by DAVID B. COE
“Doesn’t that make sense?” Jaryd asked quietly. “I mean, given the possibility that there is a traitor within the Order?”
Before Baden could respond, Jessamyn began to speak. “I must ask you all to please refrain from bickering amongst yourselves. This is a Gathering, and we do have certain rules of conduct.” The diminutive sage encompassed the room with her piqued gaze as the last of the side conversations died out. “Now, Orris, you were saying?”
The Hawk-Mage cleared his throat. “I am calling for the reestablishment of the psychic link first created by Amarid.”
A silver-haired Owl-Master shook his head. “Invoking Amarid’s name to justify your recommendation is misleading, Orris, and you know it. Amarid’s link was created to protect the land, not to allow mages to spy on each other.”
“Using the link as you propose,” another Owl-Master objected, “would be a direct violation of Amarid’s Third Law.”
Jaryd looked questioningly at Baden, who recited quietly, “ ‘Mages shall never use their powers against one another. . . . ’ ”
“That’s ridiculous, Odinan!” one of the younger mages argued. “The Third Law also states that the Order shall be the arbiter of all disputes among mages. What Orris is advocating allows the entire Order to police itself. I believe that conforms to the spirit of the law.”
“Besides,” Orris added, appearing to gain confidence as he spoke, “given the severity of the recent incidents, the link would be protecting the land. And that purpose rests at the core of Amarid’s Laws.”
“You’re talking about a tremendous expenditure of power that could be better used in other ways,” countered the one named Odinan.
“Odinan is right,” the silver-haired Owl-Master agreed. “That was the reason Amarid’s link was eventually broken. That, and the fact that many thought Amarid had been wrong to create it in the first place. The mages at that time thought that the First Mage had been a bit paranoid about Theron’s followers. I must say that I’m inclined to see this proposal in the same light. We have no proof that a member of this Order is responsible for the attacks.”
“That’s precisely why we need the link!” Orris stormed, crashing his fist down on the table.
“Mage Orris,” Jessamyn began in a soothing tone, “is there another way by which we might achieve what you wish to accomplish with the link?”
With a visible effort Orris calmed himself. “Perhaps,” he breathed, his stocky frame coiled dangerously. “If we could organize groups, maybe ten, each consisting of about six mages, we could then send each group to a different region of Tobyn-Ser. That way, each member of the Order would be accounted for, and, if someone outside of the Order was responsible, we would have mages in the vicinity of any subsequent attack who could investigate the incident much more quickly.”
Again, a number of the older mages shook their heads. “You’re talking about uprooting the lives of every person in this room,” the one with silver hair complained.
“What we’re talking about,” Orris exploded, “is a threat to the lives of every person in this land! Far be it from me to inconvenience you, Niall, but I thought that this Order was created to protect Tobyn-Ser!”
The Owl-Master stood abruptly, his brown eyes blazing. “How dare you lecture me as if I was some fledgling mage! I’ve been a member of this Order since before you were old enough to walk!”
“Yes, you have,” Orris said in a low voice, his beard bristling. “Perhaps that’s your problem.”
“Meaning what?” Niall growled.
“Meaning, Niall,” Baden broke in, “that perhaps older mages like you and me have grown a bit too comfortable. We’ve let our guard down and now we seem unwilling to pay the price of our negligence.” He turned to Orris. “Is that about right?”
The Hawk-Mage hesitated a moment and then nodded. “That’s close enough.”
Baden shot a glance toward Trahn, who nodded once. Then the lean Owl-Master continued, standing as he spoke. “I’m inclined to support Orris’s proposal for the creation of these . . . patrols, as one might call them, with two provisos. First, some of the older members, whose wisdom and experience we value so highly, are, nonetheless, ill-suited to the rigors of this plan. They should be exempted.” He paused, looking at Orris, who, with some reluctance, indicated his approval with a curt gesture. “Second, Trahn and I have a theory as to who might be responsible for these attacks and we would like to propose the creation of a small delegation to investigate.”
“What is this theory?” Sonel asked, her green eyes meeting Baden’s.
The Owl-Master took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for the furor he was about to create. “We believe that it may be the Unsettled, led by the spirit of Theron, who have done these things. We wish to journey to Theron’s Grove to confront him.”
Jaryd had expected commotion, shouted protests and denials, an eruption similar to those he had already witnessed several times during the course of the morning. But instead, Baden’s words elicited an eerie silence that settled over the Gathering Chamber like thick smoke from a distant fire.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, a voice cut through the stillness. “Why?” Sartol asked. “Why would the Unsettled be doing these things?”
It was Trahn who answered. “We don’t know why, but the Unsettled could do nothing without, at least, Theron’s cooperation. More likely, he is leading them, and I’m certain that no one in this room would deny that Theron has cause to resent the Children of Amarid and the influence they wield in this land. I know of no other people outside of this chamber who have the power to commit so many attacks over so vast an area.”
“You’re assuming, then, that they have found a way to overcome the constraints of the curse and move about the land,” Odinan commented in his thin, raspy voice.
“Yes,” Baden acknowledged.
“And you wish to send a delegation to the grove to face Theron? Why, if he can wander the land at will, would he still be in the grove?”
Baden smiled thinly. “A fair question. The truth is, we can’t be sure that he will be. But it seems the best place to begin looking for him.”
“Surely, Baden,” Sartol began in an almost gentle voice, his pale eyes intent beneath the shock of thick, dark hair, “I need not remind you that no one has ever survived a journey to the grove.”
“I’ve had some thoughts on that subject,” Trahn declared. He flashed a smile at Baden, adding parenthetically, “Amari Ale has a way of firing the imagination.” He turned toward Sartol, his expression growing more serious. “It seems to me, from what I’ve heard and read of past ventures to Theron’s Grove, that, with the exception of the very first party sent by Amarid, all those who made the journey traveled singly or in pairs. Given Theron’s power, it may be that a larger delegation would stand a better chance of surviving the encounter.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “I would also suggest that those who are chosen to meet with Theron enter the grove without their cerylls.”
A cry of protest went up around the table, but Baden, still standing, began to smile and nod. “No, Trahn is correct,” he said above the growing tumult. “Please, listen for a moment.” The noise in the chamber subsided as the mages turned their attention to Baden. “Trahn is right,” he said again. “Theron died without a ceryll—he destroyed his when he cast the curse. Without a ceryll he has no way to focus his power. We’ve always assumed that because his strength was so great, his spirit didn’t need a ceryll to defend the grove from intruders. But perhaps he channeled his power through the cerylls of those who entered his domain. Without our crystals, and in greater numbers, we might be safe.”
“But if he has no way to channel his power,” Orris demanded, “how could he commit the crimes that you ascribe to him?”
“I’m not saying that, without a ceryll, Theron has no access to the Mage-Craft. Even without a means for focusing it, his power may be enormous. And don’t forget, he wouldn’t be acting alone.”
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“Why would the Unsettled follow him?” Sonel asked.
“All of this is only a theory,” Baden admitted, “but he was the first to be unsettled and it was his curse. Perhaps this was his intention all along: to avenge himself on the land by commanding an army of the Unsettled. They may follow him because they see him as their leader, or he may have forced them into his service.”
“How the other Unsettled may have come to serve Theron seems unimportant to me,” Sartol commented. “What I want to know, Baden, Trahn, is what you would say to Theron; what you would hope to accomplish with a journey to the grove.”
“As I said,” Baden explained, “Trahn and my belief that Theron and the Unsettled are behind the attacks is no more than speculation. But if we’re right, then there’s a certain inevitability to this. If Theron is determined to destroy the Order, eventually we’ll have to face him, and any delegation sent to the grove should be prepared to do battle with the Owl-Master’s spirit. If he merely wishes to get our attention, then again, we’ll have to meet with him. And, as Trahn pointed out to Jaryd and me last night,” he concluded, indicating the dark mage with a slight nod, “even if Theron is not responsible for the attacks, and provided we are able to speak with him and survive the night, he may have some information that will help us defeat those who are responsible. The advantage of what we’re proposing is that it doesn’t require us to wait for yet another attack. Hopefully, we can prevent a recurrence of what Jaryd and I witnessed in Taima.”
“Who would you send, Baden?” Odinan asked.
Baden shrugged. “That’s for this Gathering to decide, if it chooses to send such a delegation. I’d be willing to go, and I’m certain Trahn would as well.” Glancing over at his friend, Baden seemed gratified to see the Hawk-Mage nod in agreement.
“As would I,” Sartol announced, “and I would suggest, provided she approves, of course, that Alayna be included as well. She has studied the old texts describing the events leading to Theron’s Curse and Amarid’s Laws extensively. Her knowledge of Theron’s life might prove valuable.”
“I would go,” Alayna said simply, her expression serious and her voice betraying no hint of fear.
“A delegation of such import would also have to include the Owl-Sage and myself,” Peredur insisted.
Jessamyn nodded. “I quite agree.”
“I would also recommend,” Baden stated, “that Jaryd be a part of any company sent to the grove.”
“What?” one mage exclaimed in disbelief. Another voice said incredulously, “The Attend? But he’s unfledged!”
“Unfledged?” Jaryd repeated, turning to Baden with a look of confusion.
Baden, paying no attention to his Mage-Attend, was attempting to quiet the flurry of protest that had greeted his suggestion, but a voice on his other side answered Jaryd’s question. “ ‘Unfledged’ is a term we use to describe those who show signs of power, but have yet to experience their first binding,” Radomil explained quietly. “I assure you that they mean no disrespect,” the mage added with a smile.
Jaryd returned the smile. “Thank you, Mage Radomil.”
“I know that including a Mage-Attend in such a mission is somewhat irregular,” Baden acknowledged, having at least partially succeeded in restoring calm to the chamber, “but we can’t ignore Jaryd’s vision of the attacker at Taima. He obviously has a role to play in this crisis. We may need him before this journey is over.”
“If there is to be a journey,” Orris corrected belligerently. “I’m opposed to sending this delegation, as you call it. It would be a waste of time and an unwarranted risk. You yourself admit that you’re not even certain Theron is involved. And now,” he continued, a note of derision creeping into his voice, “you insist that this boy be included in your company? I don’t see this as a serious alternative to my plan.”
A number of the younger mages murmured in agreement, and Jaryd, enraged at being referred to as a “boy,” started to his feet, a stinging retort on his tongue. Before he could say anything, however, Baden knocked him back into his chair with an inconspicuous but effective elbow to the belly.
“First of all, Orris,” Baden countered, his tone growing intense, “ ‘this boy,’ as you refer to him, will one day be more powerful than any mage in this room. I tell you this with certainty, because I’ve seen it.” He paused, letting the impact of his words spread through the chamber. “Second, Trahn and I did not propose this journey as an alternative to your plan or anyone else’s. You can still form your patrols and await the next attack. But, if we succeed, you’ll be waiting for quite some time.”
Baden and Orris stood glaring at each other in silence as other mages around the table picked up their argument and the chamber fell once more into disarray. And as the people around him argued the relative merits and shortcomings of forming patrols, of reestablishing the psychic link, and of sending a delegation to Theron’s Grove, Jaryd turned again toward the far end of the table, where, as he knew he would, he found Alayna looking in his direction, the expression on her delicate features unreadable. They held each other’s gaze for several moments before she finally averted her eyes.
Jessamyn soon reestablished order and declared a recess in the proceedings. At the same time, the Great Hall’s attendants, in their shimmering blue robes, brought a light meal to the table. It consisted of cheese, dried fruits, and a light-colored wine, but, even though Jaryd had recovered somewhat from his drinking the night before, he chose not to eat. When the repast was done, debate resumed, and while the mages discussed their alternatives in a more reasoned tone, they showed little sign of approaching any consensus. It seemed to Jaryd that they repeated the same arguments over and over without actually listening to each other, and he eventually found himself losing interest in the proceedings. Baden and Trahn spent much of the afternoon defending their plan, but Orris and his followers remained convinced that sending a company to Theron’s Grove would endanger their efforts to monitor the activities of all members of the Order. When the daylight shining through the chamber’s translucent windows began at last to fade, the mages appeared no closer to an agreement than they had that morning.
The Owl-Sage reluctantly adjourned the Gathering until the following day, and formally invited all the mages to a celebration of Midsummer and the Feast of Duclea that night at the home of Amarid. In the excitement of the opening of the Gathering, Jaryd had forgotten that this night marked the feast, and, reminded by Jessamyn’s invitation, he found his excitement, and his appetite, returning. He actually preferred the Autumn Feast of Leora and the Spring Feast of Arick, but all four of the seasonal celebrations were times of enchantment and gaiety in Tobyn-Ser. To experience the feast here in Amarid would only add to the wonder of the event.
But it was the memory of something else that moved Jaryd, as he and Baden stepped out of the Great Hall into the deeply slanting late-afternoon sunlight, to stop at the bottom of the marble steps and turn toward the Owl-Master. “Do you really think that I’ll someday be the most powerful mage in the Order?” he asked, unable to contain a smile.
“What?” Baden responded absently as Trahn joined them.
“I asked you if you meant what you said during the proceedings: that I’ll be the most powerful mage in the Order.”
Without responding, Baden turned to Trahn. “That didn’t go as well as I had hoped,” he observed. “You’re right about Orris: he has quite a following among the younger members.”
“You’re equally popular with the Owl-Masters,” Trahn asserted, “but I don’t think our cause will be helped by pitting one faction against the other. No matter what the Order chooses to do, we won’t succeed if we’re divided.”
“I agree,” Baden said grimly. He glanced back toward the Great Hall. “I think I’ll have a word with Jessamyn; her support in all this will be crucial.”
“You may have to wait a bit: Orris is already speaking with her, and she’ll be departing for Amarid’s home soon to prepare for the feas
t.”
“The feast,” Baden breathed, shaking his head. “I’d already forgotten about that.”
“I hadn’t,” Jaryd said cheerfully. “I bet the celebration here is pretty spectacular. I can’t wait.”
For the first time since the adjournment of the Gathering, Baden seemed to take note of his nephew. He exchanged a look with Trahn and then took a deep breath. “Jaryd,” he began tentatively, “I’m afraid we won’t be attending the feast, or, more accurately, you won’t be.”
“What?” Jaryd exclaimed with dismay. “Why not?”
Baden glanced at Trahn again, apparently unsure of how to proceed. “Trahn and I have a great deal to do this evening in preparation for tomorrow’s deliberations. We’ll have little time to observe the feast, and we probably won’t return to the Aerie at all.” Baden flicked his pale eyes toward Trahn before continuing. “Without us there, Maimun won’t allow you to stay in the room unless you pay. So I’m sorry to say that you’ll have to sleep outside of town tonight.”
“You mean in the forest?” Jaryd demanded, unwilling to believe what he was hearing.
“Yes.”
“But I don’t want to. I don’t want to miss the feast, and I certainly don’t want to sleep on the ground again.”
“I don’t recall offering you a choice,” Baden countered impatiently. “Do you have the three gold pieces you’d need to stay at the inn?”
“No,” Jaryd replied in a subdued tone.
“I thought not. Now you’d best get moving. It will be more difficult to find a suitable place to sleep after the sun sets.”
“But, Baden, why can’t I stay with you and Trahn?” Jaryd asked plaintively. “I can go one night without sleep, and I want to attend the f—”
“Jaryd!” Baden said sharply, his eyes flashing. “Enough! Since when does an Owl-Master explain himself to his Mage-Attend? It is sufficient that I require it of you!”
“Yes, Master Baden,” Jaryd said quietly.