Spear of Odhinn

Chapter 1 – The Disputed Dissertation

Gregas formally bowed. The clerics ignored him. He sighed, turned and left ignomously. Carefully he shut the door, when he really wanted to slam it. The rage none were allowed to see made him want to tear it off the hinges. He kept his respectful demeanor as he left the administration wing.

The hastily gathered parchments resisted his restraint and grew unwieldy. A few escaped. He bent to retrieve them, but lost more in the process. One came unsealed and unrolled. He tried to avoid it, but his dance was ungainly and he stepped on it. It ripped. He threw the remaining parchments to the floor. Fuming, he stomped around the corner, colliding with Antius.

Her armload of ephemera was all that insulated one from another. Both held the contact.

Antius? Gregas’ one word both puzzled and a plea.

Antius radiated a rainbow aurora.

His smile ignited but couldn’t be sustained. Gloom descended. He withdrew his energy.

She stepped back, made her face serene, distant.

She nodded to the bustling corridor beyond, nudged the pile of parchments with her toe. You’ve been turned down again, haven’t you?

Yes, said Gregas. Yes, yes, yes, damn it yes. And I don’t understand why.

What reason does he give this time?

That’s just it, he gives no reason. Gregas kicked his parchments across the hall. He states this is not an appropriate topic. He closed the matter. I must choose another. He wants, and he mocked the head of the Academy, a more focused topic. After all the time I’ve spent waiting in his ante chamber, after all the fruitless searches of the library he has ordered, after all the inquiries he’s had me write, I could have written the blasted thing by now.

He put his arm up on the stone wall and thunked his head into his forearm. Muffled, he said, This spell is accurate, beneficent and has potential. I just know I must cast this spell for my Dissertation.

What does Master Efghass think? Antius asked.

He supports my trying to create a working version, so far. He’s just as puzzled by the First Chair’s lack of enthusiasm.

Can he help sway Cygnus? she asked.

Gregas shook his head. He tried, but to no avail. Cygnus guards the power to allocated resources jealously. He need not give reason.

Pensive and genuine, she asked, Do you risk your meager horde of power for little gain? Is your conjuring costly?

No, it is tight, bleeds little, and a few of the first generation inquests are beginning to show replication. I would stake all my power on this, Antius.

But Cygnus will allow you stake none.

True and worse. He has been interested in Master Efghass’ classes. Cygnus prods him for his values, lack of mine delay the completion.

Gregas stepped from the corner to pick up the parchments. He suddenly turned away, trying for anonymity, but a voice from the throng hailed him.

Gregas, called Master Efghass exiting the crowd.

Blast anyways, Gregas said low, then turned and honored his preceptor. Master.

I have come from the First Chair. He stopped to read Gregas.

Gregas contained himself as much as possible, but it wasn’t enough.

Gregas, Cygnus needs the values for my classes. I know you are the one who creates such a work for me, and you probably have it all worked out but yours, correct? Efghass asked.

Yes.

Then I am hoping your backup plan included an alternate. It was not quite a question.

I need to talk with Master Cygnus yet once again, Gregas stalled, his heart sinking.

I am held responsible for your visits, you know.

Yes Master, I have but one more avenue of appeal that the First Chair hasn’t heard.

Gregas heard the funeral dirge of his spell, This must be the last appeal, Gregas. I am sorry but there are situations one cannot change. Part of your moving on to Master is learning to let go when you must. You had a problem with that as a child, I remember, Efghass said.

Agreed, Master.

As Efghass turned away, Gregas asked, If the heart is so much stronger in the realm of magick, then what I appeal is the choice to be strong. Are there limits to what the heart feels, Master Effghass?

Efghass said, No. Magick allows the user the light of choices. I will stand for one more appeal, no matter what the size.

Thank you, Master Efghass.

You both know the First Chair created the spell that now binds the Ancient Ones.

Both affirmed it was so.

Cygnus’ spell was to be his admission to the Grand Council. But the eclipse he failed to predict loosed a backlash of evil. His spell came at great cost.

I didn’t know that terror came from his conjuring, said Antius.

Tis not common knowledge, Efghass said. It will continue to be confidentiality, yes? You must understand his omission created stasis. He was given First Chair ship, but the Council would be forever beyond his reach.

Self indulgent, Gregas said. The magick is more than any title.

I know you mock, but watch closely the boundaries you approach. Worse than impudent, you neglect to consider the heart. Is Cygnus aversion to the avante gard territorial, a matter of esteem? Do you threaten that appeasement which already rankles him?

Gregas said nothing.

Cygnus leaves this time of day, said Efghass. I would rather not have to explain why you both have nothing better to occupy your time than to haunt this corridor.

Efghass bowed, but departed saying only, Good day, Antius.

I thought you said you had no hope. Do you dare bluff the Administration and prevaricate to Efghass? she looked sideways at him.

Gregas stood shamed, not because he could prove his spell, but because she doubted. He dropped his parchments and pushed hers from her grasp. Tugging her arm, he steered them back into the shadows of the great arches.

She seemed amused, anticipating a bumbling attempt at expression of his feelings.

Gregas stood silent for a long moment. His brow furrowed. He clapped his hands together, horizontally, amazingly loud. He laced his fingers and focused on the captured space. Slowly he separated his hands, his fingers still crooked. Iridescent light spilled from the cracks. Then, as his hands gave enough space to his creation, there tenuously grew a beautiful, multi-faceted sphere of spell craft. It filled the distance between his hands, compressed to a slight oval before Gregas stopped it. He rocked it, feeling the inertia of nothingness.

Brilliant light shimmered off their faces. Liquid energy of the cosmos coruscated unconstrained.

Both stood amazed, awash in the intense light. Murmuring interrupted the interlude. The energy had intruded upon the routine of the busy corridor.

Gregas extinguished the light. Both bent to retrieve parchments. A crowd clogged the intersection beyond.

Gregas, I believe Cygnus will know of this shortly. I hope you are prepared to answer. She asked, Do you really have one more topic of appeal?

Antius, my spell works. I plan to show him.

Chapter 2 – Ulterior Motives

Though long past the end of class, no one dared move while Cygnus droned on.

The doors at the top of the auditorium slammed open. Antius stuck her head in, unmindful that the Head of the Academy was lecturing, cried out, Gregas has captured a demon! and then was gone. Empty silence reigned.

Cygnus stood at the podium, his text balanced on his fingers. No one saw the flicker of scorn flit across his features. All heads were turned back and up the stone steps running between the rows of benches.

Ahem, said Cygnus. When only a few turned back he slammed the book onto the table. Preposterous! First Adept is still limited. As if further denial was necessary he said, What would a school boy know of any demon within leagues that I might not?

But his words only served to inflame the intense curiosity. Rapid footfalls of throngs who did believe could be heard through the heavy doors still swinging.

The stone walls reverberated with a sudden roar. The noise boomed against eardrums and chalkboards alike. Dust sifted down from the high ceiling. The Initiates shifted uneasily.

Cygnus held out his hand quizzically to catch the falling motes. He merely raised one tufted eyebrow. Perhaps… he started, and his lecture hall emptied to join the exodus of so many others the Masters were unable to contain.

The crush of bodies grew dense, and forward movement was halted. The murmur of voices competed with the evil roaring from the end of the hall marked ‘Private’. Weird, intense purple light bathed the mob, flaring with each bellowing clamor.

Cygnus parted the sea of the curious and pushed his way to the convocation of Masters forming a semicircle facing the door to his private atelier. At the locus of the arc of bodies was one Adept, sitting on the flagstones amid parchments and ephemera.

What is the meaning of this? Cygnus spun and faced them. Why are the neophytes out of class? Who decided the lectures should be given in my chambers? You there, he kicked Gregas. Stop this nonsense at once or you shall be expelled from this Academy, First Adept or not.

Master Efghass stepped forward, Do not relinquish your spell, Adept Gregas. Turning to the First Chair he said, An interloper was snared within the walls. Whether the revelation occurs as a result of schoolboy pranks or rigorous academic exercise, don’t you think it behooves us to investigate?

You will not dictate to me- Cygnus’ voice was then lost in the sustained uproar from his quarters. The purple light of the spell was blinding.

There is more here than a school boy’s prank gone awry, said Master Efghass over the roar. This is a most serious breach of security. The demon must be interrogated. Worse is the possibility of duplicity at the highest levels. Why might you want this spell loosened, the demon freed and only then attend to the hows, whys and wherefores of there being an agent of the Dark Lords within these walls? Questions expand exponentially in my mind. I grow suspicious.

Master Efghass conferred only a moment with the Masters arrayed in front of the door. They spoke and gestured as one. The stone walls shimmered out of existence. Revealed amidst the furnishings of the room, was the Adept’s spell in the shape of a purple sphere of energy. Trapped within, was a hideous demon. It seemed that contact with the barrier was excruciating, yet the fiend gathered its strength and repeatedly tested the porphyritic encapsulation. The creature’s worst rages against the structure did nothing.

Cyngus grabbed Gregas’ arm and shook him. Stop this instant, I say. I am First Chair of the Academy and this is a directive from that office. Either obey me instantly or be removed from the Book of Mages.

He will do nothing of the sort. Efghass put himself between Gregas and the First Chair. The Council charges you with making their edicts reality. That you would ignore the dictum of ‘Let no darkness find solace within’ disturbs me and casts doubt upon your stewardship of this office.

Cygnus thrust his face close. How dare you impugn my administration?

I grow more wary by the moment. Tis not your staff offices we stand before, but your private chambers. Protocol dictates we secure the fiend and the area, then summon the Council. Two of these are in effect and we wait to hear from you the third, yet you would negate the most crucial. My duties are clear, your acquiescence or not.

Cygnus drew himself up to his most haughty height. His thin lips were bloodless under a rectal face of anger, and something else. Some unreadable expression crossed his features, and the vehemence, once loosed from the recesses of his mind seemed to metamorphose, then subjugate and usurp the arrogant demeanor of Cygnus. His features twisted. He leered at Efghass, leaning in to invade his personal aura space.

Do you really imagine I need your consent to work my will here, in my Academy? Are you so sure of your pitiful powers that you dare challenge me? You are a fool, even worse, you are a dead fool. Energy shot from his hands.

Master Efghass barely had time to shield himself. The two wizards danced a deadly kata. Master Efghass deflected the sizzling bolts and called out to his astounded peers.

Summon the Council, there is treachery unearthed. Then to Cygnus he said, You will not interfere with what has been set in motion. You will await the Grand Council if I have to bind you in a spell of restraint.

You are pathetic and in every way inferior to me, Cygnus said as he continued his assault. You have no chance because you are as weak as the rest. You don’t have the stomach to take measures that must be taken. He looked from the Masters chanting, to Efghass, crouched in a martial pose; at ready, and then to the Adept still keeping his spell cast.

Master Efghass saw his glance and diverted part of his shield to cover the Adept.

You are weak, and that is your undoing. Cygnus pivoted and made as if to blast Gregas. When the feint was successful, and Efghass shifted his spell to protect the young one, Cygnus loosed a mighty bolt that struck Master Efghass square in the chest. Efghass flew back the length of the hall, smashing hard against the cold stones of the tower.

Panic broke out as Cygnus surveyed them, energy still crackling from his hands. The audience drew back horrified.

Cygnus took in the sparkling apparitions gaining substance. He backed into his quarters. Without taking his eyes off the assemblage, felt behind him and picked up a large scroll in an ornate protective canister.

Cygnus, the demon spoke in a gravely, long unused voice. Servant of my Masters, do not leave me.

Cygnus slashed the air in front of him with a small, hooked blade. The fabric of space was rent, spilling a howling vortex of brilliant light. He turned to Gregas, his voice low and deadly against the torrent and said, You couldn’t leave it alone, could you? For your meddling, you will regret this day. You will pay the same price as the Council of Empty Promises. My Grand Magick will not be stopped. With the Great Scroll under his arm, ignoring the pleas of the demon, he stepped through the shimmering slash and was gone.

The forms coalesced into incredibly ancient mages, yet still having the vigor of supreme authority. They sized up the situation as they stepped into this reality.

Aswanza went to Master Efghass, a healing chant on her lips. She held her energy until radiance glowed silvery blue through her robes. She knelt and blew the magick into him.

Trulan and Zet listened to a brief explanation, then conjured a ball of energy and hurled it through the rapidly approximating edges of the rent in space.

Findulus knelt next to Gregas and quickly perused his formulas and the values scribbled in the margins of his notes. Chanting, he placed his hands on Gregas’, gathering the purple rays that connected Gregas to the spell confining the demon. Momentarily locked in psychic union, the eyes of the mage burned into Gregas’ mind, probing swiftly, none too gently. Satisfied, the Mage eased the energy loose, relieved Gregas of the still viable spell.

Findulus’ power surged into it. Onlookers had to shield their eyes from the increased brilliance.

Gregas crumpled. He saw the ball of energy to trace Cygnus fall through space where the rent had become a scar, and then nothing. It dropped to the dark, polished granite in front of his face, and sputtered out of existence. The last thing he was conscious of was the voice of the Mage seeing to Master Efghass crack in sorrow. He is dead.

Chapter 3 – Destiny Revealed

Those seated around the table matched their chant to the rhythm of the luminescent orrery spinning above the dark wood. The ancient parchments and tomes scattered about the table had one commonality. Each was mutilated in some tiny, but profound way. Pages were cunningly removed, defying discovery. Graphs and tables of the utmost importance were stained unreadable. Newly inked vellum sheets tabulated items missing from the catalogues. Candles spilt hardened wax puddles amidst the detritus of the frantic investigation.

Stop. Findulus Keen pointed at the orrery. His finger traced glyphs in the air and the astronomical model slowly reversed its progression.

Here, watch again, he said. His finger began again a slow circle to which the conjuring responded. For an instant, a faint flare appeared to race through space. Did you see that?

Again Findulus played the barely visible celestial event. Do you see? During this eclipse, there is an anomaly Cygnus tried to conceal.

Nislit asked, What significance has this eclipse above the others predicted?

Findulus reanimated the orrery and moved about the table. Cygnus went to great lengths to obliterate any traces of only certain years. It would have been all too easy to have simply destroyed whole volumes at a time, but instead he chose stealth. Why?

Puteen said, The records of other eclipses have been left undefiled. The values for this period alone seem to be lost to his deviousness. That piques my curiosity. He did not feel he would be discovered. He seemed to have felt as if he would be working his magic right here, under our very noses, up to the event.

The blasphemer must now reconjure from afar, he said, whilst cloaking his disturbances of the ether least he be discovered. That we have not felt one hint of his magic leads me to feel he may yet think we are casting about, not knowing of his plans.

Verily, that is the truth. We know little of his deceptions and even less of his ends. Findulus sat down heavily. There are only segments of the ancient predictions he has desecrated, but with in those times there might be any number of phenomena’s of power.

The wizards around him argued and discussed various scenarios. Aswanza was the first to notice Findulus sat silent, chewing on the tip of his long beard.

How many years would it take to recalculate all of the lost values? he asked suddenly.

Gretian stood. He has taken the Great Scroll of the Dance of the Sun. She donned glasses from the chain round her neck. We have nothing at which to start from. We must use what ever values we are certain of now, work backwards to find Celestial antipodes and from there calculate our tables. She dropped her glasses, walked about the immense table arranging books as she spoke.

There might be replaced every primary table in one century, she said, tapping a mutilated parchment. With those values we need at least four full moons for every axis, she tapped her glasses on a parchment with vile stains obscuring long columns of figures. There are twelve hundred major axis’ alone. The minor axis can be conjured as needed with the values revealed up to that point.

She put her glasses on, leaned on the table and said, But this is useful information only if one hundred percent correct. All of this is with out running any proofs on the equations. A single error of even one place will negate every value that follows.

Every Master must task every pentacle to calculate. There would be time for nothing else. There would be no progress for one century, said Aswanza. A tear escaped her eye.

My prediction, said Zet drumming his ringed fingers on the table, Is that there will return to the people a time of unbelief, if there is no magick made.

If there will be no magick, that is sure, said Puteen. But to allow Cygnus to conjure and release the Old Ones will be to loose all souls to the Dark Lords. For what good will we save our magick?

Aswanza shook back her hood. Her gray hair escaping her coif was the only indication of the strain of this past moon. Her voice remained velvety calm. She leaned forward and peered closely. Pray show us that eclipse again.

Zet waved his ringed hands at the candles and lamps. Little flame friends, please to be still and small. Your magick is too grand for my study of this event. Obediently the tiny fires shrank to a glow.

In the semi-darkness the orrery spun again. During the eclipse the brief spark stood out for only a moment, no matter how slow the spell was run.

Findulus leaned back in his chair, the twisted tip of his beard in his mouth. I do not know what this signifies, but my mind shouts warnings as this eclipse plays across the world.

He sighed, sounding weary and old. We do not have the hundreds of years necessary to calculate. This is going to require magick of the fates. Gretian, Findulus said, Choktun, Kresen and Nislit. You must at least enumerate the coincidences of the ley line power flows with the celestial events; enough that one wizard might cross during the time of this eclipse. There must be one on hand to stop what ever this ill boding ushers in.

Gretian threw up her hands. I might be tempted to hope for success, but who among us will risk so much power with unproven variables? I ask who you might task with such a risky crossing?

Findulus spit out his beard and said, By then, the Adept Gregas must be ready.

Chapter 4 – The Containment Spell

Gregas stood motionless in a deep alcove. He loved to see the light from his spell reflected in the thousand pairs of eyes.

Antius came up silently. Gregas made no acknowledgement, but his friend spoke as if the conversation had no beginning. Again it is the eyes that captivate you, she said softly.

Yes, the window to the soul. He motioned to the acolytes waiting in single file, their backs against the stone wall. Thousands of souls reflecting back the power of my spell.

Antius stood on tip toes to laugh softly over his shoulder. Not your spell, the power of the conviction of your spell.

Gregas turned. You mean I hold First Chair at the whim of a gaggle of school children? he asked. Or is this an indication of your faith in me, that without these neophytes to clog this chamber and gawk at this which I have wrought, it would be of less value?

You humor my humor, but entice sweet words for your ego friend. She stayed close.

True, but I have need of truth, even if the rose has thorns and your words barbs, I lay this need in your lap, knowing I can withstand your wit, to hear unfettered words from your heart.

Antius reached out to touch his face. Cygnus haunts your dreams still.

Gregas nodded, and left his head bowed.

But there has been no hint of Cygnus since his disgrace, said Antius.

Gregas grabbed her hands. The rage I saw in his eyes won’t be extinguished, only banked. His last words were for me. He hid his hate for the Council for too many years; he can’t let go of his vengeance. He plots in secret, knowing the Council searches. No hint of him does not mean he is gone.

They stood close in the stone alcove. Antius moved toward Gregas, but he dropped his arms, and turned to watch the acolytes being summoned to the glowing sphere suspended in the very center of the chamber.

The Master guided a young magician, helping her with the proper warding. He cued forgotten incantations in a theatrical whisper. Where you sleeping last quarter, young Master? Or does the wonder of this grand place numb your wits as well as your lips?

Crinasillion puts on a fine performance for the young ones," said Gregas.

True, replied Antius, It is a fine performance, but is it for the young?

Gregas laughed slightly. I know of his ambitions.

With the First Chair here, he plays well for both young and old, she said.

Hmm, he said, again deflecting the conversation from him. He nodded toward the Adepts circling the chamber’s outer wall. That time seems so long ago.

The line of Adepts in scratchy, new, ceremonial robes blended into the shadows along the wall. The most notable feature was the thousand eyes that seemed to more readily reflect the purple light. It was as if the sphere was both energized and held aloft by the intent minds yet fed them at the same time.

The sphere was in the center of the gigantic chamber, with ceilings high enough that they were lost in the shadows. The sphere had a liquid quality; like the reflection of the horizon against the still sea. It was difficult to ascertain where the lights from the sphere stopped being the reflection of the thousands of eyes.

Who is inside tonight? Gregas asked.

Fenyialt.

Is there no limit to the ambitions of this class? Gregas asked.

You show up all too often, my friend. No one wants to be compared against the youngest First Chair and found lacking, said Antius.

At times I don’t believe my life. I sit here and marvel at the one, simple idea that has become the focus of this entire Academy. I come here just to reassure myself.

You think that everyone is not aware of your comings and goings these days? Antius patted his forehead. Lay your swollen head to rest tonight. Even when you sit in on policy matters, probably snoozing, the passion of this spell still exceeds the egos that play here. Crinasillion still cajoles and curses the neophytes while you sip tea and daydream in your tower. Fenyialt still manages to get his name to the top of the roster to go inside more than any other, even when you don’t show up for weeks.

I never miss more than a day, Gregas whispered back. His indignation changed to a grin. The First Chair never merely relies on parchment piling his desk to know how the Adepts are progressing. Parchment hides more than it reveals.

The are only up to one mending at a time. There is no need to push, she said.

I agree. Confidence moves one in bigger strides.

Both fell silent as Crinasillion summoned another. His whisper carried in the silence. It is a containment spell, daft one. It is crafted to contain mighty forces of Grand Magick, therefore it needs more than your timid caress to be mended. Put your back into your stance and give our Master something to hammer his spell off or I’ll have you drinking cod liver oil for the next week to shore up your anemic constitution.

Gregas laughed in spite of himself. By squinting against the intense glow, he could make Fenyialt moving about within the sphere without regard to orientation of gravity. The barely discernable figure appeared to stand on an invisible ceiling or stride the perimeter of non-existent walls to mend the fabric of the spell. The minute rents could only be seen from inside, small eruptions bleeding from the spell, as the dark forces continually tested their prison.

Have you been inside lately? asked Antius.

I understand how Fenyialt stays in the other-space for such long periods, Gregas said. I too find the freedom from the constraints of reality invigorating, but duties prevail all too often.

Antius nudged him, breaking his reverie. Chunnus.

The First Adept sauntered to the stone dais quite casually, even shrugged off a redirect from Crinasillion.

The Master made a gesture to Fenyialt who spun away, upside down and sent a terrific arc of energy out at the Adept. Chunnus backhanded the energy bolt to the sphere, unable to hide his smug grin.

Well enough effect, said Crinasillion, But, he turned to face those lining the walls. The heart is so much more powerful than the body. Proper reverence for your work is as important as ability. He turned back, leaned in and said, The body grows old, and reflexs slow, but ideals planted deep in the heart carry one’s magick with far greater surety than the fleeting burst of one’s glands, young Master.

Then let me stand on this dais longer, to work more than one small magick and then have the semester to wait until I practice my craft again, Chunnus snapped back.

The Master’s look was incredulous. You shall leave the platform now or the next request will be to leave the Academy for your insolence.

The frank talk in plain, open speech caused a collective gasp. Murmuring filled the chamber.

Gregas stepped from the alcove and clapped his hands once. The silence roared back into the chamber. The reflections were lost as all eyes turned to him. He stared at Chunnus. Gregas slowly let one, long, slender digit drop so it pointed to the floor directly in front of him.

Chunnus bowed his head and made his way over to the one who now stood between his studies and the fate of being cast out, and his name erased from the Book of Mages.

Gregas held his anger and his words. The silence built until the Adept made the mistake of speaking first.

I did not know you were in the chamber, Master Gregas.

And that I might not have been would have made your transgression any less?

No, but I might have thought before my words caused me more trouble.

Gregas laced his fingers. He held a tower of his index fingers to his lips. Your words are not your trouble, that you do not think is the greatest worry for me. One who admits to not thinking must have missed something so elementary, or else, even worse… he let his words taper off. The silence lasted while beads of sweat fell to the stone floor.

Perhaps you are incapable of controlling your simple self and you have been taught far too much magick already. Gregas paced a bit, his hand on his brow, rubbing with the tips of his thumb and forefinger. He stopped and bent over till his face was a hands breath from the young one’s. Perhaps that was the last spell you shall ever cast and I need not worry about what sort of magician I turn loose on the world.

He stared hard at the Adepts eyes, probing for any hint of the dark forces having found a gullible mind for their lies.

Chunnus dropped his gaze. Gregas grasped Chunnus’ chin and lifted his head none too gently to continue his inspection and withering perlection. Those eyes looked back absent of pride. Tears fell to mix with the drops of sweat.

No, said Gregas at last. I shall not deprive the world of a potentially fine wizard, one that simply has an intemperate ego. Go to Master Shi, you are not ready for Adept ranking yet. There you will recalculate the pentacles for his level and hand deliver them midnight of this week’s end. You will also deliver Master Crinasillion a written apology, and receive any remedial training he has devised for your, ah, apparent missing education. You name coming to me again because of this behavior will be your undoing. I will immediately expel you.

The heavy sentence caused a sharp intake of breath.

Gregas paused, taking in the barely constrained sobs. He looked out to the vast chamber, the thousand’s of eyes, empty of the light.

His spell being unmade. He was angry the energy was not focused on his spell. The Dark Lords work their chaos even in the heart of the Academy, he thought.

Go now, he said, then turned without waiting for the Adept to leave. He paced the dais, knowing that the silence spoke volumes of his anger. He began to talk softly, that all had to strain to hear.

I am most disappointed in myself, he said. The First Chair bears the burden of making all Grand Council edicts exactly, precisely and unerringly as the Twelve have ordained. It is expected that neither students nor instructors play petty games with egos in this chamber. I must be remiss in allowing it. He stopped so close to the glowing sphere held aloft between the stone columns that he had to bend backwards to put his face to it.

This spell is why we are here. Not to play games in the other time and space. Not to challenge the forces of darkness as if this were a mere game of spell slinging. This spell was created to keep the Old Ones from our souls and all the other souls that count on us to be the paragons of strength and virtue. We are the foremost defense. We know there still exists a traitorous one who longs to pull this gate open.

He paused, and sent an arc of energy into the sphere that crackled the air and flared so brightly that it left spots of blindness in everyone’s eyes.

This spell has gone on for every moment of every day for the last one hundred and fifty three years. Countless neophytes and Masters alike have put their energy and lives into this spell, and in my time as First Chair, he sent another tremendous, sustained burst of energy into the sphere, and then whirled upon the assemblage, enraged.

I will not have the effort of so many regarded as less that the entire reason for your being here. Spittle flew from his mouth. The intense glow outlined him, leaving his features in shadow. His hair flowed upward and back toward the attraction of the energy of the spell. He turned slowly, raised his arms and intoned arcane words of power. An aura surrounded his body, connecting him to the sphere. He radiated power, and held the blazing connection longer than the assembly had ever seen. He broke the connection and turned, speaking in a low voice. The ominous tones carried to the far corners of the chamber.

Any who think this is a game and less than the entire reason for being here are free to devote their lives to another pursuit, away from this Academy.

He walked slowly off the dais, pausing at the last step to glare at all. He made his way to the alcove, brushing past his wide-eyed friend, but not before giving her a conspiratorial wink and the slightest of grins.

Chapter 5 – The Pawns Beg

Cygnus waved his finger through the flame of the curious lamp made of a skull. His impassive, pensive face gave no indication that the sizzle of flesh caused him pain. The sputtering lamp flickered, barely beating back the darkness. Still as a corpse, he faced a small globe in the middle of an ebon table. Etched deeply into the wood were intricate sigils, but rudely carved as if twisted by violent and primitive hate. Vile liquid pooling and soaking into the sigils added an iron depth to the cloying smell of the candle.

He traced the sigils with his yellowed nail, curled and pointed like a claw. He flicked some of the coagulated liquid into the tiny flame. The wraith of smoke twisted in the still air and grew purposeful, winding about the flame as if searching.

He moved his finger to obscure the feeble flame. The blue, whorled orb was cast into shadow. His nail scratched down columns of calligraphic values.