More than she ever could?
Or deserved?
No.
Tythonnia closed her hand and stood as straight as frail age allowed. Instead of adding its life to hers, she surrendered hers to it, so the world might have that last precious thing for a moment longer …
Tythonnia’s eyes fluttered open, and the rigors of age faded slowly from her body. Her joints ached and a dull throb stretched itself over the rack of her spine. Amma Batros sat next to her on the velvet reclining couch and smiled down at her. She cleared away an errant lock of hair.
“What-” Tythonnia asked.
“You passed,” Amma said. Her smile was wide and grateful. She helped Tythonnia sit up.
She was still in Astathan’s study, but the highmage was not within sight; only she and Amma were present.
“Passed? What happened?” Tythonnia said, struggling to root her bearings. The pain of age lingered in her joints like an echo, and she struggled to focus. Amma Batros brought a mug of steaming liquid to her lips. Tythonnia obliged with a sip before the foul concoction struck her nostrils. She almost vomited at the taste of the onion tea, but Amma tipped the mug forward, spilling more into her mouth.
“You must drink,” Amma said against her struggles. Tythonnia swallowed another mouthful before sputtering and gagging. Amma placed the mug on the floor and rubbed Tythonnia’s back as she continued coughing. “The test weakened you,” she whispered. “You need your strength back.”
“What’s happening? What test?” Tythonnia asked.
“I’m sorry, child,” Astathan’s voice rang out, “but it was necessary to administer a small test to determine your loyalty to the Orders of High Sorcery.” He appeared from behind a curved bookcase, his features drawn with fatigue.
“It was a truth spell,” Amma said gently. “But you passed.”
“Truth spell?” Tythonnia said. The word released a surge of panic. What had she revealed about herself? Did they know? “I don’t remember it!”
“Be calm, child,” Astathan said. “The spell is not invasive. It isn’t like the Test of High Sorcery … not entirely. It strips away duplicity in regards to loyalty. We neither hear nor see the test. We merely know you’ve passed.”
“I passed?” Tythonnia repeated cautiously. Amma nodded. “And if I didn’t?”
Astathan fixed her with a piercing gaze. “We would know that too,” he whispered. He returned to studying the spines of books, distracting himself with the search.
“Amma,” Tythonnia whispered. “What’s going on?”
“Compose yourself,” Amma said. “The others are almost here.”
Par-Salian, Tythonnia, and Ladonna stood before High-mage Astathan. He sat in a great chair of gold oak that was girded with bands of what appeared to be translucent jade. The armrests were two great reptilian claws that curled downward to grip two marble globes. The backrest curled up like a drake’s spine, forming a gold dragon’s head.
Tythonnia studied the others, but whatever sparkle had dazzled Ladonna’s eyes, whatever keen interest had sharpened Par-Salian’s gaze were both absent. The test had affected them differently, but no less deeply than Tythonnia.
“What you hear now does not go beyond this chamber,” Astathan said. “If you choose not to participate, it is within your right, but I will enchant you to forget this meeting happened.”
The three wizards exchanged glances that asked the same question: what have we gotten ourselves into? But Tythonnia could also see the excitement in their faces; the chance to serve Highmage Astathan directly was an unparalleled opportunity. It could propel all three of them to greater heights within their respective orders. While it was an honor to better the Wizards of High Sorcery, Tythonnia still wanted to advance within its ranks. She wanted to be recognized as someone special, unique. By the look in Ladonna’s eyes, so did she, though Par-Salian appeared to be a different matter. He beamed, his pride at the bursting. Tythonnia could only smile.
All three of them nodded, eager for their moment in the sun.
“Do not agree to this lightly,” Astathan said, chastening them with a stern look. “It is dangerous, perhaps equal in peril to the Test of High Sorcery.”
The smiles faded from their lips, and Tythonnia tried to treat the matter more gravely.
“Since the Cataclysm, we have been at war,” Astathan began, his voice dropping a sorrowful octave. “And I have seen most of this conflict through. The fall of Istar brought about a dark time for magic, a return to the old ways, the wild ways. There was no discipline to its practice, no accountability demanded. People wielded the arcane like a knife or a sword, swinging it wildly with nothing to temper their strokes. Even tempered, magic is a violent force that requires every trained skill to use safely. Unskilled magic, however, is a chaotic, untamed thing that hurts and maims and changes the world in profound ways. People had a right to fear us, even though we’ve sought to control the use of magic for everyone’s sake. But by persecuting us, they forced us into hiding. We could not operate openly, and that allowed for the proliferation of wild sorcerers.”
Astathan cleared his throat before continuing. “Now, finally, we are no longer forced to hide. We are taming the use of the feral arts and bringing wild sorcerers to heel, advising them to follow the tenets set down by the orders, or desist. We are bringing responsibility back to the practice of magic, but there has been a setback. You witnessed it at the trial, earlier, in fact.”
“Virgil Morosay?” Ladonna asked. She cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “Ah wait, no … Berthal, his master.”
A shocked Par-Salian hushed her quickly, but Ladonna ignored him with a self-satisfied grin.
“What’s been kept from all wizards, save the conclave and our most masterful practitioners, is that there’s a plague upon us, delivered in two strokes. The first is an epidemic of betrayed principles,” Astathan said. “We are losing initiates and members alike to this renegade Berthal. Students are stealing from masters, and make no mistake, Virgil was not the first. Masters are leading their students astray from the guiding laws of High Sorcery and the safe paths set down by the moons. The longer Berthal is allowed to continue spreading his rhetoric for unregulated magic, the more he undermines the laws of magic and the safety of innocent people.
“The second stroke is equal in peril,” Astathan continued. “Berthal has not only turned his back on our guiding ethos, but he’s done so by embracing the most primordial of magics. He wields the arts that existed at the time of the Graygem, when magic wasn’t a craft, but a force of nature.”
“How is this possible?” Par-Salian asked.
Astathan sighed. “It is to our own detriment sometimes that we diligently preserve knowledge of the past. Berthal stole ancient texts detailing the path of wild magic when he broke with us. He is now teaching his followers these Wyldling Arts, teaching them to unleash their natural talents without the focusing matrices of reagents or words. A discharge of static becomes a lightning bolt from the heavens, wild in its unpredictability. A gust of wind becomes the storm’s heart, raging indiscriminately.”
“So he can will magic and bend it to his whim?” Ladonna asked. “No spell, no words, no reagents.”
“None. Just chaos for its own sake. And now he teaches others how to blanket the world in a storm of his making.”
“But Wyldling magic has always been around,” Tythonnia argued. “We know people can use passion to stoke their spells. We know others advocate its use.”
“Never like this,” Astathan replied. “Most practitioners of this ilk were unguided and unprincipled. Selfish. But, if we were lucky, their own inexperience would consume them. More to our favor, they kept their secrets to themselves, treating knowledge as a thing to be hoarded. It was like an illness that never spread because everyone shut themselves away with whatever sickness they caught. Berthal, however, is trying to bring discipline to the art. He’s teaching others how to do more without burning the wick of their souls.”
“You want Berthal … eliminated?” Ladonna asked with a grin.
“No, never!” Astathan said. “I would never condone the murder of another. To do so is to break the very ideals I’m trying to protect. You must find Berthal and lead the renegade hunters to him. He must be brought to justice, for betraying his oath as a member of the Red Robes, for fomenting this dissent, and for teaching what
