“What is it, Garl?” Maraton asked with annoyance. “I am kind of busy here.”
“You need to work on your manners,” Garl replied calmly. “I want you to come to the garden with me.”
“Not today,” Maraton shook his head. “I am just too busy.”
“A pity then,” shrugged Garl as he turned to leave. “Let history record that you were too busy today.”
Maraton’s head snapped up with annoyance and confusion. “What do you mean history?” he asked.
“I am an old man,” sighed Garl. “Surely, even you can see that? I will soon be asked to name my successor as Head Mage of the Society of Mages. I thought that I would be remiss in my duties not to include you in that list, but you are obviously too busy. Sorry to interrupt your work.”
“Wait,” Maraton called out as he rose from his chair. “Why the garden? That is a strange place to hold interviews. Why not interview me right here? It would save time.”
“An office is a poor place to discuss elven magic and all that it represents,” scoffed Garl. “I prefer to hold interviews in the midst of nature. I am too old to change my ways, even for you. Good day.”
“Wait,” Maraton called again. “Go to the garden. I will be there in a minute. Just let me get my last thoughts down before I forget them.”
Garl did not reply. He continued walking out of the office and headed for the large central garden. He inhaled deeply as he exited the building. He loved the smell of the flowers and the tree blossoms. With a smile on his face, Garl walked to the far end of the garden where the ivy ran rampant, climbing up the side of the building and covering the wall that formed the fourth side of the courtyard. He sat on a small stone bench facing the ivy and closed his eyes. His mind wandered back to the small village of Etta where he had spent close to twenty years in exile.
“You aren’t sleeping, are you?” the voice shattered Garl’s daydream.
Garl opened his eyes and saw Maraton standing before him. He smiled and shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I was just daydreaming of simpler days in Etta. Things were much less complicated there. There life in all of its forms was revered. I think I may return there before I die.”
“That’s nice,” Maraton replied dryly, thinking the old man should hurry up and pack his bags while he could still find the way to Etta. “What do you need to know about me to determine my fitness to succeed you?”
“I mostly need to know the level of your expertise in magic,” answered the Head Mage. “I also need to explore your moral fitness for the office.”
“My moral fitness?” balked Maraton. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“A great deal,” replied Garl. “As you know, the Society of Mages is not a political institution. We try our best not to get involved in the politics of Elvangar, although at times there are exceptions. Still, the moral character of the Head Mage must be beyond reproach. As Head Mage, our leader must often interact with the nation’s leaders. Elvangar must be constantly assured that the Society of Mages will not threaten the monarchy. You can imagine the fear of our power if that were not so.”
Maraton stood uncomfortably as the discussion came too close to the current situation in Elvangar. He wondered if the Head Mage might have stumbled upon his plans.
“I have no interest in politics,” lied the mage. “Magic is my life, as it should be for every mage. The Head Mage should be chosen on raw power as it has been for centuries. Why are you changing the requirements?”
“I don’t see the requirements as having been changed,” countered Garl. “The Head Mage has rarely been chosen by raw power. He has been chosen by effective power. There is a great difference between those two. For example, while you are extremely powerful with raw magic, I have little doubt that a lesser mage could effectively disarm you by using a far superior mental intellect.”
“You are talking nonsense now,” Maraton shook his head. “Name a mage other than yourself who could defeat me.”
“Princess Alahara,” smiled Garl. “While she may one day have far greater raw power than you do, she certainly does not possess it right now.”
“Nor is she a match for me,” snapped Maraton as tried to turn to leave the meeting. “Enough of this nonsense.”
Maraton frowned as his feet refused to obey him. He looked down and saw that the ivy had wrapped around his legs tightly. His eyes opened wide as he watched the ivy spiraling upward to encase his body.
“I think you are wrong about her,” Garl continued as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “You see, Princess Alahara used her intellect to discover your little plot to destroy the Royal Family and crown the queen’s sister. In a sense, she has made the most effective use of her magic, although you had the greater raw power.”
“You are mad,” shouted Maraton as his arm rose and pointed at Garl.
Garl smiled sadly and shook his head. “Blast away with your most potent spells,” shrugged Garl. “I am completely shielded. You cannot harm me, and you know it. Spend your time to make peace with Kaltara.”
Maraton frowned as he stared down at the ivy, which was growing at a frantic pace. He pointed his finger downward at the base of the ivy and blasted a hole in the plant with a fireball. The ivy reacted by growing even faster. Strands ran up Maraton’s back and encircled his throat. The mage’s hands ripped at the ivy, but new strands of the plant soon encased his hands along with his neck. His eyes narrowed with the realization that death was just moments away.
“Why, Maraton?” asked Garl. “Why did you stray from the path of the righteous?”
Maraton did not answer as the ivy had completely enclosed him. Garl shook his head sadly and rose from the bench. He went in search of the next wayward mage.
* * *
“I do not think this is a good idea,” frowned Queen Alycia as she stood at the railing of the throne room looking down at the new stage and the growing crowd of demonstrators. “If anything, you should have a larger contingent of soldiers surrounding you. You are being foolishly proud to go upon that stage with no guards.”
“I do not see it as a foolish move,” countered King Avalar. “If the citizens are going to stone anyone, it should not be the soldiers of our nation. Their complaint is with me and my policies. I am not afraid to stand before our citizens and tell them the truth.”
“Well I am afraid for you,” retorted the queen. “I lived without you for too long. I will not do so again. There will be soldiers guarding you today if I have to order them out there myself.”
“You will do no such thing,” Avalar said sharply. “The first strategy of war is to do the unexpected, and that is what I intend to do. Make no mistake about this Alycia; we are at war here. While many of those protesters firmly believe in their cause, many others are down there to foment the destruction of our reign. I will not allow that to happen.”
“Then I shall join you on that stage,” Alycia said stubbornly. “If you are to be stoned to death, I want to be by your side when it happens. Let them stone me as well.”
King Avalar walked to the railing and put his arm around his wife. He kissed her gently and then leaned on the railing beside her and gazed downward at the protesters.
“Do not fear for me,” he said softly. “There will be no stoning of the king this day. Our daughters are down there making sure that the stones are not thrown.”
“Alahara and Alastasia?” questioned the queen. “Where are they?”
Avalar pointed to the far edge of the mob. Alycia squinted and finally found Alahara.
“What are they doing down there?” she asked. “Are you all mad? There is a plot to destroy the Royal Family and the three of you are wading into the public and inviting attacks? This is a nightmare. It can not be happening for real.”
“Everything is under control,” soothed Avalar. “There is only one loose end that we have not figured out how to address yet.”