"I have my agent of red," Lunitari dismissed. "She has served me well and kept the faith of my creed even when the Dark Queen stole our world away. Now she seeks to spread the cause of magic around the world. I am well satisfied."
"As am I, with the dark elf who serves my own faction," Nuitari noted. His stormy visage darkened. "Though he labors from a position of weakness, since you both laid such a harsh condition on his return from the dead. Yet he is wily, and powerful in the ways of magic. He will remain my champion. As you well know!"
"Ah, but he did return from the land of the dead, did he not? And he does indeed seem to be on the way toward a restoration of his prominence." Solinari blew a cloud of steam, a billowing construct of cumulous that reflected the redness of Lunitari and brightened the aspects of them all.
"Besides, when have either of you, or any of us, been satisfied with that? If she is granted the Test, you will surely seek to steer her toward the color you wish her to wear. Is that not true?"
"We may steer, influence, guide. But her soul is free, and her soul leans toward the white," argued the black moon god.
"That much is clear. Furthermore, for the full Conclave to gather, we need wizards of all three robes. It is in our own interests to see that one wears the white," accused Lunitari.
"Then how may I be accused of treachery, if this serves the ends of us all?" inquired Solinari, with a great air of innocence.
"Enough of these word games!" spat Nuitari. "We concede, the girl must take the Test-and, as always, the Test will choose the robe. But we see your alabaster hand in this, Elder Cousin. And we demand satisfaction!"
"Satisfaction? In what way?"
"We will overlook the treachery that brought her alone to the Tower, leaving our wizards lost in the woods. But when she takes the Test, and earns her reward, let that reward be a gift that will serve all three robes."
"Hmm. Very well," Solinari agreed, easily. "That is only a fair condition. Should she succeed, she will be blessed with a boon for each of the orders. But let this be the result, no matter what the color of her robe."
And so it was that the gods of magic agreed.
Finally the Master felt as though he could breathe again, as if a monstrous weight had been lifted from his chest. The human body was a remarkable vessel, and he never felt so alive as he did when he wore the flesh of man. But a cloak of flesh was a rare treat and had been so ever since his gods had been stolen away. There had been a glimmer of hope when the moons again appeared in the sky, until the Master's domain had fallen under the corrupting influence of the two sorcerers. The very stone of the Tower, his eternal body, continued to suffer and complain under their relentless tortures.
Then had come the arrival, like a blessing from the gods, of this mysterious girl. It was this that gave him hope, allowed him again to feel vital. There was new promise in her bright eyes and fresh skin, new hope in the vibrant power that he sensed lay untapped within her.
He would make her welcome and hope that she could help him. The food had been an easy first offering-just by looking at her, he could sense her gnawing hunger. Now he needed to talk to her, to learn, and to teach.
For this initial encounter he had chosen the guise of one of his favorites. He appeared as old Par-Salian, white-bearded and avuncular. He thought this shape would be less inclined to frighten the girl, than would the images of, say, severe Justarius, or lean and ever-hungry Fistandantilus. Par-Salian was a benign presence. And, too, the Master felt the girl would treat the esteemed White Robe with the dignity that he deserved.
At first, he was not sure that his benign intentions had been perceived. The girl's initial impression had been shock, and then she seemed to be afraid. But she gazed at the repast on the table, and then at the Master, and he could tell that she was not inclined to run. She had only eaten a little before his arrival, and he sensed her hunger, saw it in the longing looks she cast toward the food.
"I hope you like the bread," he said. "It is one of the classic recipes. I conjured it just as it was baked a thousand years ago, in the ovens of Ergoth."
"It… it is very good," she said cautiously. As if reminding herself, she tore off another large piece and chewed it vigorously, following the bread with a large drink of cold milk. Only after she had swallowed the food did she look at him curiously. "You said you are the 'Master of the Tower.' What does that mean?" she asked.
He sighed and allowed himself the liberty of sitting at the table near her as she slowly resumed her eating.
"In a sense, I am this tower… the presence, the sentience of this place, such as it exists. This flesh, this body you see"- he indicated himself, the elderly man in the white robe-"is something that I choose, that I can vary."
In that very instant he changed, for her benefit. Now he wore a red robe and sat tall, a proud man with black skin and a haughty demeanor. Then he became a female, garbed in a slinky black robe, with eyes shadowed in blue henna and a mouth that curled in a demure smile. In another blink he was Par-Salian again, holding up a liver-spotted hand to calm the girl-who was staring at him in amazement.
"I am the Tower, and I am all who dwelled here, all who served as the Heads of the Conclave and all who studied under their tutelage. This tower has stood for thousands of years, and in that time there have been many who have ruled the orders of magic. Mostly humans, but some elves… I can select the forms of any of them. But I chose Par-Salian, for you."
"Thank you," she said. "I-I think I like this one better than some of the other shapes you might have adopted."
He chuckled dryly. "Well, thank you for humoring an old man, in any event."
"But why am I here? I was traveling with two great wizards, and I know they were seeking this tower. Why did I find it, and they did not?"
"Because you, Child, are the one-the only one-who can help me, now."
"Help you? How?"
He sighed. "There are bad men here. Men who are killing me. I invited them in because the gods commanded me to find a wizard to take the Tower. I summoned them-well, not them, but a wizard. These two came under false pretenses, bearing an artifact of potent magic, wielding it as great wizards would. But they are not wizards. They are sorcerers, wielders of wild magic. They dwell here like a cancer in my flesh, slowly taking my life."
"How can I help you?" The girl seemed mystified but- this was encouraging to the Master-bold.
"You must take the Test of Magic," said the Master.
"A test of magic? Why? How could I?"
"The Test will know you, do not worry. But you must convince them to let you live long enough to take the Test. If they kill you, then all is lost."
"I daresay!" the girl said, her eyes widening in alarm. Where are they now?"
The old man shrugged. "Elsewhere in the Tower. It is a very large place. But no doubt they will find you, soon enough."
She was courageous, this girl, but couldn't help looking around in some apprehension. "How can I fight them?"
"Oh, you can't. They are much too powerful for that. Even I cannot fight them-especially the tall one, with the long beard. He is most dangerous. And he bears the Irda Stone."
"The what-stone? Never mind. Tell me, why shouldn't I run away, while I still have a chance? I don't want to be killed!"
"If you leave here now, then all is lost-for me, you, and others to come. No, you must stay, and you must survive, and you must convince them to grant you the Test!"