Scion of Cyador

CLIV

The two figures in shimmering white stand at opposite sides of the corridor that adjoins the Quarter chaos-tower of the Magi’i.

“You requested I join you here for a demonstration, Rustyl,” Chyenfel says slowly. “Have you found some way in which to prolong the life of the failing chaos-tower?”

“Were you ever interested in such? Really?” asks the younger adept. “If you were so interested, why did you bury so many chaos-towers within the mists of time, so that now we must struggle to charge firewagons and firelances but from a pair of chaos-towers beyond this one?”

Chyenfel frowns. “I thought you understood. What use would a handful of chaos-towers be, surrounded by a resurgent Accursed Forest? How would one even reach them?”

“What does the safety of a handful of peasants matter, when Cyador struggles to defend herself because you gave away the greatest of the chaos-towers?”

“You are mistaken, Rustyl. Gravely mistaken. That is not the case-”

“It is the case. You do not wish me to succeed you as First Magus. Or even Kharl.”

Chyenfel’s mouth opens. “Dear Rustyl. I had never, ever expected that. I had thought more of you-both in ability, and in common sense. Why did I expose you to all of the facets of Magi’i operations? Yet why do few outside the Magi’i know of you? Surely you can understand that now?”

“You only wished to use me a counter to Kharl…nothing more.” Chaos flares around the younger mage as his shield forms.

“That is not so…but were it such, is that not an honorable duty-to counter one who would destroy all for which the Magi’i stand?” A paler, deeper shield forms around the slightly bent form of the First Magus.

“He would have the Magi’i strong. You merely wished to be recalled for a great deed, and care little for what happens to those who follow you.” The taller mage casts a bolt of chaos at the older man.

The older magus merely stands and lets the firebolt splatter into nothingness across his order-chaos shield. “You were the Magi’i candidate to be Toziel’s heir. I can see my hopes exceeded my reason.”

“You tell me that now to save yourself.” Rustyl sneers. Another firebolt begins to form.

“I need no words to save myself from an ungrateful whelp such as you.” A searing white-red flame rips the air in the corridor, throwing Rustyl against the granite wall, his shield diminished to a mere shadow of that which he had raised but moments before.

“You are a demented old man, who would ruin Cyad for your own glory,” Rustyl snaps as he straightens, frowning. His body begins to glow, even as the shimmer that filters through the black glass portal to the chaos-tower chamber begins to diminish.

Chyenfel’s mouth opens, but momentarily. “No…you must not. You will destroy yourself as well.”

“Again…you throw words to save yourself. I will do as I must!” Rustyl returns, a broad smile crossing his face.

A massive bolt of blue-white chaos appears before Rustyl, and incandescence fills the corridor, expanding in all directions as elemental chaos sears the corridor and further whitens the granite.

In the granite structure behind the now-empty corridor, the chaos-tower glows blue, if momentarily, before it begins to melt into itself.

At the far end of the Quarter of the Magi’i, the Second Magus smiles, then nods to himself, murmuring in words that do not leave his study, “If Chyenfel can use a halfscore failing towers, then one is a fair price to save Cyad from weakness.”