prisoner.”
“Sir Drostan, I speak with Prince Akmael’s best interests in mind.” Tzeremond turned on the knight. “A young mage unsupervised can fall to many malevolent influences, even within these halls.”
Drostan drew a breath as if to speak, then retreated into silence with a deferential nod. Before the war, this knight had trained under the masters of the Old Orders, weak wizards whose indulgence of women’s magic had brought Moisehén to near ruin. Though his valiant service had secured the King’s trust, Drostan was not fool enough to argue with Tzeremond in matters of subversive magic. At least, not in open Council.
“I suspect, Master Tzeremond, that the flame of women’s magic has been extinguished both within these halls and without, thanks to your very thorough efforts,” Kedehen said. “Trials and executions for witchcraft are now rare events in Moisehén.”
Tzeremond acknowledged the King’s complement with a gracious nod. “The diligence of our mages in seeking out and destroying women’s magic has served us well, and the oversight of the magistrates in the provinces is exemplary. Still, the shadow of the magas clings to this land. Our divinatory tools send mixed messages regarding our success. On the one hand they indicate the Order of Magas is finished. On the other, they insist a new age of female sorcery is set to arrive.”
“And what do you make of this contradiction?” the King asked.
“I believe, your Grace, that the coming threat will be so new to our experience we may not recognize it. We hunt magas with old techniques. We need new strategies for finding the witches prophesized by our seeing pools and sacred symbols.”
“Indeed.” The King stroked his beard. His dark gaze flicked across the table to Mage Tzetobar. “Do you have anything to add to Master Tzeremond’s observations?”
“I share his concern, my Lord King.”
Tzetobar’s rounded cheeks seemed permanently flushed under that thick blond beard. Like Drostan, he had trained under the Old Orders, but Tzetobar often showed greater wisdom and prudence in matters that came before the Council.
“What organized resistance existed after the war has long since crumbled under the purges,” Tzetobar said. “Where memory of the great conflict has not yet faded, it is repressed by fear. The people’s attention has returned to farming, commerce, and craftsmanship, but it is an uneasy peace we have achieved. The possible resurgence of any subversive magic cannot be taken lightly.”
A general murmur of agreement sounded across the table.
“If I may make a suggestion, my Lord King.” High Mage Thelyn spoke now.
The youngest member of the Council, Thelyn boasted a striking countenance accentuated with a thin beard. One of the few to achieve the status of High Mage after the war, he was an excellent student with a keen intellect. Tzeremond had recommended him to the King, believing Thelyn would have much to contribute with his understanding of the complex mysteries of Primitive Magic.
“I believe it would be wise to initiate a comprehensive study of alternative forms of magic,” Thelyn said. “Magic as it is practiced beyond the borders of this land, by the Syrnte or among the Mountain People, for example. It is an idea I have discussed at length with some of the other High Mages. Such an endeavor might give us better insight as to what to look for.”
“An interesting recommendation,” the King acknowledged. This was the kind of project that would appeal to Kedehen. Though he did not have a natural aptitude for magic, his thirst for knowledge had made him work harder than any student Tzeremond had ever taught, transforming the young prince into a formidable wizard. “What do you think, Master Tzeremond?”
“I support Mage Thelyn’s suggestion, my Lord King. As he himself mentioned, we have discussed it at length.”
“The work Thelyn proposes must be undertaken with great care.” Tzetobar, always
“Sir Drostan, I speak with Prince Akmael’s best interests in mind.” Tzeremond turned on the knight. “A young mage unsupervised can fall to many malevolent influences, even within these halls.”
Drostan drew a breath as if to speak, then retreated into silence with a deferential nod. Before the war, this knight had trained under the masters of the Old Orders, weak wizards whose indulgence of women’s magic had brought Moisehén to near ruin. Though his valiant service had secured the King’s trust, Drostan was not fool enough to argue with Tzeremond in matters of subversive magic. At least, not in open Council.
“I suspect, Master Tzeremond, that the flame of women’s magic has been extinguished both within these halls and without, thanks to your very thorough efforts,” Kedehen said. “Trials and executions for witchcraft are now rare events in Moisehén.”
Tzeremond acknowledged the King’s complement with a gracious nod. “The diligence of our mages in seeking out and destroying women’s magic has served us well, and the oversight of the magistrates in the provinces is exemplary. Still, the shadow of the magas clings to this land. Our divinatory tools send mixed messages regarding our success. On the one hand they indicate the Order of Magas is finished. On the other, they insist a new age of female sorcery is set to arrive.”
“And what do you make of this contradiction?” the King asked.
“I believe, your Grace, that the coming threat will be so new to our experience we may not recognize it. We hunt magas with old techniques. We need new strategies for finding the witches prophesized by our seeing pools and sacred symbols.”
“Indeed.” The King stroked his beard. His dark gaze flicked across the table to Mage Tzetobar. “Do you have anything to add to Master Tzeremond’s observations?”
“I share his concern, my Lord King.”
Tzetobar’s rounded cheeks seemed permanently flushed under that thick blond beard. Like Drostan, he had trained under the Old Orders, but Tzetobar often showed greater wisdom and prudence in matters that came before the Council.
“What organized resistance existed after the war has long since crumbled under the purges,” Tzetobar said. “Where memory of the great conflict has not yet faded, it is repressed by fear. The people’s attention has returned to farming, commerce, and craftsmanship, but it is an uneasy peace we have achieved. The possible resurgence of any subversive magic cannot be taken lightly.”
A general murmur of agreement sounded across the table.
“If I may make a suggestion, my Lord King.” High Mage Thelyn spoke now.
The youngest member of the Council, Thelyn boasted a striking countenance accentuated with a thin beard. One of the few to achieve the status of High Mage after the war, he was an excellent student with a keen intellect. Tzeremond had recommended him to the King, believing Thelyn would have much to contribute with his understanding of the complex mysteries of Primitive Magic.
“I believe it would be wise to initiate a comprehensive study of alternative forms of magic,” Thelyn said. “Magic as it is practiced beyond the borders of this land, by the Syrnte or among the Mountain People, for example. It is an idea I have discussed at length with some of the other High Mages. Such an endeavor might give us better insight as to what to look for.”
“An interesting recommendation,” the King acknowledged. This was the kind of project that would appeal to Kedehen. Though he did not have a natural aptitude for magic, his thirst for knowledge had made him work harder than any student Tzeremond had ever taught, transforming the young prince into a formidable wizard. “What do you think, Master Tzeremond?”
“I support Mage Thelyn’s suggestion, my Lord King. As he himself mentioned, we have discussed it at length.”
“The work Thelyn proposes must be undertaken with great care.” Tzetobar, always
Similar Books
