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!”
Chapter Ten
Taken from the correspondence of Leorn Den Lirel,
last Governor of Caladhria in the 7th year of Emperor Nemith the Reckless;
held at the Archive of the Temple at Col
Solstice salutations from Leorn to his brother Jahon.
I do not know how long this letter will take to reach you but I feel sure the Imperial Despatch will still fight their way through, no matter what calamities befall the rest of us. I don’t know what reports you’ve had of the situation here, but you can take the worst and double all the figures. It’s bloody chaos and without any support from home, there’s not a thing I can do about it, so I’ve given up trying. Don’t worry, I have a ship standing by and will sail for home as soon as the fighting comes south of the Ferl River. Amille insists on celebrating Solstice here but I’m sending her and the children home immediately afterwards. The damp may have got into my library, but not into my wits! Please tell Mother to expect them anytime around the turn of Aft-Summer; we’ll have to stay with her until we can move our tenants out, so make sure you give them notice to quit as soon as you receive this.
As I’m sure you can imagine, this is not how I had hoped my appointment would turn out, but with the Emperor withdrawing the Cohorts for his mad plan to conquer Gidesta I simply do not see how I am supposed to maintain Imperial rule here. None of the locals have paid their due taxes since Equinox and I can’t even get the records to make a fresh assessment. My officials are showing remarkable ingenuity when it comes to finding reasons for staying inside the Governor’s Compound rather than risking themselves on any of their duties in the countryside. I cannot say I blame them and I am certainly not going to send them out to battle with brigands and scavengers armed only with quill-case and inks. Most of them are spending their time drawing up highly dubious claims to supposed ancestral lands and planning how to go about seizing them when Tormalin rule officially ends.
I suggest you start liquidating your investments here, discreetly but rapidly; there are no profits in Caladhria anymore. It might be worth keeping an eye open for opportunities in Lescar; Governor D’Evoir’s murder will mean panic selling and there should be bargains to be had. From what I hear, the Reeves are planning to set themselves up in their old tax districts and work together to enforce their own rule. I don’t suppose they’ll be swearing allegiance to that wine-soak that calls himself Emperor these days, but frankly I don’t see why that should concern us if you see a likely chance to turn up some coin. Nemith’s idiot ambitions must have cost our House his own weight in white gold by now, and the sooner Poldrion ferries him to the Otherworld the better as far as I’m concerned. I’m planning to drop his Imperial Majesty’s statue down the privy pit when I leave.