Book 6
The blade must pass through the fire, else it will break.
Chapter 1
It was the sixth day of the seventh month. Antimodes stood in the window of his room in the Tower of Wayreth gazing out into the night. His room was one of many rooms in the tower open to mages arriving to study, to confer, or-as was Antimodes-to participate in giving the Test, which would be held on the morrow.
The tower's accommodations were of various sizes and designs, from small cell-like rooms for the apprentice mages to larger and more lavish rooms reserved for the archmagi. The room in which Antimodes was comfortably ensconced was his customary room, his favorite. Since the archmage was fond of travel, known to drop by at unexpected times, Par-Salian saw to it that the room was always kept ready for his friend's arrival.
Located near the top part of the tower, the suite consisted of a bedroom and a parlor, with a small balcony that sometimes overlooked the Forest of Wayreth and sometimes did not, depending on where the magical forest happened to be at the moment.
If the forest was not there, Antimodes would often conjure up a view himself. Vast fields of yellow wheat, or perhaps crashing surf, depending on what he felt in the mood for that day. The forest was not there this night, but since it was dark and Antimodes was tired from his day's travel, he did not bother with landscaping. He had been standing on the balcony, cooling himself in the evening breeze. Leaving the shutters open to keep the air circulating-it was unusually hot that night-he returned to a small desk, continued his frowning perusal of a scroll, a perusal which already had been interrupted by dinner. A knock on the door again interrupted him. "Enter," he called in an irritated tone. The door opened silently. Par-Salian thrust his head inside.
"Am I disturbing you? I can come back."
"No, no. My dear friend." Antimodes rose hastily to his feet to greet his visitor. "Come in, come in. I am very glad to see you. I was hoping we might have a chance to talk before tomorrow. I would have gone to you, but I feared to disturb you at your work. I know how busy you are just prior to a testing."
"Yes, and this Test will prove more difficult than most. You are studying a new spell?" Par-Salian glanced at the scroll on the desk, which was partially unrolled.
"It is one I bought," said Antimodes with a grimace. "And as it turns out, I believe I was swindled. It is not what the man promised me."
"My dear Antimodes, didn't you read it first?" Par-Salian asked, shocked.
"I only glanced over it quickly. The fault is mine, a fact which merely increases my annoyance."
"I don't suppose you could return it."
"Afraid not. One of those deals in an inn. I should know better, of course, but I have been searching for this spell for a long time, and she was so very kind, not to mention pretty, and assured me that this would do precisely what I wanted." He shrugged. "Ah, well. Live and learn. Please, sit down. Will you have some wine?"
"Thank you." Par-Salian tasted the pale yellow liquid, rolled it on his tongue. "Conjured or purchased?"
"Purchased," Antimodes said. "Conjured lacks body, to my mind. Only the Silvanesti elves know how to do it right, and it's becoming harder and harder to acquire good Silvanesti wine these days."
"Too true," Par-Salian agreed. "King Lorac used to bring me several bottles whenever he visited, but it has been many years since he has been to see us."
"He's sulking," Antimodes observed. "He thought he should have been elected head of the conclave."
"I don't think that is it. Yes, he did feel he deserved the position, but he readily admitted that he was extremely busy with his duties as ruler of the Silvanesti. If anything, I think he wanted to be granted the honor so that he could have politely turned it down."
Par-Salian frowned thoughtfully. "Do you know, my friend, I have the strangest feeling that Lorac is hiding something from us.
He doesn't come to see me anymore because he fears discovery." "What do you think it is? Some powerful artifact? Is there one missing?" "Not to my knowledge. I could be wrong. I hope I am."
"Lorac was always one to act on his own, the conclave be damned," Antimodes observed.
"Still, he abided by our rules as much as any elf ever abides by rules not of his own making." Par- Salian finished his wine, permitted himself another glass.
Antimodes was silent and thoughtful, then he said abruptly, "The gods grant Lorac good of it, then. He'll need it, I fear. Whatever it is. You received my last report?"
"I did." Par-Salian sighed. "I want to know this: Are you absolutely certain of your facts?"
"Certain? No, of course not! I will never be certain until I see with my own eyes!" Antimodes waved his hand. "It is rumor, hearsay, nothing more. Yet…" He paused, then said softly, "Yet I believe it."
"Dragons! Dragons returning to Krynn. Takhisis's dragons, no less! I hope, my friend," Par-Salian said earnestly, "I hope and pray that you are wrong."
"Still, it fits in with what facts we do know. Did you approach our black-robed brethren about this as I advised?"
"I discussed the matter with Ladonna," Par-Salian said. "Not mentioning where or how I had heard anything. She was evasive."
"Isn't she always?" Antimodes said dryly.
"Yes, but there are ways to read her if you know her," Par-Salian said.
Antimodes nodded. He was an old friend, a trusted friend. There was no need between them to mention that Par-Salian knew Ladonna better than most.
"She has been in fine spirits for the last year," Par-Salian continued. "Happy. Elated. She has also been extremely busy with something, for she has visited the tower only twice, and that to go through our collection of scrolls."
"I do have verification for my other news," Antimodes said. "As I had heard, a wealthy lord in the north is recruiting soldiers, and he is not being very particular about the type of soldiers he recruits.
Ogres, hobgoblins, goblins. Even humans willing to trade their souls for loot. A friend of mine attended one of his rallies. Vast armies are being raised, armies of darkness. I even have a name for this lord-Ariakas. Do you know him?"
"I seem to remember something of him-a minor magus, if I'm not mistaken. Far more interested in gaining what he wanted quickly and brutally by the sword than by the more subtle and elegant means of sorcery."
"That sounds like the man." Antimodes sighed, shook his head morosely. "The sun is setting. Night is coming, my friend, and we cannot stop it."
"Yet we may be able to keep a few lights burning in the darkness," Par-Salian said quietly. "Not without help!" Antimodes clenched his fist. "If only the gods would give us a sign!" "I'd say Takhisis has already done just that," Par-Salian said wryly.
"The gods of good, I mean. Will they let her walk over them?" Antimodes demanded, impatient and exasperated. "When will Paladine and Mishakal finally make known their presence in the world?"
"Perhaps they are waiting for a sign from us," Par-Salian observed mildly.
"A sign of what?"
"Of faith. That we trust in them and believe in them, even though we do not understand their plan."
Antimodes regarded his friend narrowly. Then, leaning back in his chair, continuing to keep his gaze on Par-Salian, Anti-modes scratched his raspy jaw. Par-Salian bore up under the intense scrutiny. He smiled to let his friend know that his thinking was traveling along the right road.
"So that is what this is all about," Antimodes said after a moment.
Par-Salian inclined his head.
"I wondered. He is so very young. Skilled, admittedly, but very young. And inexperienced."
"He will gain in experience," Par-Salian said. "We have some time before us, do we not?"