by DAVID B. COE
Not surprisingly, Baden finally broke the stillness that had enveloped the hall. “Thank you,” he said, turning to the massive, blue-robed attendant and gripping the man’s shoulder. “You saved us all. Why, though? I thought you worked for Sartol.”
The man shook his head. “We work for the hall, and for all of you. When Sartol hired us, he said that he needed our help in arresting traitors. He told us you had killed the Owl-Sage and that you were the ones who were behind all the attacks.” The man shrugged. “When I saw that it was him and not you, I figured I’d better give you back your crystals.”
Baden smiled. “I’m glad you did. What’s your name?”
“I am Mansel, Owl-Master.”
“Well, Mansel, this Order and all the people it serves are indebted to you.”
His ears reddening with embarrassment, the man nodded, and then, without another word, he returned to his place near the hall’s entrance and resumed his guard duties.
Baden watched him do this, and then he looked around the chamber at the rest of the mages. None of them had moved or made a sound. “We would do well to follow Mansel’s example,” Baden commented, indicating the attendant with a gesture. “Like you, I’m troubled by what has just happened here. We have a great deal to ponder and discuss in the wake of it. And we must mourn properly, not only for Jessamyn and Peredur, but also for Sartol. He was once an honored member of this Order. His fall offers lessons to all of us that we ignore at our own risk.” The Owl-Master took a breath, and, when he began again, his voice conveyed a sense of urgency that it had lacked a moment before. “This, however, isn’t the time for reflection or grief. Enemies of this Order and of Tobyn-Ser still walk the land, and they must be stopped before another village suffers the same fate as Kaera and Watersbend.”
“The outlanders?” Radomil asked in a tight voice.
“Yes. For those of you not yet convinced, I can only give you my assurance that they are real.”
“Theron told us of them as well,” Jaryd added. “He had visions of them. Even with the two who died in Watersbend, there are more than a dozen of them left.”
Radomil’s eyes widened. “A dozen!”
“According to Theron, yes.”
Several of the mages stirred, pulled from their stupor by these tidings.
“They must be stopped,” Baden repeated. “But first they must be found. I’d be open to suggestions as to how we might go about locating them.”
“Before I presume to suggest anything,” Radomil countered, “I think I’d like to hear what Theron had to say about these people and why they’re here.”
Baden nodded his agreement and looked to Jaryd.
“Theron didn’t tell us everything he knows,” the young mage began, pushing the thick brown hair back from his forehead in a self-conscious gesture. “As you might expect, he remains hostile toward the Order, and, at first, he refused to help us at all.”
“It seems to me,” Odinan broke in hotly, “that we’re the ones who should be hostile. He saddled this Order with the curse, not the other way around. He has no cause for such resentment.”
“Not so, Odinan,” Orris argued, surprising himself. “Given my current situation, I have good reason to despise Theron and to fear his curse. But hearing from Jaryd and Alayna of their encounter with the Owl-Master has convinced me that the way his life ended should not be allowed to diminish his accomplishments while alive. He, as much as Amarid, was responsible for the discovery of the Mage-Craft and the founding of this Order. It’s past time we acknowledged that.”
“I agree,” Sonel added, as several other mages nodded as well. “And frankly, Owl-Master,” she went on, turning to Odinan, “I don’t think that this is the time to debate such issues.”
Odinan winced slightly at the rebuke and signaled his agreement with a chagrined gesture of acquiescence.
A moment later, Jaryd began again, relating to the mages Theron’s comment about the outlanders’ tactics revealing their weakness. “Whatever they want,” he explained, “they must first subvert the authority of the Order and eliminate the Mage-Craft as a threat. Theron also said that they have power of a sort, but not like ours, and not so strong that it can overmaster the Mage-Craft directly.”
“Did he give you any sense of what this power is?” Radomil asked, his tone betraying some of the frustration that Orris had felt when he first heard of the vague hints offered by the Owl-Master’s spirit.
Jaryd shook his head apologetically.
“I have some ideas on that,” Baden offered, “based on my encounter with the men at Watersbend. Many of you may still be reluctant to accept my assertions about mechanical birds and weapons that throw flames as powerful as mage-fire. Again, all I can do is offer my assurance that these things exist. Orris saw them and can describe them for us.” Several of the mages looked in Orris’s direction, and the Hawk-Mage confirmed Baden’s statement with a curt nod. “I believe,” Baden continued, “that the things we saw are manifestations of the power of which Theron spoke. These people have the ability to replicate nature, and the Mage-Craft, with mechanical devices.”
Niall regarded Baden anxiously. “Do you have any idea where they’re from?”
“I have some thoughts on that,” Orris replied. And as all the mages turned their eyes in his direction, the burly Hawk-Mage told them of his conversation with Crob of Abborij.
“I’ve heard similar tales about Lon-Ser,” Mered admitted when Orris had finished, “from my father, who is a merchant on the Upper Horn. He said he’d heard strange stories, and I didn’t get the sense that he put much stock in them.” The fair-haired mage gave a rueful smile. “But he did take the time to mention them to me, which should have told me something.”
“Lon-Ser,” Radomil said thoughtfully, almost as if the name were new to him. “I’ve often been curious about life there.”
Odinan scrunched his face into an expression of distaste. “Why?”
The bald Hawk-Mage shrugged and passed a hand over his bearded chin. “Tobyn-Ser and Lon-Ser began as one land. No doubt we have much in common with Lon-Ser’s people.” He shrugged again. “I find that intriguing.”
One of the older masters snorted derisively. “I refuse to accept the idea of it. We have nothing in common with those people.”
Baden turned to face the older woman. “Do you know something about them that we don’t, Toinan?”
“I know what they have done,” she answered haughtily. “I know that they have plotted against us and murdered our people. That, it seems to me, is quite enough.”
“And what of Sartol?” Baden returned. “Didn’t he do the same things?” He did not wait for her reply. “We can’t assume that all the people of Lon-Ser are like these few, any more than we can allow our own people to believe that all mages are like Sartol.”
Toinan inclined her head slightly, considering this. “You may be right,” she conceded after a moment. “But I still don’t share Radomil’s curiosity. I would prefer to stay separate as we have throughout our history. It seems safer somehow.”
“Safer, perhaps,” Trahn remarked. “But it remains to be seen if it’s still realistic after all that’s happened.” He turned to Baden. “For now, though, this discussion is getting us nowhere, and the longer we delay, the greater the possibility of another attack.”
“I understand your impatience, Trahn,” Radomil countered, “but we still don’t know what they want. Surely, it’s important to determine that before we act.”
“We know what they want,” Mered said flatly. “They want our land; they want to control Tobyn-Ser. That’s what all invaders want.”
Radomil let out a breath. “So then it’s war we’re talking about.”
“They brought us to this point!” Mered pointed out fervently. “We did nothing to provoke them! But Tobyn-Ser has repelled invasions before, and we’ll do so again! If they want war, then, by the gods, we’ll give them a war!” The fair mage brought his fist down on the oval tab
le, bringing cries of agreement from several other mages.
“This is premature!” Baden broke in. “Fifteen men is hardly an invasion, and we have no Bird-Sage—the gods have given no sign that we’re destined for war!”
“Maybe not,” Trahn said gently. “But we’d be foolish to discount the possibility, Baden. It may come to war before all of this is over. We should prepare ourselves for that.” Baden said nothing, and, after a few seconds, Trahn went on. “For now, though, we should focus our efforts on the more immediate threat posed by this band of outlanders.”
“Did Theron tell you anything else, Jaryd?” Radomil asked, turning to the young mage.
“He offered no more information, if that’s what you mean,” the young mage answered. “But, before he left us for the last time, he told us that we might have need of him again, and that he’d leave us something that would help us contact him. The next morning, we found his staff.”
“But what could he have meant?” Sonel wondered aloud, her brow creased in confusion. “The staff offers no access to power. Without a ceryll, it’s just wood, right?”
“Maybe if I mount my ceryll on the staff it will enable us to communicate with Theron,” Jaryd suggested.
Baden shook his head. “I don’t think so. As Sonel said, it’s just a piece of wood.”
“That may be true,” Trahn argued, “but it convinced nearly everyone in this room that Jaryd and Alayna had told the truth about their encounter with the Owl-Master’s spirit. Maybe that’s how he intended it to be used: as a credential of some sort.”
“But to what end?” Baden pressed. “A credential for whom?”
“For the Unsettled,” Alayna said flatly, speaking for the first time since Sartol’s death.
Slowly, Trahn began to nod, his vivid green eyes gleaming with understanding. “Of course,” he breathed. “Who else would recognize it? And who else would be capable of helping us to contact Theron?”
Baden was nodding as well. “It’s also possible that the Unsettled—all of them, working together—can give us the locations of the outlanders.”
“Sartol is one of them now,” Orris pointed out. “They may not help us.”
Baden shrugged slightly. “That’s a chance we have to take.”
Odinan regarded him warily. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting,” Baden replied bluntly, “that we act now to eliminate this threat. We may have an opportunity to find and overpower all of these people before they do more damage. We’d be fools to let this chance slip by.”
“This is not your decision to make, Baden!” the older man said pointedly. “Not alone, at any rate. We have procedures that must be followed, rules that must be observed. We don’t even have a sage or a first right now. This is no time for rash actions.”
“Rash actions!”Orris exploded, not believing what he was hearing. “What does it take to make you act, Odinan? Do the outlanders have to destroy the Great Hall before you’ll notice? Do they have to kill every person in this city before you’ll care enough to stop them? Or does your cowardice go beyond even that!”
“That’s enough, Orris!” Niall snapped, silencing the Hawk-Mage.
For a long time, no one in the chamber spoke. Orris could still feel his ire raging inside of him, threatening to break through once again, but he knew that Niall had been right to quell him. He had gone too far. Odinan stood leaning on his staff, breathing heavily, his pale, rheumy eyes blazing at Orris from beneath wisps of white hair. Niall, too, was glaring in Orris’s direction. Baden stared thoughtfully at the dark oval table, his blue eyes seeming to search the swirls of the wood grain for something to say. Surprisingly, though, it was Niall who spoke first.
“I can’t condone the tone or implication of Orris’s words,” he said coldly, his gaze never leaving the Hawk-Mage’s face. “But I must admit, Odinan, that I share his sentiment.”
“What!”the old mage rasped. “You, Niall? Of all people?”
Niall allowed himself a slight grin, his eyes holding Orris’s for a moment longer before they swung to meet the stunned gaze of the Owl-Master. “Yes, my friend,” he returned gently. “Me. We must act now to protect Tobyn-Ser. This isn’t something we should have to debate.”
“But we have rules—”
“And we’ll still have them when all of this is over,” Niall said reassuringly. “Right now, though, we must find these people and stop them.”
“But without a sage?” Odinan demanded. “Without even the rest of the Order present to share in this decision?”
“We don’t need a sage to tell us what has to be done,” Niall told him, “and our fellow mages would not want their absence to keep us from guarding the people of this land.” He stepped forward, placing a hand on Odinan’s shoulder. “There’s too much at stake, my friend. Don’t you see? We can’t delay any longer.”
Odinan passed an unsteady hand across his wrinkled forehead and let out a deep sigh. “Very well,” he muttered, abruptly sounding drained. “Very well.”
Orris felt his own anger sluicing away, leaving him with the recognition of what Odinan’s concession had cost the old man, and with a feeling of profound gratitude for Niall’s tactful intervention. He had much to learn about people, he knew, and Niall had just offered a first lesson. He glanced at the silver-haired mage, only to find that the Owl-Master was already looking in his direction. Orris smiled, hoping that Niall would understand all that the gesture was meant to convey.
“I take it,” Baden said into another lengthy silence, “that we’re all in agreement as to the need to act now?” The ensuing stillness served to answer his question. “Good,” he went on with a roguish grin. “Then, does anyone have any recommendations as to what we should do?”
“I was under the impression that we’d already decided,” Jaryd answered. “We need to contact Theron, so I guess we need to find another unsettled mage.”
“I’m afraid it’s not quite that easy,” Baden pointed out. “If we plan to confront and subdue the intruders, we need to choose another delegation. And we need to recognize that traveling to even the nearest of the Unsettled will give our enemies several more days in which to carry out another attack. In that interval, should we recommence Ursel’s patrols?”
Trahn shook his head. “That last shouldn’t be necessary, Baden. Not if we use the Summoning Stone.”
Niall looked sharply at the dark mage. “The stone?”Hasn’t the stone beenthe cause of enough trouble? his tone and bearing seemed to say. And Orris had to admit, he shared Niall’s sentiment.
“I have heard,” Trahn said, “of the stone being used in times of emergency to transport members of the Order to other parts of Tobyn-Ser.”
“It has been done,” Toinan confirmed, “though not for many years. Of those of us who currently serve the land, only Odinan and I were members of the Order when last this was attempted. Do you remember, Odinan?”
The aged Owl-Master had lowered himself into a chair. His face looked sunken and hollow, and he offered no response other than a slight nod.
“It was just after my second Gathering,” Toinan continued after a brief pause, “the morning after the Procession of Light, as I recall it. We received word of a terrible land tremor in the southern portion of the desert, and, needing to get mages to the injured people as quickly as possible, we used the Summoning Stone.”
“So you know how it’s done?” Baden asked.
“I do. It’s not very difficult, but there are certain constraints of which you should be aware. Naturally, our ability to transport mages is limited by the number of mages who channel their power into the stone. Given the number we have here right now, your group must be kept small, and the distance you travel cannot be great. We can send no gear, no supplies, only mages and their familiars. Also, we cannot bring you back—we can only send you to your destination. That’s one of the reasons the stone is used so rarely for such a purpose. That, and the fact that such an undertaking carries cer
tain risks.”
Trahn looked at the woman intently. “What kind of risks?”
“The success of the transport depends upon the ability of one person, the conduit between the mages who remain and those who go, to maintain an accurate image of the destination in his or her mind. If that image is imprecise, or if it wavers even for an instant, all those who are sent may be lost.”
Baden smiled grimly. “Then we’ll have to choose our conduit carefully.”
Radomil turned to face the great crystal. “Do you think the stone will still work?” he asked. “Sartol altered it somehow; his death may have robbed it of the properties given to it by Amarid.”
Baden turned as well. “That’s possible,” he acknowledged. “There’s but one way to find out.”
“So where are we going?” Trahn asked brightly, the familiar, fierce smile lighting his face.
No one spoke. Orris racked his brain trying to think of where the nearest of the unsettled mages might be. In truth, however, none of them knew much about the Unsettled. Even the most benign of the restless spirits elicited fear from the people of Tobyn-Ser, and members of the Order, knowing that at one time or another they were sure to be vulnerable to Theron’s Curse, rarely spoke of them. No one was sure how many of them walked the land; few had even seen an unsettled mage, and those who had usually came upon them by accident. There were only two places in this land where a person could go, knowing that he or she would find one of the wandering spirits. One, of course, was Theron’s Grove, and the other—
“Phelan Spur,” Sonel suggested, giving voice to Orris’s thought. “I think that would be our best option. It’s relatively close, we know that Phelan is there, and,” she added, taking a deep breath, “I’ve spoken with him before. I believe he’ll be willing to help us.”