"Interesting," muttered Justarius.
Guerrand was both embarrassed and desperate to persuade them he could quickly overcome his deficiencies. "If you would be kind enough to explain the different philosophies of the disciplines, I would happily and swiftly choose one."
The three revered mages exchanged surprised looks. "This is most unusual," said Par-Salian. Justarius leaned to whisper something in his ear, and the old mage shrugged. "You are right, Justarius. If it brings even one more mage to our dwindling ranks, the time is well spent." Par-Salian looked directly at Guerrand. "We will make an exception. Listen closely. I'll not repeat what you already should know."
"Yes… yes, thank you," Guerrand said, his head bobbing eagerly. He leaned forward in his chair.
"Wizards of the White Robes," began Par-Salian, "embrace the cause of Good, and we use our magic to further the predominance of Good in the world. We believe that a world in which there are only good deeds and thoughts would benefit all races and end much suffering."
LaDonna leaned back in her chair indolently. "Wizards of the Black Robes," she said in her husky voice, "believe the darker side that all creatures possess is their most productive. Therefore, we believe that magic should be pursued without ethical or moral restraints. It is beyond such considerations."
Justarius sat forward in his chair, his left leg stretched out and twisted awkwardly, as if it pained him. "We mages of the Red Robes recognize that elements of both Good and Evil-"
"We prefer the nonpejorative term 'dark side,' " interrupted LaDonna.
Justarius nodded in respect to the black-robed woman's request, but under his mustache his lip curled up in a slight smirk. "Both Good and Evil exist in all creatures. We believe that to try to eliminate one or the other is not only futile, but an undesirable goal. It is when these two opposing elements are balanced in an individual-or in a society-that life has the richness we all seek. Wizards of the Red Robes use their magic to encourage and maintain that balance."
"Realize this, too," added Par-Salian, "before you make your decision. Every wizard, no matter the color
of his robe, vows his primary allegiance to magic. All wizards are brothers in their order. All orders are brothers in the power. Though we may disagree on method, particularly during important conclaves, the places of High Wizardry, such as this tower, are held in common among us. No sorcery will be suffered here in anger against fellow wizards." Par-Salian shifted a bushy white brow.
Guerrand pondered all that they had said, conscious not to take too much time in his evaluation. Finally, he said, with a nod to Par-Salian and LaDonna, "With all due respect to your disciplines, I believe the philosophy of the Red Robes, as outlined by Justarius, most closely aligns with my own outlook on life."
"You are certain?" asked Par-Salian. "Are you prepared to declare loyalty to that order?"
Guerrand nodded solemnly. Clearing his throat, he said with great formality, "I, Guerrand DiThon, do hereby pledge my loyalty to the Order of the Red Robes." He was rewarded with a warm smile from Justarius.
"That is done." Par-Salian's ringed fingers slapped the arm of his stone chair in satisfaction. "There is one last piece of business to conclude today's interviews." The door behind Guerrand flew open abruptly, and the same disembodied voice that had called Guerrand forth from the foretower drew in the two young mages still waiting there.
"Welcome once more," said the white-haired wizard as the other young mages seated themselves next to Guerrand. "Our last bit of business is to ascertain or assign masters so that you may all begin your apprenticeships.
"Stand, Nieulorr of Swansea Valley," called the head of the conclave. The shrouded elf slid gracefully from the chair, almond-shaped eyes fixed on the elderly mage. "You have declared your allegiance to the White
Robes. Have you a master, or are you in need of placement with a suitable archmage? The council has a number of approved wizards who are currently without apprentices."
"With respect, Great One," the elf said humbly, "I have regarded Karst Karstior of Frenost, of the White Robes, as a mentor for nearly two decades. He has kindly agreed to accept me as his apprentice."
"Karst Karstior," repeated Par-Salian, tapping his chin as he pondered. "Ah, yes. I remember. He is a good mage and a better person." The head of the conclave nodded decisively. "I approve." Par-Salian withdrew a coarse, white robe from the shadows behind his chair and held it toward the slender elf. "Return to your village and begin your apprenticeship. We look forward to adjudicating at your Test in the future."
The elf nodded, took the white robe in his thin-boned fingers, and quickly fled the scrutiny of the powerful wizards in the Hall of Mages.
Justarius's eyes demanded Guerrand's attention. "Guerrand DiThon, as representative of your chosen order, I give to you a novitiate's red robe." Guerrand stood and approached the circle of chairs, nodded reverently, and accepted the rough-spun garment. "You've already stated that you've had no master but books. Have you considered to whom you might apprentice yourself?"
Guerrand's thoughts flew to the wizard in Northern Ergoth. "No," muttered Guerrand. "I've known only one mage, the one who suggested I come here, but he seemed uninterested in taking an apprentice. I would ask if you have any suggestions."
"As a matter of fact, I do," said Justarius, considering Guerrand closely. "I already have one apprentice under my tutelage, but my home is large and my patience considerably larger. I would be willing to take on another who seems determined to overcome ignorance
to realize his talent."
"Thank you." Guerrand smiled awkwardly at the half compliment. When one reached Justarius's level of skill, Guerrand supposed diplomacy was a secondary concern. Besides, of the mages he'd met-and that now numbered a mere four-Guerrand felt most comfortable with this mage of the Red Robes. He could scarcely believe the second-ranking mage of his order would consider him. "I am honored, master, and humbly accept the position."
"Good," approved Par-Salian. "You are a fortunate young man," he said, wagging a finger at Guerrand. "You two may speak afterward about-"
Suddenly a door banged in the shadows behind the semicircle of chairs. There was much bustling and shuffling, and a voice said, "I am sorry to be late again. I got involved in research and the time slipped away from me, I fear."
A muscle in Par-Salian's jaw twitched. "Well enough, today, but you would do well to remember your duty to your order in the future. As it turned out, we scarcely missed you. Justarius has done a fine job in your stead."
Par-Salian's warning was not lost on anyone in the Hall of Mages. Guerrand had frozen at the familiar voice coming from the darkness. He gasped as the mage himself emerged. Belize! He was the Master of the Red Robes. Considering their last conversation, Guerrand could not decide whether he should call attention to himself or pretend to not recognize the man. In the end, it wasn't his decision to make.
Justarius leaped from his chair beside Par-Salian, stumbling over his own left leg. Scowling, Guerrand's master dragged the limb back next to his other, the first outward sign that Justarius had a game leg. He waved Belize toward the seat, in deference to his rank. Belize lowered himself into the warmed seat with a baleful look at his substitute. "The Great One is too kind," said Justarius. "I did little enough, though I found a new and challenging apprentice."
Belize's shiny pate shifted up almost grudgingly, and he squinted toward the two remaining mage hopefuls. His dark eyes lingered on Guerrand, probing for placement.
Feeling like a bug in a web, Guerrand felt forced to said, "Good day, master." He cursed his quivering voice. "It seems I must thank you for encouraging me to come here."