As time passed and Sinistrad did well in his magical studies, surpassing many of the elders in his power, he ceased to be servile and began to flaunt his abilities. His elders were displeased and disgusted when he changed his name to Sinistrad, but they thought little of it at the time. Back in the Mid Realm, a bully might call himself Brute or Thug or some other tough-sounding name in order to garner respect he hadn’t earned. It meant nothing. The mysteriarchs had ignored the name change, just as they had ignored Sinistrad. Oh, a few spoke out—Iridal’s father being one of them. A few tried to make their fellows see the young man’s overweening ambition, his ruthless cruelty, his ability to manipulate. Those who spoke the warnings were not heeded. Iridal’s father lost his only loved daughter to the man, and lost his life in Sinistrad’s magical captivity. None of the wizards knew that, however. The prison had been created so skillfully that no one ever noticed. The old wizard walked about the land, visited his friends, performed his duties. If any remarked that he seemed listless and sorrowful, all knew he grieved over his daughter’s marriage. None knew that the old man’s soul had been held hostage, like a bug in a glass jar.
Imperceptibly, patiently, the young wizard cast his web over all the surviving wizards of the High Realm. The filaments were practically invisible, light to the touch, barely felt. He didn’t weave a gigantic web for all to see, but deftly wrapped a line around an arm, wound a coil around a foot, holding them so lightly that they never knew they were held at all until the day came when they couldn’t move.
Now they were stuck fast, caught by their own desperation. Sinistrad was right. They had no choice. They had to rely on him, for he was the only one who had been smart enough to plan ahead and make some provision to escape their beautiful hell.
Sinistrad arrived at the front of the hall. He caused a golden podium to spring up from the floor and, mounting it, turned to address his fellows.
“The elf ship has been sighted. My son is aboard. In accordance with our plans, I shall go to meet and guide it—”
“We never agreed to allow an elven vessel inside the dome,” spoke out a female mysteriarch. “You said it would be a small ship, piloted by your son and his oafish servant.”
“I was forced to effect a change in plans,” replied Sinistrad, his lips creasing in a thin and unpleasant smile. “The first ship was attacked by elves and crashed on Drevlin. My son was able to take over this elven vessel. The child holds their captain in thrall. There are no more than thirty elves on board the ship, and only one wizard—a very weak wizard, of course. I think we can deal with that situation, don’t you?”
“Yes, in the old days,” answered a woman. “One of us could have dealt with thirty elves. But now ...” Her voice trailed away as she shook her head.
“That is why we have worked our magic, created the illusions.” Sinistrad gestured toward the outside of the Guildhall. “They will be intimidated by the sight alone. We will have no trouble from them.”
“Why not meet them at the firmament, take your son, and let them go on their way?” demanded the aged mysteriarch known as Balthazar.
“Because, you doddering fool, we need their vessel!” Sinistrad hissed, clearly growing angry at the questioning. “With it we can transport large numbers of our people back down to the Mid Realm. Before, we would have been forced to wait until we could either acquire vessels or enchant more dragons.”
“So what do we do with the elves?” asked the woman. Everyone looked to Sinistrad. They knew the answer as well as he did; they wanted to hear him say it.
He said it, without pause, without hesitation. “We kill them.” The silence was loud and echoing. The aged mysteriarch shook his head. “No. I won’t be a party to this.”
“Why not, Balthazar? You killed elves enough back in the Mid Realm.”
“That was war. This is murder.”
“War is ‘us or them.’ This is war. It is either us or them!” The mysteriarchs around him murmured, seeming to agree. Several began to argue with the old wizard, trying to persuade him to change his stance. “Sinistrad is right,” they said. “It is war! It can never be anything else between our races.” And “After all, Sinistrad’s only trying to lead us home.”
“I pity you!” Balthazar snarled. “I pity you all! He”—pointing at Sinistrad—“is leading you, all right. Leading you around by the nose like fatted calves. And when he’s ready to dine, he’ll slaughter the lot of you and feed off your flesh. Bah! Leave me alone! I’ll die up here sooner than follow him back there.”
The old wizard stalked toward the door.
“And so you will, graybeard,” muttered Sinistrad beneath his breath. “Let him go,” he said aloud, when some of his fellows would have gone after the wizard.
“Unless there are any others who want to leave with him?” The mysteriarch cast a swift, searching glance around the room, gathering up the tendrils of his web and tugging it tighter and tighter. No one else managed to break free. Those who had once struggled were now so weak with fear, they were eager and ready to do his bidding.
“Very well. I will bring the elven ship through the dome. I will remove my son and his companions to my castle.” Sinistrad might have told his people that one of his son’s companions was a skilled assassin—a man who could take the blood of the elves on his own hands and leave those of the mysteriarchs clean. But Sinistrad wanted to harden his people, force them to sink lower and lower until they would willingly and unquestioningly do anything he asked. “Those of you who volunteered to learn to fly the elf ship know what you are to do. The rest must work to maintain the city’s spells. When the time comes, I will give the signal and we will act.”
He gazed at them all, studied each pallid, grim face, and was satisfied. “Our plans are progressing well. Better than we had anticipated, in fact. Traveling with my son are several who may be of use to us in ways we had not foreseen. One is a dwarf from the Low Realm. The elves have exploited the dwarves for centuries. It is likely we can turn the Gegs, as they call themselves, to war. Another is a human who claims to come from a realm beneath the Low Realm—a realm none of us previously knew existed. This news could be extremely valuable to all of us.”
There were murmurs of approval and agreement.
“My son brings information about the human kingdoms and the elven revolution, all of which will be most helpful when we set about to conquer them. And, most important, he has seen the great machine built by the Sartan on the Low Realm. At last we may be able to unravel the mystery of the so-called Kicksey-Winsey and turn it, too, to our use.”
Sinistrad raised his hands in a blessing. “Go forth now, my people. Go forth and know that as you do so you are stepping out into the world, for soon Arianus will be ours!”
The meeting broke up with cheering, most of it enthusiastic. Sinistrad stepped down from the podium and it disappeared—magic had to be carefully rationed, expended only on that which was essential. Many stopped him to congratulate him or to ask questions, clearing up small details about the plan of action. Several asked politely after his health, but no one inquired about his wife. Iridal had not been present at a council meeting in ten cycles, ever since the guild voted to go along with Sinistrad’s plot—to take her child and exchange it for the human prince. The guild members were just as well pleased Iridal did not attend the meetings. They still, after all this time, found it difficult to look into her eyes.
Sinistrad, mindful of the need to commence his journey, shook off the hangers-on who crowded round him and made his way from the Guildhall. A mental command brought the quicksilver dragon to the very foot of the stairs of the hall. Glowering at the wizard balefully, the dragon nevertheless suffered the mysteriarch to mount its back and command it to do his bidding. The dragon had no choice but to obey Sinistrad; it was enthralled. In this the creature was unlike the wizards standing in the shadowy doorway of the Guildhall. They had given themselves to Sinistrad of their own free will.