Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin)

by Matthew D. Ryan

Chapter Twenty-One

  Ambrisia twirled a long tress of her brown hair around her finger, then glanced around at the other mages in the High Council Chamber. Each one sat in an ornate chair carved from oak. Five chairs for five mages—arranged in a circle around a small meeting table. They had met at this table many times before, to discuss guild policy and make plans. Tonight, however, the conversation was going nowhere.

  Ambrisia sighed. They had been sitting in the chamber for nearly three hours now and they had established only that Arcalian had a pottery dish designed for some necromantic purpose. Startling news, but still wearisome when the last hours of the night were threatening to give way to dawn.

  She folded her hands on the table and slumped her chin down to her knuckles. Rolling her eyes toward Regecon, she did her best to say ‘It’s late. I’m tired, bored, and ready to pass out,’ all in a single expression. The guild master watched the performance, then frowned.

  She straightened immediately and pretended to smooth her robes. Regecon might give her some leeway in matters of propriety, but she saw no point in pushing him. Especially if he was in a bad mood. Given Toreg’s behavior, that seemed likely. He was just slow in showing it.

  “All of you can deny the evidence as much as you like,” Toreg said. Flushed in the face, he stared at each of them in turn, his eyes determined. He motioned deliberately toward the jar in front of Morcallenon as he spoke. “As for me, the very existence of those sigils is proof of Arcalian’s corruption. It is my vote that we brand the man a traitor and ask the chief magistrate of the city to issue an order for his arrest.”

  Morcallenon’s forehead slumped to his hand in exasperation. The diviner slowly shook his head. “That’s a beautiful plan, Toreg. Why don’t we have Regecon issue a proclamation declaring our former guild master to be a necromancer in service of Lubrochius. How do you think the townspeople will respond to that?”

  Ambrisia frowned sourly. Morcallenon’s point was well-taken. Common folk were often distrustful of magic. One whiff of anything as sinister as necromancy would at least create a panic, if not bring the entire city marching against the guild house walls.

  Regecon looked toward Morcallenon. “If the people suffer harm from Arcalian’s activities, I think they do deserve to know the truth.”

  Ambrisia shook her head and stared at the jar on the table. So much trouble over a simple pottery dish. And not a very pretty one at that. She wished she could smash it against the floor and wipe it from existence. It would be futile to try, of course. With those earth runes on it, only magic could destroy the jar. Yet, she felt sorely tempted.

  She returned her gaze to Regecon, frowning thoughtfully. She agreed with him in spirit, but recognized something the guild master did not or perhaps, would not: prudence often demanded one act against one’s spirit and its cherished rules of conduct. Regecon wouldn’t see it that way, she knew. He was always stubborn on issues of right and wrong.

  Toreg shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. He coughed once, then cleared his throat. Ambrisia smiled. The man would hate to admit he was wrong, but Morcallenon’s point was telling. “As much as it disheartens me to do so,” Toreg began, “I find that I must agree with Morcallenon. It may be best to keep all talk of Arcalian’s treachery and any mention of necromancy to ourselves.” Ambrisia arched an eyebrow, impressed. He hadn’t even tried to save face.

  “That is impossible,” Regecon said. The guild master leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Upon learning that necromancy was involved, I had Morcallenon do a divining to locate Coragan and his companions. They were in dire straits, stranded on a small river island being besieged by a frenzied pack of wolves. Morcallenon also detected several ripples of black time in the area.” Jacindra gasped, paling visibly, but Regecon continued. “I dispatched Mathagarr with several men. They were equipped with crossbows and a dozen silver- tipped quarrels and informed of the possibility of an undead presence. They are good men, and I told them that their mission required secrecy, but rumours often have a way of slipping past even the best of men, especially in situations such as this.”

  Ambrisia scowled and stared angrily at the guild master. Across from her, Toreg glared and fumed with repressed fury. Neither Morcallenon nor Jacindra, however, showed any signs of anger. Morcallenon looked intent and cautiously sober. Jacindra looked, strangely, ready to vomit.

  Ambrisia spoke in a strained, tight voice. “With all due respect, Guild Master, do you not think that you should have informed us of this before the men were dispatched?”

  Toreg echoed her, then added a bit more harshly, “Those men should not have been told.”

  “I told you they’d be upset,” Morcallenon said.

  Regecon ignored Toreg and stared at Ambrisia until she looked away. “There was no time for debate or discussion,” he said. “Coragan and his companions may have lost their lives if I had delayed. They may yet still.” He turned to Toreg. “As for informing those men, Water Mage, I could see no other acceptable option. I will not send men out against such evil,” he motioned to the jar, “with neither the weapons nor the knowledge necessary to defend themselves. Such an action would be tantamount to murder.”

  Again, Ambrisia found herself agreeing with Regecon in spirit, but all it would take would be one loose tongue, one unguarded whisper ...

  Toreg’s face twisted into a mask of controlled rage. His cheeks flushed a crimson red and his temple throbbed with the pulse of his heart. “Is there anything else we should know, Guild Master?”

  “I sent Mage Methoin with them. With his aid and his knowledge of the undead, and the use of those crossbow bolts, they should have no difficulties. I expect them all back before sundown tomorrow ... er, today, actually.”

  “Yes, today,” Toreg said, scowling.

  Ambrisia shot the water mage a warning glare, then looked to Regecon. “Are we done here, then? I am tired and would like to retire. If you have already sent the men, there is little else we can do tonight—”

  Regecon nodded. “If no one else has anything constructive to add to our discussion, we can adjourn until the morrow—”

  “I have a question. A bit off topic, perhaps, but still important,” Toreg said.

  “Yes?”

  “Has anyone else heard the reports concerning rats in the kitchens?”

  Ambrisia looked up in surprise. “That’s impossible! This guild is covered in wards—”

  “Nevertheless, I have three apprentices who swear to seeing several of the vermin just this evening.” The water mage stared at her, his eyes hinting of challenge, daring her to dispute his claim further. He could be very argumentative at times.

  “But the wards ...”

  “Have no doubt failed.”

  “How?”

  She turned to Regecon for an answer. The guild master simply shrugged. “If the wards have failed, they can be reinscribed. If you would do me the favor, Ambrisia, please check on them first thing tomorrow—when you awake. If you can determine what caused the deterioration, do so. Otherwise, I think we have more important things to do than worry about rats. If there is nothing else, I believe we should retire. Let us meet again tomorrow after the evening meal. Hopefully, Coragan and his companions will have returned and we will have more to work on. Until then, good night.”