Kren decided to tag along that afternoon, when Therelin got up the nerve to go speak with Master Byranim. Despite all his recent training, the thought of asking for a weapon still made Therelin uncomfortable. On Keth, only guards carried weapons—and then, only clubs!
Byranim was chatting with a group of combat mages when Therelin found him. They stood partway between the training yard and the shrine where the Tether was housed, dressed in varying uniforms and armour pieces. Once he was done speaking with the others, Byranim turned to Therelin and Kren. “Ah, the Ketho and the Numa. How may I help you two?”
“Thank you, Master,” Therelin replied. “I have been contemplating the pending mission to the Crimson Highway and decided that I should probably have a sword if I’m going into such dangerous territories.”
“A lucky one, like mine,” offered Kren, smiling. Byranim raised an eyebrow.
Therelin folded his arms in front of him. “Would you be able to procure a weapon for me?”
Master Byranim rubbed his forehead and swatted away a buzzing insect. After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll look into it. I’m glad you’re considering going along on this venture, Therelin.”
“Excellent, thank you,” Therelin replied. “Do you know yet where the venture will go?”
“As a matter of fact,” Byranim said, “I believe the city of Elpan has been chosen by the team for its central locale—equally close to both ends of the Highway.”
Therelin nodded. He glanced at Kren for a moment, but his friend didn’t help him think of any further questions. “Thank you, Master. I’ll come find you after the summit.”
Byranim marched away briskly—likely with a thousand other things to do. The troop of magicians he’d been speaking with had split between the training yard or dispersal around the Isle of Dusk’s settlement.
As Kren led the way back toward the reading room where they’d been studying earlier, they passed another of the magicians with whom Therelin had not spoken. Kren bobbed his head toward her, but waited until they were out of earshot before he told Therelin, “She’s a pretty important member of the Conclave, I hear.”
“What’s her name?” Therelin asked, frowning.
Kren glanced in the direction the brown-haired woman had gone. “Lotha of Vagren,” he told Therelin.
“Good to know,” Therelin muttered. He was certain he would come to know more about the Conclave, but he felt more at peace with their existence now. After all, he now possessed the ability to learn more about them, if he so chose.
Later, after a few bouts of training with Master Shan, Therelin and Kren were washing up at a water basin near the greenhouse when another mage arrived on the Isle. She was led down the slope by Telan, while Master Norgin and a few others strode up to meet her. Lotha was among them.
Master Shan was walking by, so Therelin asked, “Who is that? Another mage here for the summit?”
“That is Irrith,” Master Shan said, with a sly smile, “one of Gravagan’s closest lackeys. Rare to see her here—and not him.”
Therelin blinked. More names. “Who is Gravagan?”
Master Shan chuckled out loud, while Kren seemed to have heard some sound that made his hair stand on ends. He grabbed Therelin by the elbow and tried to pull him away. Therelin, confused by their reactions, let himself stumble after Kren. Shan only laughed louder and walked away, that hefty axe easily born over his wrinkled shoulder.
“What was that about?”
Kren gaped at him. “‘Who’s Gravagan?’” he repeated. “I had heard you showed up with a mittful of questions to ask, but I just didn’t know. Gravagan is one of the most active leaders of the Conclave!”
Therelin sighed and tapped his fingers impatiently against his old driftwood staff. “I swore the Vows. Why is everyone still so concerned over talking about the Conclave?”
Kren shrugged. “Gravagan has made important people disappear from the public eye—you and I, magicians with next to no reputation are little more than fleas to him. Even if you don’t want to bite at him, he’ll hear the buzz and swat you away.” Kren rubbed his hands together nervously. “Word has it that where most of the Conclave is content to let their schemes for a golden age of unity play out across the centuries, Gravagan is determined to see his goals realized while he still draws breath. He’s as ruthless as he is determined.”
Therelin snorted. “He sounds like some evil sorcerer out of folk tales. Are sinister magicians normal for the Conclave? It’s starting to seem that way.”
Kren smirked as he considered it. “These magicians you keep considering evil live hundreds of years sometimes. I’m not trying to justify everything the Conclave has done, but I think there is something different about their perspective. If you need to kill ten people to set the right course for ten hundred… such scholars often consider it the greater good, though it looks like murder to those first ten.”
“But how do they know that killing several would save thousands? Who made them judge and executioner?” Therelin questioned intently. In Keth, many devout believed that magicians were able to communicate or direct the spirits in some way, but none considered such a gift as giving mages rights over their fellow humans. They would all become spirits when they left this life.
“Gravagan has a hundred seers in his network, no doubt, and his plans have been made across decades, not overnight. Like I said, they protect their privacy simply because of the immense complexity of their plans,” Kren said. Next he changed his tune and offered another perspective: “But… no magician is without a blind spot. If the Conclave knew how to make an age of peace—we would be living in it already. Like I said, I’m no protector of their reputation. Just my own skin.”
“Are there any similar factions which oppose the Conclave?” Therelin asked.
“Well, do you mean ‘oppose’ as in active resistance against the Conclave?” Kren clarified. “Or do you just mean groups that don’t agree with them and go another way?”
“Active resistance,” Therelin replied, emphatically. “These people seem embroiled in events all across Gethra!”
Kren smiled and nodded. “Well, the land I hail from, for one. The Eternal Emperor has ruled for 277 years—he and Grand Mage Rattar don’t tolerate outside interference. I’m not very connected with the Magician’s Order of Rema, so I can’t tell you too much more than that,” Kren explained. “I’ve also heard that the Circle has harboured a grudge against the Conclave for quite some time. The two clash one another’s schemes rather frequently, it seems. Though, I’ve also heard rumours they recently declared a truce to fight a common enemy.”
Therelin shielded his eyes from the sun as he glanced back to where Irrith and Isle’s mages spoke. “The bandits?” he asked, of that “common enemy.”
“No, actually,” Kren said, with a wink. “The Atmos Septi—the Grey Brethren as it were.”
Therelin turned to look at his friend incredulously. “Why are they fighting the Atmos Septi?” he blurted. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
Kren burst out laughing. “Because the priests scheme as much as either of them. Welcome to Gethra, my friend,” he added, and patted Therelin on the shoulder as he opened the door to the alehouse—one of his favourite buildings on the Isle.
Therelin delayed a moment longer. He was glad that Kren had his best interests in mind—he had prevented Therelin from making a fool of himself in front of Master Shan. Despite that, Therelin was equally confused. A bandit army had brewed in the south while these allegedly peace-seeking magicians had allied to fight an order of priests…? He shook his head, at a complete loss of what he should do about any of it.