gate. Master and apprentice passed under the twin, golden minarets that soared above each gate in the Old City Wall. The Tower of High Sorcery loomed to the left, commanding their attention. As usual, Guerrand shuddered.
'The tower is an important part of our heritage as wizards,' said Justarius, noting Guerrand's reaction. 'However hideous it looks, however grim the stories surrounding its downfall, it is a constant reminder to us all how precarious is our position among nonmages. We must be ever-vigilant not to abuse our powers in the eyes of others. It is vital, not only for the survival of the orders, but more importantly to maintain the delicate balance between Good and Evil.'
'Frankly, in my little corner of the globe, I never thought of the world as locked in any sort of eternal struggle,' admitted Guerrand. 'If I had, I might have concluded that the best world is one entirely dominated by Good.'
Justarius looked deeply puzzled. 'Then why did you declare allegiance to the Red Robes, instead of the White?'
'I listened carefully to all three descriptions of the orders given at the tower,' said Guerrand, then paused. He looked at Justarius with concern. 'Can I be frank, without retribution?'
Guerrand's master frowned. 'J expect nothing less from my apprentices.'
'Since you've asked, I thought Par-Salian's definition of the philosophy of the White Robes too simplistic and idealistic to be possible. Simply telling everyone they should be good doesn't make it happen.'
Guerrand drew in a breath. 'As for LaDonna's explanation of the Black Robes… it sounded like a rationalization for them to do whatever they want, the consequences be damned. That's just immoral.'
Justarius lifted one brow. 'So you chose the Red Robes by default?'
'No!' cried Guerrand. 'I–I liked what you said about the importance of maintaining a balance between Good and Evil. I confess I didn't entirely understand it,' he admitted sheepishly, 'but at least I didn't disagree with it. Besides,' the apprentice blurted, 'I admired you.'
Justarius overlooked the admission and frowned. 'I see we've neglected a critical part of your education.'
He stopped and pointed to the twisted, black Tower of High Sorcery. 'Look there, and you will see the clearest example of what happens when the balance is upset and one force or another gains the upper hand.'
Guerrand shook his head. 'Now I really don't understand. From all accounts, the kingpriest was evil. Wouldn't the outcome have been different if he had been good?'
'Historians have labeled him evil since the Cataclysm.' Justarius stroked his pointed beard. 'But in his time, he was, with the exception of the insightful elves, considered by all to epitomize the qualities of goodness.'
They were walking slowly, still some distance from the city's inner circle, where the festivities appeared to be centered. Droves of people, grinning broadly in anticipation, were passing them up on the roadway.
'Are you certain you want to hear this lecture now?'
'If you'll recall, I was not the one so keen to come to the festival in the first place,' jibed Guerrand.
'Then, for my sake, let us sit while I give you the shortened version.' Justarius gestured them toward some golden bales of hay stacked along the roadside for seats during the festival's many parades.
'We use that title, 'kingpriest',' he began, once settled, 'as if there has been only one. But centuries of humans held the title, and corrupted the office, before the ego of the last to hold it brought on the Cataclysm.
'Nearly five hundred years before that great catastrophe, the city of Istar reigned as the center of commerce and art. As time went on, the citizens began to believe their own publicity too well. Claiming also to be the moral center, they went on to build a temple and install a kingpriest who would proclaim the glory of righteous Istar. The next logical step for such arrogance was to repress the opinions, independence, and talent of those who did not agree. The elves, with their artistic temperaments and infinite wisdom, withdrew from the world of arrogant humans.
'Conditions dissolved rapidly,' Justarius continued, 'particularly without the temperance of the elves. A kingpriest declared that the rampant evil in the world was an affront to both gods and mortals. A list of evil acts was created, and the punishment for violation was swift. High on the list of evil acts was the execution of magic, but I think you know the story from there.'
The venerable mage winced suddenly and rubbed his withered leg. 'The point is, Guerrand, these people thought they had a clear grasp of what was Good. They believed fervently that a world where their interpretation of Good prevailed would be best. Among the greatest misconceptions of this assumption is that everyone
Justarius's gaze turned toward the blackened tower. 'That,' he concluded, 'is why there will always be — why there
Climbing stiffly to his feet, Justarius wriggled his nose as the scent of roasted meat wafted past. He looked toward the nearby stall of a food vendor and smacked his lips. 'Enough somber talk on such a festive day,' he announced. 'This talk of dinner has made me hungry.' Justarius forged ahead through the crowd, undaunted by his severe limp.
Behind him, Guerrand weaved and dodged through the streams of people, trying to keep up with his master. As Justarius had promised, the trip was proving worthwhile. They hadn't even made it to the heart of the festival yet. Guerrand reflected that if the rest of the day was even half as interesting, it would surely be a fair to remember.
Chapter Twelve
The tall mage's head was clearly visible, always bouncing, just two arm-lengths ahead in the press of people. Try as he might, Guerrand could not catch up to him, even when Justarius stopped at a stall to purchase roasted venison. Is he trying to lose me in the crowd? the apprentice wondered in irritation. Is this part of some new lesson or test?
Suddenly the trees lining the avenue were gone, and the mob spilled into Palanthas's Central Plaza, the heart of the festival. Guerrand momentarily forgot his annoyance as he gaped in wonder at the sea of multicolored awnings, fluttering pennants, and flapping banners. A forest of feathers in every color of the rainbow waved above a field of wool. Solamnic knights, the patrons of this festival, sat in gleaming armor atop their horses all around the plaza, adding a martial atmosphere to the scene.
A group of young boys pushed past Guerrand, shouting and laughing with enjoyment. They carried small wooden swords and shields, which they swung with abandon, bashing companions and bystanders alike. Guerrand dodged to the side as a man in baggy trousers thumped past on towering stilts, all the while juggling a trio of gleaming, spinning scimitars above the crowd.
Guerrand advanced warily into the churning mass, stretching his neck this way and that, trying to see everything at once. Shop fronts were open with the usual wares for sale. In addition, merchants from far-flung lands had arrived and set up tents around the perimeter of the central plaza. Exotic rugs, furs, and wall tapestries were piled high on makeshift tables. Men hawked containers of powdered spice they pledged would polish floors, cure the common cold,
The Festival of Knights was a far bigger event than the little country fairs he was used to. Guerrand realized that he hadn't blinked for some time and his mouth was hanging open. He slammed it shut, feeling self-conscious. Don't act like such a rube, he thought angrily.
The apprentice started. Where was Justarius? Guerrand looked around frantically but saw no sign of his mentor's black hair and white ruff among the thousands of heads moving to and fro.
'Guerrand! Guerrand, come here, lad!'
The young apprentice's head shot up at the sound of his mentor's voice, but he could not sight Justarius anywhere in the impossibly packed throng.
