“The Body of Gethra has several properties aside from its physical ones which a magician may manipulate,” Therelin read, quietly. He spoke in Common, though the text was in an old ancestral dialect which some scholars still preferred. The codex itself was only from the late 1200s—fairly recent in terms of scholarly texts. Though he thought the confusing phrasing was going to be his biggest issue today, he could not have guessed what would come. “These properties continue to elude the complete comprehension of contemporary sages, though their behaviours can be observed. As any apprentice knows, what can be observed can be manipulated in some manner.”
Therelin sighed. Though this book was allegedly one of the most useful writings on such matters, its basics were painfully dull. He could list the Abstract Properties in order of pliability in his sleep—wind, sound, light, gravity, current (such as lightning), and, last of all, time, which could only be manipulated by perception though not by action. He turned the page quietly, shaking his head. Other properties were argued, but most were attributed to other sources than the world itse—
“What’s this now?” Kren asked. He was peering past Therelin’s shoulder, out the window of the study room.
Therelin turned at the hip to see outside. From here, they could see half the training yard and part of the shrine. Men and women were wandering out from the buildings and approaching the middle of the settlement, gathering near the Tether’s shrine, or the dais that Therelin knew was out of sight. Was the summit starting already?
Kren crossed the room and opened the wooden door near the window. “Is it already begun?” he asked, then stumbled out a step.
“What?” Therelin asked. He glanced over Kren’s shoulder, book forgotten.
A man stood on the dais, addressing the mages that gathered. The man was dressed in copper metal that had been painted black. A metallic cape ran down from intricately formed mantle plates. The man wasn’t armed, but looked ready for a battle. Delayed, Therelin started listening to his clear voice: “—an age when schemers dwell amongst the elite and bring about crimes that go unmentioned in the history books!” The man’s voice hinted of an accent, but Therelin could not place it. He followed Kren out, confused. “When foreign soldiers can show up and burn your home to the ground… it’s time for change.”
“By the gods, what is going on?” Kren muttered. With Therelin in tow, he joined the crowd of onlookers. Therelin held his staff cautiously, wondering if this was a mage come for the summit or something more unexpected.
The strange speaker’s voice drew Therelin’s attention once more. “Chief among these arrogant kingdoms and delusional religious orders is the hidden empire itself—your precious Conclave,” he declared.
The mages on the Isle were muttering already, but now all eyes turned toward Irrith and Lotha, the two renowned Conclave mages standing among the crowd. Therelin had learned enough during his days out of Keth to suspect that many other members of the crowd were loyal to that group, even if they were not publicly known.
“Who is this?” Kren asked, stepping to the side to approach Master Shan.
The old combat instructor held his axe by the shaft, it’s hefty crescent-moon blade resting between his feet. “I think… I think that’s Tarro,” Shan muttered.
Kren spun back to the stage, his eyebrows nearly brushing his curly hair.
Before Therelin could ask if that name meant what he thought it meant, the man called Tarro continued. His grey-streaked hair and deep-set eyes scanned across the crowd as he said, “I did not utter demands to the cities I have conquered, I have not given my ultimatum to the alliances that face me—those politicians, liars, and spies, do not deserve my mercy.”
“He just showed up on the beach…” Master Shan was mumbling, “… and he’s already sworn the Vows, though not even Master Norgin remembers when.”
“But to you, my kindred magicians,” Tarro said, “I will give my terms. “Cast out the schemers and the deceivers, kill them or hand them over to those who have the fortitude to do what must be done. Or protect them and perish.”
If I was a different man, from a different land, Therelin though, I might have said the same. He could not stand the plotters of the Conclave.
One of Master Byranim’s uniformed combat mages tapped Master Shan on the shoulder before backing away through the growing crowd. Therelin’s head was swivelling to and from, trying to see everything that was going on. Byranim himself had gathered with a group of armed and armoured men, near the training yard. Lotha and Irrith were now surrounded by a group of supporters that eyed the rest of the audience suspiciously. The muttering grew, nearly overpowering the middle-aged man that spoke from the dais.
Tarro spread his arms, his leather-gloved fingers spreading. “I see you are divided, but you have always been. You preach of unity and peace, yet you are the divided ones,” he pointed out. Then his expression grew darker, angrier. “Already, this Isle is being surrounded by my ships. You have until my allies arrive to decide or you will face destruction. Step forward if you will swear fealty to me—to a new order where the powerful will not cower in the shadows or make decisions for those who are blind to the choice.”
Therelin noticed at least one magician teleport away. Others were moving back, while some ran to look over the sloped hill that surrounded the Isle… were ships indeed on the horizon?
“Have you heard of him—this Tarro?” he asked, touching Kren’s shoulder.
Kren nodded. He was trembling. “He’s the one. He’s the mage leading the armies of the Great Isle.” As though shocked from a reverie, Kren turned toward Therelin, eyes wide, and added, “We should get out of here.”
“That seems like a good idea,” Therelin confirmed, as magicians continued to vanish from their midst.
“Stand and fight!” someone shouted.
Master Byranim and his warrior-mages were striding through the crowd as if on cue. There were drawn weapons gleaming in the sunlight and the furrowed brows of those already concentrating on their spell-craft.
“Is there any place that we’d be safe on the Isle?” Therelin asked, as they neared the study room they had recently left.
“Not that I know of,” Kren said. “Maybe someone else would know, but shouldn’t we just Journey away?” He ran a hand over his beard, somehow stretching his frown even deeper. He looked back at the dais once more.
“I’m disappointed,” Tarro drawled, as the defenders arrayed in front of him. A few magicians had drawn bows.
“You’re unwelcome here!” declared Master Byranim, brandishing a sword. “This Isle is a peaceful shelter for all mages, but those who threaten that safe-haven will face our force.” Two arrows were loosed at his signal, but they arched quickly to the ground. One nearly hit another defender in the leg.
Therelin grabbed Kren’s shoulder. “Then let’s do it. Do you have a place in mind?”
“How about the nearest?” Kren blurted. “Sheld?”
“Fine—you got this?” Therelin asked, as a sword seemed to appear in thin air, at head level of the mage on the dais. The weapon drifted gently down into the warlord’s hands—a spell Therelin could not even guess.
“Just a minute,” Kren was saying, his eyes closed in focus. As much as he could, Therelin cleared his thoughts and focused his mind on bending to Kren’s will. In their adventure to Sheld, he would yield to his friend’s decisions. No matter what happened, he would go where his friend instructed and do as Kren deemed best.
Then one of the wooden archives burst into flame and Therelin’s concentration shattered. Mistress Tarka and a few others were shouting, “He must not have them!” The secrets of the Isle? Therelin thought. Someone was running for the Tether in its old shingled shrine, but a pair of pebbles smashed through the back of his head and sprawled him out across the dirt. Tarro clashed with a man wielding a pole-arm, while Byranim himself tried hacking at his back. The combat was a whirl of movement and their movements seemed unnatural—they moved too heavily there, too lightly there. This was a battle of the greats—
—the sight vanished as quickly as those pebbles had zipped. Therelin and Kren winked away: hopefully, to safety.