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.”