* * * * *
Almost a month and a half later, at the dawn of spring, the leader of the Sorothian Magical Order is quietly reviewing reports at his desk within his private chambers atop the second floor.
Iltar had kept his original quarters rather than moving into the grandmaster’s reserved rooms, mostly out of his distaste for Alacor.
The room is windowless and lit by a single globe-like chandelier hanging in the center of the space. All the furniture and décor in the room was old, but had a typical affluent style of Sorothian craftsmanship. Beside the working table and its chair are two other chairs and several shelves of books on either side of the room.
A loud resounding knock resonates against the door to the private chambers, jarring Iltar from his reading.
“Who is it?” Iltar barks and turns his head toward the door.
“Midar,” the warrior-guard states from beyond the door and the necromancer rises to open it.
“Hex and Hagen have just moored in the southern port,” Midar says calmly. “They sent word ahead that they want to meet with the council immediately.”
“Good, I will head to the council chambers,” Iltar states and steps past the warrior. “Notify the others.”
One by one, each of the members of the council enter the communal chambers. Baekal arrives last and aloofly apologizes for her tardiness. After which, the two mages who requested the summons enter the opened doorway, which shuts behind them by the two guards securing the council chambers.
“Masters of the Order,” Hex stands at the far end of the table and addresses the men and women of the governing body of magic. “We come before you to report and discuss a matter of importance concerning our mission. During our travels we were able to gather five other men to act as teachers for the Order and two potential candidates to fill the Arpranist seat on the council. But that is not why Hagen and myself asked to summon you here.”
The illusionist steps forward as he addresses the Sorothian Magical Order’s council, “My friends, we have located one master of the Barsionary art, but he refused to join us. All others of that school of magic have either died or we could find no trace of them. After several weeks of investigating Master Brantilis’ whereabouts, we traced him to Keth.”
Iltar’s eyes widen as he attempts to hide his excitement and he raises his brow as Hagen speaks.
“We spent a day with him in the city, and he refused to come back with us. He insisted that the leader of the Order come directly. It seemed he thought it could have been a way to entrap him here on Soroth, somehow. Just the idea of returning to Soroth seemed to fill him with trepidation. I believe we need to convince him it is safe to come back here, it seems having Grandmaster Iltar speak with him directly is necessary to achieve that.”
The other members of the council sit in silence as Iltar addresses Hagen’s report. “So you want me to go to Keth? And convince this master to return to Soroth? If he’s going to be that pompous we don’t need him. Forget it!”
“There are no others skilled in that art of magic,” Hex pipes up, only a step behind Hagen. “Unless you want to go to a city like Alath, we’re not going to find someone to fill that seat.”
Furrowing his brow, Iltar sits back in his chair and folds his arms, attempting to act aloof from the idea of traveling to Keth.
“No,” Gwenyth speaks up from next to Iltar, “You should go. Don’t let your pride get in the way. You’ve come so far rebuilding this Order. This man will help ensure that we become complete.”
“Master Gwenyth is correct,” Arintil speaks up on Iltar’s other side. “You need to go.”
“Well is that a motion?” Iltar asks with a raised brow, looking at the two mages on either side of him.
“Yes,” Gwenyth states emphatically with her sultry voice.
“And I second,” Arintil responds.
“Are there any objections beside myself?” Iltar bluffs his hesitation to go. He had lied almost perfectly until now, but seeing the means of escape so readily available almost makes his anxiety break through.
The other two members shake their head in the negative, and Iltar looks only at his two coconspirators. They hide their expressions with silent determination to fulfill their mandate to rebuild the Order.
“Fine,” Iltar sits back and looks away, not looking at anyone around the table. “We will leave in five days. Hex, visit the keeper of the treasury and inform Captain Kenard he will take the both of you and myself back to Keth.”
“See,” Gwenyth reaches out her hand toward Iltar; her long fingers crawl along the stone table top. “You’ll accomplish everything you’ve set out to do. Soon, this Order will be complete.”
Iltar looks down at her hand and laughs lightly, thinking of her naïve but accurate prediction; however, Hex jars him from his mental musing.
“If that is all, we will take our leave of you,” Hex states as he bows. “Good day, masters.”
“Good day,” Hagen bows then looks to Iltar. “And we ran into Cornar. He’s planning on hosting drinks tonight. Try to can make it.”
Intrigued by the cue to meet in secret, Iltar fights to hold back his excitement and while nodding.
With their guests gone, the rest of the council returns to their duties of teaching and overseeing the instruction of the Order’s students.
Iltar is the last one in the room, still sitting in his chair. He takes a deep breath and rubs his hands along the armrests of the grand seat. He has enjoyed his time ruling the council; it was something he’d always wanted to take from Alacor.
But what are Hex and Hagen up to? Could this be our means to leave?
The Dragons' Legacy Page 39