pointlessness. He had arrived the night before and conferred with the senior members of the Council, called the Administration: five members, one from each of the three named factions and a further two selected from the undecided members. Pug did not like the idea of any faction having automatic placement on such a body, it reeked too much of the party politics that had plagued much of the Empire of Tsuranuanni for centuries, but he forced himself to remain silent on all matters of governance over the Academy. For it to be truly independent, he must merely be seen as another magician.
Natiba finished his remarks, like many of those before merely a rehash of positions already argued, as if some members felt the need to speak even if only to reiterate what had already been said, in case they somehow might lose position or prestige in this council by staying silent.
Another magician rose and was given the floor. Pug was pleased to see this one was dressed in a plain brown robe, making him look like a mendicant friar of one of the temple orders rather than a magician. Too many of the magicians here, especially those in the conservative orders, affected the black robes similar to those worn by the Tsurani Great Ones. Pug absently wondered how much of that was due to his own choice to wear those garments, to constantly remind him of how he had come to be ‘the Black Sorcerer’.
The magician in brown said, ‘I am distressed that so many of our brothers and sisters are determined to continually revisit the same points without any apparent progress in reaching a conclusion we can, at least, debate. So, I will make this proposal and ask the Administration to put it before the membership and call for a vote.
‘I ask that we agree that Pug would not have come to us save in the face of the most dire threat and that time must be counted as a critical issue. Moreover, without a clear purpose as to where we can best lend our talents to protect our world from the demon threat and the Dread-,’ as he said that, the young magician glanced at Pug with an expression that suggested he wasn’t willing quite yet to believe that such a horror could exist, let alone threaten this world, ‘-we should consider making a plan to answer any call Pug might make and how best to do that.’
The room erupted in comments and chatter. Several members voiced the opinion that it was too soon to be coming to any sort of vote on any issue, while others suggested the young magician overstepped his bounds. The Chairman stood and held up his hands for silence. He was a portly magician from one of the Eastern Kingdoms, by the name of Eslon Makov; he possessed a sense of gravitas well suited to moments like these. He said, ‘A question has been put to the vote of the members. To restate the question-’
Pug let the restatement fade into the background as he saw the young, brown-robed magician move in his direction, climbing the steps of the circular hall to where he sat. ‘A moment, if you don’t mind,’ he said.
Pug nodded and rose to follow the young magician up a few steps to the top tier of the Academy’s main hall, then out of the door to the antechamber.
The young magician said, ‘I am called Ruffio, Pug. I’ve not had the honour of meeting you before.’
Pug smiled. ‘I appreciate your support in there.’
The young man shrugged and smiled hesitantly and Pug was suddenly struck by Ruffio’s resemblance to himself at a much younger age. He had a thick shock of dark hair and a similar build and carriage. ‘It was an obvious point to make, I thought. And if dire events do transpire as you fear, it might make it easier for this august body to reach a conclusion and act before we all die of old age.’
Pug laughed as they walked past a pair of older magicians who cast them a quick glance and continued on their own way.
Pug and Ruffio exited the antechamber and walked down a wide set of steps to a walled garden. When they were alone, Ruffio said, ‘I think if there are members of some unknown agency embedded here, they’ve blended in successfully. For a week now I’ve reviewed every discussion I’ve been involved in, overheard, heard of, and I’m forced to admit … nothing.’ He looked Pug in the eye. ‘It may be that the very nature of this society of magicians is exactly what our opponents desire: a tendency to wish to do nothing.’
Pug nodded. ‘We have traitors in the Conclave, Ruffio. Otherwise how could so many things have gone so dreadfully wrong in the last few years?’
The younger magician nodded, remembering the assaults on Sorcerer’s Isle that should never have succeeded, the worst of which had cost Pug the lives of many, including his wife and son. ‘Still, that doesn’t mean they’ve infiltrated here.’ He looked unhappy. ‘We should return. The vote on the motion should begin soon.’
‘Thank you for putting it forward.’
‘A necessary step.’ The young magician was thoughtful as they reached the entrance to the meeting hall. ‘The Academy lacks the exceptional talents of the Conclave, but we have many powerful men and women in our ranks. If the need arises there are enough of us in the uncommitted faction to force through a vote to help.’ He smiled. ‘Even the most conservative member of the Hands won’t oppose preventing the world from ending.’ His smile broadened. ‘At least I don’t think they would.’
Pug stood alone for a moment and said quietly, ‘I hope you’re right, but sometimes I wonder.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
The warning bells sounded.
Martin was already out of his bed and dressed and on his way to the kitchen for breakfast. Buckling his sword belt around his waist, he met his brother coming out of the kitchen.
‘Damn,’ said the commander of the city. ‘I’m famished.’
Brendan smiled. ‘Just ate! If you don’t get yourself killed, have them fetch you something.’ Playfully smacking his brother’s stomach with the back of his left hand, he added, ‘Besides, the last week’s quiet is making you fat.’ Before Martin could respond, Brendan was off at a run towards the wall.
Martin indulged in a momentary expression of exasperation that went unnoticed by anyone, then set off after his brother. Brendan was at the top of the wall by the time Martin got there. He pointed out into the harbour.
‘What is it?’ asked Martin.
‘I have no idea.’
In the centre of the harbour the water was roiling, bubbling and capped with foam, as if the water below was beginning to boil.
Martin shouted up to the northern tower, ‘What do you see?’
From above the reply came, ‘Just a lot of dirty water bubbling, sir. It’s been that way for a good five or more minutes.’
‘What could it be?’ asked Martin quietly, turning back to watch.
After another few minutes Lady Bethany and Lily appeared, both sporting what Martin had come to think of as their ‘fighting togs’: leather breeches, woollen shirts, and leather vests and boots. Both carried bows, though Bethany was the only true archer. She had been giving Lily lessons with the bow and the girl was now able to draw and loose a shaft, though Brendan — who’d watched closely since he’d taken an interest in the girl — didn’t think she stood much chance of hitting anything save by chance, as he had confided in his brother. And since Brendan was probably the only archer who exceeded Bethany’s skills in the city, Martin took his judgment at face value.
Brendan’s close attention of Bethany had caused a great deal of agitation in young Captain George Bolton, now third-in-command of the city, who obviously had a deep infatuation with the mayor’s daughter. Brendan’s interest was more passing, given the lack of attractive young women in the city to compete with Lily; almost all the rest had been sent north to Zun for safety. She had refused to travel north and stayed in the city with her father, as he felt obliged to stay and defend his city.
Bethany looked excited as she asked, ‘What is it, Martin?’
‘I’ll tell you when I know,’ he snapped.
Her eyes widened; then she realized the strain was finally taking its toll on him.
Martin called up to the lookout above, ‘What do you see?’
