt to raise the lost settlers of Kel Ar’Ayen to life again as if it were some scholarly exercise, as if you had all the time in the world to come to a decision or to do yet more research in a bid to guarantee success.”

His faded gaze swept around the seated wizards and his voice grew more cutting.

“Drag your heads out of your close-written scrolls and sheltered researches for a moment. Consider what is happening in the real world, even as we speak. The Archmage has told you what his agents have been reporting to him, has he not? These Men of the Ice, these Elietimm, have been appearing among the Aldabreshi since the turn of the year before last, and now we know why. They are spreading this cult, this worship of the Queen of the Dark Moon. What is their purpose? Now we know; these Elietimm are creating a reserve of aetheric power to fuel their sorcery, which grows stronger with each convert to this new cult. Do not imagine that conversions will cease; the worship of a powerful female deity will find many takers among the Aldabreshi Warlords’ women folk, whatever their other philosophies.”

Viltred paused for a moment and shook his head. “Set aside the questions of magic for a moment; what else are these so-called priests doing? The experiences of D’Olbriot’s sworn man make it clear that these Elietimm are actively working to spread their influence in the Archipelago and shrink from little in their determination to do so; imagine the man assaulting a Warlord’s wife with complete disregard for the consequences, no less! Am I the only one concerned at the prospect of a hostile race gaining a hold over those who contribute so much to the decisions the Warlords make? Look to the future; what if holding a cult in common has the effect of unifying the domains? Where will Aldabreshin eyes turn then, if they no longer watch each other so closely?” Viltred walked around the edge of the circular dais as he spoke, his words lashing the assembled wizards.

“Another question: what power did this priest have that gave him the confidence to ignore the might of an Aldabreshi Warlord in his very encampment? Evidently he had sufficient capabilities to remove himself bodily from peril when his sorcery failed to overcome Ryshad’s will. Let us think about that for a moment; we can all translocate ourselves if need be, but what of this dominance over the mind? This aetheric magic has facets we cannot match, however strong our own enchantments in other spheres. We know these Elietimm retain their knowledge of the old sorcery, despite having lost their original source of power. Consider the implications of what you are being told! The Elietimm have crossed the ocean again, a feat that we know requires magical aid from whatever discipline, aetheric or elemental. Quite clearly they have somehow restored themselves; they are now able to apply that knowledge and take to the open seas for the first time in twenty or more generations! They are working from a position of strength, do not doubt it.”

The mage took a pace backward, to the center of the dais where the magelight overhead grew faintly tinted with blue under the force of his passion.

“We are not here to debate the rights and wrongs of an erudite moral dilemma! We are facing very real dangers. These men who are even now spreading their lies among the Aldabreshi are of the same race as those who attacked and defeated the Kel Ar’Ayen settlements with savagery, madness and death by sorcery. Read the tale that D’Olbriot’s man has brought you, of the last days of D’Alsennin and his attempts to defend those beleaguered colonists. Ask yourselves how you would counter the magics that were used if you should find them raised against Hadrumal? Remember—no matter how much we may learn about this magic of the mind and matter, we cannot use it. Not one of the weakest mage-born has been able to master the simplest cantrips of an illiterate Lescari hermit. Our magic is powerful, but I prefer to fight fire with my own fire. The finest sword in the world is little use if your enemy is using a pike or a crossbow!”

Viltred turned and spread his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Not that these Elietimm will be interested in Hadrumal of course, not when far richer and more helpless game grazes all unsuspecting for their arrows. If these Elietimm wage war against Tormalin now, what is there to resist them? With all due respect to Mentor Tonin and his scholars, aetheric magic these days is reduced to little more than a meaningless jumble of superstition and half-remembered incantations. Our practitioners of aetheric enchantments certainly cannot meet the Elietimm on anything approaching level ground. Can we mages defeat them with our own magics? Perhaps, but I do not share Hearth-Master Kalion’s certainty. More to the point, would we be allowed to? Can anyone here seriously imagine the Emperor allowing the wizards of Hadrumal free rein with fire, flood and storm, even if it is to defend his lands? I do not see that happening before the situation is utterly desperate. How long do you think it would take these sorcerers to gain a hold on the mainland if they really want to?”

Viltred gripped his cane in one thin hand and shook his fist at the assembled mages. “Whatever the risks, whatever the dangers of drowning ourselves in the far ocean or condemning these unfortunates trapped in enchanted sleep to madness or darkness, I tell you that we should not be debating whether we can afford to try to revive these people! Rather the question is can we afford not to, can we afford to face the threat of this Elietimm sorcery without some true knowledge of aetheric magic, without at least one person who knows these people and what they are capable of? Make no mistake, this threat is real and it is not going to go away. We know they are already covertly attacking our ability to resist them; you have all been told of their attacks on Tormalin shrines over the winter seasons. Why else would they do this, if not to destroy the last vestiges of aetheric lore remaining to us? I am here myself, forced into flight to escape torture and death at Elietimm hands, leaving them free to steal some few things from the lost colony that I recovered on my voyage with Azazir.”

Viltred paused for a moment, struggling with an understandable desire to remind the Council of the derision that had always greeted the tales of that journey. To his credit, the old wizard rose above the urge, continuing his challenge in a harsh voice.

“There’s another question! Ryshad’s testimony shows the extent of Elietimm interest in these artifacts from Kel Ar’Ayen, even more than my own experiences. Possessing the D’Alsennin sword was so important to this so-called priest that he was prepared to risk not only doing murder but working his enchantments in the very heart of the Archipelago, with all the dangers that entailed. How important would a quest have to be before any of you would risk the torments the Warlords reserve for the crime of magic? Ask yourselves— why do these Elietimm want these artifacts for themselves? I don’t know, but I’ll wager a pennyweight to a pack-load that it bodes ill for the colonists if we do not rescue them! In all conscience and logic, how can we do anything else?”

The room erupted into chaos as the mages all tried to speak at once, shouting each other down with scant regard for the formalities of debate, leaping to their feet on all sides. Viltred returned to his seat and sat down, arms folded tight, breathing hard, passion burning in his fierce eyes. Planir sat on his plainly carved chair, face calm but a spark of cunning deep in his eyes. There was an alertness to his relaxed posture that reminded me of a hunting heron, ready to strike when the moment was right.

I couldn’t see what signalled that moment but Planir suddenly sprang to his feet, a carved ebony staff appearing in his hand from the empty air. The foot of the stave came down on the flagstones with a ringing strike that silenced the chamber. As the mages stood motionless, cut off in mid-pronouncement, Planir strode to the dais.

“Be seated. This debate has lasted long enough. We have a clear choice before us. Do we act or not? Do we take what knowledge we have and try to rescue the settlers of Kel Ar’Ayen, or do we do nothing, simply continuing our researches despite the Elietimm threat?” He struck the dais with the staff, the hollow boom echoing around the great chamber as the wizards hurried to their seats. “Those for action?”

Mages all around the room raised their hands, some with papers clutched in them, some with staff or rods. Beams of radiance streamed from them and gathered in the center of the room, coalescing in a brilliant pattern of coruscating light, cyan, saffron and rose flickering on the very edge of sight.

“Those against?” Planir demanded.

The remaining wizards summoned their powers and sent tendrils of shadow into the shifting luminescence, strands of darkness weaving into the light and dimming it, softening the luster with shades of jade, vermilion and indigo. The pattern hung in the air, the colors twisting around each other in a dizzying confusion. I blinked and leaned toward Shiv, careful not to risk touching the stream of emerald light rising from his outspread hands.

“What’s the purpose of this?”

Shiv’s eyes did not leave the twisting and tangled rainbow above our heads. “The Council does not make its judgments on mere numbers but on the strength of will shown by those called to give judgment,” he said softly. “Watch.”

I watched as the colors writhed and fought, casting strange reflections on the upturned faces all around the room. The shadows grew, thickened and dimmed the radiance but could not put it out, suddenly fading as color as intense as sunlight striking off gemstones burned through the darkness.

“Enough.” Planir banged his staff a third time and the colors vanished, leaving blinding white radiance that scoured the eyes. “The decision of the Council is for action. So be it!”