The Shadow Stone ta-1

by Richard Baker

  Aeron emerged from his research long enough to watch Melisanda's coach clatter away through the college gates on a still and fog-shrouded summer morning. By the time the black coach disappeared in the ivy-bordered streets beyond the college walls, Aeron was already back at his studies.

  For several weeks, he returned to his virtual isolation within the college walls, ignoring his fellow students and the novices who fearfully bowed any time they crossed his path. From time to time, he happened to run across Baldon or Eldran, but he tried to steer clear of his old hallmates for their own good. He knew that Dalrioc Corynian would make life hell for the fish if they were caught relaxing in the presence of a student.

  Surprisingly, his lessons with Master Oriseus came to a halt in the middle of the summer. The High Conjuror left the college on several extended trips, and he wasted not a minute in the brief days between his journeys. He simply didn't have time to spend tutoring Aeron, although all of the students in his circle suffered. Aeron didn't mind; he returned his attention to his studies in the school of invocation, beneath Master Sarim, and filled his odd hours with a redoubled attack on the old double-text he'd found in the library after Master Raemon's death.

  The goal of the High Conjuror's labors became clear on a muggy evening in late Eleasias. Aeron had retired to his room to delve into his books and tomes for the night, but a clamor in the hall caught his attention. He straightened and cracked the door. The corridor was filled with students and novices. "What's going on?" he asked a passing novice.

  "There's going to be a Masters' Duel," the girl replied. She curtseyed. "It's Lord Oriseus and Lord Telemachon. They're going to start any minute." Aeron dismissed her with a nod.

  Oriseus and Telemachon? Aeron frowned. He'd heard of Masters' Duels, of course. Novices and students were not permitted to turn their spells on each other, but the masters were allowed to settle differences in a ritualized trial by combat, testing skill against skill. By custom, the loser left the college. It was considered to be better for an irreconcilable difference to be hammered out under strict rules of conduct than for a rift or faction to form, spreading the disagreement. Aeron shook himself free of his astonishment and joined the crowd forming on the barren lawn beyond the Students' Hall.

  Oriseus stood on the city side, calm and confident, his scarlet robes resplendent in the setting sun. His dark face was split in a fool's grin. Telemachon stood with his back to the bay, leaning on a tall black staff as if his legs could not support his sagging body. His blue robes were dyed ebon by the twilight. Aeron found himself standing next to Baldon and Eldran. He whispered, "What's this about?"

  Eldran glanced over nervously and smiled. "Hello, Aeron. None of the masters are saying anything, but a fish I know overheard the council meeting this morning. He said that Telemachon accused Oriseus of murdering Raemon."

  "That was months ago! Why wait until now?"

  Eldran shrugged. "Who knows? My friend told me that Telemachon moved to have Oriseus dismissed and charged, but the senators' faction blocked his motion. Since he couldn't have him removed by a council vote, he demanded the right to face him in a Masters' Duel."

  Aeron chewed his lip as he watched the two wizards prepare for their contest. Since Oriseus's supporters controlled half the council, it didn't surprise him that the conjuror feared no dismissal. Was Telemachon's charge a political move, or had the High Diviner actually learned something that incriminated Oriseus? If anyone could reconstruct the events of that night, Telemachon could. Did Oriseus do it? The Master Conjuror had never spoken about the matter to Aeron. "What does Lord Telemachon know?" he wondered aloud.

  "Shhhh! They're getting ready to start," Baldon hissed.

  In the center of the field, Master Sarim signaled for silence. The excited buzz of conversation died away. Telemachon and Oriseus approached, standing about ten yards apart. The conjuror pranced and grinned, unable to contain his nervous energy. Telemachon simply waited, his face pale and expressionless. "You are familiar with the rules, gentlemen?" Sarim asked in his lilting accent.

  Both wizards nodded. "Very well, then," Sarim continued. "Master Oriseus, you are the challenged party. The first casting is yours."

  Oriseus sketched a flamboyant bow. He wheeled once to wave to the crowd of onlookers, his teeth flashing white in his dark face. Then he raised one hand, muttering a toneless chant under his breath. Aeron felt the flow of power that snapped to the conjuror's outstretched arm as he expertly demanded power from the Weave of the muggy air around him. A crackling blue nimbus sprang into sight around Oriseus. With an odd snickering laugh, the conjuror pointed at Telemachon and sent a lashing bolt of cerulean energy dancing away from his aura. Acrid ozone reeked in the air.

  The High Diviner planted his staff in the ground, took a half step back, and shouted a quick word that was too potent for Aeron's mind to grasp. The dancing bolt of energy swerved from his heart and struck the staff instead, grounding with a shower of sparks and an angry roar.

  Oriseus's first thrust parried, Telemachon readied his counterstroke. With businesslike precision, the diviner barked a phrase of forgotten words that resounded with contained power. Aeron sensed the intangible tendrils of the Weave as Telemachon turned Oriseus's own life-force against him. Aeron had a sudden impression that Oriseus's skeleton was shining through his flesh and robes, scorching hot inside his body.

  The conjuror grunted and staggered back, wisps of smoke escaping from his lips. "I didn't think you had the ruthlessness to wield such a spell, Telemachon," he gasped. He dropped to one knee, but through sheer effort of will, he managed to raise a field of negation that broke Telemachon's fiery grip on his bones.

  The old diviner wheezed with fatigue, but Oriseus was not in much better shape. The conjuror took a long moment to catch his breath, stood up on unsteady feet, and with determination called out a summoning. A lean, powerful beast with bone-edged jaws appeared on the ground between Oriseus and his foe. Aeron recognized it from his studies-a leucrotta, a dangerous monster of the northlands. Students and novices alike retreated from the field of battle, pushing back four or five nervous steps. Oriseus raised his hand and sent the creature at Telemachon in a bounding leap, its jaws gaping wide.

  The diviner started to speak a spell that would destroy the monster, but it was too swift for him. It seized him in its jaws and, with a quick twist of its head, sent him sprawling, his left arm raked to the bone. Telemachon shrieked and scrabbled backward awkwardly, his girth preventing him from escaping. The leucrotta darted in to finish him, but from some hidden reserve of strength, Telemachon managed to cough out a word of dismissal. Even as its jaws snapped at his face, the leucrotta disappeared, banished back to whatever place it had come from. In the sudden silence, Telemachon whimpered in pain and flailed to find his feet, but somehow he did so. "I cry foul! No summonings are allowed in the duel, not unless the creature is bound and controlled!"

  "The creature was under my control," Oriseus retorted.

  "You cast no binding spell upon it," Master Sarim observed from the side.

  "Had you watched my spell carefully, you would have seen that I bound the monster as I summoned it." Oriseus grinned suddenly. "It's a refinement I worked out a long time ago. Now, have you had enough, Telemachon? You can end the duel by yielding."

  Blood dripped from Telemachon's mangled arm, but defiance blazed from within the old man's heart. "No, I'm not done yet," he said. "It's my turn, I believe."

  He took two steps forward to his staff, still stuck upright in the ground, and seized it in his good hand. Blue energy crackled and snapped as Telemachon summoned the first spell that Oriseus had cast back from the ground. He shouted a long spell of rolling, brittle words. The staff disintegrated in his hand, and the blue nimbus disappeared, sinking back into the ground again. But a moment later, a brilliant column of energy exploded under Oriseus's feet, ravening skyward as the spell burst free of the earth. Oriseus was bathed in white-hot power, his flesh blistering and bursting
wherever the blue-white energy touched him. He reeled back and fell in a smoking heap.

  Aeron blinked the afterimage from his eyes, stunned. Oriseus was dead; he had to be. No one could have survived that. But to his amazement, the sizzling wreckage stirred and slowly rose. Oriseus was badly injured, but Aeron could detect the fraying remnant of a sorcerous halo that had protected him from the worst of the blast.

  Oriseus's cheerful manner was gone, replaced by deadly hate. "Again you surprise me," he croaked through blackened lips. "Let me show you how it's done, old man."

  Oriseus began to weave a spell, his hands turning and flashing as he muttered a cold and inhuman invocation. Aeron strained forward, trying to see what Oriseus was doing, but he could not sense the Weave at work. The delicate web of earth, air, fire, and water remained untouched. Even Oriseus's own life-force was undimmed by his efforts. Aeron realized that the conjuror was employing the shadow magic, the power he'd shown to Aeron on that afternoon on the ruined ramparts. A clot of darkness formed in the air in front of Oriseus, growing larger as his chant continued. How does he do that? Aeron wondered.

  Oriseus cried out with an inarticulate shout and released the sphere. The darkness darted forward, leaving streaming shadows in its wake as it arrowed toward Telemachon. The Master Diviner raised a barrier of gleaming light, but the dark sphere punched through it like a spearpoint through thatch. It engulfed the portly wizard, seeming to crumple the substance of his body as if he were a paper doll consumed by an unseen flame. Telemachon's screams were swallowed by the thing that destroyed him. In a matter of moments, nothing remained of the High Diviner.

  The black sphere bobbed, flickered, and faded into oblivion. The assembled college was silent with horror and shock. After a long moment, Master Sarim strode into the field. "Oriseus? What has befallen Lord Telemachon? What did your spell do?"

  The conjuror raised his eyes, hot and hateful. "If he failed to deflect it, he did not survive," he said. "It was a potent enchantment."

  Sarim's face darkened. "You slew him?"

  "He had his chance to yield," Oriseus replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am injured and must seek aid." With an iron effort, the conjuror turned awkwardly and staggered toward the college grounds. Within a few steps, several lesser masters and students-the adherents of his faction-caught him and helped him off the field. Aeron watched him go, dazed. It didn't seem possible that Telemachon was dead. He drifted over to the place where Telemachon had vanished, seeking some sign of the fallen master.

  "Telemachon was your sponsor, was he not?" Master Sarim stood nearby, evidently as shaken as Aeron.

  "Yes," Aeron replied. "I never thought that he would meet his end this way."

  "Nor I, Aeron." Sarim scowled, glancing around. No one else was near. The novices and students wandered away from the field in a daze. "Listen, Aeron. I know that you have been spending some of your time studying under Oriseus's tutelage. Do you know how he worked the spell that doomed Telemachon?"

  "He is capable of drawing on a source of magic that I can't yet perceive," Aeron replied. "He's been showing me some of his lore, but I don't yet understand how he does it."

  "Be careful of him. There is more to Oriseus than meets the eye," Sarim said. He paused, watching Aeron closely. "Where are your allegiances, Aeron?"

  Aeron considered the question carefully. "I'm not ready to abandon my studies, not yet. I want to know what power he wields and master it if I can."

  Sarim nodded. "It occurs to me that with Telemachon's death, Oriseus and his allies in the senators' faction control a majority of the council. They'll pick whomever they like as his successor."

  "Who do you think it will be?"

  "Anyone who will swear fealty to Oriseus against the Sceptanar. I think the High Conjuror is getting ready to make a move on the throne, and that Dalrioc Corynian of Soorenar is out to make a friend of the next king of Cimbar."

  "Won't the Sceptanar destroy him?" Aeron asked, surprised.

  "Perhaps, perhaps not. It is the way of things in Cimbar, Aeron. The Sceptanar is the most powerful mage who wants the throne. From time to time, a new mage rises who has the skill and the ambition to overthrow the old king." The Calishite watched the crowd of students and novices excitedly following Oriseus back into the college. "I've always known that man possessed the ambition. Now I begin to believe he possesses the skill as well."

  "You're going to oppose him?"

  Sarim met his eyes with a haunted look. "I wouldn't be surprised if Master Raemon's murderer strikes again. Those who stand for the populists or the Sceptanar are going to be removed from positions of authority.. one way or another."

  "Telemachon was my sponsor. Without his support, I'll be forced to leave anyway." Aeron paced away, examining the place where Telemachon had stood before he died. "Sarim? I know it's not a matter for students, but why did Telemachon think Oriseus had killed Raemon? What evidence did he have to make that accusation?"

  "I do not know. Lord Telemachon was not allowed to argue his point before Oriseus's allies passed a motion absolving Oriseus of suspicion. That was what provoked the argument; Telemachon felt that he was denied the opportunity to present his case."

  "I'd like to know what he found out," Aeron said quietly, speaking his mind aloud.

  Sarim measured the wiry student with a long, thoughtful look. "So would I. Keep me advised of how your studies with Oriseus proceed, Aeron. I want to know what he teaches you. And in the meantime, you are not without a sponsor. I'll see to it that you can stay here as long as you like. You've been a good student, and you have amazing potential. But watch yourself, Aeron. Knowledge is power. . and risk."

  Ten

  Within a week of Lord Telemachon's passing, the Ruling Council named a young master Aeron barely knew as the new High Diviner. It was no surprise that the new ruling master was a minor senator and Soorenaran advocate who openly deferred to Oriseus in council meetings and conversations. Although Aeron had little contact with any of his fellow students, and even less with the masters now that Telemachon was gone, he slowly became aware of a growing tension in the air. After years of maneuvering, a challenge to the remote Sceptanar was growing within the halls of the college.

  Oriseus spent days at a time attending to private business in his estates and lands surrounding Cimbar, and the students of the college whispered that he was building support among Cimbar's lords and generals for a move against the city's faceless king. It struck Aeron as senseless and negligent that the Sceptanar should sit idly by, watching his foe grow in strength, but the Cimbarans among the college thought nothing of it. The city's rules of succession decreed that the Sceptanar must answer any personal challenge brought against him. The king was free to crush any coup or rebellion with whatever forces he deemed appropriate, but as long as his challenger did not rise in arms against him, he could not use Cimbar's soldiers and heroes to defend his own position. Of course, Oriseus ensured that the Sceptanar abided by his own laws by building his support among the generals, the lords, and the people.

  Oriseus grinned and jested when bold or contentious lords and mages demanded to know his intentions, deflecting any suggestion that he prepared to challenge the city's overlord. But the city's demagogues proclaimed his virtues and cried out for Oriseus to seize the throne and lead Cimbar to war against Akanax. It was widely known that the Sceptanar did not desire war, but the mood of the city was shifting away from its faceless overlord. Aeron fumed as the college ground to a halt, students and masters alike wasting their days in shameless rumormongering. Annoyed by the distraction, he wondered what would happen if the storm hanging over the college broke.

  Lord Oriseus, as energetic and capricious as ever, resumed his duties a few days after defeating Lord Telemachon. A week after his return, he sent for Aeron. The young student found Oriseus in his spartan chambers in the Masters' Hall. He'd never seen the High Conjuror's quarters, and he was surprised by the barren walls and utilitarian furniture. Oriseus's flamb
oyance was carried in his face and his manner, leaving no exaggeration for his belongings. "You sent for me, Lord Oriseus?" he asked.

  "Ah, Aeron! Yes, of course I did." The lean sorcerer grinned and bobbed like a servant, pulling out a chair by the narrow window for Aeron. "How are your studies proceeding? I haven't spoken to you in a couple of weeks."

  "Very well, my lord," Aeron replied. "Master Sarim has been helping me with some difficult invocations."

  "Indeed." A fleeting grimace crossed Oriseus's bearded features. "I was surprised to learn that Sarim had assumed Telemachon's place as your sponsor."

  "I could not remain here if he hadn't."

  "I would have been glad to sponsor you, Aeron. Your potential is extraordinary, extraordinary! We cannot allow you to leave." Oriseus glanced from side to side, even though they were completely alone, and leaned close. "Besides, I think things will change here soon. The college has grown too … conservative. Too hidebound by the artificial distinctions of class and wealth, instead of the real potential of the students. You are perhaps our finest example of a student whose talents far exceed the abilities of those who call themselves his betters. I see a college where the only measure of a student's standing is his power and skill, Aeron. A change for the better, I believe."

  Aeron did not know how to reply to that. "I wish it were so," he laughed nervously. "I'm in favor of any arrangement that sets me level with Dalrioc Corynian."

  "Yes, I suppose you would be," Oriseus said thoughtfully. "Do you recall the details of our first conversation after your novitiate examination? We talked of the Weave and the old Imaskari shadow magics."

  "I remember. You hinted that the Imaskari had mastered another method for working their spells, a power that freed them of the Weave." Aeron met Oriseus's gaze. "The same power that you used against Lord Telemachon."