by Lisa Smedman
The symbol of the dancing goddess, Eilistraee.
The goddess Q'arlynd had pledged himself to.
Inspection complete, he tucked the mirror into the breast pocket of his shirt. He slowly turned to go, savoring his surroundings. The private study was filled with expensive furniture, all of it studded with chips of beljuril that twinkled with green light. A scroll shelf stood against one wall, its diamond-shaped niches filled floor to ceiling with texts both arcane and mundane. On the opposite wall, darkfire flames danced like crackling shadows inside the hearth. The study was warm, filled with wealth-and entirely Q'arlynd's own. A level of luxury he hadn't experienced for years.
All thanks to the kiira on his forehead.
As he departed, he reset the door's lock with a whispered word. He doubted anyone would recognize the abjuration any time soon-the word was from the original language of the dark elves, a language much changed since the Descent. Like the other spells Q'arlynd had learned since "opening" Kraanfhaor's Door, the abjuration was not written in any spellbook. It was contained solely within the kiira, alongside the memories of those who had worn the lorestone before him.
As Q'arlynd strode down the corridor, students bowed. He gave each the briefest of nods. He'd deliberately delayed his departure, intending to teleport into the Stonestave just to prove that he could, despite the Faerzress that now surrounded the city.
Voices murmured inside one of the lecture halls. He glanced into it as he passed and what he saw made him halt abruptly. Zarifar, one of his five apprentices, was staring at a pentagram that had been painted on the floor with dribbled candle wax. His right forefinger jerked back and forth as he traced its outline in the air. With his head bowed, face obscured by a fuzz of tightly kinked white hair, the tall, thin drow seemed oblivious to his inattentive students. He made no move to discipline them as they chatted and chuckled amongst themselves, completely ignoring their would-be instructor.
A moment more, and the half a dozen students probably would have something to whisper at. Zarifar might be a brilliant geometer mage, but he was more likely to summon a monstrosity that would devour him than one that would obey him. Or recite the spell backward and send himself straight to the Abyss.
Using his master ring, Q'arlynd linked minds with his apprentice. As he'd expected, Zarifar's thoughts were deep in the pattern. He was imagining pentagrams within pentagrams while calculating the "golden ratio" of each in turn.
Zarifar! Where is Piri? He's supposed to be teaching this lesson.
Zarifar startled, as if someone had just poked the tip of a dagger into his back. Two of the students snickered. Their faces paled to gray as Q'arlynd strode into the room.
"Master Melarn," they gasped, each falling to one knee.
Q'arlynd ignored them-a worse punishment than reprimanding them, since it left them tensely anticipating what might come next. And when. Where is Piri, Zarifar?
"Oh. Yes." Zarifar blinked like a surface elf coming out of Reverie. "Down at the Cage, I think he said. He asked me to fill in for him until he got back."
Q'arlynd frowned. If Piri wanted spell components, he should have sent a student to fetch them. That he'd gone himself hinted that whatever he was purchasing was something others weren't meant to learn about. The timing of the trip to the Breeder's Guild was equally suspicious. Piri knew Q'arlynd was about to appear before the Conclave. There was no better moment for treachery.
Q'arlynd's jaw clenched. This wasn't Piri's first betrayal. Q'arlynd had already been forced, once before, to punish him as a result of his disloyalty. A kiira had later restored the apprentice to life, in order for the spell that had stripped the death goddess of her name to be cast. Q'arlynd had wanted to dispense with the apprentice afterward, but the ancestors inside the kiira had suggested an alternative. They'd promised to strip Piri of those memories that made him dangerous and disloyal, while leaving the bulk of his magical learning intact. Until this moment, Q'arlynd had believed they'd delivered on their promise. The mind-stripped Piri had been both compliant and, seemingly, trustworthy.
Now Q'arlynd wasn't so sure.
"This lesson is over," he announced, waving a hand above the floor. The pentagram disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving the smell of melted candle wax behind. "Go."
The students scurried from the room.
Q'arlynd closed his eyes and activated his master ring a second time. Piri came instantly into view; the apprentice hadn't bothered to remove his ring. He'd probably assumed Q'arlynd would be much too busy to scry him. Piri stood next to a narrow column of stone: one of the posts in the shimmering walls of force that caged the deepspawn the Breeder's Guild tended. His face and hands glinted with an oily, greenish tinge: the quasit demon, stretched skin-thin, that he'd bonded with, years ago. His hair stood up in stiff spikes, white and hard as bone. He held a wand in one hand, and stood back to back with another of Q'arlynd's apprentices: Eldrinn, son of Master Seldszar, the master who would be nominating Q'arlynd's school for admission to the Conclave in just a few moments' time. Eldrinn also held a wand in his hand.
"Mother's blood," Q'arlynd swore. "They're dueling."
Little wonder his apprentices had chosen this moment for their duel. Q'arlynd had expressly forbidden mage duels in an effort to preserve the fragile harmony within his school. More often than not, duels led to serious injury. Sometimes death.
The injury or death of a student or teacher was something most masters took in their stride. They encouraged backstabbing and betrayal among their apprentices, believing that it flensed the meat from the bone, allowing only the best to survive. Q'arlynd held a different view. Any student accepted into his school was warned that any debilitating attack or suspicious death would be traced to its root. And then that student would be expelled.
The same rules applied to the five apprentices who served as the school's teachers.
Q'arlynd glanced at the water clock in the corner of the lecture hall. He was supposed to be appearing before the Conclave just a few moments from now. He tapped his foot impatiently, inclined to leave bad enough alone-until he noticed the femur that lay on the ground between the two apprentices as a dividing line.
This was no mere grudge match. It was a duel to the death.
Eldrinn had a determined look on his face, but his tight grip on the wand betrayed his tension. He was a mere boy, a half-drow with ash gray skin. He wore his usual spider-silk shirt and ornately embroidered piwafwi, but his waist-length hair was unbound. He'd either been tricked or goaded into leaving behind the contingency clip that could save him from whatever Piri's wand hurled at him.
The timing was too coincidental. The absence of seconds and a jabbuk duello to oversee the duel was equally telling. Someone must have manipulated Piri or Eldrinn into this. Someone powerful enough to have ensured that Master Seldszar wouldn't divine, ahead of time, that his son was about to enter into a potentially fatal duel.
If Eldrinn died, however-no, when Eldrinn died-Seldszar would learn of it immediately. Whoever had maneuvered the two apprentices into this would certainly see to that. Once alerted to his son's death, it would take the master diviner less time to learn the circumstances than it took most males to draw breath. Then Q'arlynd's school would suffer the consequences. Contrary to all that was natural, Seldszar actually cared for his son. He'd blame Q'arlynd for the boy's death-and would point accusingly to Q'arlynd's stubborn insistence on keeping the demon-skinned Piri at his school.
Seldszar would likely revoke his nomination.
Q'arlynd told himself not to panic. Eldrinn was a less experienced wizard than Piri, but he might just get a lucky shot in with his wand after the pair raised defenses.
The water clock dripped. Q'arlynd was due before the Conclave this very moment. He'd have to leave his apprentices to their duel and hope that Eldrinn won.
Just as he was about to end his scrying, however, Piri sneaked a glance down at his belt. Q'arlynd couldn't see anything on the belt but an empty wand sca
bbard, but he'd learned long ago not to trust his eyes alone. He yanked the master ring off his finger and held it just behind the gem on his pendant, peering through both at the same time. The images he was seeing shrank, now filling the center of the ring, rather than looming large within Q'arlynd's mind. He couldn't make out details, but fortunately the object revealed by the gem's magic was large: a thin iron hoop hanging from Piri's belt. Q'arlynd recognized it at once as half of a ring gate.
The gem also revealed a quasit demon, cloaked by invisibility, that hovered in the air near the spot Eldrinn would wind up in after marching ten paces. Its wings fluttering, a malicious smile on its green-skinned face, the quasit held the second ring gate in one warty hand.
It was instantly clear to Q'arlynd what Piri planned. The demon-skinned apprentice was going to use the ring gates to attack Eldrinn from behind.
"Ten paces," Piri said over his shoulder. "Then turn, cast a single spell, and fire. Agreed?"
Eldrinn nodded. "Agreed."
Q'arlynd gritted his teeth as he pushed the master ring back into place on his finger. Piri had left out one word from the ritual agreement. It should have been "Cast a single defensive spell." Eldrinn had just agreed to a change in the rules that would cost him the initiative. Q'arlynd had to do something, and quickly. But what? Sshamath's laws dictated that no outside party could influence the outcome of a duel; those who interfered in a lethal duel could be put to death themselves. But perhaps Q'arlynd could get away with merely delaying the duel.
Piri's foot lifted slightly. "Ten-"
With a thought, Q'arlynd activated his ring. Both apprentices froze in place, each with his right foot slightly lifted from the floor.
The water clock dripped. Now Q'arlynd was late.
He teleported.
He'd planned to make a formal entrance, but there was no time for that now. Instead he teleported directly to the heart of the Stonestave, to a spot just inside the great double doors of the Conclave's meeting chamber. Unfortunately, someone was coming through the doors. The edge of a drift-disc crashed into Q'arlynd's back, sending him staggering. He caught himself on the railing that enclosed the speaker's sphere and saw to his dismay that several of the Conclave were frowning at him. Without apologizing for his tardiness or awkward entrance-any excuse he might give would be exploited as a weakness-he bowed to the speaker's sphere: a ball of quicksilver suspended by magic at the center of the circular hall.
He snuck a glance at the driftdisc as he rose. On it was a female he didn't recognize. She was bald and well muscled-not seated cross-legged on the driftdisc as was normal, but crouched on it like a spider waiting to spring. She wore a black, short-sleeved, skin-tight tunic that hugged her torso and thighs, and ended at her knees. Not a single weapon or magical item was visible on her. Even so she exuded an aura of danger.
One of the masters must have invited her to the Conclave. She would never have gotten past its guards and wards otherwise. Q'arlynd wondered what her business here could possibly be. He hoped it could wait until after the vote.
Master Seldszar waved a hand at Q'arlynd. "Masters of the Conclave, I present Q'arlynd Melarn." The Master of Divination beckoned Q'arlynd to stand next to his podium. Q'arlynd strode smoothly to that spot. Seldszar smiled benevolently at Q'arlynd through the crystals orbiting his head, but at the same time his nostrils flared slightly: a reprimand for Q'arlynd's tardiness. In this hall, where all displays of emotion were tightly constrained, it spoke louder than a shout. Aloud, Seldszar said, "As you all know, the reason we have convened is to discuss the promotion of an eleventh school to the rank of College, and the addition of another master to our conclave. As I gave notice in my sending, it now pleases me to nominate Master Q'arlynd's School of Ancient Arcana for elevation to College."
"I second the nomination," Master Urlryn said from across the room.
So far, so good. The Master of the College of Conjuration and Summoning had made good on his promise, and he had good reason to. In return for second-speaking Q'arlynd's nomination, the awarenesses inside the kiira on Q'arlynd's forehead would assist Urlryn with an ongoing problem: the Faerzress that surrounded the city. It hampered divination and prevented mages from teleporting in and out of the city-something that had caused no end of embarrassment to Urlryn's school.
Urlryn might have the appearance of a slothful indulger, with his heavy jowls and soft, corpulent frame, but the mind behind those heavy-lidded eyes was as sharp as a dagger. He knew which side of the sava board to play if he wanted to restore his College to its former standing.
As the female on the driftdisc moved to the podium occupied by Master Guldor, Q'arlynd quickly scried his two apprentices. Piri and Eldrinn were just as he'd left them, frozen back to back. He was thankful that the Cage occupied an infrequently visited corner of Sshamath. With luck, the Conclave's debate would be brief, the vote would carry, and Q'arlynd would be able to teleport away before anyone noticed what he'd done to the duelists. With even more luck, he might talk his apprentices out of killing each other.
As the driftdisc sighed to a stop beside the Master of the College of Mages, Guldor touched the gold ball that hovered in the air in front of him. The speaker's sphere assumed the likeness of his face: a chin as pointed as his ears, and eyes that matched the slant of eyebrows that extended to meet the hair at his temples.
"I too have a school I wish to nominate this day," Guldor said, his voice seeming to come from the animated quicksilver head.
Q'arlynd swore silently. Seldszar had warned him to expect opposition from the College of Mages, but not this. Things weren't going to go as quickly as Q'arlynd had hoped. Not if the Conclave had two nominations to consider.
"I present to the Conclave T'lar Mizz'rynturl," Guldor continued. "I nominate her School of Bae'qeshel Magic for elevation to College."
Q'arlynd's breath caught in his throat. Years of practice at stifling his reactions allowed him to hide any further reaction. The bae'qeshel tradition was extremely rare, with only a handful of practitioners. His sister Halisstra had been one of them.
He took another look at the female on the driftdisc. Had Halisstra known her? The more he looked at T'lar Mizz'rynturl, however, the more he doubted it. Had someone so distinctive visited Ched Nasad, Q'arlynd would have remembered her.
"What's this School of Bae'qeshel Magic?" Master Antatlab asked, mispronouncing the name. His deep bass rumble reverberated through the floor, up into the soles of Q'arlynd's boots. Even without the benefit of the speaker's sphere's augmentation, it had that effect. The face of the Master of Elemental Magic was as square as a granite block, and just as deeply pitted. "I've never heard of such a school before!"
"Nor have I," said the much quieter voice of Master Seldszar.
"You should pay more attention to cavern clack," another of the masters said. "This past month, the mage halls have been buzzing with rumors that a new school had been founded. Everyone was trying to guess what it might specialize in."
The speaker's sphere shifted back to Master Guldor's sharp-angled face. "The School of Bae'qeshel Magic is based on an ancient bardic tradition."
"Bardic magic!" Master Antatlab exploded, pounding his fist on the golden ball in front of his podium. The quicksilver face quivered as if an earthquake were surging through it. "This is a conclave of mages, not minstrels!"
"Our constitution only prohibits clerical magic," Master Guldor countered. "It is silent when it comes to the bards' arts. And why? Because the mages who founded the Conclave recognized that bardic magic is a brother to sorcery. Both arts draw their power from the same source: the practitioner's own heart and will."
Q'arlynd cleared his throat softly in an attempt to get Master Seldszar's attention. According to the rules of the Conclave, Q'arlynd was forbidden to speak unless directed to. If only he could speak, he could end this, right now, by pointing out the one thing the masters didn't realize. While it was true that bae'qeshel was a bardic tradition, it was one that could only b
e practiced by someone who had taken a particular goddess as her patron deity.
Lolth.
On the surface, Guldor's nomination of T'lar Mizz'rynturl's school looked like nothing more than a means of countering Seldszar's play for an allied eleventh master on the Conclave. Yet Q'arlynd knew it had to have deeper roots than that. Guldor Zauviir shared a House name with the priestess who headed up what remained of Lolth's temple in Sshamath. And there were rumors the ties were knotted even tighter than that. Streea'Valsharess Zauviir smoldered like a coal under the heels of the wizards who had ground out her rule in Sshamath. T'lar Mizz'rynturl's "school" was likely the high priestess's attempt to burn the Conclave from within.
If Q'arlynd could only catch Master Seldszar's attention, T'lar's "school" would have as much hope of being accepted into the Conclave as a boy did of becoming matron mother of a noble House. A few quick flicks of Q'arlynd's fingers would do the trick.
Q'arlynd cleared his throat a second time.
Seldszar still didn't acknowledge him.
Another of the masters was speaking. "Guldor does have a point." The speaker's sphere bore a female face now-that of Master Felyndiira, a breathtaking beauty with long-lashed eyes and luxurious hair that swept back from a peak on her forehead. What the Master of Illusion and Phantasm really looked like was anyone's guess. "Bards are very similar to sorcerers."
Ah, so Felyndiira was allied with Guldor. Seldszar had wondered if she might be. There were rumors she worshiped the Spider Queen in secret.
Antatlab threw up his hands, not even bothering to touch his golden ball. "So are shadow mages, and you fought their admission to the Conclave dagger and nail!"
Felyndiira rolled her eyes. "The School of Shadow Magic was merely a cloak for Vhaeraun's clerics. Everyone knew it-everyone but you."
Q'arlynd cast a cantrip that plucked at Seldszar's embroidered sleeve, but the Master of Divination paid it no heed. Seldszar reached for the golden ball in front of his podium. As he touched it, the quicksilver face widened, and its eyes darted back and forth in time with Seldszar's own. Even at this critical juncture, his attention was at least partially on his scrying crystals. "This Conclave was convened to consider the nomination of the School of Ancient Arcana, a nomination that has already been second-spoken," he said with a nod at Master Urlryn. "Since no second has spoken for the so-called 'school' Guldor has nominated, I suggest we focus on the task at hand and not be distracted by frivolous-"