If the walls were stark and unornamented, the floor was their opposite. It held a complex pattern of black and white marble. Though it might seem to be nothing more than an overelaborate decorative pattern, it was in fact a series of keys that allowed Adepts to keep their proper places during the nighttime Workings, for the Council chamber was also the Temple where the Great Circles were held for the Mage’s nighttime Workings.
At one end of the Council chamber stood a curved judicial bench twice the height of a tall man, as black as the wall behind it was white. It was here that the High Council sat to pass judgment upon every aspect of life in Armethalieh. The room had been designed by the ancient Mages who had wrought it to overawe the mind and numb the spirit. Even the Mages who worked here daily were not immune to its effects, and that was as it should be. Let all who entered here know that the individual was as nothing, and the City was all.
The Arch-Mage’s thronelike chair was in the center of the bench, with six lesser seats on either side. Until today, every seat had always been filled.
The remaining Mages—Meron, Perizel, Lorins, Arance, Ganaret, Nagid, Vilmos, Dagan, and Harith—entered the chamber where Lycaelon was already seated. When the nine of them had taken their places, they looked with various degrees of consternation at the three empty seats.
“Breulin, Isas, and Volpiril have resigned from the Council, for reasons of which I think all of you are aware,” Lycaelon said. His voice filled the chamber, resonating from the polished marble walls. “This special session will be devoted to dealing with the matter of the traitors, discovering the extent of the corruption, and repairing the harm that they have done to the City. But first, there is the matter of filling the vacancies created.”
There was a stir of anticipation in the room. Vacancies on the High Council were rare. For there to be three at once was unprecedented, and every man in the room had his own candidates to fill the vacant chairs.
But Lycaelon was not finished speaking.
“I propose to you my own candidate, Chired Anigrel, who is to become my son and the heir of my House this Light’s Day. Many of you will know him as my private secretary, but in these past moonturns he has done far more for the good of the City than scribing mere paperwork. It was through Undermage Anigrel’s tireless work that the traitors were uncovered and the conspiracy disarmed before the threat could grow. He has demonstrated an uncommon devotion and loyalty to the City, as well as a mastery of the Art that much exceeds his rank. I open the matter now for discussion before I call the vote.”
“Discussion… ? But Arch-Mage, surely you do not expect us to vote upon the matter today?” Lord Dagan asked, almost timidly.
“My lords,” Lycaelon said ponderously, “I wish from the bottom of my heart that we had the leisure to consider the matter in our usual deliberate fashion. But the empty seats among us are proof enough that this cannot be. For the other vacancies, yes, of course, we shall take as much time as you like. But in light of the service he has already rendered to the City, I do not wish to deprive us of Anigrel’s sapient counsel for another moment. Providing, always, that we are all in agreement.”
“My lord Lycaelon, may I be the first to offer you congratulations upon your heir? May the Light defend him in all his works. It is heartening to hear good news when the shadows seem to gather on every side,” Lord Harith said.
“I shall convey your congratulations to my son,” Lycaelon said, bowing his head. “We are both gratified.” He smiled inwardly. Harith had obviously decided which way the hare would jump and was anxious to assure Lycaelon that he would continue to support him.
Perizel leaned forward, signaling his intention to speak next. The man was a consummate political animal, and cloaked his ambition in a punctilious insistence on the observance of proper form. If Lord Perizel disliked an idea, he could delay it for sennights by debating every detail of the form of its presentation.
“My lord Arch-Mage. Without in any way speaking to Undermage Anigrel’s character or other qualifications to join our Council, I must raise a point of order regarding his possible appointment. As you yourself have remarked, his rank is but that of Undermage. Yet one must be of the rank of High Mage to serve upon the Council. Is that not so?”
There was a murmur of agreement—not unmixed with relief in a few cases—as the remaining members of the Council conferred among themselves, whispering and nodding their heads. Lycaelon allowed it to continue for a few moments before speaking again.
“My lords, I believe you will find there is precedent for a Mage of lesser rank serving upon the High Council, should his other qualifications be exceptional. I direct your attention to the case of Undermage Camorin in the 427th year of the City—and your ancestor, Lord Arance, who served with distinction upon the Council beginning in Year 719, though he had not yet attained the distinction of High Mage. And should Lord Anigrel be permitted to test for advancement upon an accelerated schedule, then this consideration would certainly be set at rest.”
Lord Perizel regarded the Arch-Mage for a moment, then smiled faintly and nodded, settling back in his chair. “You are correct, Lord Arch-Mage. There is precedent. I withdraw my objection.”
Lycaelon glanced around at the other Mages. Their faces were studiously blank, but there was no way they could argue with facts. Both Mage Camorin and Arance’s ancestor
—«♦»—
