He would have given his half-year’s pay to be able to talk about the subject with Egil and look into it more deeply. Unfortunately, his great friend was at the Camp, looking after Dolbarar and taking charge of the thousand and one things the leader could not handle as a result of his illness. He hoped they were both well. He was not so worried about Egil, since he was safe as long as he stayed in the Camp, but Dolbarar was a different matter.
He gazed at the surface of the lake and sighed deeply. He would have to fend for himself. He already knew that he could not force the Marker of Experiences to obey his wishes, which was frustrating. He could not understand why, since his mother had given it to him intending him to use it. The fact that the pendant did not obey him must be due to some limitation on the magic that it had been imbued with, or else the spells, some powerful mage or sorcerer had cast on the jewel. Perhaps they had been his own mother’s. If so, it was even more painful that he, her son, a possessor of the Gift like hers, was unable to use the jewel. He had no clue as to why it was resistant to him, but he was sure it was not his mother’s wish.
There came the third flash, which would soon bring the beginning of the vision. He prepared himself to receive it, and try to decipher its meaning. He focused on the image, which was beginning to appear before him, above the waters of the quiet pond. To begin with it was blurred and unfocused, which did not surprise him as it always took a while to clear. It was as if the jewel were focusing what it was going to show him, since it could not do so directly in his mind. The first person he made out was his mother, which delighted him. He knew it was just one of her memories, but it was as though he was participating in her past, in her life, and for him this had an enormous significance after having lost her so tragically.
Mayra, dressed as Darthor, was inside a cave. He could not guess as to where that was. She walked to the center of a great cavern with bluish walls, which looked like the inside of an enormous bowl. She looked up, and saw a starry sky and a beautiful aurora borealis. There was no doubt about it: she was in the Frozen Continent. She was not alone. In the center of the cavern were a dozen Arcanes of the Glaciers around the flame of a bluish fire that went up to the sky as if it were a geyser, except that instead of a plume of water, what rose up, was a pure blue flame. Lasgol wondered whether there could be a volcano under the surface, and whether what he was seeing were the effect of a gas rising in flames. It was spectacular.
“Welcome, Darthor,” an elderly Arcane greeted her. Lasgol recognized him at once as Azur, the Shaman of the Ice, Chief of the Arcanes of the Glaciers.
Mayra bowed respectfully and came forward to stand beside him. “Thank you for inviting me to such an important meeting.”
“Your presence here this evening is necessary.”
“And welcome,” added another Arcane. Lasgol recognized him too: it was Asrael.
“Thank you,” Mayra said. “It’s an honor.” She bowed to Asrael, who went on to greet the other Arcanes around the great blue flame.
“This Council of Shamans around the Eternal Flame,” the leader began, “has been convoked in order to make a decision of the greatest importance for the future of our people, that of all the peoples of this continent and of the Frozen Continent itself.”
The other leaders struck the ice floor with their strange staves. “Around the Eternal Flame the Arcanes of the Glaciers decide,” they said as one, as if intoning a song.
“The Chief Shamans are gathered here today to decide on whether to support Darthor’s cause. We, the Arcanes of the Ice, do not represent all the peoples of the Frozen Continent, but our decision will carry a significant weight.”
“What the Arcanes of the Glaciers decide will be decisive in persuading the Wild Ones of the Ice and the Tundra Dwellers to join my cause,” Mayra added firmly, underlining the importance of their decision.
“We do not speak for them,” Asrael said. “We will have to speak with them to gain their support in the event that we decide to go to war this evening.”
“I’ve met with them, with their leaders,” Mayra assured him. “There will be no support if the Arcanes do not join the cause. They need the power of the magic of the Arcanes to counter the power of the Norghanian Magi.”
“Our decision carries a great deal of weight,” Azur went on, “which is why it must be made calmly and carefully.”
The rest of the Shamans struck the floor with their staves. “The Arcanes of the Glaciers decide around the Eternal Flame,” they intoned again.
Suddenly a figure came in wearily, bent and leaning on a staff that appeared to be made of ice. He approached the others, then without a word went to stand in what appeared to his place around the flame. Lasgol had seen him before, but could not place him. He was very old, even more so than the other Arcanes, which among them meant several hundred years. His face was deeply lined, and he seemed to be half-asleep. His eyes were small and grey and looked at no-one, as if the remainder of his people were of no interest to him
